An Angel's Touch

by Susan D. Kalior

  I stopped my hand from ringing the bell, rather vexed, like a god who might strike his servant dead.

  She stared at me curiously, trying to extract what she knew was there. She might succeed. I had to make what used to be real, my false front—and what was currently real, a secret. I summoned a Montana memory of when I dragged myself, severely wounded and near death, over her dying body to shield her from the Dark One’s fatal blow.

  The Shen sense I had of her faded into the human. “Promise you’ll be nice. Please johnny, promise.”

  Nice? I could hardly answer. The emotional syrup gushing from her little girl, masochistic, young azure eyeballs, just dying to forgive me so that she’d not have to entertain the notion of fighting me—was beyond my comprehension. How could such denial exist? I was fire. I was pain. I was the breaker of all secured reality. I could not feed the conformist, the weak, the fearful. No. I wanted to set her eyes on fire with one shot of my breath. Giving victims what they call for—that was my passion. Hell upon the whiney little self-deprecating humans bathing in ‘woe is me.’ Morstis ad libensentis victimas. Death to willing victims.

  She said, “Why won’t you respond to me?”

  I forced false words, “I will be nice.” I did want to obliterate her . . . at times—times like this. Actually doing it, well, that was always the hard part.

  Repressing this Dragon-size lust to destroy felt increasingly impossible. I had to get a grip, or she’d cancel whatever trust she had left for me. Without that, bringing her to full power would prove undoable.

  I rang the doorbell that played the first line of an Old French lullaby. I cringed. But Jen didn’t see. I inhaled the cold with monster vigor to quell the fire inside me, but not even one flame quelled. Come on Granny. Speed up those wrinkled old stilts you walk on. Had to deposit Jen and fly. Had to appease the irrepressible new, yet ancient me.

  “I’m nervous,” Jen said.

  “No need,” I replied, hoping I sounded normal.

  Brass bird wind chimes sounded delicately to the right of us. The brass birds bumped into each other over barren bushes. Angel stuff. The heat was on. My power lust turned hotter. If only the brass birds were a flock of flesh, I’d make them crash into each other, beaks ripping into feathers, blood exposing guts. I yearned to make the whole world collide, beginning with the intensification of religious wars all over the world. World War Three. Everyone, everywhere would be fighting, losing the last of their humanity. Soon . . . soon.

  I could see Granny in my mind in a utility room holding a baby goat. Baby? Diego wasted no time. Granny hadn’t heard the bell ring. I rang it again, several times, staring at the tan welcome sign above the door that read in blue letters, ‘Accueillir mes amies.’ In each corner of the sign, a painted fairy blew fairy dust into the “Welcome My Friends,” message. Fifth realm shit. The air stunk of sweetness.

  “johnny, something is terribly wrong with you. You are coursing with rage.”

  I forced my hand around hers and squeezed gently. “My parents unnerve me. I take it out on you. Apologies.”

  Jen loosened. Forgiveness again. She was easy.

  She whispered quickly, “Tell her you are my husband, so she doesn’t think ill of me for conceiving out of wedlock.”

  “Fine.” I smiled. She wanted me to lie. Such requests were rare for a Shen. I’d oblige.

  The door opened partially. A wrinkled face peaked through. “Oui, puis je vous aider?”

  I answered, “Yes, we are looking for Charlotte Vervin.”

  The old woman answered in a thick accent with hand over heart. “I am she.”

  I said, “This is your great granddaughter, Jenséa Renlé. And I am her husband, johnny.”

  Jen gulped, uncomfortable with the lie.

  The old woman’s face lit. “I, I was just thinking of you! I knew of your existence, but I feared making contact over these many years.”

  “Oh why? I have needed family, ever since—” Jen’s face paled, “—you know, right?”

  “Yes,” nodded Granny. “I know of your parent’s transcendence from this earth.” She opened her arms.

  Jen stepped into them.

  Charlotte enfolded Jen, mingling life forces.

