It occurred to her she should find some other mediums. Real ones, not those fake TV people, and definitely not the idiot ghost hunters. The genuine sensitives in that crowd just wanted to scare themselves stupid. It reminded her of thrill-seekers who dove with sharks. Not that spirits were predatory. They could be, she supposed, but then anyone could.
By the time Zoë got to the Fiskers’ San Mateo parking lot, she felt better. Still uneasy about the previous day, the passing of hours made the horror fade. The tedious, ordinary nature of her job helped. As much as she had wanted to be around people, Zoë buried her thoughts in work, and she tuned out the world as much as she could. The phone hardly rang, and she was glad for that. Of course, it was Friday and a beautiful summer day when those who could, played hooky.
She wasn’t surprised when she learned Simone would come in a couple hours late. She guessed her friend had a date this weekend, possibly with Dustin Bittner, and had decided to spend the day shopping for a new dress rather than sitting through pointless meetings about strategy and synergy. Who wouldn’t prefer that?
When lunchtime rolled around, Zoë waited until most everyone had gone, grabbed an apple from a break-room vending machine, and headed down to see Henry. She took her purse, thinking she would ask him about the strange knife. Although she could have asked Gran, Henry seemed more open to questions like that. Maybe he seemed worldlier than Gran, which was hardly surprising. It fit with what she knew of their mortal lives.
As she approached the door to the maintenance corridor, it flew open, and someone burst out, knocking Zoë into a crouch. “Hey!” she shouted after him. Startled, she picked herself up and straightened her clothes. With a grouchy mutter, she made her way down to the stairs.
A sense of wrongness swept over her. “Henry,” she whispered, and dread filled her bones, holding her in place, while urgency swept her forward. The two conflicting impulses caused her to stumble to the boiler room. When she swung open the door, she knew Henry wouldn’t be there. Something terrible had happened. The apple dropped from her hand and bounced on the cement floor.
Zoë didn’t grasp what she saw at first. Her eyes scanned the body on the floor, her brain not wanting to register it. She stood in the open doorway and stared. A dozen, ordinary explanations flitted through her mind, but she summarily dismissed each one. She recognized dead when she saw dead, and the pile of flesh and bones lying in the center of the boiler room floor had no life in them. A flicker, undoubtedly a fresh spirit, sparkled in the corner. Zoë didn’t bother to call Henry. He wouldn’t be coming back. She accepted it without understanding it.
“Zoë?” a voice asked softly. “Zoë, what’s wrong?”
She turned and saw a maintenance man watching her from halfway up the corridor. The body drew her gaze back. Her throat closed, and she couldn’t speak.
The man approached with cautious steps, as though he too was encompassed by the dread that had held Zoë in place. When he got to the doorway, he rushed forward. “Kent?” he called out. “Kent, are you okay?” He turned the body over. Glassy eyes stared at the ceiling.
The maintenance worker—for some reason Zoë couldn’t remember his name—whipped his head around and stared at her. “Call 911,” he shouted. When she didn’t move, he ran past her and headed toward the control room. She heard him pick up a landline.
The spirit in the corner quivered. She wondered momentarily if he would stay. Sometimes spirits did that, stayed in the place they’d died. But not always. “Kent?” she said to the spark. “Kent?”
Sid came back to her side. Sid. Relief washed over her. His name was Sid. She wasn’t sure why it seemed important, but it did. “He can’t hear you, honey.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Look, let’s go sit in the office and wait for the ambulance, okay?”
Zoë stepped forward, unable to stop staring at the quavering spirit. “Kent?”
Sid tugged her arm again. “Come on, Zoë, there’s nothing you can do for him now.”
When the second being came into the room, pressure built in Zoë’s chest. What this strange thing was, she couldn’t imagine, but it wasn’t human. It coalesced out of darkness, as though made of shadows. It stood about eight feet tall, robed in flowing gloom that snaked around its thin body like an executioner’s robe.
