by Joey W. Hill
As he settled behind her, Anna wondered if her angel realized that, even without the physical presence of his wings, she could feel them. For he was right--she'd never felt so safe and content in all her life.
SHE slept for hours. He was content to stay there holding her, even dozed himself. But Jonah knew she wouldn't think of herself long once she woke, and so was already working up the strength to rise to his feet when she stirred.
Anna lifted her upper body onto an arm and looked down at him, her hair tumbling over one breast and tickling his abdomen, a tempting rope for his fingers to climb to her face, the delicate line of ear and jaw. Her fingers stroked along his feathers, the wing curved around his shoulder.
"It's night," she observed.
"It is."
She smiled, but there was something sorrowful in the back of her gaze he understood, but knew she didn't want him to probe, particularly when she added hastily, "We've been down here all day. We should--"
"Go check on Maggie." He nodded. "Let's go."
As they dressed, Jonah watched her closely. Though pale, Anna looked far more herself today than she had in a couple of days. He would make sure she was back to her ocean before that changed. Even if she had to be taken kicking and screaming.
For the time being, though, he kept that thought to himself and followed her out of their temporary haven from the world, taking a last look back at the enchanted area. It was ironic that in less than twelve hours he would be likely to find something as unpleasant awaiting him in the Schism as this had been pleasurable. Such was the nature of magical places. Unpredictable, turbulent, fraught with peril or joy.
When they emerged from the cellar into the kitchen, Anna saw a very comfortable cooking and sitting area, with carved benches by a handsome oak table. Maggie apparently had made them dinner, and it was waiting on the stove. Matt was against the counter with a cup of coffee in his hand, his other arm around his wife. Maggie lay against him, her head resting on his shoulder, body leaned into the formidable shadow of his.
She hadn't had much time to get an impression of their male rescuer, but Anna now saw Matt was as tall and broad as Jonah, no mean feat, and had that same resolute look to him. Confident, protective. Still more than a little shaken, but masking it well enough beneath the surface, probably to keep his wife calm. He had gold-flecked hazel eyes and brown hair, kept trimmed close beneath a bill cap with some type of contractor supply logo on it.
When Maggie straightened, Anna noticed she kept her backside firmly pressed against Matt's thigh, a reassurance, maintaining that connection. Jonah had healed her, but he couldn't take away the memory. Having had only a brush with the Dark Ones herself, Anna assumed Maggie would be peering in closets and under beds for the rest of her life.
Matt's hand stayed on her shoulder as he put down the coffee cup.
"I'm sorry," Maggie said. "I should have checked on you."
Two strangers, who had risked their lives for both of them. It was a gift that could never be repaid, and Anna found herself momentarily overwhelmed, as she often was, by unexpected kindnesses. "You're not yourself," she managed matter-of-factly. "I expect it's not every day you have to rescue an angel and a desiccated mermaid from the desert."
"You'd be surprised," Maggie said with a shaky smile. "We've seen some strange things out here. When Sam told us we had to go get you, I . . . Well, I guess last night was a new experience for us. Let's eat. I'm actually starving, and though Matt's too nice to say, I know he's always hungry." She gave his tall frame a fond look. "It's hard to keep a man that size full, especially when he works outdoors all day."
She glanced toward Jonah. "I didn't know if you'd eat, but if there's something special you prefer . . ."
"This is fine," Jonah assured her. "I don't need to eat, but I enjoy a bite or two, and it smells . . . comforting." His gaze searched the room, and Anna had to suppress a smile.
"Baking," Maggie explained. "I bake to settle my nerves. Thought you two might like an apple pie."
Anna took Jonah's hand and looked up at him, her eyes sparkling. "I don't think there's any food he likes better. That's perfect, Maggie."
