Where Angels Fear to Tread

by Thomas E. Sniegoski

He waited a bit longer, scrutinizing the area for any signs of potential danger and, finding none, allowed himself to relax. The Seraphim, temporarily satisfied, went down quietly, and Remy returned to his more human guise.

  Turning, he found the mother and child both staring.

  He looked down at himself, at his torn and bloodstained clothes, and self-consciously smiled.

  “I knew there was something different about you,” Deryn York said.

  “You did,” Zoe agreed with her mother. “I showed you in the picture I drew.”

  Her mother turned her face to the little girl. “You did, didn’t you,” she said, and kissed the child’s cheek over and over again.

  Zoe laughed sweetly, throwing her arms about her mother’s neck and hugging her for dear life.

  “I’d like to take my daughter home now, Mr. Chandler,” Deryn said.

  “Not yet,” the little girl chirped, squirming in her mother’s arms to be let go.

  The child touched ground in a run, stopping a bit away from where they stood. She was staring sadly down at something.

  Remy and Deryn followed the little girl, both stopping as they realized the child was looking at the broken and bloody body of Carl Saylor.

  The child squatted next to him.

  “Zoe,” the mother cried out, “come away from there.”

  “He was a good daddy most of time,” she said sadly, and Remy saw her hand reach out to place something that seemed to appear out of thin air upon her father’s chest.

  It was a purple flower that emitted the most wonderful aroma.

  They stood there awhile longer, gazing down at Carl’s body, before Zoe broke the silence.

  “Can we leave now?” Zoe asked.

  And the three walked from the compound into the surrounding woods, finding the path that would eventually lead them home.

  Samson emerged from hiding after he was certain they were gone.

  He had hated to hide like some loathsome coward, but he knew a blind man would have been useless against the things Remy had faced.

  And besides, he had a special purpose to fulfill.

  He moved out from behind the section of brick wall that had tumbled, following his nose toward the acrid stink of burned flesh and the supernatural.

  Samson knew it was she; even though her flesh had been burned black, practically to ash, it still held the taint of what she was.

  Of who she was.

  The stink of cooked flesh grew incredibly strong, and he knew he was standing over her.

  “Look at you now,” he said, feeling a sudden surge of emotion threaten to overtake him.

  He remembered how beautiful she had been and tried to keep that thought, even though by the smell, he knew that beauty had been taken away.

  Delilah inhaled a rattling breath at the sound of his voice.

  “Still alive,” he said, and shook his head sadly.

  Samson dropped to the ground, rock and bits of glass biting into his ancient knees, and felt with his hands until he found her blackened remains. Gently he gathered her up, taking her frail body into his arms.

  She could not speak, but he could feel her starting to quiver. He wondered how long it would take her to heal . . . how many souls she would need to consume before returning to her old tricks.

  But that question wasn’t relevant anymore because he knew this was the end. For millennia he had tracked her, and now he had her exactly where he wanted her.

  Delilah was helpless in his grasp.

  This is what I’ve been waiting for, he thought. Samson tried to find the anger . . . tried to find the fiery rage, but instead found only sadness—sadness over how far they both had fallen.

  He brought her head up and laid it upon his shoulder, holding her tenderly.

  “I’ve never loved anyone more,” he told her, his emotion causing his words to break.

  Delilah tried to speak, but it came out as only a scratchy croak, and he was certain she was telling him she loved him too.

  And Samson took her life, as it was his job to do, the strongest man in the world broken by the memory of a love so powerful that it put his legendary might to shame.

  A love that he would carry like the deepest of scars to the end of days.

  The strange man was waiting for them as they came out of the woods.

  He was standing on the opposite side of the desolate road, across from where the multiple SUVs had been parked, squatting on his hindquarters, and wearing far too much clothing for the warm and humid West Virginia weather.

  At a glance, Remy suspected he was Vietnamese, and wondered why he was there.

  The dark-skinned man stood to his full gangly height as they emerged, staring at them with dark, curious eyes. There were satchels at his feet, traveling gear, as if he were on a long journey.

  Remy tensed, moving to stand in front of Deryn and Zoe; after the kind of night they’d had, he wasn’t about to take any chances.

  “What is it?” Deryn asked, not yet noticing the stranger.

  “Could be nothing,” Remy said, allowing his preternatural senses to test the air for potential danger, but getting nothing.