Zoë trembled. Its presence filled the room with such force it pulled breath from her lungs. “What are you?” she whispered, unable to stop looking at the black holes where its eyes should be.
“Zoë?” Sid said uncertainly.
The figure produced something like a jar and guided Kent’s spirit into it.
Zoë pushed forward, stepping out of Sid’s reach. “Don’t you touch him! No, no, no!” She screamed the words over and over.
The thing stopped and looked at her. Its empty gaze bored into her. When it approached, every sense within her, both physical and spiritual, sent such overwhelming signals that she lost control. She screamed and put her hands over her ears.
Sid grabbed her from behind and pulled her into an embrace. She buried her head in his chest, and he held her while she cried helplessly. Her sobs didn’t stop for a long time. The next thing she knew, she was sitting in the maintenance control room, and a man she didn’t know was flashing a penlight into her eyes.
“Ma’am, can you hear me?”
Zoë blinked hard. Even the pale light made her wince. “Yes,” she said, but she wasn’t sure if she made any sound at all. She couldn’t get enough air, and the world swam around her.
“Ma’am, you’re going to be all right. You’ve had a shock. We’re going to take you to the hospital.”
“No,” Zoë said weakly. Sounds buzzed in her ears, and she went numb all over. “No, I just need to lie down.”
She realized Sid was holding her hand. I must be in bad shape. Why can’t I clear my head?
“Can I call someone to come get you?” Sid asked. “Would that be okay?” She wasn’t clear if he asked the second question of her or this other guy. Who was he, anyway?
“Simone,” she said. “Simone Wallace can drive me home.”
“Sure, Zoë, I’ll call her now.”
Zoë heard the two men talking, and then she heard other voices. The police? There seemed to be some slight disagreement about something, but she couldn’t care, not even a little bit. Her mind was completely blank. She couldn’t even remember why she’d come down today.
She felt better when she heard Simone’s voice. When her friend approached, she said, “Henry’s gone.”
It was Sid who replied. “His name was Kent, Zoë. You remember Kent?”
Right. Kent. Zoë’s mind went back to the body on the floor and the figure that had taken his spirit, and put it in a jar like a glowing firefly. It was at that moment the world went black.
When she came around, a policeman asked her a couple of questions before the paramedic took her to the hospital, but she wasn’t yet coherent enough to say anything particularly helpful. A doctor at the hospital wanted her to see a psychologist, and when she refused, saying she wanted to go home, a nurse gave her a brochure about Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome.
Simone stayed with her at the hospital and then drove Zoë home. By the time they pulled up and got inside, weariness overwhelmed her, but at least she had regained some presence of mind. Zoë shivered and hugged herself. “I feel so stupid,” she finally said.
“You shouldn’t.” Simone went to the hallway cupboard and found a blanket. She came back to the living room and wrapped it around Zoë’s shoulders. “It’s not your fault.”
That must be something people always said to someone who had been through a shock.
“It’s not like it’s every day you see a dead person,” Simone said and then stopped cold. Because, of course, Zoë did see dead people every day, just not the fleshy parts. Zoë looked up and grinned, and Simone giggled, apparently relieved at the response.
“Simone, you can go. I really will be okay. I’m a lot better now.” She didn’t
feel numb like before, but she was exhausted. “I just want to sleep.”
“Okay. Want some help getting settled?” Simone’s dark forehead crinkled into a pretty frown. Zoë could tell she wasn’t sure if she should leave or not.
“Nah, I am going to throw some sweats on and crash. I appreciate you bringing me home though.”
Simone nodded. “I understand. You call me if you need anything or if you just don’t want to be alone.”
“Don’t you have a date with Dustin tonight?” Zoë could tell Simone was blushing from the expression on her face, though her dark skin barely showed the effect.
“Don’t worry about that. He’ll understand.” Simone waved her hand, brushing the idea aside. Then she stopped. “How did you know? He asked me last night. Sorta last minute, but you know.”
Zoë laughed. It felt cleansing to talk about something pleasant. “You were late to work today. Figured you went shopping. That’s what you always do before a first date.”
