Star Angel: Dawn of War (Star Angel Book 3)

by David G. McDaniel

  Not bad. Her toes, too, sparkled with a fresh coat from the same bottle. She looked down and curled them up, flexing to catch the best light. Not bad at all.

  All right. She closed the polish and put it back in the bag, waved her hands in the air a few times, blew on her fingers and grabbed a brush. Brush your hair until it shines! Bianca’s words echoed in her head. Jess had checked with her briefly before starting to get ready and that was the one thing her friend seemed unable to emphasize enough: brush! There was no way to take an official shower and wash her hair, and after days aboard the ship with nothing but ionizers to clean by, Jess had to admit her hair was looking pretty flat. Clean, but flat. Bianca said it was one of the key things and it had to look luxurious. Especially for this club. It had to look like she walked out of a salon with hundred-dollar bottles of conditioner.

  She tugged and brushed and tugged and tugged, working out the tangles until the brush began to make a nice clean pass each time. She brushed and brushed and brushed, recalling that old beauty tip of brushing your hair a hundred times before bed. She was probably way over that by now but kept brushing, each side, top to bottom, again and again, and … her hair actually started to look better. What had been a dull brown when she began started to get some luster. Those auburn highlights Bianca kept saying she had were starting to show.

  It felt weird to be standing there in the dingy bathroom, barefoot on the cold, icky floor—she tried not to think about it—in just the little black dress, brushing her hair vigorously in front of a smudged mirror, a huge bag of clothes and other crap on the counter in front of her. It wasn’t a heavily used bathroom but the other women and girls that came in and out during her time getting ready mostly ignored her. None gave her more than a cursory glance. Off and on she’d had the tablet out, and at one point was on it talking to Bianca when one came in. For a moment she freaked, then realized it wasn’t that unusual to be talking to someone on such a device. Of course in this case that someone happened to be on a spaceship orbiting the Earth, but the other bathroom visitor certainly had no way of knowing that.

  So as weird, as absolutely exposed as it felt, to be getting dressed there in a public restroom, preparing for a mission against the world’s most secret organization—in direct competition with the world’s most powerful government—coordinating it all with humans from another world via an ancient alien starship—getting ready to go have dinner with her accomplice, a human boy who was hardly human at all … as much as all that sent shudders through her every few minutes, there really wasn’t anything about it obvious enough to give anyone a clue. Just a teenage girl getting dressed in a bathroom on a Saturday night. An American, on vacation, too far from the hotel or simply sleeping on the train, carrying all her stuff in a bag and heading out to the clubs, making do the best she could.

  Perfectly normal.

  So weird.

  “How’s it going?” Zac’s voice startled her from just outside the door. He’d been standing out there asking every so often, long since ready himself. When he first announced he was dressed she’d gone to the door to get his street clothes, only in her dress and just getting started on all the other stuff—ten times what Zac had to do, what with nails and hair and makeup—and at the door she took his bundle of clothes so she could stuff them in the bag with the rest and, as she did, got to see him in his full get-up …

  Wow. Just … Wow.

  Again it hit her. Zac was a stud among studs. In his shiny Italian suit, amazing silk shirt and swanky boots. Not only would they wave him into the club with no question, the doormen would probably give him a tab and ask him to be their club spokesman.

  Gorgeous. If ever a guy could be called gorgeous, Zac, in that suit, and that shirt, and those shoes, was it.

  “A few more minutes,” she said, same as last time he asked. They were really in no hurry at that point. It was still way early for the club and they were going to dinner beforehand, but she understood how annoying it could be to wait on someone. Normally she wasn’t one of “those” girls, taking forever to get ready, making their boyfriend or husband wait painfully, but thanks to Bianca—who Jess knew was right in insisting on it—her prep routine for this particular outing was extensive. Everything had to be just right. As perfect as possible. And now, having seen Zac, she knew she really had to step up her game. If it were going to be even remotely plausible to see her on the arm of such an Adonis of a man, she would have to be more than she ever had.

