by L. A. Banks
Chapter 10
Belly full and her spirit at peace, Celeste hoisted her new backpack over her shoulder and left Aunt Niecey and Azrael to chat and argue recipes in the kitchen. He’d insisted on washing the dishes, which caused a huge row with Aunt Niecey, but her aunt had finally relented by teasing him in good spirit and adding Azrael’s pleasant protest to the other qualities of his she admired.
Among the many things that amazed Celeste as she entered her old bedroom and dumped the backpack contents on the bed was that in one night Azrael had definitely nailed her taste in clothing. A few pairs of rolled-up jeans tumbled onto the bed—one pair black, one pair dark blue, and one pair ripped stonewashed. Also, a few light knit sweaters in soft lime, deep cranberry, and charcoal, plus several colorful cotton tank tees, a new hoodie jacket, and a short-cropped black leather jacket, socks, underwear, and a white lace nightgown were all sitting on top of a new pair of black sneakers at the bottom of the bag.
But how the heck did he know her size? She turned over the tags and simply shook her head. One touch, one healing, and he’d been able to telepathically pick up all that?
“Now this is deep,” she murmured, still going through the backpack.
Celeste laughed quietly when she rifled through the underwear to find brand-new Victoria’s Secret bras and panties from their angel collection with the tags still on them.
“Wonder, do they really have female angels where you claim you come from? Who knew?” Celeste laughed and shook her head again as she peered at his selection. “Oooohhhh, bad angel but good choices. Tasteful . . . understated, not too over-the-top, but what other TMI did you pick up in the library’s magazine section?”
She held the lacy pastels in her hands and felt her face warm as she stared at the daring black push-up and skimpy lace panties that matched, then just shook her head one more time.
“This one will definitely make you fall, brother,” she murmured as she laughed quietly, then folded away her loot, choosing the gray and black sweater and jeans combo to wear.
He’d even stashed the items he’d purchased from the supermarket in her bag. Sweet-smelling all-natural soap, body wash, lotion, hair ties, a comb and brush, and a new toothbrush and all-natural, Tom’s of Maine toothpaste along with all-natural deodorant that contained no aluminum additives. Everything she could have asked for was jam-packed into her backpack. She just sighed when she saw a small box of Angel perfume that he obviously made a special stop to get. Aunt Niecey was right, this one was a keeper. Although she couldn’t wrap her brain around how he’d been able to do all this in the short time allotted.
Life had made her a realist of the most serious order. Nothing about this made sense; she had absolutely no frame of reference to fit what was happening—yet it was still happening. Her aunt Niecey was now a witness, too, and wasn’t looking at her strangely as though she were seeing things that weren’t there. Celeste stared down at the clothes on the bed. The gifts were nice but they were also scary.
Either this man was running the most elaborate scam she’d ever seen or she was crazy . . . or he might just be what he claimed he was.
No matter which way she looked at it, she felt it made perfect sense that she was still having a lot of trouble suspending disbelief about everything she was witnessing and experiencing. That was sane. Questioning Azrael’s fantastic claims was rational. That she had some good old-fashioned common sense left and was trying to debunk the supernatural had to mean that she wasn’t totally nuts. That was all she had left to cling to; if she let go of that, she’d be free-falling into an abyss of the outrageous . . . the place where she saw demons in normal people’s faces and shadows that split out from a normal human body. She could not mentally afford to go there. The price of doing that was too high and way too scary.
The clothes she’d held in her hands were tangible, but he would have had to walk into a locked store to get them. She’d seen him do it, saw him pay for things by leaving cash on the counter, and had witnessed his ability to unlock doors and walk into an establishment undetected. She’d also seen him fight an entity that defied her comprehension, just as sure as she’d watched him prepare pancakes in Aunt Niecey’s kitchen.
Celeste stopped and looked in the mirror, then gasped. She covered her mouth with both hands to stop a scream. Less afraid now that it was broad daylight outside and she had Aunt Niecey and Azrael right downstairs, she’d risked a peek. Her skin was smooth and clear. No dark circles were under her eyes. Her acne was gone and her cheeks were rosy and flushed. Leaning closer, she searched her broken hairline, where it had previously been in tatters from stress, bad nutrition, and heat damage, and noticed the new growth of fine baby hair coming in.
“Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God,” she whispered, panicking as she peeled off her old clothes and stepped into the shower with her mind buzzing. “I have to be hallucinating.”
But not even the long, hot pummel of water stopped the hundreds of questions that beat against her brain.
There were actually angels? If that was true, when were angels created and was there really a place called Hell? But why were people allowed to be swayed by evil in the first place—why wouldn’t the Source, as Azrael called it, just wipe all the pain and destruction off the face of the planet and spare us weak humans? Like, who the hell were we in comparison to all that supernatural bad shit? And why did bad shit happen to good people in the first place? Plus, she wanted to know, was there really a so-called spirit world, and if so, could he get a message to her mom?
But the most pressing question that consumed her was, if all this was really happening, then why was it happening around her—to her? What in the hell did she have to do with any of this?
