by Diane Capri
Nick’s shoulders relaxed and he drew a long breath, and sighed as one who had been relieved of a heavy burden. For an infinite moment, they remained in each other’s arms. Hope could almost feel the anguish draining from him.
Finally, he regarded her wistfully. “If only I could just quit everything and stay here with you.”
“Can’t you?”
“After all that happened back in England, I’m an empty shell.” He sighed. “You deserve better.”
“But Nick—”
“And I can’t let my mistakes endanger you.”
“Danger?”
“Everything that happened to Sophia, to Clara.”
“You’re forgetting one really important fact.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “I’m not Sophia.”
Nick looked at her intently for a long moment, then seemed to relent. He bore the aspect of someone who’d made up his mind about something important.
“Let’s take it one day at a time, shall we?”
“Good enough for me.” She closed her eyes as he reached out and held her hand.
#
When she opened her eyes, they were back in her suite at the Broadmore. She was sitting next to Nick on the edge of the bed, still holding his hand.
“Where do we go from here?” she said.
“Just stay here for a while,” he said. “I’ll have it all sorted out soon.”
“What do you mean?”
He got up, headed for the door.
“Before we met, I was bitter about my demotion to reaper—and now you know how it happened. But none of that matters anymore. I’ve made a decision. Just have to tie up some loose ends before moving forward. I shan’t be long.”
He pointed to the television and it switched on. Then to the room service menu, which flipped open on the nightstand next to them.
“Have something to eat. Before you know it, I’ll be back.”
Hope looked down at her white robe.
“I haven’t a thing to wear.”
“On the contrary,” Nick said with a glance at the sofa by the door. There sat the shopping bags and boxes full of clothing, all from the oblivion locker.
Just a day ago she was a disheveled vagabond who’d lost everything, right down to the will to live. Now here she was in a luxurious hotel, every need provided by someone she knew she could trust—someone she would love even if he had nothing of his own to give.
“You don’t have to do all that for me, Nick.”
“It’s nothing, really.” He pulled a shiny new smartphone from one of the bags and tossed it to her. “Here.” He then pulled his own phone from his pocket to show her. “If you need anything, I’m on speed dial.”
She giggled at the thought of an angel with a cell phone.
Nick opened the door. “Just do me one favor, okay?”
“Sure.”
“Don’t wander off too far.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO
WITH THE HARTWELL ASSIGNMENT ESSENTIALLY completed and Carlito Guzman’s life saved, it was time for Nick to check in and make sure there weren’t any loose ends that might reflect poorly on his performance—or on Tamara, who’d put her neck on the line for him.
In any case, a poor performance report from Lena would only hurt his chance of success at what he was about to do. After wrapping things up with her, he planned to negotiate the terms of his fall—a decision no angel should take lightly.
There were two ways to fall. First, rebellion: the way Lucifer and his followers had chosen, shaking an angry fist at heaven and being cast out for eternity. Humans might never have known about the greatest of all fallen angels had Milton not given Lucifer that infamous line: Better to reign in Hell than to serve in Heav’n.
The second manner of falling was nothing so glorious or dramatic. Occasionally a celestial host had faded out of the spiritual realms without revolt or discord. Of course, superiors had to approve such petitions, but given their infrequency, it was rarely denied. Once granted, the angel simply became human, relinquishing immortality and all other supernatural powers.
Nick had considered falling during his incognito period with Sophia. But he never went through with it: at first he seemed to be getting along so well he didn’t need to—then, gradually, so badly he didn’t want to. Now, as he considered the ramifications, falling seemed more complicated than he’d realized.
To be cut off from eternity, from extra-physical perception, from all he knew of existence? It was an exile from which there was no return.
And yet, for Hope Matheson he would embrace this and more.
Was it the wisest of decisions? Probably not. But it wasn’t just because of his feelings for her. He had no wish to rebel or join the ranks of the Dark Dominion. But neither could he continue offering his services to a commander in chief whose angelic rules made no sense. The only way for him to be happy was to find that state where he could just live as he felt—follow his heart, as the humans liked to put it. To do this, however, he had to fall and become mortal.
Perhaps Tamara and everyone else had been right, he had indeed spent too much time among the humans. Not just time. He’d given himself over to their way of thinking, living, even their limited view of reality. And already, as he invisibly followed Lito and a bodyguard through the shadows of the Pacific Plaza mall’s parking deck, he sensed his powers draining.
It didn’t matter, though.
Soon, none of it would.
All that mattered was his desire to be with Hope, love her, even meet an end one day.
Lito and his bodyguard Raul had just come out of the High Concept women’s fashion store—owned by the Guzman syndicate, judging by their conversation.
“I’m telling you,” Lito said, “we can turn this whole thing around. Get rid of all the corruption, all the bad stuff, you know? Start doing things legit and still be highly profitable.”
Raul snorted. “You going soft, Lito? What’s with you, man?”
“Let’s just say I had an epiphany?”
“A what?”
“Never mind.”