  She brushed her hair a little longer and stopped, satisfied. There was no way to style it so she would just wear it straight, long and shiny, and after the thorough brushing it actually looked good. She admired it, happy with the results, then took out the few little boxes of jewelry they’d chosen for her ensemble. Carefully she clasped on each piece. A thin, sparkly necklace that fit snug, little diamond ear studs, a similarly sparkly anklet, a few tactically matched bracelets for one wrist, a single, thicker bracelet for the other.

  It all looked perfect.

  Now for makeup. God! Still not done. She shoved the brush and empty boxes in the bag and rummaged for the next items on her list, growing impatient. Next time I’m coming back as a guy.

  She wasn’t normally a makeup girl. Usually she wore none. Fortunately she had some experience putting it on, for if anything about this required skill, makeup was it. All the rest she could just do as she was told. Shoes she could put on, she could put on the dress and the jewelry. What Bianca picked out she could simply wear. Hair she could brush. Nails she could paint without much skill. Makeup, however …

  With the makeup she was on her own.

  She thought to check in but decided that would just be an unnecessary distraction. Bianca was liable to start giving her all sorts of extra instruction. With a glance at the tablet she decided she’d do it first and get the check-out after. Even Bianca agreed she had a natural beauty that actually did better with less makeup, and so she kept it simple and, in short order, was smacking her lips and putting a few final touches on her mascara. She stepped back to study herself in the streaked mirror beneath the bad lighting.

  She looked good. With the hair, the little bits of jewelry, a few other accessories, the little black dress, the nails and now the makeup, she actually looked pretty. Real pretty. For a moment she blushed in witness of herself.

  Time for the expert opinion.

  She flipped on the tablet and made contact.

  For a long moment Bianca simply stared. Nani crowded to look over her shoulder, then Bianca asked Jess to hold the tablet this way and that so she could see different angles.

  She passed with flying colors.

  Jess found herself actually feeling proud. Bianca approved of what she’d done, no corrections. She signed off, stuffed and closed the big bag with all their things, put the tablet in her stylish purse, along with the remaining cash, grabbed some paper towels to clean up the area, wiped the bottoms of her feet and slipped carefully into the amazingly expensive heels.

  There. She looked at herself in the mirror, a few inches taller now. Carefully she took a few experimental steps in the sharply angled shoes. To the left, to the right. Forward, back. Like the makeup heels were mostly foreign to her, as she hardly ever wore them, but she’d worn them enough to pull it off. Embarrassingly she’d practiced in heels way more than she’d actually worn them outside the house. In her room, walking and squatting, turning; practicing for a moment just like this. Yet one more part of her confused youth, never knowing why she tried to get good at so many things but glad for those impulses now. Many of the things she’d learned as a kid had already been put to the test on this crazy adventure, ever since first meeting Zac.

  After a few bends and turns she stood straight, brushed her hands over her dress, smacked her lips one more time, grabbed the purse and the big bag filled with their clothes and went out to meet the man of her dreams.

  His eyes went wide as she stepped into the harsh lights outside the bathroom. She stopped, set dow
n the bags and stood before him, feeling herself blush as she turned one heel in nervously, striking a sexy pose. The dress was short and the top showed cleavage, bare shoulders and all. A lot of bare skin. Suddenly it all felt very revealing.

  “You look amazing,” he said in hushed tones. Both of them stood where they were, a few feet apart, neither moving.

  Then she did, stepping closer in the heels, feeling extremely alluring and not sure whether she was loving or hating it. It felt strange to be on such display.

  “You look so grown up,” he said. She smacked him.

  “I am grown up.”

  “I know, but … wow.”

  Zac just kept staring, doing a poor job of concealing how taken he was. She felt her cheeks getting hotter.

  It felt amazing to have him look at her that way.

  “So those are stylish?” he pointed to the heels.

