An Angel's Touch

by Susan D. Kalior

  I magically changed myself into a dressy black outfit: pants, silk shirt, fitted jacket, and boots. The black fingerless gloves must remain. I made my hair clean and combed, long down my back with a row of black lava beads lining a strand on each side. Peppermint breath. Musky cologne. Then I gave Jen a psychic suggestion to awaken so that Randa might think it was she who let me in.

  My eyes stopped whirling. I psychically released Randa. Her face widened with delight. “Well, hello there cowboy!” She grabbed my shoulders and pecked a kiss on my cheek. “Did Jen let you in?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  She gushed, “I hear congratulations are in order. You’re going to be a daddy!”

  An unexpected ire flamed behind my charming smile. A daddy. Sounded so confining.

  Randa said, “Have you two eaten yet? I know this fabulous restaurant, Carlito’s.”

  “Do they serve decent scotch?” I said.

  She tapped me on the arm playfully. “Of course johnny, what would we do without our scotch!”

  “My,” she stroked my arm, leaving her hand there a bit too long. “You look handsome as ever, johnny—dark and beautiful, as if you were . . . oh, even more mystical than I knew you to be, king-like, you know.”

  She looked me up and down with wanton eyes, and then licked her lower lip. Peculiar, because Randa was gay. Jen didn’t know, but I realized it the first day I encountered her. It was also that day when I discovered Jen’s innocence in her heart. And through Randa, I had lured that innocent one into my trap. Diego, no doubt, was using Randa to lure me into his.

  Randa pressed her body against me. “If you weren’t Jenséa’s, but—” she sighed and stepped back, “you are.” She hugged me short and quick. “Congratulations on the babies. When are they due?”

  “January,”

  Jen’s voice sounded behind me, “johnny?”

  I turned around.

  “I thought I heard your voice.”

  I had forgotten to plant the memory in Jen’s mind that she had let me inside the Condo. Having destroyed Chelt—it was bringing me back to power, and when I was in power, I cared less about details.

  Randa cocked her head wondering why Jen seemed surprised to see me when she had just let me inside the Condo.

  Jen said to me, “What are you doing in here?”

  “You just let me in,” I sent her the mind message—cover up, “remember?”

  She shook her head slightly, “Oh, I though I dreamed that.”

  Then realizing she’d responded to me out of rote and that she’d already let the cat out of the bag with Randa, she moved past me to Randa, stabbing me with a suspicious eye, while at the same time being a bit dazzled by my fashionable appearance.

  She said, “I told Randa about you—about us. I want her to understand. I need someone to talk to about all this strangeness.”

  Randa said, “What strangeness?”

  Jen looked at Randa with a confused expression. “You know Randa, the things I told you about johnny.”

  Randa returned the confusion expression to Jen, and then a she must be stressed by the pregnancy look to me.

  Jen’s mouth fell open. “Randa!”

  “Look,” Randa held out her palms to Jen, “all I know is that you two are my favorite couple, and I want to treat you to dinner tonight.”

  Jen turned to me in a huff. “johnny!”

  I raised one brow. “What?”

  She stomped over to me and thumped my chest. “You made her forget, didn’t you?” She waggled a finger at me. “You make her remember this instant!”

  I grabbed her affronting arms gently, attempting to calm her. Looking over her head, I said to Randa, “She’s stressed from the pregnancy.”

  “I understand.” Randa nodded.

  Jen said, “I hate you! You said I could talk with her. I want her to know. I need her to know. I really, truly, desperately, want and need her to know.”

  I put my arms around her and winked at Randa. “She knows everything about us.”

  “Please johnny.” She whimpered, “Please.”

  I said to Randa, “You mentioned a restaurant?”

  “I’m not hungry,” Jen said. “I’m never eating again.”

  “Nonsense,” Randa said, practically prying Jen from me. “Let me have some woman time with her. I’ll dress her up and she’ll feel better.”

  I relinquished Jen.

  Jen pouted. “I’m too fat to be dressed up.”

  Randa pulled her arm, guiding her into the walk-in closet.

  Jen looked at me with a please change your mind expression.

  From my orange eyes, I seared my arrow-tipped message into her, coldly and sharply. You are finished revealing our secrets. If you try again, I’ll take you away.