Simone rolled her eyes. “God, am I that predictable?”
“Yes. Now go fuss with your hair and have a good time. Call me first thing and give me all the naughty details.” Zoë made her voice as strong as she could, willing Simone to go with a clear conscience.
Simone gave her a hug before she left and made sure the door was locked behind her. The warmth of the conversation held Zoë in check long enough for her snuggle down on the couch with the remote.
Drowsiness weighed on her body like gravity, pulling her down into sleep. She drifted somewhere between waking and sleeping, not able to let herself relax completely, as though unconsciousness held a horror she couldn’t face.
Chapter 8
After a sleepless while, Zoë sat up and stretched, feeling less rested than when she’d started. The sun still shone brightly outside, even though it seemed an eternity had passed since she’d left for work that morning. Zoë sighed, knowing she had to talk to Alexander. She needed to tell him about the thing that took Kent’s soul. Gran wasn’t home, and it didn’t seem right to ask her. Zoë knew with certainty it would upset Gran to hear about this creature, so Alexander was the best option.
Problem was, she didn’t know how to find him. He didn’t have a phone, and they didn’t have any mutual friends. She considered calling Ronald at the Delaware Street Post Office in San Mateo, the one closest to Fiskers Technology Group, but Ronald had already told her he didn’t know Alexander. Besides, he likely would be still on his route anyway, and there was a good chance he honestly didn’t know what happened to him the day Alexander took his route.
Alexander might have conked him out and stuffed him in a closet while he took Ronald’s place Tuesday. Zoë hadn’t asked for specifics. On top of that, she didn’t know anything about where Ronald went when he delivered mail or how long it took him. Their conversations had never been detailed or personal, just filled with flirtation and innuendo barely this side of workplace-acceptable.
Zoë found her purse and retrieved the white business card bearing Thomas’ name. Images of Thomas as the beautiful piano-playing human-like being fought valiantly with the memory of the towering scaly dragon he’d become.
On one hand, he could have hurt her if he’d wanted to. She had no doubt of that. He could have stopped her from leaving, but he hadn’t. Nothing prevented him from tracking her down right now. On the other hand, he scared the crap out of her. But back on the first hand, he didn’t scare her as much as whatever it was she saw in the boiler room. She couldn’t help but ask herself if that was wise. Should she be afraid of Thomas?
Who else, she wondered. Who would know Alexander? Briony. Didn’t Alexander say that was the name of her Guardian? Zoë couldn’t help but smirk a little. Angel rules seemed bizarre and illogical, so she hoped they didn’t consider themselves superior beings. But of course, she had to acknowledge they probably were, if for no other reason than the scary shape-changing mojo, and she suspected that was only the beginning.
“Briony?” she said tentatively. “Briony, can you hear me?” Zoë waited long moments in the silence. Nothing. Crap. Unsurprising, but still crap.
Sighing loudly, she dialed the phone.
“Thomas’ office. How may I help?” Zoë recognized the voice as the same one that had answered the first time she called. She immediately dismissed the idea that this could be the lovely but tormented Camille.
“My name is Zoë Pendergraft. I need to speak with Thomas, if he’s available.”
“One moment.” The warm voice was soothing and pleasant, but Zoë twitched with nervous energy after the woman put her on hold.
An impulse told Zoë to hang up. She pulled the phone away from her face, and was about to press the red ‘off’ button to disconnect. As her finger reached the button, a familiar voice said “Hello, Zoë.”
His tone was warm and welcoming and for the moment, completely human. “Hello, Thomas, I’m sorry to bother you. I didn’t know who else to call. I need to find Alexander, but he doesn’t have a phone. It’s…it’s important. I saw something. I…Thomas, I didn’t know what it was. I need help.” She hadn’t planned to say any of this, but her thoughts ran away with her, and she hated how pathetic she must sound. Poor little human needed the big angel to rescue her. Yuck.