Brushing her teeth and dressing quickly, she came down the stairs to the blare of the noonday news. Aunt Niecey had the volume all the way up and she sat in her favorite overstuffed floral chair with her arms folded, shaking her head. Azrael sat on the sofa, watching with his elbows on his knees and hands folded between them, riveted to the report.
“Now, see, that don’t make no kinda sense!” Aunt Niecey exclaimed, clucking her tongue. “They’s gang-warring in a library? Look at all that damage to that beautiful building! Thousands of dollars—irreplaceable marble and iron fixtures. People done lost their minds. I’m telling you, the devil is busy!”
Celeste came to a slow stop on the landing and caught Azrael’s meaningful look as her backpack slipped from her hand to the floor. Her stomach bubbled with anxiety as the news anchor recounted numerous theories about who might have committed such an atrocity against a regional treasure.
“Forensics experts are baffled by this case, as damage of this nature,” the news anchor said in a solemn tone, “should have revealed some sort of explosive. But there’s absolutely nothing yet to suggest what type of bomb blast could have literally ripped iron off the doors and felled heavy marble columns in this manner.”
“It looks like a pinpoint tornado went through the lobby of this place,” the chief of police said, rubbing the back of his thick neck. “But meteorologists have ruled that out. This was definitely a man-made explosive of some type.”
“Well, the only good thing is, that library probably got plenty insurance to cover the damage, but it still ain’t right.” Aunt Niecey folded her arms over her chest in a huff, then returned her attention to the broadcast. “Shame, too, ’cuz lots of people need to use that place to look for jobs—I heard they don’t even have paper applications no mo’. You have to apply for a job on the computer, and most poor folks I know don’t have one. How’s they gonna look for work if they close that library for repairs? Plus, the city’s cutting back and ain’t fund ’em no money like before . . . humph! Might not have insurance.”
When the police spokesperson stepped up to a microphone and the news cut away into a split screen to bring the only tangible weapon at the scene into view, Celeste gasped. It was the gun that Azrael had handed her. The gun that had his prints on it and mig
ht even have hers. The gun that had dropped when the two entities . . . oh . . . my God.
Celeste stared at Azrael and he stared at her. If the news had the aftermath on camera . . . If they actually had a piece of evidence from the site of the battle . . . If her aunt was recounting it as she watched it . . . If other people saw what Celeste now saw . . . then she wasn’t out of her mind! But that meant something scarier was happening. That also meant Brandon was dead and she hadn’t imagined that either. It meant that everything she’d experienced in the last twenty-four hours had actually happened exactly as she’d seen it, angels and demons and all, and none of it was a hallucination!
“Turn off the television,” Celeste said quickly, then rushed over to the coffee table to grab the remote before Azrael could pick it up. Her hands were shaking as she clicked off the television and set the remote down hard. “I can’t stand to see any more violence,” she added, trying to come up with a viable excuse for her outburst.
Seeing the library destruction was only the half of what had shredded her nerves. She was sure that she’d lose her mind if saw a gruesome news report of Brandon’s death. She didn’t want to know what the demons had left. Azrael’s gaze met hers and held it.
“Can’t say I blame you, chile. Lissen, y’all be careful out there when you go to New York,” Aunt Niecey said, standing. “I used to love to go there back in my heyday. Cotton Club, all kinds of juke joints and cabarets . . . me and Roscoe went all over, and you didn’t have to worry about nobody bothering you. But now,” she added, shaking her head. “You could be sitting in church even, or at a funeral, and folks wanna be shooting and looting. It ain’t jus’ in New York, the whole worl’ done gone crazy. Can be in the city, the suburbs, don’t matter. It’s all over, so you all be safe.”
Celeste slowly tore her gaze from Azrael and went over to hug her aunt. New York, huh. Okay . . . she was headed north anyway. But if he was really an angel, there was no reason to run away from him. Anxiety was still making her hands tremble.
“Chile, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. I know this mess on the news is upsetting. I try to jus’ watch every now and then so I know the places to avoid.” Aunt Niecey hugged Celeste tighter but spoke to Azrael. “This one has a fragile constitution, like I tol’ you. Sometimes . . . things upset her—she’s sensitive like her mama. So, things like what we jus’ seen . . . be patient with her. She’s got a good heart, though.”
“I know she does, just like you do,” Azrael said, standing. “I’ll take care of her no matter what. That’s my word.”
“I’m just glad you’re all right, Auntie,” Celeste said, finding it suddenly hard to breathe. Celeste swallowed thickly but refused to cry. This time she would leave her aunt seeming strong, not worrying her aunt’s peace of mind. A pair of thick, meaty brown arms enfolded Celeste and she drew back to look at her aunt’s kind, round face. Aunt Niecey smiled and smoothed down the front of her pink, flowered housecoat. Moisture filled her cloudy brown eyes and she blinked it back behind her gold-rimmed glasses, then tugged at the edges of her short-styled, black-and-gray wig to straighten it.
“I mean it when I say be safe, suga. Don’t like you roamin’ all around out there in these end-of-days times.”
“No matter what, you know how much I love you, right?” Celeste said, forcing the strength of conviction into her voice. “I’m coming back home to see you really soon. Okay?”
