“And I don’t. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be here because of it.”
I wound a loose string on my shirt around my fingers. “Then why don’t you want to be here?”
He took hold of the string and pulled me closer. “My presence, my reasons and intent, they all risk your soul, Lorelei, your salvation.”
“In what way?”
“A seraphim, even an archangel, cannot be with a human. It is forbidden.” He stood also and looked down at me. “I don’t want to be here, because my presence risks everything I care for. And yet, the thought of being anywhere else in the universe floods me with unbearable pain.”
While he said many things, I heard only one. “So, you do want to be here?”
I held my breath as he thought about his answer.
“More than anything,” he said. Then his brows inched together. “I have never been tempted. Since the earth was being formed beneath my feet, I have never longed to taste the nectar of humans, the forbidden fruit of seraphim. And then I saw you. My mouth waters every time you are near.” He squared his shoulders and confessed, “I can only hope that when you know all there is to know, you can forgive me my trespasses.”
I stood utterly mesmerized, lost in his words. How was this even possible, that I was the forbidden fruit of a god? Holy freaking cow. With a mental shake, I tamped down the elation shooting through me and focused on the brunt of the situation. Feeling somewhat like an impetuous child, I asked, “But what about Jophiel? The archangel who visited Cameron’s mom? Wasn’t that forbidden?”
“His sacrifice was in the service of humankind. My desires are a bit more … self-serving,” he said with a wry gleam. “So, no, Lorelei, I should not be here. In a thousand different ways, I shouldn’t be here.”
“Well, that makes two of us, remember?” I said, my brain straining for a solution, some loophole we could jump through. “I’m supposed to be dead. So either join the club or start one of your own.” I grabbed the ointment and put the lid back on before looking up at him again.
After a moment, he said, “Did you know your mouth tilts sideways when you’re being sarcastic?”
“Oh, yeah, you’re trashed.” I pulled him around the bed and eased him onto it. He needed to rest. “You can have my bed. I’ll sleep with Brooke.”
“No.” Without another word, he carefully lowered himself onto the floor beside the bed, halting when a jolt of pain shot through him.
“Jared, you can’t sleep on the floor,” I said, appalled. “You need to rest, not toss and turn all night.”
With an evil grin, he reached up and stole one of two pillows off the bed. “I’ll be fine.” He crossed his arms behind his head and lay back. I chuckled and dragged my comforter off, tossing it over him. “Thank you,” he said, his voice soft as though he were almost asleep already.
I watched as his eyes drifted shut, his presence powerful even at rest.
“And if Cameron of Jophiel takes a baseball bat to me in my sleep, I’ll snap his neck.”
Sobering instantly, I crawled onto the bed, shoes and all. “I’ll pass along the warning,” I said, surrendering to weariness.
“I should not be here, Lorelei McAlister,” he said, his speech slurring with fatigue, “and yet, I have never felt so at peace.”
My eyes flew open and I looked over the side of the bed. “You’re at peace?” I asked, but he was asleep before I finished the question.
I rested my head so I could examine him, shivering as every nerve ending I possessed tingled. I liked the feel of him close by, the rhythmic sound of his breathing, the clean smell of his breath and hair. But the niggling in the back of my mind grew stronger the more I looked at him. He was utterly magnificent. A higher being. A supreme entity. What would he want with a pixie stick like me? He could have anyone in the universe, literally, and he was stuck on Earth. I squeezed my eyes shut, blocking out reality. Despite the fact that having a real relationship with Jared was supposedly forbidden, and I certainly didn’t want to get him into any more trouble than he was already in, I prayed he would still be there in the morning.
VISIONS OF SUGARPLUMS
“Can’t you sleep?”
I raised my head and tried to open my lead-filled lids. I was sleeping just fine, thank you very much.
“I can sleep,” Brooklyn said. “I just prefer listening to music.”
“Really?”
