by Michele Hauf
“Yep, keeps my skin moist during the dry flight.” She offered it to him, but he shook his head, and she tossed it back in her purse. “Don’t worry about me. My father loves me, I’m sure. Although, he never actually says ‘I love you.’ I don’t think it occurs to him.”
“But you need to hear it.” He searched Six’s expression, and was disturbed by what he saw. A tear glimmered at the corner of her eye.
“I don’t— No, I’m cool not hearing it. I don’t need love.” She winced.
She denied her own desires. Interesting.
“You do want to hear it—and you do need it—otherwise you wouldn’t have mentioned it.”
“Don’t go all psychiatrist on me, demon. I’ve had enough of them.”
He flinched at her use of the word. It hadn’t been accusing, but he preferred she use the name he had given her. Ashur. It sounded human. Not evil.
“My father gives me gifts all the time,” she said. “After the, er, a recent hospitalization, he gave me a diamond tennis bracelet.”
“I’ve learned women like diamonds. They are a girl’s best friend.”
“Oh dear, you did soak it all up, didn’t you? Diamonds are not my best friend. I gave the bracelet to a girlfriend. I don’t need all the bling. If I need to dress up for a charity event, I actually prefer paste jewels from the turn of the century.”
“What about those pearls at your neck?”
She touched the necklace. “I took these from my mother’s things the night before a crew my Dad hired arrived to pack away her stuff. She used to always say I love you. I think Dad did, too, but he changed after Mom’s death. He works all the time now. Has ever since her death. I was ten. I had to grow up fast after that.”
“Had you no one to talk to about your dreams of angels?”
“No. And when I finally did… Well, I’ve learned to keep that knowledge close to my heart now.”
“Yet you just put all your paintings out for the world to see.”
“Yes.” She smiled a wondrous, wide smile. “It was my way of speaking about it, without really doing it, you know?”
“I’m sure your father must be proud.”
She shrugged.
“What if I suggested the gifts are your father’s means to express what he cannot verbally? Everyone has his own way of expressing feelings. You must know that.”
“I suppose.” She sighed. “You’re right. I know I’m too hard on him.”
“You want something everyone else wants.”
“Really? Do you want love, Ashur?”
Just then the flight attendant leaned in and asked if they wanted drinks. Ashur asked her what she had to offer, thankful for the escape from Six’s question.
“What would you recommend…?” Zaqiel handed the waiter the embossed menu and leaned forward to read his name badge. “Todd. And don’t let my slim physique fool you. I’m all for hearty fare. What’s the house specialty?”
“The lobster was caught fresh this morning.”
The waiter rambled on about the catch of the day, but Zaqiel concentrated on picking up signals from this mortal regarding the muse. He was marked by his own kiss so she must have rubbed against him—there, where he scratched his neck.
“Allergies?” Zaqiel commented. He fingered a steel ring dangling from his nose.
“Huh? Oh, sorry. I think they switched to different soap in the kitchen, or something.” Todd eased a palm over his neck. He flashed a gaze across the room toward the hostess station where Zaqiel assumed his manager must be the one glaring a hole into the waiter’s forehead. “So the lobster, then?”
“Excellent. And can you suggest a good club in the area? I’ve some friends coming to town for a visit and I’m not sure where to take the young and adventurous. Where do you and your friends go, Todd?”
“We usually check out Pearls on weekends. Their DJ is sick, in a good way, you know.”
“You going there with friends this weekend, Todd?”
The waiter adjusted the silverware before Zaqiel. “Probably not. My best friend just left for Italy. We usually hook up on Friday nights.”
“Ah, so it’s a female best friend.”
He shrugged. “Eden is a female, that’s for sure. Did you want white wine with that, sir?”
“Where in Italy?” Zaqiel nodded toward the wine list and Todd handed it to him. “Rome?”
“Probably. She likes to visit the Vatican whenever she’s in the country. She’s an artist and paints angels.”
“Fascinating. I think I saw that show yesterday.”
“It sold out.”
“You don’t say. I’ll have the merlot. That soap must be some nasty stuff, Todd.”
“Sorry.” Todd dropped his hand to his side. “Anything else?”
“I understand a rash is going around.”
“What? Really?”
“Yes, it’s called angelkiss. It burns and itches like a mother for days.”
“Oh, man, that must be what I have. Angelkiss? Sounds too good to be so bad.”
“Well, it’s a hell of a lot better than an angel bite.”
“Angel bite? Dude, what’s that?”
“It’s an angelkiss ten times over. The bite introduces contagions to the infected mortal’s system. It scurries through the victim’s veins and brings about a slow and painful death. The victim’s veins literally harden and turn solid. Sort of how it is for angels, don’t you know.”
“Shit, I’m glad I caught the kiss and not the bite.”
“I can remedy that.”
Zaqiel grabbed Todd’s wrist and latched onto his arm, all his front teeth growing into vicious fangs and sinking into flesh and ripping through muscle.
The waiter screamed. Patrons seated nearby scattered. The manager rushed the table.
Releasing the waiter in a stumbling flail of limbs, Zaqiel stood and strode down the aisle between the tables spread with white linen.
