by Amy Vansant
He scowled.
“Alida? Are you okay?”
“Up here!”
He swiveled toward the dancing man. The man appeared tired, as if he wanted to sit down but couldn’t. There was something unnatural about the way his hands jerked in the air above his head.
“Up here!”
Rathe tilted his gaze and found Alida sitting on a tree branch above the dancer. She worked her arms as if she were climbing a ladder, sticks gripped in each hand. When she lifted her left hand, the dancing man lifted his left in perfect timing, as if they’d been working on their choreography all evening.
It would have been charming but for the man’s relentless sobs and begging. And the blood. Red liquid besmirched the man from head to toe, but for where his tears had cleared a glistening path.
Rathe noticed a glint of something in the firelight; a gossamer thread leading from Alida to the dancing man’s hands.
That’s when he saw the hooks.
The man had hooks in his hands.
Rathe raised his own hand to cover his mouth, his gaze darting from the grinning Alida in the tree down to the bloody dancer and back again.
Alida was working the dancer like a puppet.
The man’s face twisted in agony as he struggled to lessen the resistance between Alida’s desires and his own movements.
Rathe could smell that the dancing man wasn’t evil either. He didn’t have the green glow to his aura he saw in evil humans. He was just a man.
“What are you doing?” he asked, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible. Every nerve in his body threatened to destroy any credibility he might still possess with his young charge.
He really, really, really wanted to freak out.
“I can make him move!” she said. “Do you want me to play out a story? I can string up his feet too—I think. Maybe just his knees to make them bend. There must be a way to make his head nod I think, but I’d need a bigger hook—”
“No!” Rathe screamed the word so suddenly that for a moment he wasn’t sure he’d spoken it.
Alida scowled. “What’s wrong with you?”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m—I’m playing.”
“With people?”
“That’s why we’re here, isn’t it? I just thought, why kill them right away?”
“No, that’s not why we’re here. Maybe I didn’t explain things to you correctly.”
“What do you mean?”
“They have to be bad.”
“Who?”
“The humans. We’re not allowed to kill good people. These are good people!” he flopped his hand in Lefty’s direction and then swept it to the dancer.
Alida threw down her puppetry sticks and the man collapsed in a heap, sobbing.
“I’m good people,” said the man.
“Shut up!” The girl dropped from the tree and landed without a sound before kicking the puppet man in the side with her oversized cowboy boots.
The man whimpered and covered his head with his arms.
Rathe’s lip twitched. How’d she get so good at flying already?
Alida’s spotless white dress fluttered down to brush the top of her knees. Raven curls bobbed against her shoulders. He’d warned her that keeping such a lovely dress neat would be difficult and require unnecessary energy, but she’d ignored him. When she paired it with the cowboy boots he didn’t even bother to disapprove.
He’d guessed Alida’s age at twelve when they first met, but now he felt certain that if she’d been human, she’d be younger. Maybe eight. While in town, he’d asked a few ladies with similar children in tow how old their daughters were. They’d been eight. He’d asked what kind of toys their daughters like to play with in the hopes they’d share ideas for Alida, but they’d given him dirty looks and hurried away, dragging their girls behind them.
He didn’t really understand humans.
He bought Alida a doll that looked something like her. She ripped away its limbs and head, looked inside of it, and never touched it again.
He didn’t really understand Cherubim, either.
The girl put her hands on her hips. “What’s the difference?”
“Between what?”
“Good and bad people.”
“Can’t you smell that these are good people?”
“Smell? All humans smell the same.”
“No, they don’t. Look, the difference is, well, it’s right and wrong...it’s...” Rathe put both hands over his face and rubbed his eyes. “We need to talk.”
Alida huffed and with a streak of light, appeared in front of him. The suddenness of it made him jump. He told himself it was the shock of the movement, but he was beginning to think he might be afraid of her.
She stared at him with her all-black eyes. He’d told her to add white to her eyes and blend in, but, again, she’d ignored him.
I need to reclaim control.
“What happened to him?” he asked, pointing a thumb in Lefty’s direction.
“He lost.”
“What does that mean?”
“He was in a contest and he lost. It was an experiment.”
“What kind of experiment?”
“I tied him to another man and gave them an axe.”
Rathe felt the blood drain from his face. “You what?”
“I wanted to see if they’d cut themselves loose to get away.”
“Where’s the other man?”
“He went running through the woods with this guy’s arm tied to his arm.”
“Whaaa—” Rathe’s pictured the scenario in his mind and a barrage of questions arose. “Why didn’t they just run together?”
“I tied them in different directions. It would have been hard. One would have had to run backwards. Wasn’t that smart? I told them if they didn’t get a mile away in a minute, I would kill them both.”
It appeared Alida couldn’t stop grinning. Rathe found it unsettling.
“So the first man chopped this man’s arm off and ran?”
She nodded and pointed at Lefty. “I thought he might. This one was pretty scared.”
“Alida, don’t you see what you’ve done? Now we have to go! The one that ran away will find help and bring more people—”
“No, he won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I caught him and turned him to dust. He lost, too. Humans can’t run a mile in a minute. Duh.”