Ah, Cameron. They must have come in after I passed out. I pried my lids open the best I could and looked at them through my mussed hair. Cameron was sitting on the window seat, back straight, alert as always. Did that guy ever rest?
“I have bad dreams,” Brooklyn said, “when it’s too quiet.” She was on her own twin bed that was tucked into the corner by the window seat. Grandma and Grandpa had bought it for her, since she practically lived with us anyway. “Can’t you sleep?”
“Not with him here.” He indicated Jared with a nod of his head.
I couldn’t help but peek over the side of my bed to study the boy sleeping so soundly beside me. He looked almost totally healed already. He had light bruises and scratches where deep cuts and swollen golf balls had been before. I glanced back at Cameron. The same. Healing quickly was definitely part of who they were. It would have taken a normal person days, even weeks to reach that point.
Trying not to be noticed, I raised up and peeked over at Glitch. He was on the floor in a sleeping bag. Pretty much every available inch of floor space had been confiscated.
“Have you slept at all lately?” Brooklyn asked. She had on her favorite pajamas, the ones with tiny turtles all over them, the ones that disturbed Glitch.
“Do you care?” Cameron volleyed.
She sighed and hugged a pillow to her. “Cameron, I know what you were doing, why you were following Lorelei. You saw him, didn’t you? You knew what he was.”
He rested back against the window and looked out of it. “I only felt it at first. Then, about a week ago, I saw it following her.”
“You saw Jared? He’s been here for a week?”
“No. At first, there was simply a fine dark mist. It was so unlike Lorelei, I knew something else was there.”
“What do you mean, so unlike her?”
He rubbed the back of his fingers on the cold glass. “Lorelei’s aura is bright, like fire. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“You can see her aura?” Brooklyn asked, propping her elbows on the pillow.
“I can see everyone’s auras, ever since I was a kid.”
“Wow.” She pondered on that briefly before asking, “So, when you first saw them, when you were a kid, did you know what they were?”
“Not even,” he said, shaking his head. “I used to ask my dad why people didn’t glow in their pictures like they did in real life. That’s when it hit me. Not everyone could see them. My dad made me promise not to tell anyone.”
“That’s pretty amazing.” Pausing thoughtfully, she asked, “So, what color is mine?”
“Oh, no,” he said, turning to her with a wary expression. “Trust me. You do not want to go there.”
She gasped. “Is it bad?”
“Awful.”
Clasping her hands at her chest, she said bravely, “Go ahead. Tell me. I can take it.”
I knew from the tilt of his lips, he would give her a bogus answer. He leaned toward her and whispered. “It’s purple with pink polka dots.”
She threw her pillow at him. “It is not.”
He caught it easily. “How do you know?”
“Just tell me, butthead.”
He laughed and tossed her pillow back. “What are you gonna do for me?”
“What am I gonna do for you?” she asked, sitting up. “What do you mean, what am I gonna do for you? I can’t do anything for you. You’re, like, all strong and crap.”
With a grin more evil than before, he regarded her a long moment. She braced herself for whatever he might say. “You could tell me your deepest, darkest
secret.”
She rolled her eyes in disappointment. “I don’t have any deep, dark secrets. Least not any that compare with the likes of yours.”
“Your aura speaks otherwise,” he said. Clearly, he knew something she didn’t.
“Yeah, whatever. So, do auras change color?”
“All the time. When someone gets mad or depressed. Pretty much any strong emotion will change a person’s aura temporarily. You wouldn’t believe how badly a laughing person can be seething underneath. It’s … intimidating.”
“I never thought anything could intimidate you.”
He looked at her in surprise. “I’ve been intimidated by you since the third grade.”
Brooklyn stilled, completely taken off guard. “Me? Get outta here.”
“No, really. Your aura was so different from any I’d seen before. I didn’t know what to think of you.”
“Wow.” She wiggled her shoulders. “I’m intimidating. That’s kind of liberating in a bizarre, dominatrix kind of way. So are you gonna tell me the color or what?”
