Angel Eyes (Wildcat Wizard Book 4)

by Al K. Line

  "You should go to bed," said George, taking the mug from my hands as it began to slip.

  "Can't, too much to do. Gotta go see Ivan."

  The next thing I knew, I was lifting my cheek from the cold table, it was light out, the birds were singing, and two excitable children were tugging at my arm saying they were hungry and what was for breakfast?

  I rubbed at my face, realized it was six in the morning, and everyone else was asleep, and said, "Don't young people need their sleep?"

  "You're so silly, Uncle Arthur," said one of the sprogs, my eyes too unfocused, my ears too blocked, my mind too dulled for me to tell which. "We had a lie-in. What's for breakfast?"

  "Yes, we're starving," said the other tiny terror.

  Then I was regaled with a chorus of "What's for breakfast?" over and over, as two mini-menaces danced around me full of the joy of youth, the night forgotten, and poor old Uncle Arthur tried to remember where the cereal was as he was befuddled and couldn't think with the kids talking non-stop.

  After a little rummaging, I made the girls their breakfast, fixed strong, almost myocardial infarction-inducing coffee—always use medical terms, you'll take it more seriously—and we all sat down. I tried not to freak out about the spilled milk and cereal on the table and we chatted about all the things they could do on the farm while they had a little holiday with us.

  Vicky stumbled into the kitchen bleary eyed and yet smiling, obviously for the sake of the kids.

  "Oh my God, what have you done?" she squealed before saying good morning.

  I shot up, ready to blast. "What? What is it?" I gasped, dripping coffee down my stubble that was fast turning into a beard.

  "You gave them Cheerios? Are you mad?"

  "It's just cereal," I protested, as the girls wolfed it down eagerly, speeding up before Vicky took it off them. "You traitors," I accused. "You said this was what you always had."

  "Haha, gotcha," came the smug chorus of a reply. They both beamed at me and I smiled. Who could stay cross at them?

  "Arthur, I told you, they have a healthy breakfast. Nothing full of sugar. Porridge, or granola, something like that."

  "What the fu... er, what's granola? Sounds like something you line your driveway with."

  Vicky scowled, saying, "You need to get out more."

  "I'm always out, that's the problem. Anyway, be my guest." I waved at the kitchen, then realized what I'd done. "Um, never mind. You take it easy. What do you want me to make? You sit down, relax."

  Thankfully, she did just that. My nerves weren't up to watching Vicky dismantle my kitchen and spill liquids over every surface.

  "It's fine, these two rascals have finished anyway." Vicky smiled at the girls then leaned forward and they all kissed.

  "Can we watch TV?" asked the future ruler of the Universe with an evil glint in her eye mirrored by her sister.

  "Sure," I said.

  They shot off their chairs and ran to the den faster than me knowing I had a date.

  Vicky sighed and said, "You really do have a lot to learn about kids."

  "Huh?"

  "They never watch TV in the morning."

  "Why not?"

  "Because, er, they just don't. It's bad for them."

  I scratched at my wet beard. "Why? If you let them watch it other times, what's the difference?"

  "There just is one."

  "If you say so. Maybe you've got some things to learn too," I said, smiling.

  "Shut up, and make me a coffee."

  See, this is the problem with house guests. Bossy as fuck and they mess with your routine. And your kitchen.

  Peace

  By late morning the house was in disarray. I'd cleaned the kitchen three times then given up, the chickens were fearing for their lives, the pig was fatter than it had ever been, and there was mud in my hallway.

  Then, oh bliss upon bliss, everyone left. I said I'd take Vicky to file the report, help her get her story straight, but she said she had it all figured out, knew what to say, and would rather George took her. Guess she wanted female company, which suited me fine. She even sent the Cleaner her money without breaking down, which made me proud.

  George said she'd take the girls into town while Vicky went to the police station, and she promised to keep my name out of things, not to say she was staying here, and would give the police her mobile number.

  So it was, and I must admit I was greatly relieved, that I had the house to myself. It was quiet, it was peaceful, it was, what did the kids say at this time? Amazeballs? Can I say that? I can't, can I? Oh well.

  But the silence and almost instant relaxation were short-lived, for by the time I'd mustered the courage and cleaned the kitchen to a proper standard, and stopped muttering about the many pitfalls of house guests, my mind was whirling and my stress levels were through the roof. What was my problem? Cleaning the fucking kitchen when Cerberus were after my blood, the vampires were waiting for their book, and the damn book was bait for a pissed off angel that had been haunting me since before I'd even stolen the damn thing.

  I thought back over the whole sorry mess, standing there with a cloth in my hand in my now sparkling kitchen, and for the first time in a very long time I wasn't sure what to do. Events had finally caught up with me, overwhelmed me maybe, and I was indecisive and unsure of myself. It wasn't like me, but too much had happened, and I'd been going too long with too little sleep. Insomnia is a killer, literally, and it had killed me several times already because I couldn't think straight or act in a rational manner being so damn tired. This was worse. I was beyond sleepy, way past the merely physically tired. I was mentally exhausted, psychically strained, tired right down to my crumbling bones, and running on reserves I didn't have. Even my ears hurt, which was disconcerting. Probably from all the screeching.