Rathe recalled killing the first evil man he’d encountered, turning him to dust by drawing his energy. It had felt so good and right at the time. Alida’s incessant leer told him she felt the same about her accomplishments.
“Why didn’t you dust Lefty over there and clean up that awful mess?”
She giggled. “Lefty. That’s funny. He bled out pretty fast. I didn’t have time.”
Rathe regarded the puppet man, still slumped at the bottom of the tree, too exhausted to beg for his life any longer.
“We need to leave.”
“Why?” She followed his gaze to the puppet. “Him? I’ll just kill him—”
“No!” Rathe grabbed her arm before he realized what he was doing and she turned on him, her shark eyes reflecting his own terrified expression. He felt her failed attempt to draw his energy. They hummed at the same frequency, making it impossible.
“Did you just try and kill me?”
“Don’t touch me.” She jerked her arm from his grasp.
He set his jaw. “We’re leaving. Come here, young lady. I need to hold you while we travel so we don’t become separated.”
She picked up a twig and threw it at him. “You don’t know anything!”
“I—” He cut short, unsure how to respond. He didn’t know anything. Not really. Was it so obvious to her?
She flew to the side of the puppet man and set her hand on his head. “Go! Leave me alone!”
Rathe saw the man’s eyes bulge and shook his finger at her. “Do not kill him young lady!”
<
br /> “I can do whatever I want!”
He took a step towards her. “I have to train you. We have to work together if we’re going to have a chance—”
“Go!”
Alida roared the word and Rathe feared his eardrums would burst. She raised her hands and threw a blast of energy at him, sending him flying backwards as if a giant had jerked his leash.
He hit a tree and fell to the ground, stunned. “You’re a monster.”
She snarled. “You’re a ridiculous.”
“That’s not even a proper sentence!”
He flew towards her, hoping to catch her off guard. She dove to the side and he passed her, scooping the puppet man into his arms. The human’s corporeal body shifted into energy, mingling with Rathe’s own as he flew on, traveling for miles, zigging and zagging as he had the night he’d run from Michael.
Hundreds of miles away from the cabin, Rathe attained his human form on the porch of a white house with cars in the driveway. He put the man on the doorstep, unconscious, but breathing. He knocked on the door and then hid behind a nearby tree. The moment the porchlight flickered on, he flew away.
Rathe traveled until he found a house far from the others. Dark. He could feel the emptiness. In his energy form he passed through the walls and reformed himself in the bedroom. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he stared at the floor until his eyes began to well with tears.
Everything is wrong.
All the time he’d spent dreaming about meeting other Cherubim—finally, one comes, and she’s a terror. She’s too young. She hasn’t had time to form any moral center. Any empathy.
Wait.
He looked up, brows knit together.
Is that what I feel in my chest? Empathy?
He rubbed at his stubbly cheek. He was aging. Quickly. The more he aged, the more regret and insecurity he felt. No wonder the Angelus Michael wanted to stop him. No wonder the redhead wanted to end his life.
He was a monster.
I don’t want to be a monster.
He tried to remember the last time he’d been happy. Really happy.
Tyannah.
His Sentinel.
He sat up and felt for her energy. Far away, he felt a ping of life.
She was still alive.
Tyannah.
She’d know what to do.
Chapter Three
“Michael says hi.”
The Angelus Leo stood, naked, on the threshold of Anne’s doorway, an awkward smile plastered across his face. Everyone in the room froze. Anne Bonny’s eyes and brain were in violent disagreement over how to process the vision. Months earlier she’d watched Leo slowly crumble to pieces and disappear. Now here he stood, blond locks flowing to his massive tan shoulders. He’d phased through her apartment door naked and whole once more.
Wholly whole.
Her gaze slid downward across the ridges of his abdominal muscles to his considerable manhood.
Wholly moley.
“Is he using a python for a bath wrap?” asked Con, echoing her own thoughts.
Leo remained motionless as a wax figure, inspiring everyone else to remain inert for fear of startling him.
“Isn’t he dead?” whispered Anne’s assistant, Jeffrey, from a crouched position, eyes peeping over the kitchen island.
She nodded. “Last I checked.”
“If zombies all looked like that no one would run from them.” Jeffrey giggled and threw up his hands, screaming in whispers. “Eat me! Eat me!”
Leo’s head tilted ever-so-slightly in Jeffrey’s direction and with a tiny yelp he disappeared behind the island.
“Is it safe to look yet?” asked Tyannah, holding her hands over her eyes.
“Not if you don’t want to spend the rest of your life disappointed by the men in your life,” muttered Con.
Leo’s expression remained unchanging, but he turned his head toward Anne. She shifted her gaze to his eyes.
“Leo?”
Leo’s body trembled.
“Leo?”
The angel’s knees buckled and he fell to the ground, his head clonking against the hardwood flooring.
“Leo!” Anne leapt forward and crouched beside him. She glared at Jeffrey, who peeked around the side of the kitchen island, watching her. “You couldn’t have caught him?”