“I don’t know if I should. I could use it as leverage someday.”
“Fine,” she said, feigning disinterest. I could tell she was dying to know—especially since it was so intimidating and all—but she decided to drop it for now. “I order you to get some sleep, then.”
“Another order?” He raised his brows, amused. “You gonna pull that water pistol on me again?”
With a soft gasp, she asked, “You knew that was a water pistol?” After he shot her a duh-like smirk, she said, “I can’t believe you knew it was a water pistol.”
“Oh yeah,” he said sarcastically, “the differences between a water pistol and a Glock are really subtle.”
“Okay, then why did you back down?”
He lowered his head and asked quietly, “Didn’t you want me to?”
Judging by the look on her face, the question stunned her. I know it stunned the heck out of me. She didn’t seem to know how to answer.
After a moment, her expression changed. “Tell you what,” she said, jumping down, “I’ll take the window seat, and you take the bed. I’m shorter.”
Ouch. That was a big sacrifice for Brooke. She loved that bed. But I totally agreed. Cameron needed to get some Z’s. He was grouchy enough without sleep deprivation adding to his moodiness.
He shook his head. “I can’t go to sleep.”
She walked to him and grabbed his shirt. “Come on, Rocky.”
He let her pull him over to the bed. With a reluctant sigh, he lay down. She tossed a blanket over him and giggled at his feet dangling over the edge. Twin beds and super-tall guys did not go well together at all.
“But I’m not sleepy,” he argued.
“I know, I know.” She took a blanket from a shelf and lay down on the window seat.
Personally, I gave him fifteen minutes tops, but his breaths were deep and rhythmic before Brooke even settled in.
She lifted her head and looked past Jared’s sleeping form at me. “Not sleepy, my left butt cheek,” she said.
I laughed.
* * *
“It’s her.”
Oh, no. Not again.
“The prophet,” came another hushed whisper. “I told you we would see her.”
For the love of carrot sticks, let me sleep.
The voice, a child’s, whispered again. “She looks like fire.”
I squinted into the darkness, confused by the soft voices, before looking over at Jared. He was awake, sitting against the wall beside me, one leg bent with an arm resting on his knee. What a heavenly vision.
“Do you feel them?” he asked in a hushed tone.
I glanced around. “What?”
“They’re coming.”
“Who?” I tried to sit up straight, but a sharp pain shot through me, causing my teeth to slam together in agony. My ribs hurt worse today than they had yesterday.
“They’re excited to see you.”
“Who’s excited?” I asked again.
He said nary a word, smiled and, without releasing my gaze, gestured to a point behind me.
I glanced back and started in alarm. A child was sitting on the wall just past my head, as though on a levitating bench. He giggled, turned to his friend beside him, and whispered into her ear. She looked at me and giggled too. They covered their mouths with tiny hands as their laughter sparkled and danced around us, illuminating the room, casting shadows on the walls.
Then the boy glanced at Jared and sobered instantly, tucking his chin and averting his eyes.
“Shhhh,” someone said in a faint whisper, and I looked toward Glitch’s sleeping form. A child stood beside him. He pointed up. “She’s coming.”
I scanned the room and counted a dozen children sitting here and there, all dressed in white linen like little angels-in-training. I half expected to see tiny wings and tarnished halos. A few were looking at me in absolute curiosity, but most were gawking at Jared, and I couldn’t help but see fear in their eyes, uncertainty. They watched him warily, huddled close to one another. Then I realized Cameron was awake. He looked on, his eyes wide, uncertain.
“Do it,” one of them said, egging his friend on. “Get closer.” The other one shook his head, so the boy said, “Fine. I’ll do it.”
He took a wary step toward Jared, then another, but the minute Jared focused on him, the boy scrambled back to the corner with his friend.
“You didn’t even get close.”
“I got closer than you,” he said defensively.
Jared shot me a conspiratorial look and winked. “I have a way with children.”
