by Kristie Cook
“Yes,” he replies.
“Well, what are they like?” I ask him, feeling somewhat jealous of the divine creatures that I know nothing about.
His green eyes soften as he looks into mine. “Excellent warriors,” he replies.
I sigh. “I mean, what are they like when you’re not fighting?” I probe, hoping to get a glimpse into his world.
His smile turns smug as he asks, “You are asking me how they are different from you?” I nod, wondering if he could tell that I’m jealous. He shrugs, saying, “The ones that were sent to Earth to destroy the Fallen are tough, like their male counterparts. There is almost no femininity to them. They lack the mystique that human women seem to possess, the allure. Some angels do pair up here, but it is for comfort. Rarely do we stay together as partners.”
“You’re kidding?” I ask.
“No,” he says. “We are warriors; we don’t have emotions like humans seem to have, at least, not until recently.” He sounds irritated by the admission. “There are other types of angels that are not warriors. They have other missions and are softer, but I have not been attracted to them either.”
“What about human women? Not one of them has ever attracted you?” I ask incredulously. What are the odds of that?
Reed’s expression turns askance. “Human women are much too fragile, too breakable; one would have to use extreme restraint to …” he trails off and begins again, “I am extremely strong, and I could … but I have never been tempted to try … there has been no one who …”
“Sings to you?” I ask, taking pity on him and saving him from having to stammer on with his explanation.
“Yes,” he breathes in relief that I’d saved him from having to say more.
“What about me? I’m half human. Am I too fragile?” I hedge my question, being unable to broach the topic fully.
“You are fragile right now. I could shatter you easily, without any effort at all. But soon, that will change, and you will be strong, like an angel,” he replies confidently.
“You act like I’m going to spin a cocoon and undergo a metamorphosis or something,” I say, hoping against hope that I am wrong.
“No, nothing that drastic … well, maybe metamorphosis is a good enough description,” he says thoughtfully.
“How do you know that I will change?” I ask suspiciously.
“We all start out weak and then evolve around your age,” he explains knowingly.
“When?” I ask, my voice hush.
“Soon,” he says softly.
“How soon?” I utter.
He shrugs and says, “When you’re ready.”
I roll my eyes in frustration. “Will I look different?” I wonder.
“Not to the unobservant, but there will be subtle differences.”
I could kick him for not elaborating. It’s like pulling teeth with him sometimes. I would say typical male not to give any details, but there is nothing typical about Reed.
“Painful?” I ask worriedly.
“That’s all relative,” he replies.
“Pain is not subjective,” I say stiltedly.
“Really? How does this feel?” Reed asks as he pinches my upper arm.
“Ouch! That hurt!” I exclaim, pulling my arm away from him and rubbing the abused appendage vigorously.
“You may be in trouble,” he says, and he has the audacity to sound amused.
“You know, I could turn out to be stronger than you. What are you going to do then?” I pout.
He just chuckles at me like I’m joking, or maybe because he’s kind of happy. That seems to be it; he’s happy about my inevitable transformation into a stronger being, a being that would be able to keep up with him … and he’d be the only other being I would know that would be capable of keeping up with me.
“Reed?” I ask.
“Hmm?” he replies.
“If I’m not fully human, and I’m not pure angel, then how am I supposed to know what rules I have to follow? I don’t know any angel laws. I only know some of the human ones, and I’m not even sure about those half the time,” I say.
His brow furls, “I don’t know, Evie. Some of our laws don’t always coincide with the human laws,” he says with a perplexed expression.
“Example?” I ask.
“Humans aren’t supposed to kill each other. I’m sent specifically to kill,” he replies plainly.
Even though his admission should’ve disturbed me, I feel more curious than anxious as I say, “Avenging angel—got it.”
“Right,” he says with a small smirk. “Humans are supposed to honor their parents. I was created by God, no mother, no father.”
“Ah, yes,” I say, trying to hide my shock about that revelation.
