Dark Halo (An Angel Eyes Novel)

by Dittemore, Shannon

  And I don’t know . . . I can’t tell . . .

  Was it the first lie I told the Prince or the first truth that undid me?

  “She’ll be okay,” Jake says. He’s carrying me now. The noise is different. Closing doors, footsteps, air-conditioning. Dad’s here, leaning close.

  I’m home.

  And Dad’s okay.

  The scene the Prince showed me in the desert plays out quickly in my mind. I suffer through the emotions it evokes in fast-forward, and then just as I’m about to open my eyes, throw my arms around Dad, and tell him how glad I am that he’s okay, his words surprise me, stop me.

  “Thank You, God,” he says. “Thank You, thank You.”

  It’s a desperate, whispered sort of statement, but that he says the words at all is extraordinary.

  Jake’s feet are heavy on the linoleum floor. Through my lashes I catch sight of Mom’s Bible on the island. It’s open, a Hershey Bar wrapper acting as a bookmark. It’s almost too much to take in right now—Dad actually opening a Bible. Marking his place with a chocolate wrapper.

  Feigning more exhaustion than I feel, I close my eyes again.

  “I’ll get the door,” Canaan says. I feel him brush past us, smell the Celestial on his skin, before a door opens with a quiet whine. A moment later Jake lowers me onto the familiar stitching of the quilt Grams made me.

  Home, I think. The thing I said I most wanted. The first lie I told the Prince of Darkness. Angst nearly takes me, but I feel Dad’s callous hand brush my forehead and I realize I haven’t lost everything. Not yet. He pulls his fingers away, grit falling to my cheek.

  “What’s this?” he asks.

  “Sand,” Jake says. “Salt.”

  “So she was at the beach,” Dad says.

  No one answers. They don’t say a thing.

  Dad must have assumed silence was confirmation because he’s already onto another subject. “So, you’re back then?”

  “Yeah,” Jake answers, the rasp of his voice thick. “I’m back.”

  Everything’s quiet for a long time. So long I consider the possibility that I’ve fallen asleep. But then Dad breaks the uncomfortable silence.

  “For Elle’s sake, I’m glad. She was . . . upset. Cried a lot. I don’t like it when she’s upset.”

  I can tell it cost Dad to say that, but I’m proud of him for making the sacrifice. Both Jake and I could use a vote of confidence from him right now.

  “I don’t either, sir. I’d do just about anything to avoid that.”

  Dad clears his throat again. He’s nervous. He always sputters and coughs and makes weird throat noises when he’s nervous.

  “That demon took you, then? That’s what Elle said. She said he took you.” He shifts and then stands, sending me bouncing into the wall. A warm hand finds my leg, steadying me.

  “He did,” Jake says, his words clipped. The edges of my heart crumble a bit, like the salt platforms at Danakil. He doesn’t want to talk about it. What Damien did to him at Bellwether. It sends my imagination into overdrive.

  “And my girl found you? She helped?”

  “She did,” Jake says, his voice scratching in that sweet, soft way it does. “She was my hero.”

  Guilt spirals through me. He should have called me something else. Anything else.

  “I don’t really like her playing the hero,” Dad says.

  “It’s who she is the Prince’s halo3 for a though.” Canaan’s voice is both soft and firm. The voice of reason. “It’s who she was born to be.”

  I expect Dad to react to that, to demean Canaan for claiming to know me better than he does, but he doesn’t. They’re just quiet. The three best men in the whole world—well, two men and an angel—and they’re standing at my bedside, worried about me.

  About my safety.

  And all I can think about is the fact that I’ve brought home the promise of Satan. A dark halo and a guarantee that the Prince himself will visit our tiny town. As starved as we are for entertainment here, that’s not the kind of excitement I was hoping for.

  “I’m going to go,” Jake says. “I’ll see you at home, all right, Canaan?”

  “Of course. I’ll be there shortly.”

  Jake’s hand brushes my shin and then my shoe before Dad’s voice stops him.

  “Kid?”

  “Yeah?” His fingers rest on the toe of my left Chuck, their warmth bleeding through.

  “Thanks for what you did. You know, with my shoulder.”

  Jake squeezes my toe. “Anytime,” he says. I try to read his voice, to summon his face. Is he smiling when he answers? I’d like to think so, but I just hear fatigue. And then I hear his feet press softly into the carpet, and like that, he’s gone. I feel that panic thing start in my chest, and I have to talk myself out of believing it’s permanent. Jake’s not leaving me. He’s just going home. Just going to bed.

  “Your boy okay?” Dad asks.

  “He’s had a rough couple of days. They both have. She’ll probably sleep for a while,” Canaan says. “She fought hard.”

  “She fought?”

  “Hard.”

  Suddenly Dad’s defensive. “Look, man . . .”

  “I’m not a man,” Canaan says. Laying it down. Putting it out there. I’ve never heard his voice quite so assertive. It’s . . . inspiring.

  Dad grunts, and I can almost see him scratching at that ruddy beard of his.

  “I know there are things going on around here. Strange things. Churchy things. But God and I, we don’t get on much. I’m not even sure I believe in all this . . .”

