Covenant (Sojourner Book 2)

by Maria Rachel Hooley

  I walk down the hall and find her door shut, forcing me to slip through into that door and emerge on the other side. Elizabeth’s bed is right next to the window I viewed from outside. The full moonlight spills around her curtains, illuminating her averted face. A sign, perhaps?

  One hand splays near her head, the fingers twitching, reacting to whatever dreams occupy her mind. Curious, I ease down on the bed to watch her sleep. Most of my existence, I haven’t much cared for mortals. They are too impetuous and needy, so willing to be broken or do the breaking, but the one thing that intrigues me is the way they sleep. The world around them ceases to exist. For angels, it’s not like that. In fact, I never really needed rest until I found myself waking without my memory. And I even overheard Evan say the need for rest wasn’t based on the physical but some other ailment, not that I could get out of him what that ailment might be.

  I stare at Elizabeth’s parted lips and the uneasy breathing that tells me she can’t escape from the ties that draw us together even in her dream world. While I’m tempted to enter her dreams, I know it’s not a good idea. It’s easy enough to conceal my presence in this realm, but I’m not so sure I could enter her thoughts and do so there. To my knowledge, I’ve never done it before, and I’m not sure just how much control I would have, so I really don’t think this is the best time to attempt that.

  “Lev!” She whispers my name urgently. I turn my attention to her expression, making sure that she is still weighted beneath sleep’s blanket. Can she sense me?

  Part of me wants to rise, afraid she’ll discover me again, yet even if I stood, I don’t know if I could force myself to leave. I keep telling myself I’m coming for answers, but I’m starting to realize that while I’d love answers, I’m not venturing into Elizabeth’s world just for them. I’m coming here because I can’t minimize the ties that bind us together, and since she can’t come to me, I come to her.

  Strange that Evan would have gone through so much work to alter my memories but not change the beckoning I feel from her—unless he couldn’t. A bond that Evan couldn’t disguise or sever. That is troubling because, if it is that strong, I won’t be able to break it, either, and this chaos will always have its way with me. I will never be whole.

  Her head turns toward me and she begins to shift in the bed. Her fingers grip the covers tightly as though she is fighting something I can’t see.

  “The gun! Lev, he has a gun!”

  Now she screams. Even in the moonlight, I see the sweat dappling her skin. The sound that comes out of her mouth isn’t quite human, filled with a pain I can’t fathom. It seems bottomless and possessive, and that tortured cry seems to go on forever.

  I hear footsteps in the stairwell, and I rise, knowing that the man in the chair, someone I’ve just realized looks familiar, will fly through the door. I stand there, watching, making sure neither he nor Elizabeth will be able to see me.

  A moment later, he enters and his fumbling fingers reach for the light switch; a harsh florescence glares to life. Even with the light on, she still thrashes beneath the covers, screaming.

  “Lizzie? baby?” The man flies to her bedside and begins shaking her. At first, his grip is light as he tries to stir her, but he quickly realizes the dream isn’t willing to relinquish its grip. “You’ve got to wake up!”

  The screaming continues, hiccupping every time he shakes her, and it’s only when his shouting matches her screams she finally falls silent and opens her eyes. Tears and sweat mingle on her face, and she looks around. I can swear her gaze lingers on me a little longer than elsewhere, but it’s only a fear; she collapses against his chest.

  “It’s just a dream,” the man says and clings tightly to her. Yet the painful expression on his face doesn’t match his words. He knows that whatever Elizabeth has experienced is far from just a nightmare. It’s something that has so completely transformed her dreams she’ll never be the same, and therefore he’ll never be the same.

  I don’t know how long I stand there, watching them. I don’t even know why, considering all the moments I’ve spent with humans just before and after death. This should be insignificant, but some part of me feels. Even though I should be impartial, tears pool, and I blink, thinking I can drive them back. No, they keep coming and run down my face. Even though I stand as still as a statue in a cemetery where death has taken me numerous times, I am anything but unaffected.