“Yeah, honeybird, and I love you right on back, too. So you run on and go do what young folks s’posed to do. Don’tchu be worrying about no old lady. I’m fine. I shouldn’ta had that danged news on to upset you like this. Bad habit.” Aunt Niecey released a sigh and pulled back to kiss Celeste on the cheek. “But you gonna be all right, baby. I’m gonna be all right, too.”
Deep concern weighed on Azrael’s shoulders as they walked down the street. Celeste hadn’t said two words since they’d left the house and walked a block and a half to the Route 34 trolley stop. He wasn’t sure if her anxiety stemmed from her leaving her elderly aunt, something he’d done wrong, or the shock of seeing the news. But he couldn’t lie and tell Celeste that Aunt Niecey would be all right physically. Her time was near. The only thing he could attest to was that her spirit was just fine, and when she crossed over from life into the spirit world or pure Light, only then would it really be all right. Leaving human existence behind was when Aunt Niecey’s pain and problems would finally come to an end.
But in his brief time on earth, he also knew that while the angels rejoiced over a life well lived when a spirit came home, humans left behind grieved hard for the loss of their loved one.
Celeste kept her eyes straight ahead and it seemed as though all the color had drained from her previously repaired complexion.
After the healing she’d seemed much improved. Now her nerves seemed on the verge of fraying and popping once more. She looked so skittish that she seemed ready to bolt into the street at any moment. Chancing a question, he gave her some distance to keep her from feeling trapped.
“I memorized the public transportation grid of this city and in New York. They have many more trains than here, but for the size of this metropolis, it is adequate.”
He peered at her but she didn’t look at him or blink.
“If we go via Amtrak, we’ll have to stop and show identification in order to buy tickets . . . which may not be a good idea, since I have none. But if we take the R7 regional rail to Trenton and cross over to New Jersey Transit, then we can make our purchases all via machines. It said that in the online brochures.”
Azrael waited, feeling somewhat dejected that she wasn’t the least bit impressed by his absorption of knowledge. He also wished she would let him know if he’d done all right in the choices of items he’d selected for her. Although he had absorbed and mastered many facts, he was still at a loss in understanding the nuances of human emotion. Deciphering emotions was clearly an art and not a hard science.
He wondered if she knew how pretty she looked, despite her stricken expression. She’d also put on the perfume that he’d hoped she’d like . . . it smelled wonderful on her. The clothes transformed her body in a way that was thoroughly pleasing to him. The parts of her skin that he could see looked radiant under the sun . . . dewy the way the advertisement had claimed.
“Celeste...,” he murmured, releasing a long sigh with his words.
“Why do they want me?” she suddenly said, giving him her direct attention with a challenging stare.
“They don’t want you to gather the other Remnant,” he said quietly. “Like I told you before, if you all come together, you will have enough power to create a movement of change among the masses . . . and you’re the strongest of the Remnant that are left.”
“Me? Wrong chick.”
He held her arm gently and spoke to her slowly. “Yes, you. When your temple is cleaned out, your inner light is strong enough to allow you to speak truth that literally resonates within average humans. They can’t shake your words; they feel your message in their gut. That’s power, Celeste. Why do you think people have been trying to get you to shut up all your life? Think about it. They’ve drugged you, tried to break your confidence, tried to make you think you were stupid so you wouldn’t speak out against them . . . until they practically stole your voice.”
When she didn’t yank away or protest, he pressed his point. She had to understand how critical she was to the overall mission. “There is only one member of the Remnant per continent left. Seven of you in all, culled down through history. Each of you has the power to sway multitudes toward the Light by speaking out. You create waves of change . . . first all the sensitives feel it—those people who maybe use eleven, twelve, maybe fifteen percent of their brains, and your message cascades out from there to shift paradigms. People will not accept the propaganda they’ve been fed once you begin to shift the balance of power through awareness. This continent, North America, has the most powerful military on the planet and is arguably a major global
force. In the last days, the last shall be first . . . so you were incarnated into one of the most impoverished tribes in this area of the world. But that is your strength, your empathy.”
“All right,” she said, folding her arms as she dropped her backpack to her feet. She took a wide-legged stance, as though ready to fight. “Why me? I never asked for this, never signed up for this bullshit. Nobody asked me what I wanted, if there’s supposedly free choice. So, how did I get made with this extra light, then, in the first place?”
“I know it has to be unnerving and—”
“Answer the question,” she said in a deadly soft murmur.
“We don’t like to talk about it.”
“Really?” Celeste’s gaze narrowed and she arched an eyebrow. “Well, I don’t like how my life just got hijacked, such as my life was when you met me. At least it was my own brand of insanity that made sense in my real little ignorant-of-the-supernatural world! Plus, plus”—she pointed at his chest—“if I’m hearing you right, first demons messed my life up and did whatever they felt like to me—now I’ve been drafted into some army of Light. How about if both sides stop jacking with me for a little while and give me a break, huh? How about that!”
He glanced away, glad that they were the only ones waiting at that trolley stop. “All right. You have every right to feel the way you do, but I have no control over the fact that it is your destiny to be involved in swaying the balance.”