During dinner, Anna found out Maggie and Matt had come from the South some years before. They worked together on carpentry projects across the region, explaining the beautiful woodwork in the house, complete with curving staircases, handmade furniture and picture frames, arched windows and a variety of detailed moldings that Anna admired freely when Maggie gave her a tour later. By that time, Matt and Jonah had gone onto the back porch to sit, Matt with his after-dinner coffee and Jonah with another slice of pie. Their male conversation was a comfortable rumble drifting through the open windows along with the cool desert air, as the two women explored the house.
When they went to see the upstairs bedrooms, they could see the men from the master bedroom window. As Maggie smiled down at her husband, who appeared unaware of her regard, her eyes filled with sudden tears. Anna immediately stepped close, her hand closing on Maggie's arm, but the woman shook her head.
"I'm sorry. I'm fine, really. Your angel's healing skills are formidable. It was short, so it seems ridiculous--"
"It doesn't," Anna said emphatically. "I've seen them. Felt them." I have a friend who is haunted by their blood. And now she wondered if every day was like that for Mina. Did she always fight that despair and darkness?
Maggie nodded. "It was like being imprisoned for ten years in the most horrible place you could imagine. But please don't think I'm complaining. Memories shouldn't be forgotten, good or bad. They make us who we are."
She gazed down at her husband for a long moment. "He'll tease me when you're gone, because I've always called him my angel, and here one came, wings and all. You know that country song, about a woman who just knows that her man's a real angel, and so she just smiles when he insists he's from Houston? I was saved by Matt from terrible circumstances, but I fell in love with him beyond that, too. I was blessed with his love as well. We give to each other. Just as he's done for me today, I can make it better for him, too, when he's hurt or mad or lonely, in a way no one else can . . ."
She shook herself, gave a little laugh. "That's my Matt. I'm just silly about him, I guess. I do believe there are angels here on earth, though, and he's one of them. Maybe they don't have the wings because all their good deeds are done with feet solidly on the ground. It scared him so badly tonight," she added abruptly. "I think he's always assumed it'd be him attacked, because he's on the front line more often, and he's so protective of me. But Sam, that's the man your angel's come to see, he's always warning him the Dark Ones know the best way to defeat an enemy is not to take his life, but to take his heart."
"He might mean that literally," Anna murmured, remembering Mina's words.
Jonah was sitting on the top step, one leg crooked, his back against a post, listening to something Matt was saying as he sat in the rocker, leaned forward, the cup in his large hand. She couldn't help smiling a bit, and Maggie squeezed her, seeing it.
"They're really big babies, aren't they? Males of every species, when all's said and done. I can't get him to pick a shirt off the floor, but he won't let me lift a single thing that weighs more than he thinks it should, and at night, he always curls around me, puts his arm over me. Not once in all the time we've been together have I woken without him that way. Doesn't turn away, even in his sleep."
She sighed. "Like I said, this scared him, and he doesn't scare easily. He's never liked being so close to the Schism. Not because of himself, of course. He has enough courage to turn my hair white. To see the things he's done and faced . . . They do tend to be overprotective, but think nothing of risking themselves."
"Why did you stay out here instead of going back down South?" Anna asked curiously.
"Is it that obvious we don't really fit here?" Maggie gave a wistful smile. "I do miss the South, something fierce. We came out here so he could build an overlook at the Grand Canyon. We were married on it. Af
ter that, we intended to head back, because Matt has a home in the North Carolina mountains, but then we met Sam, and he introduced us to the Schism. He said we'd be needed here, and so we've stayed. We've done a lot of things, seen a lot of things here, but I think rescuing the two of you was what he meant. He'd said a night would come where we'd be needed more than at any other time. That the future of everything else could hinge on that particular night."
Anna didn't want to think about all the meaning behind that statement. "Have you been together long?"
