by J. R. Ward
“Yeah, right,” she muttered to herself. That had happened anyway. And curiously … it had been okay. It was okay.
And didn’t that make her think about the differences between G.B. and Duke.
She had known that she was going to have to make a choice at some point. She had not expected to have that decision come to her here and now, as she sat in her car at the side of the road, swarms of business types walking by, taxis shooting up and down the street, distant sirens suggesting that crises were all around.
She had tried the safe option once before and the outcome had been what it was—and in fact, crash helmets only helped in certain kinds of accidents … and even neat freaks who relied on order to protect themselves got chased in garages and scared shitless.
Hell, for all she knew, whatever woman had been killed at the theater had had a color-coded closet, too.
There was no protection from injury, disillusionment, disappointment.
God, what a depressing thought. And yet it was liberating, too.
She knew who she wanted.
At least … she thought she did.
The knock on her window made her shout in alarm.
“Ma’am?” It was a meter maid, her voice buffered by the closed windows. “I’m going to have to ticket you if you don’t get moving.”
“Sorry,” Cait said, trying to remember where the gearshift was. “I’ll leave right now. Thanks.”
Getting back into the flow of traffic, she felt a strange dread come over her, as if her destiny was somehow threatened. But … that was just crazy.
Wasn’t it?
At the next stoplight, she dragged her bag over and searched through it … and as she found what she was looking for, she couldn’t believe she was thinking about calling that psychic, the one whose business card she’d taken from the corkboard at the theater.
Focusing on the address, she mentally mapped out a route. She’d never been to anyone like that before, and had no idea what to expect—or what she could possibly get out of it.
The only thing she was sure of was that a kind of … crossroads … seemed to have appeared before her, and she wanted some sort of confirmation that the direction she intended to go in was the correct one.
Couldn’t hurt, right.
Hitting the gas, she got lost in images of the two men, anxiety sharpening the pictures to an almost painful degree…
When Cait’s car stopped again, she was barely aware of having hit the brakes. And … wait a minute, this was not the grungier end of Trade Street. In fact, it was…
Where the hell was she?
Too much grass to be downtown.
She was about to pull a U-ey when she saw the stray dog. Small, low to the ground, and scruffy as a floor mop, it was seated on the broad stretch of lawn and staring right at her.
Cait got out. “You okay there, boy?”
Somehow she knew it was a boy. No collar, though. Poor thing.
As it lifted its forepaw, she was compelled to go around the front of her car—and that was when the place she’d arrived at came into her consciousness.
Not the psychic’s, no. Try church and steeple.
It was St. Patrick’s Cathedral, the grande dame of all Christian houses of worship in Caldwell, the one with the Gothic spires, and all the saints, and the stained glass that looked like jewels.
Where Sissy Barten’s funeral was going to occur.
How had she ended up here?
She turned back to see the dog, but he was gone. “Where are you?”
Cait looked all around, pivoting in a circle—he’d disappeared, though.
Following a long moment, and for no good reason she could think of, her feet decided to take the term walkway to heart, pulling a one-after-another that brought her up to a side entrance. As she reached out to open the door, and found the heavy weight obliging, she labeled the impulse that carried her over the threshold under “preparation for Sissy’s event.”
There was no other purpose for her to come here. In fact, she hadn’t been in a church since she’d moved to Caldwell—unless she’d gone home and been dragged to services. And she certainly wasn’t Catholic, all that regal tradition antithetical to the pine-floored, white-washed, garden-flowers-on-the-altar simplicity she was used to, and had revolted against.
Inside, she had to close her eyes and take a deep breath. Oh, wow, did that smell good—incense and old wood and beeswax.
She was in a side vestibule, as it turned out, and as she walked across the polished stone floor, her footsteps echoed forward into the vast expanse of the nave. Stone block walls rose to seemingly incalculable heights, the buttresses flying like the wings of angels at every juncture, depictions of holy men and women marking the corners and the straightaways, different chapels running down the longest length from the incredible entrance to the beautiful altar.
So many pews, stretching out on both sides of the bloodred aisle—and she pictured them filled with people, grown-ups and children, grandparents and teenagers. All the stages of life—
“Hello.”
Cait nearly lost her footing on the slick marble. “Oh! I’m sorry.”
An old man dressed in a mucky green janitor suit smiled as he put his mop back in his rolling bucket. “Don’t apologize. You’re welcome here.”
“I’m not Catholic.” She winced. “I mean—”
“It doesn’t matter. Everyone’s welcome here.”
She cleared her throat. “Well, I didn’t come to worship. I don’t go to church anymore. Ah, actually, I’m … I’m bringing some paintings that Sissy Barten did? You know, for her funeral? I thought it would make sense to check out things beforehand?”
“Oh, of course.” He moved his pail out of the way. “Her family has been really involved here over the years—there’re going to be a lot of people. I think you should plan on setting it all up in the narthex. That way there’s enough space so her work can be seen well. Come this way.”
As he started to walk away from the altar, she paused and looked back at the crucified Jesus on the cross that was the focal point of the entire building.