  It wasn't just the clusterfuck of this job, it was everything else. Life. I was so stressed and so beat up emotionally and mentally because of Vicky and her mess of a life, because I was constantly worried about George and what she was getting up to with Sasha, and I think for the first time in many, many years I was growing concerned about my happiness and future. Did I even have one?

  Basically, I needed a cuddle.

  The chat with Vicky about me being rather reticent when it came to asking women out had seemed comical at the time, kind of, but the more I thought about it the more it rang true. I was scared of rejection, scared of having to admit I'd probably always be alone. Nobody to share my bed or my life with. Because, when you got right down to it, who in their right mind would want to spend their life with someone like me?

  I stole, I fought, I killed. Not just killed, I murdered. I got into trouble, I mixed with bad company. I had bad habits, like smoking, and I was utterly obsessive. For crying out loud, I was a wizard, and magic users are always one thing above all else. Trouble.

  Who would knowingly choose to be a part of that? Probably only someone as screwy as me. I hated to admit it, and had tried my best to never think such thoughts, but it was very likely that I would always be alone. Sure, there had been women, but just short-lived flings spread out over many years. And, of course, George's mother, but that had been a very long time ago. Since then my relationships had either lasted no more than a few weeks or months, or had lasted longer only because I refused to accept what was blindingly obvious. We would never make it.

  So I'd given up on women for the most part. I'd had a few encounters, some warmth in the night on occasion, but even that had fizzled once George came into my life. Last thing I wanted was her to meet strange women in the house. She deserved better, something more stable, and I would not introduce her to somebody unless they were very special and I felt like there was a future for us. For all of us.

  George may have been fast-approaching true adulthood, but she deserved stability as much as I could offer it, and there wasn't much of it so far. But I did my best, what I knew I could control, and that was to never let her believe she had a new woman in her life un
less I was fairly certain it would be permanent.

  Unfortunately, I doubted that would ever happen. Here I was, a screwed up, wild wizard in his forties who never slept, who stole and crept out in the night to go do stupid shit, who went home via a magical portal because people were always out to kill him or do something worse to him. Who would want in on that?

  Just as Vicky had said, I put up a defensive barrier of joking about and acting the fool to hide my insecurity, to convince myself I didn't need anyone else. That I could look after myself and I was doing just fine, when truthfully I was lonely and scared and wanted to be loved and to love in return. Just like everyone else.

  I threw the cold, wet cloth into the sink, snapping out of my reverie, annoyed with myself for letting my mind dwell on such bullshit. What was wrong with me? I was acting like a special snowflake who deserved more than everyone else in the world looking for the same thing. I didn't. If I wanted a partner, someone to share my life with, then I had to try to find that person. This was all on me, my own stupidity and overwhelming fear of failure. I'd beaten down devils and the worst of humanity, I could get a girlfriend if I wanted to.

  I could too!

  Time enough for that in the future. First I had to get rid of this book, help Vicky through this bad time, try to get George to open up a bit more about what she was up to so I wouldn't worry as much, and maybe, just maybe, get some proper sleep. Not crashing out at my kitchen table. Somehow it never seemed to count, never eased the tiredness.

  Sleep, that was it. I should sleep. But what about the book? And the angel? The wards were up, stronger than ever, so maybe that would give us some breathing space. But the angel knew where I lived, didn't it? I wasn't so sure, didn't know how the mind of such a being worked. Did it remember coming here before I even had the book? Was that the actual entity, or was it just a whisper of the future drifting back through time?

  I had absolutely no bloody clue, but I knew I was tired, knew the house was quiet, and knew it was now or never as once the women and girls were back, and their number seemed to be growing daily, I wouldn't get a wink of sleep. If I wanted to rest, and boy did I, then I should do it now.

  This went beyond needing normal sleep, this was a weariness brought on by stress, and I just wanted it all to be gone. Quiet. A mini-death so I could escape.

  Mind made up, at least about one thing, I stumbled like the half-dead creature I was out of my kitchen.

  Then I rushed right back in, picked up the cloth from in the sink, folded it neatly, and draped it over the tap so it looked tidy. Then, and only then, did I feel even slightly relaxed.

  Time for bed, old man. Alone.

  Wow

  I didn't even remember going to bed, but I must have walked up the stairs, undressed, and slid under the sweet, sweet covers, as nobody else was there to do it for me. I woke feeling, well, feeling great. And then as I stretched and yawned I felt bad for feeling so good. My world and that of my friends was falling apart and I was smiling and feeling like a new man. That wasn't right.

  But hey, why beat myself up about it? It wasn't often I got to feel genuinely rested. In fact, I couldn't remember the last time I had. It was like I'd slipped into the skin of a fresh Hat clone. For a moment, and don't laugh, my heart went nuts as I panicked about the way everything felt, like maybe someone had done something freaky to me and I was in a new body.

  One glance down told me all I needed to know. If a secret organization had the ability to create new bodies they sure as shit wouldn't clone mine, they'd use something better. Staring at my hairy legs and knobbly knees told me I was definitely still in my old skin, and I had the wrinkles to prove it.

