by Diane Capri
The fat man scrambled into the car, shouted to his driver, and they blazed off.
Raul, closing on Nick, didn’t notice. He reached behind his back, pulled out a handgun, and flipped the safety off.
“The hell you think you are, man?” He cocked the hammer.
Nick would enjoy watching what happened to the smug look on his face when the bullets bounced off him.
Raul fired.
Nick felt a sting in his shoulder, then from behind them came a growl.
Lito.
He lunged at Raul, swinging at his face just as he turned towards the sound. Raul caught Lito’s fist with his free hand, twisted it until he fell to his knees, then pressed the muzzle of the gun against his forehead.
“You had to know this was coming.”
Lito squeezed his eyes shut, anticipating the inevitable.
Nick reached for Raul’s shoulder.
Before his fingers even made contact, Raul threw the gun to the ground, screaming. He fell on his hands and knees, then began rolling around from side to side shrieking in agony. He got up, ran forward a few yards, threw himself on the ground and began rolling again.
Lito wasn’t watching. Knees still bent, he was looking upward, his eyes filled with awe.
He bowed his head and whispered, “Dios mio.”
“Get up, Lito.”
He didn’t. Instead he cast a nervous glance at Raul, still writhing and screaming like a pig being slaughtered, then looked back at Nick.
“Who...what are you?”
Not much sense saying he was an angel when he’d soon be a mortal, and he wasn’t a hundred percent angel anymore.
“A friend,” Nick said.
“What did you—? I don’t understand, but I thank you.”
In the distance, Raul’s screams died down to a whimper. He was now balled up into a fetal position, his entire body quaking. Lito looked over in his direction and shook his head in wonder.
“If that’s the sort of friend you keep,” Nick said, “I’m not surprised at what kind of enemies you have.”
“What did you do to him?”
“I only made his dreams come true.”
“Dreams?”
“Nightmares.” A dull pain nagged at Nick’s shoulder. He rubbed it, then felt a slight chill. “I’m not sure what Raul fears most, but I wouldn’t be surprised it’s being burned alive.” He had neither the time nor inclination to fully explain. And judging by that look of wonder still on Lito’s face, the explanation wouldn’t help much.
“What are you, some kind of hypnotist?”
“Something like that.”
Lito gave him a long look, then said, “No, you’re more than that. I mean, you just show up out of nowhere, mess up Raul’s brain, and—wait! You look familiar.”
Nick scanned the area. All the commotion was sure to draw some onlooker, no matter how remote a part of the parking deck it was. “Would you please get back into your car and get out of here?”
“Yeah...” Lito started off, then stopped in his tracks. “I remember you. We’ve met before!” But when he turned around, Nick had already dropped out of his perception. The words floated out of his mouth as he realized. Eres un ángel.
Lito walked. And thought. And made a decision.
#
Fifteen minutes later, he knelt before the crucifix at Our Lady of Peace in Chula Vista and from a heart filled with gratitude thanked his merciful God for the angelic visitations and protection that had spared him. He vowed to turn his life around, right all his and any of his family’s wrongs he could.
He left the church feeling like a new man, not one whose life was, in fact, in greater peril than ever.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
NICK STOOD OVER RAUL, WHO WAS still curled up in a ball and moaning. The worst thing about constructs like these was that every physical sense was engaged and tied directly to the emotions and mind. For all intents and purposes, Raul’s reality was that he’d been doused in gasoline and set on fire. Only the pain wouldn’t end, as it would in death.
Nick rubbed the ache in his shoulder again and shivered. What an odd sensation. Was he feeling human chills because he was now really becoming mortal? It wouldn’t be the first time an angel wish had been granted before a formal approval.
At his feet, Raul’s gasps formed into words Nick could hardly make out.
“Oh, God, let me die, let me die...”
Nick made himself visible.
“No, my friend.”
He bent down and touched Raul’s head. Raul stopped screaming, then let out a long, slow breath.
“Gracias, amigo” he said. “Gracias.”
Facing death, humans showed their true nature. Raul now revealed himself as one who had used his brutality to hide weakness. Reduced to a puddle of fear, he was pitiful. Nick shook his head and sighed.
“You will never go near Carlito Guzman again, do you understand?”
Eyes still shut, Raul nodded as the construct seeped away.
“Yes. Yes, I understand! Completely.”
“You will never again engage in this sort of work. If you do, you will be visited by beings far worse than me.”
Raul opened his eyes, then immediately shielded them from the blazing light Nick allowed him to perceive. For good measure, he revealed his wings and brandished a flaming sword like the one he’d used with Balaam and his donkey a few millennia ago.
“Never again. I swear!”
The sincerity in Raul’s eyes was palpable. Through the ages, many had repented from their ways because an angel had touched or in this case, smote them. This had never been part of Nick’s duties as a guardian. But he rather enjoyed it—he’d done something that made sense.’
To him, anyway.
“Get up, Raul.” Because he cared naught for his soon-to-be-defunct career, he proclaimed the heavenly injunction reserved exclusively to archangels: “Cease from your wicked ways and go pray for forgiveness.”