  She glared at me, shaking her head, tears swallowing her eyes.

  I backed out of the room and shut the door. I walked over to the wet bar and poured a large glass of scotch, bringing the bottle with me to the elegant, white leather sofa. I placed the bottle on the glass end table by the phone and swilled down half my drink. The faint heat of it soothed my throat.

  If only I could so easily soothe Jen’s need to ‘share.’ Success for either one of us depended upon anonymity. Shens, once exposed, were usually assassinated; and for that matter, devils too, not Tazmarks, but the instruments we worked through—those known for their infamy. Exposure always led to ruin.

  I swilled down the rest of my scotch and rested the empty glass on the end table. I picked up the bottle and took a swig. Jen could tell no one about her or me—ever, despite her kinship needs. I’d try to be a friend to her if it would help, though I detested friendship. I just wanted to protect her, watch her grow, and feel her innocence—that’s all. And . . . well, an occasional, as they say, ‘roll in the hay’ was pretty nice too.

  I gulped down the rest of the scotch, leaving the glass bottle glimmering empty under the crystal lamp that lit the room with a hundred watt bulb. I slumped down on the sofa, my body tingling. I’d allow Jen one night with her old friend; well, since I’d gotten rid of her new one, Angel Boy that is. When I dropped him at the volcanoes, his whiny cry of protest sank away like the sound of Wiley Coyote plummeting from the cliff he overshot to get the Roadrunner. Oh how the red ash must have puffed up when he hit ground. Comical indeed. I was too mad to enjoy it then, but I could enjoy it now. I canned my compulsion to crow. Vengeance was a kick.

  Except with Diego. Diego proved difficult to punish. Moreover, he was playing the tormenter role in somewhat superior form, dulling my arrogant countenance. Scotch. I needed more scotch. I manifested a new bottle in my hand and zapped the old one to a dumpster out back to hide the truth of my heavy consumption. Even a heavy drinker couldn’t drink that much, this fast.

  I removed the lid, then began gulping. Not even my growing strength could dissuade Diego. Still, he ordered me around like some two bit lackey. That didn’t sit well with me, even if I was training for a prestigious post. I did not aspire to climb the Dragons’ preconceived ladder to success. I aspired to climb my own, and define my own destiny. I was nobody’s man, nobody’s Tazmark, and I sure as hell would be nobody’s Dragon, not even Quen-tan’s.

  Diego’s voice sounded in my head, You are like a rebellious teenager, Juan. Soon, like all teenagers, you will learn the merit in conforming. That—or die.

  Damn. Diego had become my fucking shadow.

  The bedroom door opened. I made the scotch bottle appear at the wet bar.

  Randa pushed Jen out in a burgundy, velvet dress with a ballet scoop neck that gave perfect form to her breasts, waist, and her life-filled abdomen. The dragon talisman, oddly enough, showcased the outfit. The long sleeves and ankle length reminded me of the ladies in medieval times who sated my needs in merry little hell games. Black glitter on the bodice sparkled where the lamplight hit. Jen’s blonde hair, having grown out during our days in India, was swept off her face by a burgundy velvet headband that also sparkled black.
She held a black glittery purse in her hand. Cinnamon lipstick and eye shadow finished the look.

  I’d never seen her so sexually elegant. I rose from the sofa and walked over to her, wordlessly brushing my hands through her hair, gazing into her demure eyes.

  She whispered, “I don’t feel comfortable going out in public dressed like this. There are black sparkles on the velvet that catch the light, and the back scoops so low. I don’t want people staring at me. This style doesn’t suit me.”

  “You’re not a nun anymore,” I rubbed her shoulders. “You are a sensuous woman.” I moved closer, touching my body to her. She was taller, raised up on spiked shoe heels.

  Randa smiled. “Ah, should I give you two some alone time?”

  “No,” Jen said, embarrassed, pulling away from me. “Let’s go.”

  I reluctantly allowed her to part from me, but my eyes possessed her.

  She looked down at her burgundy high heels. “These heels are too high, and spiked.”

  “You want tennies?” Randa said with half a laugh. “Come on Jenséa, you look ravishing!”