“Are you coming?” he said gently. “Or would you like a moment here?”
“Oh, no. I’m fine.” Except she didn’t turn around. Didn’t move. “I’m not Catholic.”
“You don’t have to be.” When she still hesitated, he dropped his voice. “You know, the truth is, it’s all the same.”
“I’m sorry?”
He leaned in and put his hand on her arm—and oh, God, the moment the contact was made, she felt suffused by something she’d never come close to before … grace, she supposed her parents would have called it, that transcendental glow that supposedly came with revelation.
But he was just a janitor…
“It’s all the same. No matter the vocabulary, it’s all the same.” He patted her. “I have to head to the office for a minute. I’ll come back in a bit and show you where to go.”
“I’m okay.”
“I know you are. Sit down and soak it all in. I’ll return soon.”
Left alone, she told her feet to get moving again. Instead, she ended up doing what he said … sitting down, putting her hands in her lap, and staring up, past the pews in front of her, to the majesty and the power before her.
In the kind silence that surrounded her, Cait discovered she was really glad she’d come here. Even if she hadn’t meant to.
Who knew what the psychic would have told her. But she never did find out.
Destiny, she would discover, took care of itself.
Chapter
Forty-one
Up in the attic, Sissy stood behind Adrian—who was not looking at her. Or refusing to look at her was more like it. Fine. She was just going to keep talking to his back as he sat cross-legged in front of that shrouded figure.
“Except you must know more, right? There has to be more.” She passed an eye over the deceased, and felt a stab of guilt. But whatever, she needed th
e help and he was the only one around. Jim had left without a goodbye, or an I’ll-be-back-when—so it was just her and Adrian.
And her frustration.
She threw her hands up. “I’d go to the Internet, but you can’t trust anything on it. And like the Caldwell Public Library is going to cover this?”
She could also wait and go to Jim—except for the fact that one, the guy didn’t seem to know as much as Adrian; and two, she had the sense he wanted to keep her out of the war.
Whereas she was ready to get into it.
Adrian rubbed his jaw—like it was either that or start screaming. “You are a pain in my ass. No offense.”
She wanted to come closer. Didn’t dare. “I’ve got to forge my own way here. I have no choice—and if that means pissing you off, that’s the way it is.”
“If I were angry, you’d know it. Terminally annoyed is more accurate.”
“Please. Just point me in the right direction. I’ll take things from there.”
He laughed in a short burst. “Funny you say it like that.”
“Why?”
The angel glanced over his shoulder. “You’re not going to give up on this, are you.”
“Nope.”
With a curse, Adrian leaned to the side and got his cane. Grimacing as he stood up, he leveled his stare on her. “Okay, fine. But, first off, I don’t know if I can find it. I make no promises.”
“What’s ‘it’?”
“What you’re looking for. And …” He shoved his forefinger in her face. “You damage it in any way, and I’m going to take the shit out of your hide. I don’t care if you’re a girl or not. Are we clear?”
She put her hand out. “Deal.”
The guy rolled his eyes. But he did shake on it.
Then he led her down to the second floor. Down to the first. Through the back door. Out toward the garage.
Talk about your lean-to’s—even though the long, thin building had a roof and three walls, it was listing like Adrian did when he walked, looking as if the only thing keeping it standing were the thick vines that grew up on its sides. And although there were four rolling doors, it appeared as though only two of them worked: The other pair on the far end had two-by-fours nailed kitty-corner all over the front of them.
Adrian bent over and locked a grip on the first door, heaving his considerable strength into it. The high-pitched screech of metal on metal made her cover her ears as he pulled the weight up ancient tracks, disappearing the chipped, paint-flaking panels into the darkness.
“You stay out here.”
He vanished into the shadows, and then she heard a flick-flick … flick-flick … and a lot more cursing.
Evidently the lights were out.
“Can you get me a flashlight,” he said. “There’s one in the—ow! Fuck me!”
“Explorer?”
“Yeah.”
“I think I need the keys—” Before she finished speaking, a set came flying out of the garage. Catching them, she said, “Hey, are you okay?”
“Fine and fucking dandy—it’s just a goddamn mess in here.”
Figuring she had a matter of nanoseconds before he lost his patience completely and told her to screw off, she jogged over to the SUV and beelined for the glove compartment. A quick click, and she had a beam that was strong enough to blind her even in the daylight. Perfect.
Back at the garage, she shined it inside. “Wooooow…”
And she thought the attic was full of adventures. Turned out the garage was an open single bay stuffed full of an incalculable amount of lawn equipment and carpentry machines and automobiles that must have come from the fifties. There were a number of new additions, however—three dust-free duffel bags were clustered around Adrian’s feet.
Buttressing himself on that cane, he got down on his knees and unzipped the first of them. Out came … a huge leather coat. A couple pairs of jeans. Combat boots. Shirts. Each item was set aside with care on the concrete.
Eddie’s things.
Sissy was tempted to step away and give Adrian some privacy, but he needed the light. And maybe the company.