  “Very.” She turned first one then the other so he could see, front and back. Of course they were also hugely impractical, as was everything else she was wearing, and part of her still fought with the notion of putting back on the jeans and tennis shoes. But there was no way that would work for what they had to do, and so impractical and stylish would be the uniform of the evening.

  “Don’t worry,” said Zac. “I’ll handle the tough stuff.” He seemed to understand exactly what she was thinking. In truth there would likely be little for her to do. Zac would handle the tough stuff. All of it. Nothing on Earth could challenge him. Her role was to get him to the target and help along the way. When it came time for action, she would become baggage. There were no tickets for this concert; entrance was based solely on the whim of whoever was at the door. The pressure, therefore, was on her. Zac’s was the easy part, considering what he was capable of. If they got inside the rest was easy. Cake. All they had to do was get in.

  She swallowed down the nerves that kept trying to overtake her. Maybe they could find a way to sneak in after all. Maybe they’d just end up hiding in the bushes and taking their chances.

  Zac continued his admiring scrutiny, unabashedly, looking her over as if he couldn’t get enough. “This black outline around your eyes …” He reached a hand, careful not to touch.

  She swallowed, holding still. “Eyeliner.”

  “It brings out those little flecks of gold.” His finger hovered. “The color is amazing in this light.” Close but not touching. And in that moment, around the nerves, around the fear, she felt so sensual, so desirable, she wanted him to touch. Everywhere. To grab her, to touch all of her, to rip away the dress and smear away that which she’d just spent the last hour making ready.

  She felt the pulsing of her heart.

  “So pretty.” Then Zac, too, seemed to feel the intensity of the moment and snapped from whatever gripped him.

  He fumbled in his pocket and held up his tie.

  “We got this,” he showed it to her, “but I don’t know how to tie it. I’ve seen others wearing them.”

  Jess reached for it, happy for the distraction. She extended her arms to his neck and he leaned forward. Even with the extra inches from the heels he was a head taller. Deftly she turned up his collar and slipped the tie around.

  “Ok,” she said. “Stand up.” He did and she came closer and pulled the ends until they were about right, then began tying.

  “Do women wear these?” he asked.

  “Not usually.” The tie Bianca picked was, of course, perfect. A handsome combination of color and pattern that made the suit and shirt pop. She finished, snugged the knot, turned down his collar, smoothed it, slipped the end of the tie inside his jacket and laid her hands on his chest.

  “You look very handsome.”

  Another couple walked by, arm in arm, out for a nighttime stroll in the park.

  Jess took her hands from Zac and picked up the bags.

  “Let’s go to dinner,” she said. “I’m starved.”

  * *

  “So the hour is ten local?” Zac glanced at the chunky, expensive watch. It looked great on him.

  Jess leaned across the table to look at the face.

  “Yep. You’re reading it right. DJ Fujito goes on at midnight. That’s about two hours from now.”

  Zac nodded and took another swig of his Cruzcampo beer, the one recommended by their waiter—his fourth so far—and another bite of manchego cheese. They were in a cute little tapas bar, an old, open-air structure. Vines and strings of tiny white lights cris-crossed the ceiling, which wasn’t really a ceiling at all, just wires running back and forth, something on which the vines could hang. Through the gaps you could see the night sky and there, right in view over Zac’s shoulder, rising in the near distance, was the lighted dome of a Catholic cathedral. At each table candles flickered, small torches burning in holders on the stone walls. Completing the serenity a cool, gentle breeze wafted through the restaurant, carrying the wonderful smells of food and wine.

  Like everything else that day, it was magical.

  Spanish families and a few other couples filled the place, out for their traditional late meal on a Saturday night, laughing and loud, most of the couples engaged in more intimate conversation. The Spanish were night-owls, both young and old and, one and all, had a certain gusto for life. You weren’t likely to see American families out in this number having so much fun openly for all to hear. Especially not that late.