  “It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” she whispers. “He wasn’t supposed to die, Jimmie.” Her fingers tangle in his shirt, desperately grasping the fabric. “That bullet was meant for me!”

  The pain on Jimmie’s face doubles, and his body sags like someone has hit him. His jaw tightens, and he gets the same shell-shocked expression on his face I’ve seen many times. Of course, this adds a whole new level of weirdness because what I’m guessing is that in some strange way, she is talking about me, specifically me saving her life by ending a human form I had taken. That makes no sense because I’ve never done anything like that; I’ve always been a part of the greater balance.

  “Don’t go there, Lizzie. Please, God, don’t go there.”

  Despite the desperate trembling of her body, she pulls back slightly. “But it’s my fault he’s not here—all my fault.”

  “No!” Jimmie slips his finger beneath her chin and forces her to look at his face. “You listen to me, Lizzie. You aren’t to blame. The only person who has any fault in this is Maguire. That’s it.”

  Elizabeth closes her eyes and slowly pulls her arms from around him so she can lie back down. Although she seems calmer, I can tell by our connection she is anything but. She refuses to argue because either she thinks it will do no good or because she’s too tired. Probably both.

  Even though I’m not connected to Jimmie, I’d have to be blind not to sense that he is no less conflicted or desperate. He stares at Elizabeth and gently strokes her head, his fingers trembling with each movement. Elizabeth lies there, probably wishing he would go away. Again, this isn’t anything new. I’ve seen many humans in anguish. A lot of them want to be alone, thinking being so will help them get through whatever it is that haunts them. For some, that spells trouble and results in a beacon to sojourn. I step toward her, trying to sense whether this is the case, but I don’t feel that kind of desperation, just rolls of black pain that seem to have no end.

  For a few moments, Jimmie lingers there, watching her, measuring the rise and fall of her chest to see whether she has drifted away yet. Although I know she is far from sleeping, Jimmie doesn’t. He assumes she has drifted into a dreamless slumber safer than before. He gives her face one last, gentle caress and kisses her forehead before rising, walking to the door, and turning out the light. As the room dulls to moonlight, he stands and watches her, probably something he has done many times since the living nightmare started for Elizabeth. Convinced that she must be safe, he slips out the door and shuts it behind him.

  At the sound of the door clicking shut, Elizabeth’s eyes shoot open. I hear the sound of her tears beginning again. Positive she can’t see me, that I have blended enough so that the world won’t shimmer with my existence, I cautiously approach until I stand before her; I sink to my knees so that our faces are mere inches apart.

  Elizabeth has rolled into a ball with her knees drawn tightly to her. One hand rests over her mouth, and she quietly sobs as fresh tears wet her cheeks. In that moment, if she can see me I will know. Her reaction will be unmistakable. Instead, her dull gaze is fixed far beyond me, probably to where she thinks I am, wherever that might be.

  The bed right in front of her is empty, and before I think about what I’m doing, I ease into it, relieved I am still controlling my visibility so well. The mattress doesn’t even give beneath my weight as I lie next to her, my face so close to hers.

  Why are you doing this? I ask. Yet another question I don’t have an answer to. Then again, I don’t think it would matter if I knew. I would be right here beside her, doing what I could to ease this
burden which has left her so horribly wounded.

  Part of me wishes she could see me, but I know what that will mean to her. As it is, she stares not at me but through me. I don’t exist to her. Her bottom lip quivers, and a soft, painful sigh escapes. Her thin shoulders shiver, and at first I start to draw the covers higher up on her, but I realize that will give me away, so I do the only thing I know.

  I let my wings materialize so I am the only one who can see them. One of them slowly unfurls and drapes around Elizabeth. While I know she is unaware of me, I also know that the warmth will touch her just the same.

  For a long while, we just lie there as the rain taps the window outside and lightning lances recklessly across the sky. In the distance, thunder rumbles, but I blanket the sound and try as best I can to give her peace as palpable as the pain.