Raul got up and knelt before him with bowed head and hands folded.
“Not to me, you idiot,” Nick said. “Go on and get out of here!”
Raul straightened up and ran off.
But Nick had once again defied his orders and failed to complete an assignment. There were sure to be repercussions—that wouldn’t change just because he planned to leave the angel ranks. Best to check in with Lena now. Colin Powell was right: Bad news isn’t wine, it doesn’t improve with time. Time to let her know he’d failed with Hope and Lito.
He took out the smartphone Lena had given him at the beginning of this set of assignments. Oddly, it was becoming less and less tangible. He could see it, touch it, even press the icons on the screen, but it almost looked and felt translucent. Of course, it too was a construct.
He found Lena’s contact icon and pressed it. Right away, he heard the three-note chime that preceded the recorded message:
“All circuits are busy. Please hang up and try your call later.”
“Great.” The nagging pain in his shoulder got worse, to the point that he dropped the phone and grabbed the place where it hurt. That was when he realized for the first time since the pain started that he hadn’t given it a proper look. At the same time, he felt something wet on the hand gripping his aching shoulder.
When he looked, he found his palm and fingers stained with a red, viscous slime of some sort.
“Blood?”
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
THE BLOOD CAME FROM WHAT APPEARED to be a wound on his shoulder. By the look of it, the bullet from Raul’s gun had only grazed his flesh. But Nick had never bled before, not even a drop.
His descent into mortality had indeed begun.
It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?
In any case he had to check in with Lena, who wasn’t answering his calls. One day she tells him to protect the cartel leader, the next day she wants him dead. If nothing else, it would be a relief not having to work for such a fickle boss any longer.
A
moment later, by mortal time, Nick was back in the lobby of the Broadmore. Too weary to cloak himself with invisibility, he walked past the front desk, covering his bloody shoulder with his hand.
“Sir, are you all right?” the concierge said.
“I’m fine.” Nick kept walking.
“But your arm,” the young man said. “It’s bleeding.”
He stopped and took a quick look. The bleeding had actually stopped, but the red stain had spread down his sleeve making it look a lot worse than it actually was. And the wound no longer hurt.
“It’s nothing. I fell on some broken glass.”
“Would you like me to call a doctor?”
A group of teenaged girls were staring at him. Enough of this. Nick planted a construct into the concierge’s mind, then glanced across the lobby to the revolving door.
“Look, isn’t that—”
“Justin Bieber!” one of the teenagers shouted.
The concierge double-timed over to the hotel entrance following the squealing girls.
Nick blew out a weary breath and got into the elevator. Better end the construct before “Justin” appeared to enter the lobby. Just as the elevator doors slid shut, he heard one of the girls saying, “I know I just saw him.”
When he finally got to the room he realized that he hadn’t got a key, so he knocked.
“Hope? It’s me, Nick.” He kept knocking, but no one answered. Perhaps she was in the shower.
The only way in was to pass through the door, something he wouldn’t be able to do much longer. But as he began to alter his physical state he felt light-headed, and the door’s material resisted slightly. Rather than passing through as though the door were air, it felt thick and sticky, like tar.
At one point, the resistance stopped him from moving forward. What an idiot he’d look like in the middle of a door, nose inside the room and hindquarters out in the hallway.
With a great lunge, he pushed through and fell onto the carpet inside the room. When he got to his feet, the entire room swerved counter-clockwise a quarter turn. Nick grabbed the frame of the open closet door to steady himself. It took a few long seconds for everything to settle.
Finally, he opened his eyes. Diffuse light illuminated the room through sheer curtains.
“Hope?”
He knocked on the bathroom door, which swung open revealing a tidied shower, tub, and sink.
Exhausted and disappointed, Nick went into the bedroom. On the night table he saw a small ivory envelope with his name on it. He tore it open and unfolded the note:
Gone to the village to explore. If you have any trouble finding me, I’ll be at The Coffee Shack in the afternoon.
Love,
Hope
His first thought was to go and join her. But the more human he became, the more he realized how tiring it was being mortal. For the first time since his London days, the need for sleep engulfed him.
Without quite intending to, he dropped onto the bed. His eyes closed.
And the note fell from his hand.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
THE FIRST THING LITO HAD TO DO was reach Maria. Secondary were his plans to leave the family business, but that couldn’t happen overnight. Not if he wanted to survive and keep his sister from harm.
The truth was, he didn’t exactly know how to make such a change, much less make it safely. But his life had been spared more than once, and by divine intervention—surely a way would become clear. In any case, he wasn’t about to renege on the vow he’d made in that church last night.
I might end up in jail. Even if that happened he’d continue to do right, as best he could. Not my will but thine, and all that. Of course, he could do much more good if he wasn’t locked away...
Lito waited patiently in the lobby of the Sheraton on Harbor Island. His sources had informed him that Maria had returned to San Diego yesterday and checked in. Clever enough not to use her credit card, for which he had online access, she had no doubt bought a prepaid Mastercard or Visa.
