by Lucy Blue
He obliged her, though it wasn’t easy. He wanted to keep hold of her; his heart was pounding; he was shaking all over. He couldn’t stop seeing her being slammed against the wall by Lucifer’s minions, couldn’t stop hearing her screams in his head. He wanted to hold her tight against him, feel her heartbeat, the warmth of her skin, listen to her breath until his own heart stopped pounding. But to her, he was all but a stranger. He had to let her go.
She ran her hands over his chest, touching all the rips and slashes in his shirt and coat, and it was all he could manage not to grab her again. “Laura…”
“The other one cut you,” she said, unbuttoning his shirt. “I saw him. I saw the knife—I felt that knife.” She touched her own throat, staring wide-eyed at his bare chest. The cuts from the demon’s earthly knife were already healed over, but the deep scratches from his unholy fangs and claws were festering, hot and ugly as a brand. “Oh my God…”
“They were whacked out of their minds,” he said, trying to sound normal, a mortal man who had just escaped disaster. “I barely saw them; it happened so fast.”
“He knew you,” she said, her eyes widening as they met his. “He called you by name. You ripped his arm completely off.”
“Adrenaline,” he started to explain. But she was falling, her eyes rolling back in her head. “Laura!” He caught her just before she fell back down the stairs.
“Laura?” A door opened—4B. “Oh my God!” A woman came out, petite, middle-aged. But no, he realized as she came closer and he smelled the sweet, earthy scent of her and saw the warm glow of her aura. Not a woman at all. “What happened?” She looked up at his face and gasped, recognizing him for what he was, too. “Well, what do you know?” she said with a tentative smile.
“What are you doing here?” He shifted Laura back into his arms, and the pagan nymph came to help, turning the unconscious woman’s head to rest against his shoulder.
“The same as you at the moment,” she said, brushing Laura’s hair back from her eyes. “Protecting this poor mortal.” She murmured some pointless incantation under her breath as her fingers danced lightly over Laura’s skull and down her neck as if checking for injuries. “Though I think I might be doing a better job of it.” She fixed him with warm, green eyes. “And with a purer motive.”
“Is she broken?” he asked, ignoring her challenge. He wasn’t surprised to find an earth spirit living in the same apartment building as Laura. These days, with their forests all but gone and the old passages between worlds becoming harder and harder to open, the fae were everywhere. Every major city had at least half a dozen of the more corporeal ranks living among mortal humans. A city the size of this one might have as many as a hundred, with ethereal ancients as well. This one smiled at him, and he scowled. The pagan powers always found angels dreadfully amusing. They considered themselves outside the jurisdiction of angels and demons with their own version of the Light, their own definitions of good and evil. At least they had wisdom enough to fear the Fallen One.
“Just bruised and scraped, I think,” she said. “And very badly frightened.” She brushed a kiss on Laura’s temple, and she stirred, moaning softly. “Rest, child,” the nymph ordered, and the woman relaxed in his arms. “Are you the one who brought the demons here?”
He wanted to deny it. “Probably,” he said. “That wasn’t my intention, but they were probably after me.”
“Not just them,” she said. “He was here yesterday morning. I wondered what could have called him up.” She looked him up and down, shaking her head. “I might have known it was a falling angel.”
“I haven’t fallen,” he said, scowling again. “Who was here?”
“I said falling, not fallen,” she said. “There is more than one way to fall.” As if to underscore her point, a man came out of the apartment.
“Should I call the police?” He was definitely human, small and balding, dressed in baggy flannel trousers and a shapeless sweater. But there was an aura of magic about him, too, a light beyond mere mortal intelligence in his eyes. And like his immortal wife, he knew an angel when he saw one. “Oh my…”
“Who was here yesterday morning?” Caleb demanded.
“Lucifer, of course,” the wizard said. His wife shivered, and he drew her close to him, patting her hand. “Pretending to be a policeman.”
“Investigating a mess in the alley that he made himself, no doubt,” the nymph said, cleaving to her husband. “A homeless woman murdered.”
“No,” Caleb said. “She’s not dead. I took her to the hospital. She was possessed, and I cast the demon out.” He broke off, looking away from their smiles to look down at Laura. Whatever the fae had done had put her into a deep, apparently peaceful sleep. One hand was curled around the lapel of his coat, clinging to him, and he shivered. “Did he see Laura?”
“He spoke to her,” the nymph said. “Nate was in class, but I had followed her downstairs. I heard them talking. I was ready to intervene.”