Nick knew what he meant. He’d seen the heartfelt gratitude on Lito’s face for having miraculously survived the drive-by shooting the other day. Many a human reacted that way when angels were sent to intervene. Some of them even turned their lives around. Nick was happy to protect this one. Like a guardian, again. Finally an assignment that made sense, though ironically, it was his last.
“Don’t let anyone hear you talk like that, okay?” Raul said. He nudged Lito with his elbow—which, considering Raul’s size, was more like getting sacked by Junior Seau. Lito would have toppled, but Raul caught him by the arm and pulled him back in time.
“Watch it!” Lito said.
“Sorry, boss.”
Lito kept glancing over his shoulder as they walked to his car. Nick wondered if he could perceive him, then heard the sound of tires screeching around the corner and realized his subject was reacting to something else.
Nick’s phone buzzed.
He tried to fly over to Lito, but with each attempt he ended up back on his feet.
A black sedan was coming up behind them. Slowly.
His phone buzzed again, a text message from Lena:
ABORT GUZMAN ASSIGNMENT
LET THEM TAKE HIM OUT
If he disregarded her instructions and botched this final assignment, there was no telling how it would affect his plans to fall, and his future with Hope.
The sedan passed him. Nick watched its tinted passenger side window roll down, watched the muzzle of a semiautomatic poke through.
#
The order had been clear, but Lena was concerned about Nick’s following through. After all, the new directive for Carlito Guzman was a complete one-eighty from the original. The powers that be were now viewing the cartel leader as a potential liability for some reason and wanted him terminated. She doubted the wisdom of switching things up so sharply with Nick, an unstable recruit, but Morloch had insisted on i
t. And he called the shots.
“Besides,” he’d told her, “what better way to determine if Nick will be a good soldier or a loose cannon?”
Seemed like Nick was being set up for failure, though.
In any case, Lena had carried out her own orders and now must focus on more pressing issues at hand.
Such as the Event.
Perched high atop Lady Liberty’s crown, where she always went to clear her mind, Lena stared up at the nearly full moon and considered everything she was about to do.
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
MOMMA HAS LOCKED HERSELF IN the whole time Daddy has been away. She’s come out maybe once or twice but never to talk to her—only Daddy ever takes the time. He’s working one county away—now that she’s sixteen he feels secure enough to do construction work out of town.
She sits by the television set watching some white guy swinging his hips and singing like a Negro, but her eyes keep drifting to the bedroom door. Even after the show is over, the set turned off, it never opens.
The silence is the worst part of all.
That’s why she watches TV, but she’s had all she can stand for tonight. She’s about to start reading when she hears something behind the door. It’s a soft sound but it’s clear.
Momma’s crying.
Panicked, she runs to rap on the door.
“Momma, please! Open the door!” She’s threatened to hurt herself before and Daddy says never to push her to that point. So she can’t open the door. But she’s sick of Momma’s sulking, feeling sorry for herself all the time, being mean to her and Daddy. Yet at the same time she feels desperately sorry for her mother—she’s never known anybody so unhappy. Why is she so sad, so upset with them?
Daddy gave her the number where he’s staying in case of an emergency. She’ll call him, that’s what she’ll do.
He sounds exhausted when he says hello.
“Daddy? Something’s wrong with Momma.”
“She come out of the—“
“She’s crying.”
“I’m coming back now.” His voice is dead calm. “Be about forty minutes, make sure she don’t—”
“I know. Hurry, please.”
Just as she drops the handset in the cradle, a sound from behind sends an chill up her spine.
It’s the squeak of the bedroom doorknob. She turns around slowly.
“Momma?”
She’s standing in the doorway, in a dress so white it almost glows. Her beautiful eyes are wet with tears. And for the first time ever, her arms open wide to receive her daughter.
“Momma!” All at once she wants to cry, laugh, shout for joy. Is that a smile on her mother’s face? Even through the tears? “Oh, Momma. I’m so happy you—”
She puts a finger over her daughter’s lips.
“Shhhh...” She strokes the hair so much like her own. Can it be? Is Momma finally going to love her? And Daddy?
“Punkin’,” Momma says, and her daughter’s heart soars. “I’m afraid it’s not what you think.”
Oh, no. No! She dreads what’s coming.
“I’m leaving.”
Pushing away hard, she steps back—burning with rage. She can hear Daddy warning her to control it. She can’t bear to look at her mother.
“I thought I could do it, my child. But I just can’t. It’s too...it’s impossible. I am what I am, and nothing can change that.”
“But why do you have to leave us?”
“This life—if it even is a life—is just too limiting. I’m meant to be so much more. I thought I could give it up for your father, but I was deceiving myself. ”
“But you could, if you loved us. I know Daddy says we can’t force you to stay, but if you loved us you would. That’s what mothers DO, they stay for their family, for their children!”
Momma shakes her head. “I would if I could. I can’t. I’m sorry.” She looks exhausted, and sadder than ever.
“So that’s why you been so mean to us? You’re bored with living like us? Or is it because Daddy’s a nigger?” The provincial speech she’s worked so hard at dropping has returned with a vengeance. “Why, you just like them white people, ain’t you?”
“I don’t expect you to understand, Punkin’.”