  I stretched out my limbs, making myself as long as possible, easing out knots and tight spots on my body until it was like I'd been put on the rack and everything popped into alignment making my body feel better than it had in years. Maybe it was all the exercise, maybe it was the joy of being alive. Maybe it was giving myself a good talking to and realizing, as I slept, that things weren't actually as bad as I'd convinced myself they were.

  I was alive, always a bonus, I had a nice house, lived in a lovely place, had money enough to buy whatever I wanted, but most importantly I had my daughter. Amazingly, I even had a couple of friends. And here's the real crunch, what I'd tried to deny, tried to convince myself was a bad thing, but had somehow come to accept during this wondrous sleep. I loved this shit.

  Doing wild stuff, stealing, being hunted, and even doing some hunting of my own, getting up to all kinds of nonsense, learning secrets and uncovering the mysteries of the universe, dabbling in magic and getting to hold the most valuable treasures in existence, even damn Cerberus and their nonsense. I genuinely loved it all.

  The Hat had a blessed life, a genuine faery godmother, a beautiful daughter, knowledge and power and got to do things citizens couldn't even dream of. I was one lucky bugger and it was high time I let myself admit that. This was all my own doing. I took full responsibility for my life, and this was what I'd forged through the madness and the mundane dross that it would have been all too easy to let myself sink into. There was no doubt in my mind that I'd achieved something. I'd earned what I had, and what I had was the kind of life I enjoyed, even though much of it was hard and dangerous. I had to accept that I wouldn't have it any other way.

  Phew, amazing what a good sleep can do for a guy.

  I showered, still smiling, then went up to the attic, sat naked in the middle of the room and entered the Quiet Place where I settled easily into a state of nothingness. Free, I let my spirit soar and absorbed the powers of the cosmos directly into my body and mind until, hours later, and for the first time in a long while, I was genuinely, utterly, completely full of magic.

  It's a thing and not a thing, a true energy and yet nothing but the power of the mind. You will magic, nothing more than your own insistence and belief, to come to you, to fill you up, to become it and it you. You become a part of existence itself and can harness the power you absorb. You learn to accept this gift and let it inside, yet at the same time it is nothing of the sort, magic being merely the strength of your character and having the sheer dogged determination to use it. To believe in its existence and be utterly certain that what you wish of it will become a reality.

  Faith. It all comes down to faith. Are you a believer or not? If you are, if you are convinced of the existence of this primordial force as much as you are of your own, then you can use magic, because it is yours, and you have that right.

  But, you still have to let it inside, to focus like most can't even begin to understand. To be quiet and still and empty and accepting, and I was all of these things because I was none of them. I was empty and by being empty I became full, and if that sounds like religious mumbo-jumbo, eastern philosophy mixed with a belief in mind over matter, then so be it. Because, when you got right down to it, this is what worked and that's all there is to it.

  Everyone has their own way of wielding magic, and sure, there are items, words, and marks that all have power, but it all comes from the mind, all starts and ends there. And as I uncrossed my stiff, hairy legs, and stood naked in an empty room at the top of my house, I was fucking dangerous.

  And smiling.

  Then the front door banged open and shit got serious again.

  Here We Go

  With a sigh, yet still feeling uncharacteristically positive, so upbeat in fact that I wondered if I'd somehow ingested something I aught not to, I went and got dressed. Vicky and the girls, and George, were home. My peace was shattered, my kitchen was undoubtedly already messy, and reality had definitely come crashing in, probably through the window, like a brick.

  But it was with a light step and a happy heart that I wandered downstairs into my kitchen, smiling like a lobotomized wizard with a big wand in his pocket. Happy days.

  "What are you grinning at?" asked Vicky with a scowl as she bustled about at the sink while the girls blew chocolate milk at each other through straws. You'
d have been proud of me, I didn't even run for a cloth or anything, although I did keep glancing at the one by the sink.

  "Yeah, you look guilty," said George, pulling off her high heels and rubbing her feet. Damn, the untidiness was catching. We had a strict rule about shoes off in the hall, or at least never wearing them in the kitchen.

  "What? Just feeling good. Happy. Hey, kids, have you had a nice day with Aunty George?"

  "Great. We went everywhere."

  "Can we go again tomorrow, Aunty George? Can we, can we?"

  "Ugh, we'll see," said George, looking exhausted.

  "How did it go?" I asked Vicky, and boy did I wish I hadn't.

  For the next hour, while the girls ran around, went to play, rushed back in who knows how many times, and finally settled into shouting at the TV in the other room, I was regaled with tales of woe and police ineptitude, plus stories about the girls running riot in shopping centers by George. I learned several very important facts though. One, taking two excitable children shopping is definitely not something I will ever do. And two, telling the police that your husband is missing and that you think he's run off takes many hours and mostly involves hanging around in cold waiting rooms, filling out a lot of forms, and that busy, stressed-out police officers have better things to do with their time than care. The fact they had to make a round-trip that lasted hours because they couldn't just go through the portal didn't help matters either.

  "So that's good, right?" I asked, traces of contentment still lingering even though the hour had done a good job of sucking the life out of me.