  Randa didn’t look so bad herself, in her sparkly silver gown, with white sparkly wrap, and spiked heals to match.

  Jen said, “But . . . you painted my nails black.”

  “With burgundy sparkles,” Randa said as she helped Jen into the black, floor-length dress coat that had been draped over her arm. “Anyway, black polish is chic.”

  “I . . . I feel like—” Jen glanced at me, “a vampire.”

  “Nonsense.” Randa took Jen’s hand and led her to the door. “You look like a princess fit to be with your dark, sexy prince.”

  Jen mumbled, “Like Mina and Dracula.”

  Randa glided out the door, holding it open for us in the grandest style.

  Jen ambled into the hall.

  Randa flashed a flirtatious look at me as I passed her.

  “Dracula,” she said sensuously.

  I must admit, she was stirring me, well not me, but a part of me. Randa, though gay and intensely loyal to Jen, was coming on to me again. Diego. I shook my head. He was weaving Randa into his plan, finding a way to punish me for my ‘teenage rebellion.’

  While Randa locked the door, I took Jen’s hand in mine and led us down the hall. Randa caught up and slid to my free side, curling her arm around mine. Jen peeked her head around the front of my shoulder and gave Randa an are you moving on my boyfriend look.

  We reached the elevator. I pressed the button.

  Jen stared at Randa suspiciously.

  Randa blurted, “Why are you glaring at me!”

  “You’re acting strange.”

  “No stranger than you!”

  The elevator opened. Jen slid a possessive arm around mine. We stepped in as an arm linked trio, and turned in unison to face the door. The two women glowered at each other. Normally I’d enjoy playing with this situation, but with Diego in the picture, I refrained. He seemed to want us skirmishing, so a skirmish we would not have.

  While riding down in the elevator, I projected my mind into Randa’s, twisting down the corridors of what made her who she is. Well into her unconscious, Diego loitered. Bucking him was hazardous, but I couldn’t bow down, no matter what the price. I flooded Randa with black light to wash Diego out of her. She fell against the elevator door.

  Jen helped steady her. “Randa? Are you all right.”

  “Yes, I got dizzy for a moment. I thought I was going to faint.”

  Jen said, “We shouldn’t go out.”

  “No, I’m okay now. In fact, I feel better than I did before I got dizzy. I don’t know what got into me. I’d been feeling kind of haunted or something. I’m sorry for the way I behaved.”

  “It’s okay,” Jen said, “don’t worry about it.”

  Randa smiled faintly. “You are always so forgiving.”

  The elevator door opened. Well, I’d evacuated Diego from Randa, but where was he now? We walked out into the evening along a crowded sidewalk with Jen in the middle. Street lamps and colorful building lights created a kind of rainbow darkness. It pleased me some, but Jen didn’t look too happy. A gust of December’s chill wind blew past us.

  Jen shivered, pulling the warm coat collar up around her ears.

  Randa hailed a taxi. We climbed in, sandwiching Jen.

  Rubbing her palms together, she said, “Geez, it’s cold here in December, a little different than my taxi ride when I was here last summer.”

  “Carlito’s please,” Randa said.

  Jen stared hard in the rearview mirror, next to the driver’s head. Then her face twisted. She whispered to Randa and I from the sides of her mouth. “That’s the driver that dumped me for that jazz musician on Avenue C,” she glanced up at me, “that first day when I came to meet you, johnny.”

  Randa touched her knee. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” she said, glancing at Randa.

  Randa said lowly, “Come to think of it, you are right. I remember him too.”

  Jen scowled, hugging her full-sized stomach, and whispered, “Randa, you gave him fifty dollars to get me to johnny’s in one piece. And he didn’t. I was in many pieces when I got there, thanks to him.”

  I smiled to myself. I had set that little scene. Jen never knew. Still, he was a surly sort, and I’d not mind playing the hero right now.

  “Say something to him,” Randa said.

  “No. I can’t. He might get mad.”

  Randa and I said simultaneously, “So?”

  “Oh well, all right.” She leaned forward and tapped the driver on the shoulder.

  Randa and I smiled at each other.

  She cleared her throat. “Sir?”

  His round eyes peered at her in the mirror. “What!”