“Somebody call the police!” a diner yelled. “Stop him!”
With a wave of his hand, Zaqiel parted those patrons brave enough to stand before him. They were flung left and right.
“Just like parting the Red Sea,” Zaqiel muttered. It was a nifty trick he’d utilized for the actual Red Sea. “Damned Moses took all the credit. Ingrate.”
Chapter 10
They landed in Rome at sunset. The Fiumicino Airport bustled, yet Eden hadn’t checked her bags so they didn’t have to wait around after landing.
Eden was content to hold Ashur’s hand and allow him to lead her through the airport. At stressful times she appreciated someone taking control while she got her head together. She handled stress well; it just took a bit to order her senses and inhale some cleansing breaths.
Walking hand in hand with Ashur felt incredible. She wanted to shout, “Hey everyone, look who I’m with. Sexy, isn’t he? Dude’s a demon, but that’s cool. I like him.”
Well, she couldn’t claim complete rationale at this moment. By morning she’d probably regret inviting him along.
How he’d gotten through customs without a passport had made her wonder. He merely handed the customs official the stub of his ticket. He must possess some sort of mind control.
Would he use it on her? Perhaps he already had. She was allowing a demon to escort her to her villa. And she didn’t mind at all.
Shuffling through the rush of people headed toward the cab pickup outside, Eden was tugged off course by a toddler who reached out and grabbed her pearls. She stopped and clasped the delicate little hand. “Careful,” she told the boy in his mother’s arms.
The mother shook his fingers loose of the necklace and apologized profusely to Eden.
“No worries,” she said in Italian. “He’s sweet.”
The little boy, who looked about a year old, cried. His prize had been taken from him. He shoved his fingers in his mouth and chewed on them around the wailing.
“Shh,” Ashur cooed.
The babe stopped crying and blinked tea
ry eyes at the imposing man with the gentle voice. The demon stroked the child’s forehead, further rendering him silent and sleepy eyed.
The mother stepped away from them, obviously uneasy about anyone touching her son.
“We’ll catch a rental car,” Ashur said as he tugged Eden along. “How far away is your villa?”
“Couple hours to the east. We should be there by sunset. What did you do to that baby?”
“Just touched him. Was that okay?”
“Not sure. You didn’t use some kind of mind control on him to make him stop crying?”
“No. Just averted his anger from the loss of your pearls. Children are so innocent.”
“You surprise me with every word that comes out of your mouth and every one of your actions.”
“The child required comforting, that is all.”
“I would expect you to be the last person to provide it.”
He shrugged and offered a weak smile.
Eden squeezed his hand, and he squeezed back.
With one last glance at the now fussy baby, she turned to focus on what lay ahead: Avoiding an angel intent on having sex with her.
“After we get a rental car, let’s stop and pick up some food. I’ll never survive without the energy, and the villa will need to be stocked.”
“Sounds good. Can we get tacos?”
“Tacos?”
“I had a few of them when I walked the world. I like Chipotle.”
“Tacos in Italy? We can do our best.”
Michael Donovan paused outside a door carved in the Art Nouveau style. It was open slightly. The hallway was filled with assorted construction ephemera. He’d seen from street level before entering the building that a window was boarded up, probably thirty or more stories high.
He wasn’t too surprised his destination was the same one that had the damage.
Nodding to a worker in white overalls, Michael decided on a plan of action. He’d walk in and belong. From what he knew of construction crews they were contracted from various firms. Many workers from different places all worked in unison to get an assortment of jobs completed. No one would know whether he actually belonged on site.
Pushing the front door open with confidence, he followed the tracks of dry-wall dust and dirt down the hallway toward what he suspected would be a bedroom. Eden Campbell’s bedroom.
“Señor!”
He turned to the maid. Her dark hair was secured in a ponytail and a wondering look brightened her sallow complexion. “I’m with management,” he said. “Just taking a look at what’s going on.”
She shook her head. “Not good English.”
He gestured to the workers and pointed at his chest. “I’m with them.”
“Ah. You want lemonade?”
He smiled at her and nodded. “On my way out, thank you.”
He’d passed the test. He felt sure none of the workers would question him. They were busy replacing the window and fixing the framework.
Wonder what had happened to knock out the window? It wasn’t as if a bird could actually damage the tempered safety glass used in these high-rise complexes.
Avoiding the room from which he heard a skill-saw buzzing away, Michael veered right and touched a closed door. He pressed an ear to the wood. Must be closed to keep out the workers. He walked inside and shut the door behind him.
Afternoon sun lighted the all-white room brilliantly. He guessed it was an office. Its style was completely different from the rest of the house, which was odd.
Michael booted up the computer, and with one eye to the door, he quickly opened the e-mail program.
He’d gotten the lead after tripping over a casual mention of halos in a chat room on angels. Cassandra Stevens had posted that Eden Campbell collected real angel halos. The idea had given her solace in a world she felt was going insane.