  I felt it then, the woman’s divine insides, swirling with love, empathy, and martyr ways. Another Shen. Mind maze scans don’t reveal species, a thing I usually enjoyed, for not knowing yielded the hope of a possible treat. However, having been obstructed lately from consuming my delicacies: Jen, Angel Boy, the High Lama Khandro, and now Granny—my thrill had changed to frustration. Four Shens in one century. Hell, four Shens in one year. A first for me. But this particular Shen, well, I wouldn’t leave Jen with her for long. Leaving Jen too long with an ally, a relative no less, rang wrong.

  Granny, still in the door jam, stepped to the side, and swung her arm inward. “Entrez, s’il vous plait!”

  Jen stepped in the house and slid to the right, waiting for me to enter.

  A cool breeze blew ripples in the hem of Granny’s blue dress, patterned with tiny white gardenias. Her willowy build moved smoothly for a woman of her age. Her wizened features were beautiful. Grey, curly hair edged her face like soft cotton.

  I stepped inside.

  Granny closed the door behind us. “Do you visit France on my behalf?”

  “Yes,” I answered, viewing the quaint surroundings: light blue carpet, cream colored sofa, dark blue arm chairs, shiny antique coffee table, cherry wood so polished it reflected the room, and simple cream curtains on French bay windows cut into every wall. Light, lots of light.

  Jen moved to my side. I set down her cloth floral travel bag and turned toward Granny. “Jenséa came to get acquainted with you. I am here on business. May I put her in your care for a few days? I have a three day conference in Paris.”

  Jen’s face fell. “Conference? Paris? Three days? You are going to leave me for three days?”

  “You knew that,” I said with a glint in my eye, holding her to the lying game.

  Her face crumpled.

  Granny said to me, “Yes, yes of course she may stay.”

  A translucent head appeared in the air above Granny’s. Diego, of course.

  Granny and Jen froze as if sensing his presence.

  Telepathically, I asked Diego in a rather bold blaring tone, What now?

  In my mind I saw the world on fire. Then he disappeared.

  The women stood—frozen with contemplative expressions. They had felt Diego with that queer sixth sense so few humans develop. They sighed simultaneously, and exchanged a gaze of apology for their lapse of attention to each other. Then as if on cue, their eyes widened, and in harmony they said, “You are a—”

  They both nodded with brimming smiles that lit the room. They did not need words. The smile they shared was an embrace that only Shens can give without actually embracing.

  “Baaa.”

  “Do you have sheep?” asked Jen, glowing with joy. Her manner had grown calm.

  “A goat,” Granny said. “A baby. Its mother died this morning, giving birth. ’Twas a sad hard thing to watch. I am trying to save her, and strangely—no luck, which is odd for me. I have given her ‘the light,’ but a dark field of energy blocks me. Maybe together, we can save the little one.”

  Jen looked inward. “Dark energy blocks you?”

  “Oh, it happens from time to time. No need to fret.”

  Jen said, “Well if you aren’t worried, I won’t be.” But Jen was worried. Very. “May we take a look at the baby?”

  “Oui,” Granny said. “I will bring her to you.” She made her way to the back of the house, gliding sort of, not at all typical for a woman of her age. She disappeared into a utility room.

  Jen brushed her hair behind her ears nervously and said to me, airily, almost haughtily, “So, are your parents haunting my great Grandmother?”

  “Could be.”

  She glared at me as if it were my fault. And, well . . . it was.

&nb
sp; I glared back. "Well, don’t ask if you don’t want an answer.”

  “I didn’t want that answer. You’ll help me protect her, right?”

  “Right,” I said trying to sound convincing.

  She hugged her stomach and angled her body toward the utility room where Granny had disappeared. I don’t think she was convinced.

  Quen-tan and the Dragons wasted no time forcing the issue, as if I had no will of my own. Had they willed me their way? Or was their will simply mine? Perhaps the truth would surface if I rebelled against Quen-tan. I abhorred ‘fitting in,’ even if it was with the Chaos Dragons of the universe. Still, forfeiting the Dracovar throne and battling a force improbable to defeat, appealed to me less than ruling six Dracovar Worlds. On a more morbid note, if I chose rebellion, Diego could immobilize me. If he could do that, imagine the talents of Quen-tan.

  When Granny emerged, she had an infant, grey pigmy goat wrapped in a blue woolen blanket with a bottle of milk in her hand. The creature’s nose was dry, its crusted eyes closed. Granny approached Jen. “Would you care to feed her?”