  “Oh, I think you do,” Canaan says. “You may not want to. You may be angry at God for taking your wife. You may think it hurts His feelings when you say you don’t believe in His existence. That might give you some sense of retribution&inD1A, but I think you absolutely believe in God, and right now it’s more important than ever for you to stop pretending you don’t.”

  “And why is that?” It’s funny what I hear in Dad’s question. He’s not being sarcastic; it’s like he really wants to know.

  “Because there’s a battle raging here in Stratus, and while it’s bigger than all of us, one thing’s become obvious.”

  “Well, something should be,” Dad mutters under his breath.

  “Your daughter’s been chosen. For this time. For this moment. And the last thing she needs from her father is disbelief.”

  That starts Dad huffing. “But I don’t even . . . I can’t . . .”

  “You can’t what?”

  Dad groans. “I can’t hear the music anymore.”

  I’m so surprised, my eyes slip open. The Sabres were loud when I left for Bellwether. How long have I been gone? Through the tiniest of slits, I watch Dad. The exasperation on his face, the frustration. I swear he sounds disappointed.

  “I haven’t heard a thing today.”

  “They must’ve pushed the Palatine away from Stratus,” Canaan says, his words slow, thoughtful.

  “The what?”

  “The Palatine,” Canaan says, slapping Dad on the back. “I think it’s time you and I had a little talk.”

  I pinch my eyes shut once again. That’s a conversation I’d rather they have without me.

  “Now?” Dad protests. “I’ve got to be at work in a couple hours.”

  “Come on. I’ll make sure you’re at work on time.”

  “I have lots of questions,” Dad says, the tiniest strain of curiosity in his tone.

  “That’s okay. I have lots of answers.”

  “Well, all right then.” A moment later I feel Dad’s lips on my forehead. “Don’t be a hero,” he whispers. “Please, please don’t be a hero.”

  And then the air shifts again and I hear the soft rustle of carpet, the click of the light switch, and my door squeaks shut.

  I open my eyes, but the moon is dull tonight and after several lazy blinks, it’s easier to just leave my eyes closed. I lie there for a long time, thinking about Dad, about Jake, about my conversation
with the Prince.

  I slip my hands into the oversized sweatshirt pocket and withdraw the$3 for a golden halo. I watch as it grabs the starlight outside my window and sends it back to warm my face. And then it’s transforming, slowly, deliberately. There’s a twinge in my chest as I slide it beneath my pillow. I know I can count on Canaan’s halo to ease my transition into the nightmares, but with the Prince clinging to every thought I have, I can’t help thinking just how awful they’re destined to be now.

  In so magon,” M

  21

  Jake

  It’s just past nine in the morning, but it’s hot. Jake rubs at his chest, at the sweat that’s started to bleed through his gray T-shirt. With his face pressed against Delia’s front window, he sees Marco’s bag propped against the couch. He knocks again on the blue door.

  Hanging from the awning are hundreds of wind chimes. Today they’re too still, too quiet. Dangling near his face is a model of the solar system. It’s old, the metal rusted, the paint chipping. He flicks it. The rusted thing bumps and clanks, but the sound is grating, and he stills the planets with his fist. When he pulls his hand away, a red fleck sticks to his palm—the skin of Mars.

  The chime is a pathetic replica of the created order, but the rusting, flaking planets remind him that it’s all temporary. One day these worlds will fade away. A new heaven and a new earth will replace them, and everything he now sees will be gone. Even the morning sun beating down, burning his neck. It’s nearly impossible to imagine life without it, but as bright, as powerful as it seems, the sun is nothing compared to the light of the Creator. It’s a strange thought. But there’s peace in it. That the fear and the pain, the angst and the warfare—all of it will disappear.

  One day.

  Behind him, a car crunches over dirt and dried grass. It’s Kaylee, her brakes squealing as she pulls to a stop. But no, it’s not the brakes squealing. It’s Kaylee. The tightness in his muscles eases a bit as he watches her bounce in her seat.

  “You’re back, you’re back, you’re back!” She trips climbing out her door but recovers quickly. “I’m so glad you’re back. And you’re okay?”

  “I am.”

  She releases the plastic grocery bag in her hand and lets it fall to the porch. Something glass shatters inside, but she ignores it and pulls Jake close, pinning his arms to his sides.

  “You owe me a pair of slippers,” she says.

  “I do?”

  “I wore mine to Bellwether, and now my right Tasmanian Devil is missing an eye.”

  He grabs her shoulders and pushes her to arm’s length. He looks at her now, carefully. Sees the bruise on her face. It’s a sickly green and purple. Her jaw and lip are swollen as well.

  “You went to Bellwether?”

  “Of course I went to Bellwether. What kind of loyal sidekick would I be if I didn’t?”

  “And your face . . .”

  “Damien.”

  Jake stiffens. “That sick, twisted . . .” He squeezes her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Kay. Man, I’m sorry.” He reaches out a hand, but thinks better of himself with the occasional car rumbling past. “Here, let’s—Can we &od