  “Who is that?” Deryn asked, finally noticing the man.

  “I haven’t a clue, but he seems to know us.”

  There was the sound of movement, and Remy turned to see Zoe pull free from her mother’s hand, then run past them into the road toward the stranger.

  “Zoe!” Deryn screamed, making a move to grab the child, but for some reason—something in the man’s stare—told Remy to let her go to him.

  Remy held on to Deryn’s arm.

  “What are you doing?” she screamed, fighting him.

  “Wait,” Remy said, watching with a curious eye.

  Zoe turned just as she was about to reach the man.

  “I have something that I need to give to him,” she said, before turning away from them again and joining the stranger on the other side of the road.

  Deryn still fought to be released, but her struggles grew less pronounced as she watched the little girl and the man communicate. They stared at each other, a silent message passing between them.

  Zoe finally nodded, squatting down to watch as the stranger dropped to his haunches as well, and proceeded to go through one of his satchels in search of something.

  The last time Remy had seen the metal statue of the infant, its chubby legs crossed in front of it and arms spread open in acceptance, it had been on Delilah’s plane in the possession of Clifton Poole.

  “That’s Poole’s,” Deryn said, curiosity in her tone.

  The man placed the vessel down in front of the child, and she laughed happily, reaching out to hold one of the object’s metal hands.

  The stranger and the little girl smiled at each other then, and each nodded. The man reached out a long-fingered hand, and gently tapped the head of the infant’s visage; the vessel snapped open of its own accord.

  Deryn gasped at the sudden movement.

  Zoe appeared to be in a kind of trance, as the stranger began to hum a simple yet beautiful song. There were no words, but Remy’s mind was suddenly filled with images of a people who had sworn to safeguard a special gift that had fallen from the sky when the world was young, and who today were still performing their duty, as their ancestors had done.

  The wordless song also told of a dark time, when their purpose had been lost to them, and how they had sent brave souls out into the world to find their purpose again.

  Remy understood now, and by the expression on Deryn’s face, so did she.

  Zoe’s body began to glow; a faint aura of yellow at first, gradually building to a nearly blinding white corona, before dissipating in a flash that left both Remy and the child’s mother blinking away blindness that had temporarily stolen their eyes.

  When their vision cleared, they saw that whatever had begun was completed.

  They watched as the stranger reached for the child-shaped vessel, no longer open, and carefully—lovingly—tucked it back inside his satchel.

  Zoe was stand
ing now, watching as the man with whom she had just mysteriously communed gathered up his belongings in preparation to be on his way.

  The child finally glanced over at Remy and Deryn, as if suddenly remembering they were there, and gave them a wave, before turning her attention back to her new friend.

  The stranger bent down to the little girl with his palm extended, allowing her to give him a high five, before doing the same in return. And all this time not a word was spoken between them, because it wasn’t needed.

  They knew what had to be done.

  The man watched as Zoe crossed the road. He turned away and started on his journey only when he saw that she had reached Remy and Deryn.

  “We can go home now,” she said, standing before them.

  Remy looked away from the little girl to watch the man’s progress down the road.

  And not surprisingly, he saw that the stranger was gone, as if he’d never been there at all.

  EPILOGUE

  A month later

  “What are you drawing?” Remy asked the little girl sitting across from him, hunkered over her sketch pad.

  Zoe remained silent, busily working on her art.

  “Drawing,” Marlowe said with a tail thump as he lay at her feet.

  “I know she’s drawing,” Remy said to the animal. “I was just curious as to what.”

  The little girl laughed. It sounded like tiny, delicate bells happily jingling.

  “That’s funny when you talk to the dog,” she said, dropping one of her crayons on the desktop and choosing another from the box open in front of her. “My mommy says he can’t understand you, you know.”

  “Your mommy said that?” Remy asked, leaning back in his office chair, enjoying the recently fixed air-conditioning. The chair squeaked loudly, making the child look up from her drawing to stare at him.

  Zoe and Deryn had been staying with him and Marlowe since the business in West Virginia; just long enough to get their bearings so they could return to Florida. Finding out that their house had burned down hadn’t helped matters, but Deryn was planning on staying with a cousin for a little while, until she got stuff straightened out with the insurance company, and then hopefully, she and Zoe would have a home again.