  What has happened between us? I wonder. I stare at her face and watch her eyelids begin to droop. I reach out, wanting to touch her hair, to brush it away from her face, but once again I know I can’t, so I wait until the blinking of her eyelids cease and her breathing finally slows, telling me she has finally drifted toward the abyss. Only then do I reach out, finally lay my hand upon her cheek, and allow myself to feel the softness of her skin, trying desperately to remember. I feel the calm quiet the chaos, and I close my eyes, willing to lose myself in this peace.

  Chapter Six

  “Where were you last night?” Celia asks as we fly toward the Lower Realm. Yesterday, the world was rain and bluster; today it’s much clearer. The clouds have a surreal silver glow as dawn touches them.

  “I was exploring,” I tell her, stretching my arms out as I rush through the fringes of a cloudbank. I always enjoy watching my fingers scatter the mist. The water tingles against my skin.

  “Where, exactly?” Although she isn’t looking at me directly, I still feel her watching; but I’m not sure what she’s waiting for.

  “The Lower Realm,” I finally say.

  Judging from the nasty look she gives me, I can tell she wants more information, but that’s just it. I’m being vague on purpose, and she knows it—not that there is anything she can do about it.

  “Do you think you are ready to try a solo sojourn?” she asks, carefully avoiding my gaze. Below, the clouds are thinning, and I can see the landscape. From here, the Lower Realm appears as a giant checkerboard of greens and browns. Of course, always before I’d thought it was so much more beautiful from up here than when I flew low and saw the flaws.

  “I think so,” I reply. Still, truth be told, I’m anything but certain. I mean, I mixed up a sojourn beacon with my covenant with Elizabeth. If that’s not a sign returning to duty isn’t the greatest idea, I don’t know what is. Surely Celia has at least thought about this.

  I glance over and note how her eyes narrow in tight focus toward the world spread out below. Maybe not. Maybe she is so distracted she really can’t figure things out, and if that’s the case, there’s no telling how this little field trip is going to turn out when all is said and done. Lucky me.

  “You don’t seem particularly confident. Is there something bothering you?” She turns from the landscape to look at my face, trying to read me. Trouble is, I’m not so willing to just open myself up to interpretation.

  “I say what I mean, and I mean what I say, Celia. Let’s do this.” Without waiting for commentary, I notch my speed up a little and coast ahead. Near the surface, I start to feel the beckoning Celia has been feeling all along. While it’s supposed to be her sojourn, she wants me to do it in case there are problems. I’m beginning to think she’s enjoying this angelic hovering way too much.

  In my peripheral vision, I noticed Celia pump her speed to catch up, and she points straight below us just in case I missed the beacon of a soul ready to depart its body. As if I could miss that. Celia really should know better.

  When we land, I find myself at the same hospital where Elizabeth had been admitted a week ago. That alone makes me pause outside the entrance. Celia looks from me to the hospital and back, waiting. “Is there a problem, Lev?”

  “No, not at all,” I mutter and force myself to start walking again, yet no matter how hard I try to get rid of the recent memories, I can’t do it. Is that because it’s too recent or because it has to do with Elizabeth? Somehow I’m betting on the latter.

  “Are you ready?” She nods toward the entrance where two EMTs hustle a loaded gurney inside. The woman lying there wears an oxygen mask, and her closed eyes and still form suggest she has slipped far from consciousness.

  “Let’s go,” I say, my voice deeper than it should be. I glance at Celia, wondering if she also hears the difference, but if she does, she doesn’t give anything away. Instead, she turns back toward the entrance and slips around the all the people who don’t see her and never know that she even walks among them.

  As we slip inside, the calling feels ever stronger, almost overwhelming. That’s probably why Celia suddenly ups her pace and I have to hurry to keep up—although if I wanted to know exactly where the calling is coming from, I could figure it out. Instead, I blindly follow Celia’s lead, twisting us through the crowded hallways that makes me wonder how humans get by every day without damaging themselves somehow. The hospital is full of hurt and ill people, a testament to just how fragile they are. And of course that line of thinking only brings me back to Elizabeth, as if I’d ever really left her behind. She seems to stay with me regardless of what I do or how hard I try to push her out.