I was about to ask him what was going on, when a bright glow infused the room with a light so brilliant, it woke Brooklyn and Glitch too. They opened their eyes just in time to see a beautiful elderly woman materialize. Her skin was dark, her eyes golden, warm and magnificent. Her robe, thick like liquid pearl, flowed past her feet.
The children looked on adoringly, as if they couldn’t get their fill of her, as though each secretly hoped she would cast her attention their way.
She smiled at Jared. When she spoke, her voice was smooth, unhurried. “Azrael, the noble son, created from the resplendence of light and the void of darkness—”
Jared dipped his head in acknowledgment.
“—you have not been abandoned.” Her smile was like life itself: pure and bright, nurturing and intoxicating. The children echoed her words as she spoke, like whispers in an empty cavern. All except one. I’d noticed a boy, smaller than the rest, who’d tucked himself behind my dresser. He emerged from his haven to slowly creep toward the woman, all the while keeping an eye on Jared as though afraid he would jump up and bite him.
“You have more power, more freedom than any of your brethren,” she continued, a loving shimmer sparkling in her eyes, “and you used it to save her.”
Me? I jumped to attention.
“But I did so for selfish reasons,” Jared said.
“You are of light and darkness. Only you can decide where your true intentions lie.”
“Why am I here?” he asked, suddenly angry.
“Why should I answer what you already know?”
“I’m … not human.” He shook his head in frustration. “I can’t be here.”
“And yet you are.”
“Is He angry?” he asked, regret thickening his voice.
Her expression changed to one of sympathy. “With you? You know He isn’t.”
“Then—”
“He is pleased, Azrael.”
Her words seemed to jar him. He sat up straighter, tightened his jaw in thought, his eyes wide, uncertain.
“Sometimes,” she said, seeming to sense his confusion, “we must swim against the current to find our true purpose. You have proved yourself beyond anything we could have hoped for. Because you have a singular power, one that transcends any of your brethren’s, you alone are best suited to carry out this mission. You know what is to come, and now
you are charged with its success.”
His head whipped up in disbelief. “There’s no way to succeed, no way to win. It is written.” He shot to his feet, his fists clenched. “You have sent me to fail.”
She stepped forward, her movements like a soft breeze, as the little boy peeked around her skirts to view Jared. With her nearness, Jared sank onto one knee in reverence. “It was also written that the last prophet of Arabeth would be crushed and would drown in her own blood.”
Jared glanced at me when I made a sound of alarm.
She turned toward me for only an instant, then placed her fingers under his chin and lifted his face to hers. “Perhaps it is time to rewrite what is to be.”
Jared sat back on his heel and frowned, as though trying to make sense of it all.
“You said it yourself: Only humans can change history.”
He focused on her again, a dawning creeping into his eyes before the little boy caught his attention.
Peeking from behind her skirts, the boy smiled at him and held out his hand. Jared’s head tilted in curiosity; then he held out his own hand, palm up.
“Silas, no,” the other children warned, but the boy slid his shaking hand forward. “Silas,” they repeated, but when the boy’s fingers brushed against Jared’s, they all inhaled in disbelief. He had done what they’d been afraid to do. All eyes turned toward the boy in awe, and I realized that these spirits, these supernatural beings, were terrified of Jared.
“But we have sent you help,” the woman said as she surveyed the room, taking in each of our awed faces one by one. Then she turned to Cameron. “Cameron of Jophiel, you have been charged with a great responsibility. It is why you were chosen, why you were created. Do you accept?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation, completely mesmerized by her, as though he knew exactly what that responsibility might be.
With a mischievous glint in her eyes, she looked from me to Brooklyn then to Glitch and crossed her arms in thought.
“Uh-oh,” one of the children said. “Someone’s in trouble.”
“And you three.” She frowned with feigned severity. “I have waited a long time to meet you. I am honored to be in your presence.”
Death and the Girl Next Door d-1 Page 15