“No! You don’t get to call me that! Only Daddy does. You—you’re just a selfish, stone-hearted...ugh! I hate you!”
Straightening until she stands only as tall as her remarkably tall daughter, Momma nonetheless seems to be looking down on her.
“One day perhaps you’ll realize you shouldn’t have judged me so harshly.” She glides slowly back to the bedroom door. “After all, you’re just like me. You’ll see. There’s no hope. Every part of you that’s a freak to these human insects, every part that makes you different...” She regards her daughter with pity. “You’re just...like...me.”
With that, she shuts the door.
Never to be seen again.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
ALERTED BY THE SOUND OF THE SEDAN, Lito turned and saw it coming at him, saw the gun pointed from the passenger seat window. He grabbed Raul by the arm.
“Get down!” he shouted.
Raul didn’t.
Instead, he seized Lito by the arms and put him in a choke hold just as the car screeched to a halt.
“Raul, what the hell—”
He didn’t answer, just tightened his grip. Lito thought he would pass out any moment.
A man in dark glasses was still pointing a gun through the sedan’s passenger window. The back door opened and a middle-aged man stepped out smoking a cigarette, his beige shirt unbuttoned nearly to his considerable belly. It was Pablo Suarez, better known as Pablo the Gutter not because of his ample midsection or his foul mouth but because of his penchant for disemboweling anyone who displeased him sufficiently. He puffed a cloud of smoke into Lito’s face.
“Carlito Guzman. Mind if I call you Lito?”
“Mind if I call you hijo de puta?” Lito struggled, but Raul squeezed harder.
Pablo chortled, then began to cough violently. When he caught his breath, he spit the cigarette out and lit another one.
“I swear, these things will be the death of me.”
“In that case, please, smoke some more,” Lito said.
Again Pablo coughed, but it passed quickly this time.
“Now, Lito, I’ll make it simple. Things are changing, of course you know this. The Hernandez branch is all but ours now. Why don’t you turn it over to us quietly, hmmm? So much cleaner, without all the bloodshed, no?”
“Why don’t you go to hell, no?”
“After you.” From his breast pocket he pulled a knife and pressed the point into Lito’s neck. “But I think we take you there the slow way, hmmm?”
Lito’s entire body stiffened as Pablo the Gutter slid the blade past his collarbone, the middle of his ribcage, then rested it just above his belt. He wanted to curse Raul for his betrayal and spit in Pablo’s face, but at the moment words could no more escape his mouth than he could escape his traitorous bodyguard’s grip.
“You only have yourself to blame for this, pobre Carlito. It’s your weakness, all this trying to do good and do right. We run businesses, amigo, not charities.”
Even as the tip of the blade pressed through his shirt, Lito managed to summon the strength to speak.
“If you do this, there will be a war. Too many people on both sides will die.”
“Ah, but that line is not so clear any more now. You really don’t know how many of yours are ready to cross the street and join us, do you? Now, that is funny!”
Lito thrashed about only to be met with increased pressure on his throat from Raul’s vise grip. He couldn’t breathe. All he could see through his tear-blurred eyes was Pablo coiling the knife back.
#
It was like trying to hold gallons of water in his bare hands. No matter how carefully Nick tried to manipulate the current state of his existence relative to the physical speed of the events unfolding
before him, he couldn’t keep time from plowing forward. Having watched the whole scene at a fraction of the speed of mortal perception, he realized that the large man holding the knife was within inches of stabbing Lito Guzman in the stomach. His bodyguard was holding him in place for the kill.
Nick rushed over.
Though he remained invisible, Lito was looking in his direction, It almost seemed he was pleading for help. Nick knew exactly what he was supposed to do, or rather not do. Yet another order that made no sense to him.
The expression on Lito’s face wasn’t so much fear as sadness. And he tried hard to hold his head straight despite being in a chokehold. Whatever the reason, this man Nick had been assigned to protect was now supposed to die. But he couldn’t just stand there and let it happen the way he had with Clara.
The large man drew his knife back, then thrust it forward.
Just as the tip of the knife reached Lito, Nick reached for the blade.
Never one to worry about getting physically hurt while in his angel state, he grasped the fat man’s wrist with his left hand, took the knife by the sharp edge with his right, and bent it into a curve. Then returned it to its owner.
In an instant, time resumed at mortal speed.
The fat man looked at the twisted blade in his hand, gasping in wonder. Nick yanked it out of his hand and threw it across the parking deck. The three men turned to watch it fly and clatter to the concrete about ten yards away.
Then every eye seemed to look at Nick, or at least in his direction, despite his invisibility.
Or lack thereof, as he suddenly realized when the fat man’s face blanched and he let out a string of curses in Spanish.
Before he could react, Raul threw a punch at Nick’s face.
He’d never had to stoop to hand-to-hand with a human, so it didn’t occur to Nick that he ought to duck. When the hulking bodyguard’s fist struck him in the jaw, however, he actually felt it.
Letting out a grunt, he staggered back.
His vision blurred and pain stitched his skin for a moment, but aside from that, it wasn’t so bad. Then Raul came at him again, rubbing his fist like he’d punched a brick wall, but ready to strike again.