The continuing stillness on the line shook her. “Thomas?” she said. “Can you hear me?” She was afraid for a moment he might refuse.
“He’s on his way,” Thomas said.
Zoë sighed with relief, and decided not to think too hard on what just happened. Telepathy? “Thank you, Thomas. And I’ll be sure to ask him how to get in touch with him directly, so I don’t have to bother you again.”
“You did me a great service the other day, and put yourself in peril.”
At any other time the expression would have made her grin. In peril. Who talked like that? “I’m sorry about what happened.” She hadn’t done anything wrong, but it seemed appropriate. “The way I acted, then leaving like that. I hope I didn’t offend you.” That much was true. She had no idea what an angel, free or otherwise, would do when affronted, but she didn’t want to find out.
“I am not offended,” Thomas said. “Are you?”
Now Zoë did grin. Like it would matter. “No, Thomas. I’m not. A little afraid of you, but not offended.” How could she be? He hadn’t done anything to her. In fact, he helped her release Jackson Burly. “I told the spirits you helped me. The ones who came to pay tribute for Jackson. I know they aren’t always cooperative with angels, but I thought it was right they knew.”
The stillness on the line returned. Not even the normal buzz of telephone electricity interfered. Was he communicating with someone or thinking, she wondered, but didn’t dare interrupt either way.
“Spirits paid tribute to you?” he finally asked.
Now she felt awkward. Fortunately, she heard a whoosh of air outside, as a stiff breeze buffeted the windows. “I have to go, Thomas. Alexander is here. Thank you so much. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.” She said goodbye and hung up.
When she flung open the front door, happiness and relief washed over her. Alexander walked toward her from the front path. Zoë looked up and down the street, wondering if anyone could have seen him, but no one was outside, not even Mrs. Paez.
“I checked,” he said with a smile. “Thomas said you needed me.”
Zoë stepped up to him, and melted into his warm embrace. She breathed deeply of his comforting scent. “Alexander,” she said, and then nothing more came, because without warning, Zoë started to cry.
He squeezed her gently, and kissed her hair. He didn’t shush her or try to make her stop crying. He just held her.
Finally she said, “Let’s go inside.” She walked in the house, but turned around to find he hadn’t followed her. It took her a moment to register why as she extended her senses. Gran had returned while Zoë slept, taking up her spot in the upstairs room where she always sat and stitched on a piece of needlework that would never b
e finished. “We can go. Someplace quiet, please.”
He nodded. “Are you all right?” Alexander extended his hand to her, but still did not cross the threshold.
Zoë grabbed her things and turned off the lights in the front room. She wanted to tell him she was fine, but she didn’t know how to answer the question. Soon she was in his arms again, standing on the front porch. The familiar warmth of him enveloped her. “May I take you?” he whispered.
“What if I said no?” she asked.
“Then I could not.”
For some reason, that pleased her and made her feel less helpless. “Yes,” she said.
He paused for a moment, as though listening, and then everything shifted. Just as before, it felt like he had spun her around, although he hadn’t moved his feet.
New sounds and smells told her they’d arrived, but she didn’t want to let go of him right away.
“Zoë, you are trembling. Are you afraid?”
“A little,” she said, still not looking at his face.
“Of me?” The words rumbled in his chest. She didn’t have to be a mind-reader to know he wanted her to say no.
But she couldn’t make that assertion. “Should I be?”
“I will never harm you.”
The air crackled, as though something significant had happened. This was no idle promise, Zoë thought. With everything in her, she believed him.
He gently released her, and she stepped back. She was surprised to see they stood in what looked like a hotel corridor. Before she had a chance to wonder about his intentions, he said, “This is where I live. It is safe here.”
She marveled that somehow he had known what she needed more than anything: to feel secure and protected. Finally, she looked up at him and nodded. They walked together through the hallway. At the end she saw a blue shimmering wall.
“How many of these are there?” she asked and pointed at the portal.
“You can see it?” Alexander sounded perplexed. “You should not be able to.”
Ordinary Angels Page 8