  Jen reached out. “Oh, the little darling.”

  Granny handed the goat to Jen. She sat in the dark blue armchair, holding the goat like a human infant. Granny handed her the bottle. Jen pushed the nipple to its lips, and saturated the dying creature with maternal love. The animal began to suck, faintly at first, as if it barely had the energy, but then stronger as blue and white light flooded the beast beyond maternal love. Finally, the light turned blaring white. Jen was pouring heart and soul into the task. The creature gulped the liquid.

  “Bravo,” said Granny, “well done.” Granny hovered over her, watching the baby goat slurp the last of the milk from the bottle, and then fall asleep on Jen’s lap.

  Granny said, “She takes the bottle now. Now she will survive. Mercie, ma chère.”

  “A votre service, ma grandmere.”

  Granny leaned over to Jen and carefully lifted the sleeping goat and took it back to the utility room. She returned rather promptly, as if leaving Jen and I alone were a bad thing.

  “I must go,” I said, planning to cruelly toy with them after I departed. I had to disrupt their alliance somehow, this sweet, cozy, little Shen thing, this little family capable of eliminating me.

  Jen snapped her head up at me. “Don’t go.”

  Granny said to Jen, “He worries you.”

  “Yes,” said Jen.

  Then Granny looked straight into me. I looked straight back. And we were in a stare down.

  Granny was not just any Shen. She was an evolved Shen, High Lama Khandro style. I thickened my Black Light Shield to ward off Granny’s probing mind. Thinking of the ring in my pocket, I knew I had to do something about the High Lama Khandro. I couldn’t believe I had let him go. If I had tried harder, I could have made him call—probably, most likely.

  Feelings no longer clouded me. I was sharp now, cold now, relieved of the conscience I’d begun to grow.

  Granny said, “He should worry you. He will betray you.”

  So much for my Black Light Shield. I wasn’t doing well feigning what once was real. It was like when I first tried to fly in the Dragon body, level nine seemed to require similar fine-tuning.

  Jen looked at Granny, and asked faintly, “How . . . do . . . you know?”

  Granny did not take her eyes from me. “He is what he is.”

  Jen gulped. “You . . . know . . . what he is?”

  She nodded.

  “How?”

  “Because I am what you are.” Granny, still staring at me, said, “He doesn’t know love. He can’t know love. He knows only challenge. And when you give him what he wants, he’ll destroy you.”

  “You’re wrong about him. He’s proven himself to me.”

  The old bat was picking up on Quen-tans conversation with me. But she was exaggerating the truth. I hadn’t wholly decided to betray Jen; I could still be swayed by a miracle—if she could accept me and perhaps, cross into my world, for I would need her to fight the Dragons. Now that would be a miracle, especially with Granny here butting in. Granny was a bad influence on Jen, a little too advanced for my comfort.

  I summoned ninth level charm with all its thick illusion. I said with full hypnotic allure. “Charlotte Vervin.”

  Her eyes softened.

  “Charlotte . . . Vervin.” My voice summoned her inside of me, my eyes whirling, whirling.

  The hard pose on her face lightened with excitement.

  I inhaled, gently sucking her spirit closer, beckoning her into a world of beautiful fire, enchanting her to touch the hot fervor all Shens secretly craved. Once inside me, I’d seal all exits and lure her into the brilliant hall of orange flame that would lead to the section where I create Gankors. I would lead her there like a mouse to poisoned cheese.

  “johnny!” Jen cried, “Don’t do that to my great Grandmother!”

  Granny shook her head, as if trying to awaken.

  Jen had caused me to lose my hold. But I would get it back. I planted a belief in Granny’s mind. You can bring me to the light. I planted the belief in Jen’s mind. Your grandmother has turned me to the light. I summoned every memory of longing that I ever had for new emotions, physical sensations, and the cherish I once had for Jen.

  They both look intently at me, burrowing into the dark corners of my own mind maze. I lined it with flashes of cherishing Jen. They seemed undecided. I’d have to do more. I had intended to move through my portrait to draw Jen further into full power during my absence, but Granny was an unexpected problem, and at this point, a more pressing one at that.

  I handed Granny the portrait. “For you,” I said.