  “I rode with you once. You dumped me on Avenue C, when you were supposed to drop me at Avenue D.”

  “So?”

  “So that wasn’t nice. And you took my friend’s money on the promise to get me to my destination.”

  “So, fucking sue me,” he said.

  She huffed a few times and then sat back quietly. The cab was thick with her wounded feelings.

  I leaned forward and wrapped my elbow around his stout neck with a hearty squeeze.

  “Hey,” he said, “what are you doing?”

  “Apologize.”

  “I ain't gonna fucking apologize, but I might crash this car.”

  “Good,” I said, “I get off on crashes.” I pressed my forearm harder on his Adam’s apple.

  He rasped, “You’re going to get us killed! “

  “No,” I said, “only you.”

  “All right, all right, I fucking apologize.”

  “To her,” I said. “Get up here, Jen.”

  Jen leaned forward, her hands curling over the rim of the front seat.

  “I apologize,” he said more passively.

  Jen said, “It would be good if you didn’t treat your passengers that way.”

  I felt his rage rise. I wanted to grab it, and then answer his call for fire by causing an explosion. But he pushed it back down, so I released him, a little disappointed, hot for action. Jen and I sat back. She snaked her arm around mine and leaned her head on my shoulder. Her mind said, My hero. I guess all the work I had done saving her in other incarnations was paying off. In the past, she’d not have condoned the forceful way I handled the situation, or reward me for it afterward.

  We pulled up near the restaurant. Randa was readying to pay the driver.

  I said, “No.”

  “No?” she echoed. She shrugged her shoulders. “Fine by me.”

  “Hey,” he said, “seven fifty.”

  “You owe her that much at least for the fifty you took without delivering her to her destination. So,” I said, opening the door, sliding out of the cab, with Jen and Randa following suit, “justice is served.” I slammed the door.

  He jumped out of the car, marching his burly body over to me. His pear shaped face was crimson with anger, and
his hot breath steamed in the cold, bathing his cherry red nose.

  I narrowed my eyes coldly, and turned them red—my scare stare. He huffed, got back in the cab, and screeched away.

  “You showed him!” Randa said.

  “Randa,” Jen said. “He’s probably had a hard life. Let’s not be too mean.”

  “Come on, Jenséa, you have to admit, it felt pretty good when johnny made him apologize.”

  Jen’s cheek dipped to her shoulder shyly, sporting a faint smile. “Yes, it was.” And it was good to see her lighten up.

  With Jen in the middle, and Diego hovering near, we walked down the sidewalk toward the restaurant just ahead of us. I black light shielded my thoughts so Diego couldn’t hear. I hoped. I had a hunch he was trying to turn Jen against me, while at the same time use me to empower her. Why did he want her empowered? A full powered Shen was virtually safe around Tazmarks. Why would he want Jen to become so powerful that not even he could take her? Certainly not just for the challenge. It had something to do with the Dragons. Diego was beyond Tazmarkian play on earth. He played with the Dragons out in the universe. He served the master himself—Quen-tan.

  We came to Carlito’s. Bloodlust brewed in my belly. Eating meat in a restaurant was not what I wanted to do. A man in a dark red uniform opened the door for us. We entered. The warm rush of heat blew over us. I could not feel it, but it seemed pleasant to Jen and Randa by the way their bodies relaxed.

  Randa addressed the host, who looked stiff in his starched white tuxedo, “Reservations for McCrea.”

  A woman in a dark red gown ceremoniously removed Jen from her coat and Randa from her wrap. With the outer wear draped across her forearm, she bowed her brunette head lightly, and said, “Enjoy your meal,” and walked away.

  “This way,” said the host, hugging white, gold-tasseled menus to his chest.

  He led us to a quaint round, black glass table that shined our images, adorned with blood red place mats that pleased the eye. However, we had the displeasure of being seated by a Romanesque indoor fountain, lit with blue and purple lights, too cool for me. We sat in ornately carved, black wood chairs, with Jen between me and Randa. The host strategically placed the white, gold-tasseled menus in front of us.

  While Randa and I scanned the menu, Jen kept staring at me. Well, she’d never seen me eat dinner before, not in the traditional mode anyway.