Overly dramatic, but Michael had been hunting halos for a decade. He never passed up a lead. Miss Campbell had ignored his e-mails asking if she was in the market to sell. He’d decided she was a buyer and not a seller. Not good, because that took some off the market and Michael wanted to know the location of every halo on earth—if not own them all.
But where was Campbell finding her contacts to buy? And why hadn’t he gotten to them first?
Sliding onto the chair and scanning the room, Michael’s focus on the various file folders in the program was averted by the iron coatrack standing in the corner of the room.
All alone. Not even decorative. Almost as if shoved aside and forgotten about for the lack of coats it should hold. And yet it instead displayed remarkable objects.
Rushing to the door, Michael peeked out. The hallway was clear. Construction noises buzzed, hummed and clattered. Closing the door, he dashed across the room to the coatrack.
“Three of them. Just hanging here.” Too incredible.
He spread his fingers to touch, or grab, or— He slapped his palms to his chest. He couldn’t touch them. It was sacrilege.
Yet he’d done far more sacrilegious things in obtaining the eighteen halos he currently owned. Yes, he had stolen a couple from unknowing owners. And don’t get him started on the vampires.
Could Miss Campbell know about the vampires?
Eden Campbell was far from unknowing. She knew what these simple circles of metal were. She must have also realized to frame or display them wasn’t possible. Michael wasn’t sure why—he’d tried it himself—and had decided the answer to that question was ineffable.
But she couldn’t know their power. What they would mean in the wrong hands. Or could she?
If the halos fell into certain vampiric hands the world could be in dire trouble.
He wouldn’t take them. They would be safe here. He’d make certain they were. He shoved his hands in his pockets and turned his back to the coatrack. A colored printout had fallen to the floor below the printer.
He picked it up. It was some kind of computer artwork. Very detailed, and masterful. “An angel?”
He followed the fluid lines of steel that represented the angel’s wings. It was in man form, but of metal. His abdomen was marked with an— “Angel sigil.”
Looked like two sevens butted head-to-head. Maybe Campbell knew more than he could imagine?
He turned to the halos. “Changed my mind. I’m going to have to take these with me.”
Six insisted on driving the rental car, though Ashur had protested. He had driven the Ferrari, so it wasn’t as if he didn’t have the skill. Though this little puddle jumper had no power. It was a woman’s vehicle, for sure.
He was glad he’d conceded because now he could watch the countryside zoom by. New York City had not been green at all, save the park below Six’s window. Italy was green and lush and the fields blossomed with flowers and butterflies.
Appreciation of beauty was not beyond him. It just didn’t produce an emotional response. He could take it or leave it. Mostly. He found he did enjoy it. That was certainly some kind of response.
One beauty he did not want to disregard sat across the stick shift from him. Intent on her path, she focused straight ahead, unaware of his observation. Her neck was slender and long, graceful. She’d tied the blue scarf about it in lieu of asking him to lick the angelkiss once more after they’d secured a rental.
She enjoyed their contact. It was she who had kissed him in the airplane, not the other way around. And he’d responded as any man would. Resistance was not in his repertoire. Of course, she could be regretting that move now. Regret was a great mortal burden. So was ego.
Ashur had no ego that he was aware of. Though certainly any time spent here on earth would bolster that lacking bit of inner angst. He tipped down his sunglasses and studied the tiny dark mole at the base of her earlobe.
“See something you like?” she asked.
“Uh…you?”
“Not very sure of that answer. You said you’d never had to protect a muse before. So what happened this time? Why’d you change your mind about m
e being bait?”
“As you’ve seen, the Fallen will not approach you if he knows I am near. Quite opposite of you, he cannot sense me, only see me, so that is why he attempted you at your home. How did he find you originally?”
“How should I know? I was standing on the sidewalk, hailing a cab… Wait. He must have seen the mark on my arm when he was in the gallery. That’s when my arm started tingling. When I was standing by him.”
“He got very lucky.”
“Why is that? He found me! And yet he was standing right next to me after the accident, but it was as if he didn’t see me.”
“The Fallen one’s senses are enhanced and scrambled. He sees voices as color and shape.”
“Yes! He said my voice was green. I thought he had synesthesia.”
“If he heard your voice again, that is how he would recognize you. Their senses are so enhanced they have difficulty retaining faces.”
“Really? I think I’ve heard of something like that. I thought it was something a person got from brain damage. I can’t remember the name for it…”
“Prosopagnosia. It is a mortal condition, contributed to a damaged brain, as you suspect.”
She flashed him a look.
“I know all, or most. I just have to access the information.”
“Lucky you.”
“There are many things better left unknown in this world,” he said solemnly.
“I didn’t mean to imply you were more fortunate for having so much knowledge.”
“I understand. The world has changed. Anyway, the Fallen’s inability to remember your face is similar to prosopagnosia. The only other way he can recognize you is by the sigil you wear. When he’s in half form, though, he is compelled to mate with his muse, and if you’re within breathing distance, he will find you.”
“Peachy.”
“Will we be there soon?” He pulled down the sun visor and a broken mirror dropped onto his lap.
“You’re worse than a little kid.” Six smirked and clicked on the blinker. “Yes, we’re almost there. Just a few more miles.”