“Humans aren’t supposed to seek comfort from the spouse of another person, but angels don’t have spouses; we don’t marry.” Reed explains casually. “But many humans seem to have a really hard time with that rule.”
“I’m getting the picture, thanks,” I reply before seizing this new piece of information. Casually, I ask, “So, you don’t marry—how very interesting, but you can …” I can’t go on and ask him what I want to.
This time, Reed saves me. “You want to know if I’m like a man, can I make love to a female if I want to?” he asks with amusement in his tone.
“Yes,” I reply, feeling my face getting red.
“Yes, but it would be for pleasure only. I’m incapable of producing a child,” he enlightens me.
“Then, how am I even possible?” I gasp.
“Evie, that’s precisely why you’re an enigma; by all logic you should never exist, but you do, and the fact that you do means that something has changed. Nothing about you is how it should be because you shouldn’t be,” he says slowly, trying to make the weight of his words sink in.
“How are angels created?” I ask him.
“We are born of fire,” he states. When my eyes widen, he continues, “Well, ‘born’ may not be the proper term. I was never an infant. I have always appeared as I do now, but I was weak—like you—in the beginning of my life. I evolved wings as I matured and I expect that you will too, but I am not privy to how your evolution will occur. I am only making assumptions based on what I have seen of you thus far. The way you heal—that is angelic.”
I chew my lower lip. “If I become an angel, or more like one anyway, what will happen when my friends notice, or my uncle notices that I’m not aging?” Reed is silent. He doesn’t know how to tell me what I already know, so I save him the trouble of explaining by saying, “I can’t tell them, can I?”
“No,” he replies softly.
“It’s one of those rules?” I ask him exasperatedly.
“Yes,” he says.
“I don’t think I like your rules. Maybe it means that neither set of rules applies to me, have you thought of that?” I counter argumentatively. “I didn’t ask for this distinction: to be the only angel ever created with a soul. Who would want this?”
“Evie,” he sighs.
“Reed,” I say in frustration.
“I wish I had all of the answers for you, but I’m not omnipotent or all-knowing. In fact, I know very little when it comes to you. But I’m not unhappy that you exist.” Reed says in a sexy tone, while leaning closer.
It would’ve been much nicer to hear him say he was ecstatic that I exist, so I try to ignore his comment and ask, “So I can’t tell anyone?”
“It’s better for now if you don’t tell anyone anything. Not just because it’s forbidden, but also because we want to keep your existence as secret as possible for as long as possible. I’m trying to keep you safe,” he says as his hand reaches out to stroke my hair.
“That makes sense.” I say, trying to resign myself to his logic. “I don’t even know what I would say that wouldn’t sound absolutely ludicrous.” I am quiet for a while, but something is nagging at me, something that has been bothering me for a while. “Reed, can I ask you something?”
&n
bsp; “You’re asking me that now, after you’ve been peppering me with questions for hours?” he asks with amusement in his voice.
“It’s about Russell.” I say evasively.
“No, I don’t want to talk about him,” he replies immediately, his tone is no longer amused.
“Why not?” I ask, wincing.
“I don’t want to discuss your soul mate with you,” he says blandly.
“Reed, am I supposed to know what you mean by soul mate?” I ask him gently now because he’s less than pleased to have had the topic of conversation turn to Russell.
Reed is silent again, looking stone-faced that I have brought Russell into our conversation. I wonder if he knows that we’ve drawn first blood on Russell last night with our kiss. I move then, sitting on Reed’s lap so that I’m facing him. I begin toying with the button on his shirt, saying, “I hope that it doesn’t take the next thousand years for you to be able to trust me enough to explain things to me.”