"About five or six years now. We met one snowy night in Charlotte, North Carolina. He was on his way to the job at the Grand Canyon. I was . . ." She took a breath, looked at Anna. "I was homeless, living out of my car, one step away from desperation. I ran into the back of his truck when I was trying to get a better look at him through my windshield. His mirror was angled, so I could see his forearm. Just his forearm. So strong and capable, tan . . ." She gave Anna a mischievous wink. "I found out the rest of him was just as fine, awfully quick. Matt has a tendency to go after what he wants . . . knows what that is right off."
Anna looked at the woman's perfect skin, light blonde hair, her willowy form. "I can't imagine you as . . ."
"Homeless? Bad things happen, no matter your looks, though they helped keep me out of some tough spots. In a good way," she added quickly. "I never got that desperate, but I was close when he found me. He offered to take me then and there with him to the Grand Canyon, teach me how to be a carpenter, give me a trade. And I trusted him from the beginning, big brute though he is. I knew he wouldn't hurt me. There's just . . . something, sometimes. It's like you're inside their head the second you meet. Not like you know everything about them, but you care so much about them immediately, you want to know it all, the little and the big."
Despite the fact there was an angel sitting on her front steps, his wings arched and trailing across the boards so Matt had accidentally trod on the tip at least once with his boot, Maggie only had eyes for the broad-shouldered man in the flannel shirt. It made Anna like her even more.
"He was so honorable. Almost too honorable." She slanted another mischievous look at Anna. "Despite him deciding we belonged together awfully quick, and using those looks of his shamelessly to convince me of it, I had a time getting him into bed with me. But when I did, holy God." She put a hand on her chest while Anna chuckled. "And since there's an angel of God in the house, I've no worries saying it that way, because I do mean it as divine praise. He was worth the effort. Much as I suspect that one is."
Anna nodded. "I'll miss him when he's gone."
Maggie got quiet beside her, but her fingers remained on Anna's shoulder, stroking as Anna felt it tremble through her, the first time she'd said it out loud.
"Sometimes things you don't expect can . . ."
"No." Anna said it with a strained smile. Kept her eyes on the two men below. "This is how it is. Be glad Matt's only a man, Maggie. You can't keep an angel."
Twenty-one
AFTER Matt and Maggie went to bed, Anna stayed up with Jonah as long as she could, watching the stars over the desert, the silhouettes of the rock formations in the distance, the play of moonlight on the cactus and tufts of sage dotting the landscape. She leaned against him, saying little, surrounded by the curve of his wing. They made love on the porch again, her fingers buried in his feathers, face pressed into his neck to muffle her cries.
But the closer dawn came, the heavier the weight on her heart grew. So much so she wondered that Jonah was able to carry her so easily up to the guest bedroom Maggie and Matt had given them. She opened up to him again there, feeling his body press her into the mattress, fiercely willing him to impale her deeper, fill every empty part of her, keep her from flying into a million desolate pieces.
The arrival of the faint sliver of sun on the horizon was a shining, sharp blade that could cut her wide-open. Between the weight of her heart and the pain of that sunlight, she could barely breathe, watching it come up.
She told herself she needed to be rational. She'd known this was coming. He'd been a part of her life for only a week, so the loss of him in her daily life was something that would ease in time, the vestiges of first love becoming a soft, pleasant memory.
It was a lie that she would make into truth, by saying it over and over. In a million years, she might believe it.
Now she turned and faced him, to find her angel's eyes were open, studying her. They'd drifted off a bit, that last time, and so she wondered how long he'd lain there awake. She knew angels didn't need much sleep, but she wondered if they really needed any. There were many things she hadn't asked him, that she'd just have to wonder.
His wings were gone. Because of that, when he reached between them and lifted a long wing feather he'd somehow managed to keep from disintegrating with the spell, she had to bite back tears. Memories didn't disintegrate, she told herself. She agreed with Maggie, that they were too rich and powerful to ever wish away. It was the only treasure of him she could have. This, and a feather.
The tears were coming, and she couldn't stop them. When she would have turned away, his hands settled on her shoulders to ease her up against his chest. He held her there, let her cry.