“Which would have been madness,” her husband interjected.
“But she resisted him,” she finished. “I kept her with me most of the day, watching over her, but she seemed fine.” She stroked Laura’s hair. “The question is, angel, what is she to you?”
“I found her at her husband’s grave,” he said. “I was afraid she was going to kill herself, so I….” Suddenly her piercing gaze was too much. “I’m taking her inside.” Pushing past her, he carried Laura to her own apartment door.
“You had no right,” the nymph said, following him as he went inside, ignoring the lock. “No right to approach her, to charm her. You’ve put her in danger, not just in body, but in soul.”
“I never charmed her,” he said, laying Laura on the sofa.
“Didn’t you?” Her eyes were dark, avid as an animal’s. “I can smell you all over her; I smelled you yesterday as soon as she walked past my door.”
“I wanted to help her,” he said.
“Of course you did,” she said. “Angels always want to help.” Her words were scornful, but she smiled. “Why can you never admit the truth even to yourselves until it’s too late?”
“Sylvia, darling,” the wizard said. “Enough.”
“Will you tell her the truth?” she said. She reached up and touched Caleb’s cheek. Her skin was pale, showing a slight, otherworldly green at her temples and the hollows of her cheeks. “Will you tell her what you are?”
“Sylvia,” her husband repeated. “Come home now, darling, please.”
“Such a beautiful thing you are,” she said, her accent deepening, lilting the worlds like a song. The wizard took her hand, and she allowed him to draw her back away from Caleb. “How will she resist you?”
“Come,” the wizard said. He smiled at Caleb. “Good night.”
Caleb locked the door behind them, then covered Laura with a blanket. He had no idea what he would say to her when she woke up, but he couldn’t leave her alone.
He felt a strange emptiness inside him, an ache that was entirely physical that had been growing for hours, and suddenly, he knew what it was. For the first time in his timeless life, he was hungry.
He went into the kitchen. He had no notion of cooking, but he could smell the food, and his stomach actually growled. Angels could eat food just as they could indulge in other mortal pleasures; it wasn’t forbidden, just unnecessary. And just as with other pleasures, Caleb had always chosen to abstain.
He found the plate of brownies covered in plastic on the counter. He took the first bite slowly, sniffing it before he put it in his mouth. The deep, luscious flavor of the chocolate made him think he might swoon. He sat down on a barstool like a man in a trance and devoured the whole plate.
Hunger was dangerous. The more an angel indulged in human pleasure, the more susceptible he or she became to human desire. They developed human emotional responses, and not just the sweet ones like passionate love or empathy but uglier feelings as well. Jealousy, pride, and murderous rage, unhampered by fear or physical weakn
ess, could infect them like poison. If these passions drove them to open defiance of their purpose, they fell, becoming the most powerful and cruelest form of demon, a guardian and prisoner of Hell. Lucifer had told him Laura would cause him to fall.
As he swallowed the last brownie, he realized he was thirsty. Licking the last crumbs from the plate, he went to the refrigerator, looking for something to drink.
He had watched his brother stray into this path. Caleb had begged him to repent and give up the thirst for power. But he had failed. He had watched him fall. Now he watched him torment the mortals he hated so desperately, the creatures he had once so loved.
He opened the gallon jug of milk and sniffed it…perfect. Turning it up with one hand, he guzzled it down, ice cold and impossibly delicious.
“Hey.” He brought down the jug and turned around. Laura was standing behind him, the blanket he had put over her draped around her shoulders, her lips curved in smile. “Want a glass?”
Chapter Fifteen—The Angel in the Kitchen
Laura had been dreaming about the most horrible moment of her childhood. Her father was leaving, and her mother had betrayed her. “Tell him,” Mama was saying, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Tell him I’m not crazy. Tell him you can see them, too.”
“Stop it,” her father said. “Stop trying to drag your own child down with you. For God’s sake, Rowena, let her go!”
“Tell him!” Mama screamed. “They’re here right now, standing right there watching. You can see them, Laura, I know you can.” Her mother fell to her knees beside her and turned her toward the trio of figures standing in the doorway. “Be a good girl, baby. Tell your daddy the truth.”
“You promised, Mama,” the little girl Laura said, crying. “You promised me you wouldn’t tell.”
“Enough!” her father said, trying to grab her, but Mama snatched her away from him.
“Tell him!” Mama screamed.