He kept his eyes trained on the hotel entrance. Coming or going, she was bound to show up sooner or later. And sure enough, at 9:07 AM she walked in wearing a black, close-fitting short skirt and stilettoes, the bag slung over her shoulder bouncing with each step.
“Maria!” He dropped his iPad into his leather courier bag, grabbed it, and followed her. For the briefest of moments she paused, nearly stopped, then resumed walking, even faster. “Maria, wait! I just want to talk.”
That got him a quick turn of the head.
“I have nothing to say to you, Lito.”
He overtook her, then stood right in front of her. She stepped to the left. So did he, again blocking her.
“Please, Maria. Just give me a minute, okay?”
“I swear, I’ll scream if you don’t get out of my way.” If eyes were knives, his face would be sliced to ribbons by now.
“You have to know why I was protecting you from Alfonso—”
“You protect me by taking away the one person that made me happy?” Her voice resounded throughout the lobby. More than a few people turned to look.
“He was using you.”
“You’re paranoid, Lito! Admit it, you can’t stand seeing someone else be my protector, provider!”
He grabbed her arm. “Alfonso was dangerous, he was about to—”
“LET GO OF ME!” Lito had already loosened his grip so that when she yanked her arm back, her newspaper and magazine went flying across the lobby. The magazine nearly struck the bellhop, who ducked just in time.
Hands up in surrender, Lito backed away and watched her storm out of the lobby. He hadn’t even gotten to the reason he wanted to speak with her. No matter what happened with the family business, he wanted to make sure the secret Alfonso had threatened to tell Maria would never come to her through another person. He could no longer live with that hanging over his head. Not when a new life awaited him.
Over at the baseboard lay Maria’s newspaper, a half-folded white slip of paper atop its scattered pages. Lito picked up the paper and unfolded a printout of an online receipt for an event. Jonathan Hartwell: SEIZE YOUR DESTINY.
Had to admire this guy. He never gave up the name of the girl on the video that had gone viral but failed to identify her. Nor had he issued any public apologies, though Lito had read in the paper that he would give an official statement at the event tomorrow night.
Lito sighed. If Maria was serious about her claimed faith in Jesus, she might have to forgive him. But for that to happen, they’d have to speak again. And with his radical shift from the life Papi had left him, it was only a matter of time before the clock ran out. The Suarez syndicate, the Hernandez branch, and now the power- hungry Guzman lieutenants were up to something.
But what?
He didn’t know. What he did know was that like Atlas, he bore the weight of that world on his weary shoulders.
Before anything else happened, he must tell Maria the truth.
He only prayed he would live long enough to do it.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
THE SOUND OF VACUUM CLEANERS and hotel workers speaking in Spanish woke Nick. How long had he been asleep? A quick glance out the window revealed the sky ablaze in a dazzling amber conflagration that stretched across the Pacific. He got up—and marveled. For thousands of years he’d taken such sights for granted. But now he realized how beautiful it was.
Heartbreakingly so.
Quite literally, in fact, because the sharp ache in the center of his chest seemed to have a direct line to his eyes, from which tears were trickling. He’d always wondered why humans wept at moments of beauty—a Brahms symphony, a Shakespeare sonnet, a sky like this one.
It hurt.
In a sublime way.
This was what it was like to be human—to feel the contrast of light and darkness, hate and love, despair and hope. He stepped out onto the balcony and leaned against the wall, fully taking in the breathtaking canvas upon which Father had once again
painted one of his masterpieces.
The words of the great psalmist came to mind.
Where can I go from your Spirit?
Where can I flee from your presence?
If I go up to the heavens, you are there;
If I make my bed in the depths, you are there.
If I rise on the wings of the dawn,
If I settle on the far side of the sea,
Even there your hand will guide me,
Your right hand will hold me fast.
If I say, “Surely the darkness will hide me
And the light become night around me,”
Even the darkness will not be dark to you;
The night will shine like the day,
For darkness is as light to you.
The roar of the rushing waves, the gulls floating over the shore, the briny gusts, the thrilling sky...He sighed with pleasure. It was the difference between reading about someone you love and being with them.
How could he ever go back to being an angel?
A man on a motorcycle on the street below revved his engine while waiting for a red light. Another man in a T-shirt revealing muscles that would intimidate anyone with half a brain was about to cross the street in front of the biker. To test if he was still an angel, Nick tried to conjure up a construct that would make the man in the T-shirt look like a hot blonde in a red bikini .
“Hey babe,” the biker said in a gravelly voice. “Want to ride with me?” He made kissing noises and smacked his lips.
The man in the T-shirt hit him in the face so hard he fell off his Harley.
Right. Still an angel.
He quickly ended the construct. The expression on the two men’s faces caused a burst of air to shoot out of Nick’s mouth and nose—a snort, followed by laughter.
His first prank. Being human was going to be fun.
It was different this time, though. So much more real and intense than in London back in the early 1900s. Perhaps that was the difference between temporary defection in which you lived as a human, and elective renouncement of angel existence, in which you became human. In any case, he couldn’t wait to tell Hope.