He didn't say anything, made no assurances or platitudes, simply kept her from breaking apart. This was not the first time life had seemed intolerable. It didn't often overwhelm her. She didn't let it take her over like this, so when it did, it hit hard. And for some reason, this time hit harder than anything she'd ever felt.
Reconciled since the beginning to the knowledge that she would die young, never have a family except in the most peripheral sense. She knew that her life had started bathed in her mother's blood . . . All that meant nothing compared to this. Oh, she might see him again, but it wouldn't be the same. He'd be an angel in the sky who might deign to stop and gaze upon her fondly, or say a kind word to her . . . and that would be almost worse than death.
Until now she'd never had a reason to be glad her life would be short.
"Sshh . . ." he said softly into her hair, not to silence her, she knew, but as a sound of comfort.
How will I bear it? How can I bear it? But she would, because if he was restored to himself, if the heavens shone brighter because Jonah was repairing rifts and fighting back the darkness without, the darkness within him purged, she could bear it.
Her life would mean something. It would not have been hopeless, and therefore whatever might come after that would be all right.
At length, she pressed her forehead to his chest, then her lips to the same spot. "We should feed you breakfast before you go."
"No." He sat up, drawing her with him, still holding her in his arms, across his lap now. "I have a feeling today's journey is better done on an empty stomach. I want you to go back to sleep, little one. You're still drained from yesterday, and still too far from the ocean. Underground enchanted spring or not, you need to conserve your strength. I've sent a summons to David to come for you today."
"Not until nightfall," she said, gripping his arm. "Let me stay here for the day. I'd . . . I'd like to get to know Maggie better."
It was true, but such a small part of it that she couldn't meet his gaze. She looked down, worrying the covers inside his armspan until he gave her a squeeze, kissed the side of her neck, a soft brush of firm lips. "All right then, but don't push it. Whatever I'm meant to face today, I'll face easier knowing you're back safely in your ocean."
While she sensed he was curious about what that challenge might be, he didn't seem apprehensive or overly eager. Not that she'd expected him to be. He was going to see it through, if for no other reason than that was what she'd asked him to do, the mermaid who'd saved his life.
That was okay. She'd gotten him here. That was all she could do, right? She'd wanted to go on with him, even into the Schism, but not only had Jonah adamantly refused to let her go farther with him, Matt said Sam specifically had instructed Anna to stay behind.
"S
ing yourself to sleep, Anna," Jonah said, laying her back down on the mattress, spreading her hair out on the pillow with caressing fingers, his dark brown eyes dwelling on her face, committing her to memory, she thought. Hoped.
"What? I've never done that before."
"I know. You told me that. But I want you to try now. Sing to yourself of the dreams you have, the beauty of flowers, and butterflies . . ."
"Of angels," she whispered, reaching up to touch his face. "I love you, Jonah. You don't . . . I'm not asking you for anything, but will you remember that one thing about me, when you think of me now and again?"
He studied her, a frown appearing between his eyes. "Anna, I'll see you again."
Anna bit down on her trembling lip, because she knew he wouldn't be coming back. Even if he himself didn't know it. If the shaman was successful, coming back to her would just be awkward, and painful. The extraordinary magic that had brought them together would no longer be needed, and would therefore no longer exist. Her purpose would be over, and he would be needed in the skies. She wouldn't contemplate what would happen if the shaman was unsuccessful. "I know. It will just be different. But a good different. Strong and beautiful, restored in your heart and soul, so every heart and soul in the whole world will feel it and rejoice when you're healed . . ."
She began to sing of that before he could say anything else. A soft whisper of notes, about a land that was dark. It was the terrain of his soul, until light came, and it was good. That soul, looking around, was so pleased with its world it began to create. Landscape it with flowers, trees, lakes, streams, mountains and animals of all kinds, all things that inspired joy and imagination, all of it for love . . . He would remember it all, why life was worth living . . .