  Jen blurted, “Don’t take it.”

  I said kindly and actually pulled it off, “Why, Jenséa? Why do you not want her to have it?”

  “I . . . I don’t think she’ll like it.”

  “If she looks at the portrait, she will like it.”

  Jen narrowed one eye. “I don’t understand, johnny.”

  “You are a talented artist, Jenséa,” I said.

  Jen lowered her brows suspiciously. “That’s why she’ll like it?”

  Granny looked into me. I made her see kindness.

  She took the painting warily, and stared into it. My painted eyes whirled.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said, “fire, fire from the source of fire.”

  “See, I told you Jenséa, she admires it.”

  Granny stared and stared into the painting, becoming entranced. “It’s a masterpiece.”

  I smiled at Jen so that she would not suspect I was hypnotizing Granny again.

  Granny stared and stared at the eyes of my portrait. I felt her moving into me. Soon, I’d have her.

  Then with a jerk, I felt her pull out.

  The painting dropped from her hands. She fell against me, clutching my hips, gasping. I let her lean against me, but I did not hold her up.

  “Help her, johnny!”

  “Yes,” Granny said, “Help me to the divan.”

  Stepping over the painting, I helped her to the couch, letting her hobble a bit more than necessary. She sat. I stepped backward to assess her.

  Suddenly, her head snapped up. With narrow, accusing eyes, her hand jutted out, pointing a finger at me. “Demon! You caused the bombing in Russia!”

  Apparently she had assessed me. Damn, she was good. I could draw her into illusion, but she had the ability to get out stealing information.

  Jen froze with gaping mouth, boring her eyes against my Black Light Shield. “Is this true?”

  Pampering her with this false front had wearied me. I was no-one’s fucking puppet. I took a manly stance and compressed my eyes. “You knew.”

  Jen started shaking badly. Surely she known the truth, but as usual, she had been a coward to accept it. I despised her weakness. I despised her. I sent malice into her weakly form.

  Her jitters intensified.

  Granny lunged in front of her. “Arrêt
! Stop at once!”

  I made Granny choke on her words. Literally. She clutched her throat trying to breathe. I could tell she wanted to zap me with her Divine Light, but she’d have to calm down to do it.

  Jen ran over to me and shook my arms screaming, “No johnny, don’t! Please don’t kill her!”

  My eyes glazed cold. I propelled Jen backward with a wind I’d created. I intensified the wind, blowing it all around the cottage, ripping curtains off the wall and crashing dishes to the floor. The little goat baahed and baahed from the utility room. Even it knew who I was.

  Granny had fallen to her knees with a bluing face. She forced herself to calm down and center her thoughts. A Divine Light shot from her forehead to mine, but I disappeared into the sixth realm before it could strike me, leaving her to breathe again. And it was well. I had lost my temper. I needed to think before I hot-headedly killed a Shen. They were too rare to wipe away without sucking them dry first.

  Quen-tans request appealed to me more and more with each passing moment. Maybe I would forget Jen. Fuck her love. No— fuck love. And once I could fuck it all, I’d win Jen back again with crowning deception, only to destroy her once and for all. Ah, Shens were easy, suckers for love, bad at closing doors. Closing doors. Tazmarks were good at that.

  I flew over Paris creating ear-deafening electrical storms in the wake of my path. Trouble. Who wanted trouble?

  I heard choral screeching, like bald eagles, but much deeper and higher in volume. The screeches were in perfect unison. It was coming from the west. I stopped and listened. My heart murmured; an intense chill shot up my spine. Dragons? I was compelled to find the source. I flew west across the ocean. My mind stretched and stretched, widening the boundaries of possibility. But there was a pain to it—the pain of bursting what was—with Jen . . . to allow what could be—without her. The pain rattled me earthquake-hard. Hell yeah, this was better than love.

  The Dragons’ call brought me to a sixth realm cavern deep inside the earth, some sort of Dragon headquarters with iridescent red moving walls of energy. I stood before six long-necked, gunmetal grey Dragons with slicker, more snake-like skin than the Golden or Black Dragons. They were larger than me, but smaller than Quen-tan, with very narrow snouts and no spikes at all. They must be the Dragons that flew into Cyrus, restoring it after Jen’s light spree.