He was talking: “Such a good little packer, he was. I used to think it was a waste of fucking time. When we moved, though … I did it like he would have. Folded everything. Put the shit in by category.”
Sissy blinked back tears as she wondered how her family was going to do things differently in the future. She didn’t want her survivors changing themselves as a way to remember her … but she probably would have done the same thing.
“I’m sure he appreciated it,” she whispered.
“He’s dead. He’ll never know.”
“Are you certain about that?”
The angel’s hands stilled for a heartbeat. “Dunno.” He moved to the next bag. “Maybe it’s in this one. I know I packed the goddamn thing—ah … got it.”
Awkwardly moving around, he held his forearm up against the flashlight. “You can turn that off.”
“Sorry.” Click.
Adrian grunted as he got to his feet and walked out into the sunshine. “Here. This is all I got to offer you.”
It was a book, an ancient book that was thick as a tree trunk.
Tucking the flashlight under her arm, she accepted the thing with trembling hands. The cover was so old, she couldn’t even tell what color the leather was—something between red and black and gray and brown. And there had been some kind of embossing and maybe some gold leaf, but most of that was worn smooth and worn off.
“What is this?” she said, gingerly opening the tone.
Inhaling deeply, she smelled flowers, the kind that were up in the attic, and as she scanned the title page, she had a vague impression of Latin words.
Thank God her father had made her study that in high school.
“I have no clue.” Adrian looked away, to the rooftop of the mansion. “It’s where he went whenever he got that look in his eye—the one that meant he was worried he was coming up with the wrong answer. He hated that.”
Sissy frowned as she realized that Adrian was in serious pain. He had one hand on the small of his back, and was arching to the side as if trying to pop something into place.
It had been hard for him to be on his knees like that.
“Hold this for a sec,” she said, returning the book to him.
Walking around him, she turned on the flashlight and entered the garage. Laying the beam down by her feet, she crouched by the open duffels.
One by one, she put the things he had taken out back where they had been, making sure that the categories were preserved. When she was finished, she zipped up the two bags and shuffled them into their original position.
As she exited, she got up on her tiptoes and pulled down the door, batting away the leaves that hung off the bottom, and the spider that tried to land on her hand.
Back by his side, she took the book from him again. “Thanks.”
When she went to turn away, his hand landed on her shoulder. Looking up at him, she found it physically painful to see him struggle for words.
She put her hand over his. “You’re welcome.”
Taking care of someone’s dead was just as important as taking care of their living.
When Jim got home, it was about two seconds after five p.m. Thanks to Angel Airlines, he didn’t have to worry about a commute—and good thing. He was coming back and checking in only long enough to make sure that Sissy and Ad were hanging out okay. Then he had to go back to tailing Duke Phillips.
Opening the front door—
“What the …” Inhaling again, he nearly groaned. Onions sautéing with spices. Something meat, too. And fresh bread?
As he shut himself in, he faltered again. Talk about a woman’s touch … even though the light was fading in the sky, everything was so much brighter inside the house, the lamps shining as if the bulbs and silk shades had all been cleaned. The rugs were more colorful, too, like someone had vacuumed everywhere—and the floors. Jesus Christ
, the floors were gleaming.
Glancing up the stairs, he was astounded to find that the carpet runner wasn’t actually brown … it was a deep garnet red. And the carved balustrade was glowing from having been polished. And the walls? The paper that had been gradually peeling free and dropping down was reaffixed, the pattern itself resurrected from aged obscurity, the subtle vines and blooms showing once again.
Jim headed back to the kitchen, and was gob smacked to find Adrian in an apron, sitting at the kitchen table, cutting green beans with a crystal dagger like he was performing heart surgery.
“Like this?” the angel was saying intently.
Sissy pivoted away from a steaming pot. “Perfect. Yeah, just nip the ends.”
Ad nodded and went back to work.
The fact that neither of them noticed him was a little galling. But he couldn’t really be jealous of Adrian—who, at last glance, had only grudgingly accepted her presence. Right?
Then again, six hours later, how times had changed. They were best frickin’ buddies, evidently.
Jim cleared his throat. “Smells good.”
Sissy jumped enough to drop her spoon, but Adrian just glanced up, and then returned to his job.
“You want to eat with us?” she said as she smoothed her hair. “We’re going to be ready in thirty minutes?”
He could wait that long. “Yeah. Please.”
Feeling like he was back in his mama’s house, he went to the sink and washed his hands. Hey, check it, he could actually see out the window into the backyard for the first time. And as he rinsed off, he noticed that the stainless-steel sink was shiny as new. So were the pans that were sitting in a pile in the rack.
Jim took his time drying things on a clean dishrag, lingering just behind Sissy. Her hair had been pulled back into a messy knot, held in place by a big barrette. At her nape, tiny curls had formed, and he had an almost irresistible urge to touch them, wrap them around his finger … and the impulses didn’t stop there. He wanted to wrap his height around her from behind and plant a lingering kiss on the side of her throat.
Wheeling away, he took a seat across from Ad and watched the guy make a pile of cut green beans in a white enameled pot full of water.