  “Why’d you do that?” she asked him with a scowl.

  “Do what?” he asked her, making the chair squeak again.

  “That,” she said. “Don’t do that.”

  “Do what?” he asked again, playing dumb. “That?” He made the chair squeak again.

  She had started to laugh, even though she didn’t want him to see, pretending to be mad. “That noise, stop it now.”

  “What noise?” He bounced in the chair so it squeaked repeatedly. “This noise? You want me to stop this noise?”

  She put her head back down, returning to her artwork.

  “You’re very silly,” she said, grabbing the blue crayon and scribbling like crazy.

  Deryn had gone out to run a few final errands before their flight back to Florida that night, leaving Zoe with him at the office. He didn’t mind; he found the little girl fascinating and had no doubt he was going to miss her.

  Remy watched her feverishly working on her project, relieved that everything seemed to have turned out for the best. With the power of creation removed from her, the little girl appeared to have been cured of her autism, receiving a clean bill of health from Franciscan Children’s. It was almost as if Deryn and the little girl had been given a gift from a higher power for their troubles.

  “Are you ever going to show me what you’re working on?” Remy asked her as he came forward in his chair.

  “Wait a minute,” she said, frustrated by his impatience. “I’m almost done.”

  She dropped the crayon she was using and picked up the drawing to study it.

  “I’m done,” she said.

  “Can I see?” Remy asked.

  “You can have it,” she said, casually tossing it on top of his desk. She was already pulling another piece of construction paper from the pad, getting ready to create another masterpiece, he guessed.

  Remy picked the drawing up from atop the desk and held it out before him.

  He was surprised at what he saw.

  “So, what’s this supposed to be?” he asked Zoe.

  “It’s you and Linda,” she said matter-of-factly.

  “Linda?” Remy began, for the moment not knowing whom she was talking about, but suddenly remembering.

  Linda Somerset.

  “How would you know about Linda?” he asked, looking up from the drawing to see that she had stopped scribbling with her crayon and was staring across the desk at him.

  “I know,” she said, annoyed that he had to ask, and shook her head as she returned to coloring.

  Remy studied the drawing again of a man and woman holding hands in front of what looked to be a building. Through the windows in the building he could see other people, sitting at tables, who appeared to be eating.

  “This is a restaurant?” Remy asked. “Linda and I are at a restaurant?”

  “Yes, you’re going to take her,” Zoe answered, not looking up.

  Remy felt immediately uncomfortable. He hadn’t thought of the woman in a while, the last time being when he drove by Piazza, hoping to catch a glimpse of her working.

  He decided to focus on some other aspects of the drawing, questioning her about the circular object that she’d drawn in the sky above them.

  “That’s pretty cool that you drew the sun with a face,” he said, smiling. “I like that.”

  Zoe looked up. “That’s not the sun,” she said, shaking her head. “That’s the lady in the sky watching you.”

  “Lady in the sky?” Remy asked, letting the drawing fall to the desk.

  “She wants you to be happy,” Zoe said. The little girl leaned on the desk and used the tip of a red crayon to point. “See, she’s smiling. She’s glad you’re with Linda.”

  “But I’m not . . . ,” he started to say.

  “Not yet,” Zoe interrupted.

  Deryn opened the door into the office, plastic bags in each hand.

  “Mommy!” the child cheered happily, as Marlowe barked. He had been asleep, and the sudden noise had startled him.

  At the moment, Remy knew exactly how he felt, still staring stunned at the images drawn upon the construction paper.

  “How’s my big girl?” Deryn asked, coming over to kiss her on the top of the head.

  “She hasn’t been bothering you, has she?” Deryn asked.

  Remy looked up with a smile. “Not at all. She’s been perfectly fine,” he said.

  Marlowe had started to go through the bags she’d left on the floor, and she turned to shoo him away. “Hey, get outta there,” she said to the Labrador, which got the dog’s tail wagging. She bent down to pick up the bags and was rewarded with some awfully moist Lab kisses, which made her laugh.

  Remy and Zoe stared at each other across the surface of the desk, the special drawing she had done between them.

  “Not yet?” Remy asked.

  “Not yet,” Zoe said, finally climbing down from her chair to see what her mother had bought.

  “But soon.”

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  EPILOGUE

 

 

 
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