A millisecond or less passes and I am lying flat on my back against the soft green cushions of the sofa. Reed hovers over me with the predatory stare of a cat about to pounce. His thrilling strength startles a low, breathy gasp from me. I feel his fingers tighten on my hip, while his perfect face prowls nearer, lowering to brush his lips against mine. Wrapping my arms around Reed’s neck, a kittenish sound escapes from me. I return the kiss coquettishly at first, flirting with him, but it rapidly builds, biting me with fire.
Reed lifts his lips from mine, and looking into my eyes, he murmurs, “I want those thousand years with you, Evie, you have no idea how much I want them. I want a thousand years, and then I want a hundred thousand more.”
When Reed pulls away further, breaking from my embrace, I want to groan in frustration. His arm goes around my shoulder, lifting me to sit next to him as he continues, “There are so many things that you haven’t seen, so many places you’ve never been. I want to show you everything and experience it all again with you, through you. But, I’ve been thinking about it, and right now this place, Crestwood, seems to be the safest place for you, the place you’re supposed to be. I want to protect you from everything that is dangerous to you. Unfortunately, right now, I am dangerous for you. I have to be careful and make sure that I don’t hurt you now, so we’ll have those years later.”
My eyebrows arch as I ask in frustration, “Because I’m too fragile now?”
“Yes. I’m afraid I could crush you without meaning to,” he explains softly.
“Oh,” I say in a small voice. “How long …”
Reed gives me his sexiest smile as he says, “I don’t know … whenever you’re ready …”
“But,” I mumble, “what if sooner is good for me …”
“It’s not,” he replies with a smile, touching my cheek. Reed is quiet for a moment and I become aware that he’s in the grip of some inner conflict. I see the war going on in his mind, playing upon his face in shades of black.
Reed sighs, like he lost the battle, before saying, “When I say that Russell is your soul mate, that is exactly what I mean. You are two souls that follow each other wherever the other leads. I imagine that you have shared many lives with Russell, judging by the way in which your two souls call to one another. If he had not come here, you would have followed him someplace else, wherever he was in the world. You would have found each other because that is what you are to each other, almost like two halves of a whole,” he states morosely.
My eyes widen as I listen mutely. A ghost of a smile forms on his lips as he adds, “Except things are different in this lifetime. You are no longer entirely human. You are also angelic, and so his soul and your soul will be parted by eternity, until, that is, you meet again in Paradise if that is your destiny,” he states as if that is the worst scenario possible to him.
“You’re saying that Russell and I have been here on Earth before … in other lifetimes? Together?” I ask incredulously.
“Yes,” Reed replies.
“Soul mates?” I say, trying to understand what he is telling me.
“Yes,” he says, gritting his teeth.
“As in reincarnation?” I say, fumbling now with the concept that was clearly not taught in my Sunday school classes.
“Yes,” he says, plucking imaginary lint from the sleeve of his shirt.
“What happens to Russell’s soul if mine is not available anymore?” I ask him, extremely alarmed by what he might tell me next.
“Maybe he’ll find a new soul mate,” Reed says unconvincingly.
“What are the odds of that happening?” I ask him, feeling ill.
“I don’t know,” he replies.
My eyes narrow as I stand and restlessly begin pacing in front of him. “Let me see if I understand you. You’re saying that Russell and I are soul mates—we spend our lives searching for each other. Only this time, I’m an angel. Since I’m an angel, I’ve become immortal, so unless something should kill me and my soul gets into Paradise, Russell will be left without a soul mate?”
“Yes,” he replies as his eyes scan my face, seeing my pain. “Although, he could choose to come back again and find you in his next life,” Reed admits, and by his expression I know he is not thrilled about that scenario.
I stop pacing as I say sarcastically, “Wow, this just keeps getting better and better, Reed. So what you’re telling me is that I’ll not just be breaking his heart in this lifetime, I get to keep on breaking his heart for eternity, is that it? Is that about right?” I am nearly ranting at this point, clearly taking out my frustration on Reed for the situation I am in.