  Even before we reach the room where we are headed, I see nurses running toward it. The world around them seems to slow, and all the noises become long, slurring sounds that don’t remind me of words. I’ve probably watched a scene like this a million times. The first sign is always chaos. Humans have this thing about spin control. The truth is, whatever is unraveling is often something which can’t be controlled.

  Of course, as we step toward the doorway, leaving a clear path for the frantic medical personnel to try to get through, I realize it would be an unfortunate time to share this information with the doctor who tries to start her heart again. He’s watching the flat line on a monitor, and I can tell by his expression he is troubled by the woman lying there—a twenty-year-old whose mortal journey had barely started. It’s a strange thought, really, considering the human part of existence is just one step among many; perhaps if humans understood this, they might not panic so much when difficult things happened. They might be okay with life unraveling if they understood there is so much more than mortal breath. Then again, perhaps it wouldn’t really matter, either.

  Then why does Elizabeth concern you so much? a little voice asks me. It seems it should be a simple enough question, but truthfully I can’t answer it, not with a memory like Swiss cheese.

  I grit my teeth and walk into the room. Of course, I’m not expecting the overwhelming flush of emotions that swirl at me. It’s a new sensation, one I’m pretty sure I’ve never felt before, and that definitely makes no sense. I mean, I’m a sojourner. This is the one thing I’m supposed to do extremely well, but right now I feel like a space shuttle re-entering earth’s atmosphere, wondering whether the outer shell will hold against the heat.

  What is happening to me?

  I watch the doctor apply the paddles to her chest, trying as hard as he can to force her heart to jump back into a rhythm. Right now I’m pretty sure he’d settle for any rhythm because that would be something he could work with. But the stillness is non-negotiable.

  “Come on,” he whispers, his frown deepening as he realizes for the first time he’s lost her. Of course, in that moment. I should be collecting her soul. I should be reassuring her spirit everything is all right. But then I’m rational; I’ve done this a million times.

  Except when her spirit suddenly appears beside me and starts into a banshee-like wail, I’m no longer as calm as I once was. Still, I turn to her. “It’s going to be all right,” I say, trying to reach to take her hand.

  She screams louder and falls
to her knees. I manage to latch onto her hand, but when her spirit connects with mine, all those emotions that have seemed so overwhelming are nothing compared to the fear, the chaos, the desperation, and the sadness bundled into this spirit. The emotions suddenly wash over me, and I try to drop her hand, but she won’t let go. I feel as though I’m being physically battered, and her wretched crying won’t stop. It cuts through me, dropping me to my knees. Suddenly I feel a pain in my side and look down. Blood begins to soak through my shirt, and all I can think is that it shouldn’t be possible.

  Angels don’t bleed. I touch my hand to it, thinking I’ll figure out what the mistake is and make it right. Instead, my hand becomes soaked in the warm stickiness. Ahead of me, the world starts to get fuzzy and melt into something else. In the distance, I hear Celia calling my name, her voice suffused with panic and fear.

  I blink two or three times and fall. What is happening to me?

  “Lev, it’s all right. Calm down.” Celia’s voice is so distant amid the confusion of the medical personnel witnessing a mortal death.

  “Celia?” I finally manage, knowing there are no words for the panic inside that perhaps even she doesn’t recognize what is going on.

  The blurring around me clears to reveal a moonlit classroom. In the doorway I see a man in dress pants and a shirt, a gun clenched tightly in his fist, lifted in my general direction but not at me. I sense movement behind me. I look back and find Elizabeth Moon, swooping low to cradle me in her arms. She’s screaming something. I can’t hear it because that world is silent and strange. But her lips move frantically, and I see terror in her eyes.

  Pain—the world isn’t anything but pain like I’ve never felt. I look down at my hand, and it’s completely covered in blood that seems dark and beautiful in the night. As I stare, my hand wavers. Elizabeth reaches for it and cradles it in her own as she presses it back against my stomach. I want to warn her that the man is still holding the gun, but I can’t seem to speak. In fact, I feel myself sliding against her, cold in a way I should not be.