“Me?” Jeffrey placed his hand on his chest. “He would have crushed me! Look at his back. It looks like a topographical map of the Andes. I didn’t even know people had muscles in those places.”
Anne scowled at him. “Con, help me get him to the guest room.”
Con sauntered over and peered down at the unconscious blond angel. “Me?”
“Yes, you.”
“But he’s—”
“He’s what?”
“You know...naked.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
Con sighed. “Fine. But I’m taking the top half.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m not going to stare at his clackers the whole way.”
“Just shut up and grab him.”
Anne rolled Leo on to his back and moved to his feet. Con squatted to slip his hands under the Angelus’ armpits and hoisted him up.
“Sweet Mother Mary, is he made of granite?”
“Even his feet are heavy,” agreed Anne as they shuffled to the back bedroom.
Anne lowered Leo’s feet to the ground so Con could hold the angel aloft while she pulled back the sheets. They lifted him to the mattress and Anne covered him with a blanket.
“Well, I’m going to go kill myself now,” said Con, turning to leave.
“Hold on! We have to figure out what’s wrong with him. Have you ever seen an Angelus pass out before?”
“No. But what are we supposed to do? Every time we ask if they have an angel doctor they laugh at us.”
“This is the part where I usually call Michael.”
At the mention of Michael, Con’s expression grew dark. He crossed his arms across his chest. “And this would be the part where I usually start drinkin’.”
“Come on, this is serious.”
Con grunted, his gaze fixed and distant. “I suppose if Leo’s come back, Michael will be next, eh?”
Anne looked away and allowed herself a moment to embrace the hope rising in her breast. Michael could come back. Granted, Michael had been drained by Rathe’s Sentinel, Mallory, and Leo had been infected by the mad Arch Angelus Seth, but...wasn’t it possible? If Leo had found his way home, Michael could too.
“Hey, Annie.”
Con snapped his fingers in her face and she broke from her thoughts.
“That’s annoying,” she said, pushing away his hand.
“So is talking to someone who’s mentally left the building.”
“I was just thinking that Leo said Michael said hi. That must mean he’s alive somewhere.”
“Aye. My math turned out much the same way. I never did like math.”
Anne’s labradoodle, Gordon, trotted into the room and hopped up on the bed. He flopped, the front half of him on Leo’s chest.
“Git!” said Anne, shooing him away.
Gordon hopped up and trotted back out of the room as Anne bent over the enormous Angelus in her bed. “Leo?” She slapped his cheek several times in rapid succession. “Leo?”
“Step aside.” Con pushed in front of her, raised his hand and slapped Leo so hard people heard it in Maine.
Leo gasped and sat up, his arm punching forward as he rose. He caught Con in the side of his jaw and the Irishman spun into the far wall.
“Where am I?” asked Leo, laying back down.
“You’re in my apartment in New York.” Anne watched a groaning Con peel himself from the drywall. “You deserved that.”
Leo blinked and focused on Con. “What happened to him?”
Con held his broken jaw in place as it healed and muttered, “I’m about to show you, ya—”
Anne held up a hand. “Please.
Can you two stand down for five freaking seconds?”
Con flicked his tongue out at the Angelus and then winced in pain.
“Now. Leo. Where have you been? How are you back? We watched you...” Her voice trailed. Was it polite to tell a man you’d watched him crumbled to dust?
Leo lifted the sheet and peeked beneath it. “I’m naked!”
“Yes. That’s how you arrived.”
He looked at her. “Where am I?”
Anne sighed. “You’re in my apartment. Are you okay? You seem a little fuzzy.”
He again peered beneath the sheet and gasped. “I’m naked!”
“He’s off his nut,” said Con.
Anne put her hand on Leo’s. “Leo, sweetheart, we’ve covered that ground.”
He looked at her, a wolfish grin spreading across his face. Anne suddenly felt like a piece of steak. He reached for her and she jumped away from him.
“Whoa! Easy big guy. Maybe you should rest a little.”
“You called me sweetheart.”
“But I didn’t mean—”
“So, we’re not—?”
“No. We’re not.”
He blinked at her. “That seems weird.”
Con scoffed. “Not that weird, boyo; she’s got taste.”
Leo stared at her a moment longer before snapping his attention to his lap. He peeped under the sheet. “Hey, I’m naked!”
Con shook his head. “Oh for fek’s sake.”
The skin on Leo’s upper arm twitched, catching Anne’s attention. It undulated, as if something was crawling beneath the surface.
She squinted and pointed at it. “Do you see—”
Leo sat up in bed like a spring-loaded vampire, and Anne and Con both jumped at the sudden movement.
“No time,” said the Angelus, swinging his legs from beneath the sheet to stand. As he did, jeans and a t-shirt materialized on his form. His massive pectoral muscles stretched the white fabric to its limits.
“Maybe you could manifest something a size up,” suggested Con.
Without expression, Leo turned and strolled towards Con, who puffed his own chest. The Angelus poked him in the arm.
“You’re whole again.”
Con grinned and slapped his own chest. “Aye. Thanks for noticing. Got your noggin on straight now?”
Leo ignored him and walked past Anne into the living room. The Sentinels followed.