  The corner table where she and Zac sat was a bit quieter. So far they’d been able to chat easily. In a way it gave them their own little bubble of privacy while still being out among the festivities. Tonight was apparently a minor holiday, the celebration of some local saint—thus the carnival—and everyone was having a good time. From the look of it Jess suspected the Spanish rarely needed a reason to have a good time. It was no wonder they lived longer. They were so full of life.

  The waiter came and asked Zac if he wanted another cerveza. Zac tipped his glass with a thirsty smile and said Yes, thank you. The waiter appreciated his enthusiasm and was off to fetch another round. Now that Jess had been spending time with Zac in the regular world, her world, she saw that he truly did not know a stranger. Everyone took to him as soon as he spoke or nodded or smiled and he, in turn, was abundantly sociable and interested in them. He’d been walking around all day making friends. The ice cream guy. The ride operator at the carnival. The waitress that morning, the ticket taker, the waiter tonight, that old lady selling flowers in the street, the shopkeeper ...

  Who’s the visitor here? It was as if Zac was getting along better than she was.

  The waiter returned with his fifth beer. Zac handed him the empty and made some joke about Jess not drinking which, remarkably, was understood by the waiter, who laughed along at her expense then left again.

  “Thanks a lot,” she grumbled.

  “You know I’m just teasing.” Zac took a big drink. “This stuff is good. Goes with the cheese, just like he said it would.”

  “Do you think it’s a good idea to get drunk?”

  “I can’t get drunk,” he said, and she figured that would be his response. He frowned. “I kind of miss it, actually. At least being able to.”

  “You used to get drunk? Before you were a Kazerai?”

  “Sometimes. Being an Astake was tough. Used to go out and get loaded on the Emperor’s sake.”

  Jess recalled her own brush with sake, during her time with Darvon back in Osaka. Too young for getting that loaded, that was for sure. Not that anyone was probably ever old enough to feel like that. Ugh. She was too young for most of the things she’d done in the last six months.

  Zac wasn’t legal to drink either, technically—near as they’d figured his Earth age—but he had a certain bearing about him, either from the transformation to a Kazerai or something else, that made it easy to think of him as older. The waiter hadn’t even asked.

  She took another bite of her delicious paella, followed by a sip of her own drink. A coke.

  And for an instant, looking across at Zac, she had tha
t weird sensation she sometimes got. That strange, almost out-of-body sort of consideration of just how powerful he was. Mostly she forgot, or kept it in the back of her mind, like a little nugget of logic or a fact, not really anything to dwell on, just something to be aware of, but every now and then, such as now, it occurred to her quite starkly just how far beyond human he was, and when it did it nearly buzzed her right out of her head. There he was, indestructible, sitting in a chair eating cheese, drinking beer and talking like a normal guy.

  Using his napkin.

  It was like sitting at the table with Superman. Zac truly was that strong. She’d seen it. Knew it. Yet in these normal settings, doing normal things, it was easy to forget. She stared across the table, over the flickering candle at his broad shoulders, made wider in the Italian jacket, sleeves hugging his biceps; sturdy neck atop a tall frame. A normal guy his size could go on a rampage in that little tapas restaurant and hurt a lot of people before the crowd got him under control.

  Zac would kill everyone in the place.

  Bring the entire restaurant to the ground. Bring down all the buildings around them, collapse that cathedral shining in the night sky through the vine ceiling. All the buildings in town, all the people, smash any army they brought against him, take their bullets, their missiles and all else. Kill thousands before he could be stopped. If he could even be stopped.

  He would be a one-man cataclysm.

  She watched him chewing another piece of cheese.

  He smiled at her. “What?”

  “Nothing.” She stirred around some of the paella, then looked up: “Wouldn’t it be fun to start a life here?” She looked higher, into the night sky, at the tranquility all around. Stars twinkled up there, far above.

  “Here?” He followed her gaze around the fire-lit comfort of the restaurant. “Sure. I could totally get used to living here.”