“He may choose a new destiny—you are not in control of every aspect of this.” Reed explains compassionately. “Russell may have already chosen before coming here … I should not have told you this. I can see that it will torment you.” He sounds contrite for telling me what I had insisted upon knowing.
“I’m sorry,” I say, rubbing my aching forehead. “Reed, you had to tell me. I need to understand all of this.”
What am I supposed to do? Reed has a pull on me that is almost lethal in its intensity. I want him … need him. Then, there is Russell and being with him is so natural, like I’ve always belonged to him.
“Have dinner with me tonight,” Reed says, less as a question and more as a command.
His mention of dinner reminds me that I have obligations. “Oh no! What time is it, Reed?” I ask frantically.
“It’s three forty,” he says, looking at his watch.
“Three forty! I’m late for the portrait!” I say in a panic, while searching for my bag.
“Evie, what portrait?” Reed asks as he stands, handing me my bag.
“Mr. MacKinnon asked me if I would sit for him so he can paint my portrait. I told him I would and that I would be at his studio at three thirty. I’m late! I have to go!” I don’t stop to explain more, but put my arms around his neck, giving him a quick kiss goodbye. I turn to leave, but his hand snakes around my waist, holding me to him.
Reed frowns. “You plan on going there alone?” he asks in disapproval as I glance up at his face.
“Yes. Let’s have dinner tonight. I’ll be done by five o’clock—you can pick me up here when I’m finished because I’ll just be upstairs in the art studio,” I explain, seeking a compromise that would allow me to speed things along.
Reed doesn’t let my anxiety affect him at all; instead, he seems more determined to take his time. “When did you agree to this?” he asks.
My eyes narrow, “Why?” I ask.
“I’m curious,” he says with his eyes narrowing a bit more.
I sigh, “Do you want to come with me?”
“What an excellent idea,” he smiles, linking my elbow with his as he guides me out of the dark room.
CHAPTER 12 - THE PORTRAIT
Climbing the stairs of the Fine Arts Building hand-in-hand, Reed and I find a brass placard on a door declaring the room to be “MacKinnon Studio.” As we step in, I gaze around at the spacious ar
tist’s studio; it occupies a large corner of the old building and has the appeal and charm that one associates with the old craftsmanship of the turn of the century. Leaded glass windows line the back wall, and the lighting in the room is impeccable.
A young woman sitting at the small desk in the corner of the room stands as we enter. “You must be, Genevieve,” she states smoothly, approaching me with her hand extended. “I’m Debra, Mr. MacKinnon’s assistant.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say, shaking Debra’s hand in introduction. She’s about my height with long, dark hair. Her black-rimmed glasses, which cover her warm, amber eyes, can only be described as librarian, but her air of authority, not her glasses, makes her seem older than me—maybe a senior. “This is Reed Wellington,” I continue politely with the introductions.
“Ah, Reed, of course, how are you?” she states briskly, shaking his hand.
“I’m well. It’s nice to meet you, Debra,” says Reed with a charismatic smile.
“Well, please come in. Mr. MacKinnon will be joining us soon. He wants me to get started with your hair and makeup before he gets here. How much do you know about what we’re doing today?” she asks me, moving over to a closet near her desk in the corner.
“Not much,” I say. “I know that I’m supposed to sit for a portrait, and that you need pictures, so that Mr. MacKinnon can work without me being here as often.” I add sheepishly, feeling naÏve for not getting more details than that before agreeing to this. I peek at Reed and I can tell by his frown that his thoughts are straying along those same lines.
Debra says, “He’s going for the ‘Goddess Persephone’ thing with you—a queen who inspires devotion—or, something like that. Anyway, I have a dress for you—I think Mr. MacKinnon got it from the theatre department. They did The Iliad a few years ago. The dress is a little revealing because it’s a Grecian gown that plunges in the front and it’s backless from the shoulders to the small of your back. But, it covers all the important parts. It’s a little transparent under this lighting, but hey, that’s art.”