She woke up on the couch in the now, covered with a blanket. Her rescuer was standing at her refrigerator. As she watched, he took out the jug of milk, opened it, and turned it up like it weighed nothing. “Hey,” she said, going to him. “Want a glass?” He turned around looking so shocked, she almost laughed. “It’s okay,” she promised. “Go ahead.” Seeing this man who looked like Michelangelo’s David swilling milk straight from the jug made everything in this strange, scary night seem easier to manage.
“Sorry.” He sounded like he meant it, and the sheepish look on his face was adorable. He turned the jug back up as she let the blanket fall behind her. She should be terrified, checking the locks, pushing furniture in front of the door, calling the cops, calling a priest. That thing at the door couldn’t have been human; it had said it wasn’t giving up. But somehow she couldn’t make herself care. She felt warm and comfortable, slightly sleepy. Even the horror of her dream had faded, leaving a child-like sense of well-being. I must be in shock, she thought. This must be a side effect of being scared out of my mind. But even that thought couldn’t dispel the cloud.
“You must have been thirsty.” She shrugged out of the coat and let that fall, too. “That’s probably the adrenaline. Didn’t you say something before about adrenaline?” Drunk, she thought. It’s like I’m drunk. She had tried marijuana a few times, and it had made her sleepy and irritable. This seemed more like what her friends had said it did for them, this mellow, slightly addle-pated calm. She watched Caleb guzzle down the milk, not caring that he didn’t answer her. She was fascinated by the way the muscles worked in his throat as he swallowed and the trickle of milk that had run down over his chin. “I feel sort of weird.” She handed him a dishtowel as he lowered the empty jug. “I almost never pass out, and I always feel sick afterwards. But this time I don’t.”
“Still.” He set the jug down to wipe his mouth with the towel. “You should lie back down.”
“No, I’m fine.” She took the towel and wiped his chin then dropped it to run her hand over the shallow scratches in his chest that should have been deep gashes from their attacker’s knife. “Let me see your shoulder.”
“It’s all right,” he insisted, but she pushed his coat back over his shoulders and onto the floor without waiting for permission and opened his shirt. The wounds that had seemed to be festering before now looked like clean, healing cuts.
“I can’t believe it.” She looked up at him. “I thought they were going to kill you.” Looking up into his eyes, it was hard to even remember the fight. It was like something she had seen in a movie, not real. “I was so scared.”
“So was I.” A flush rose in his cheeks, and she could feel the warmth of his body, standing so close.
“You didn’t seem scared.”
“I was scared for you.” He put his hands on her shoulders. “If you feel weird, we should get you to a hospital.”
“Please, God, no,” she said. The last place she wanted to be was a hospital; she’d sooner go to hell. “I promise I’m all right.”
“Are you sure?” His eyes were searching hers, and she felt herself breathing faster, her body feeling strangely light. He was a stranger, but this felt familiar, as if they’d stood this way before.
“I’m sure.” She put her hand over his heart under his shirt, feeling it beat against her palm. “I’m fine.” His eyes were icy blue but warm, so warm. “We’re safe.”
He kissed her just the way she’d known he would. He caught her hand in his, drawing her close to him, her body melting into his as his mouth came down on hers. Her lips parted with a sigh, breathing him in, and his arms closed around her, sheltering her, pressing her close. I shouldn’t want this, she thought. This is wrong. He was a stranger, but he felt so familiar when she touched him, as if he belonged to her. Tears spilled from her eyes, and he kissed them away.
“Don’t cry, Laura,” he said. The words were like an echo; she had heard him say them before. “Please don’t cry.” She drew back, and for a split second, it wasn’t Caleb standing there but Jake, her darling Jake, come back to comfort her.
“The ghost,” she said. “You sound like the ghost…you smell like the ghost…” She felt dizzy, sick. “It was you.” The strange vision had passed; he looked like Caleb again. But she couldn’t shake the feeling, the certain knowledge in her bones that somehow this man and the apparition that had come to her two nights before were one and the same. “Who are you?” His eyes were so brilliantly blue, they seemed to glow.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “It’s all my fault, I swear.” His skin, already perfect, took on a deeper, smoother sheen, like polished stone, his stubble disappearing. She couldn’t even see a pore. She touched the base of his throat, and his flesh felt feverishly hot, but there was no flush. He looked into her eyes. “But I am falling.”
“Falling?” She gasped as he fell to his knees before her, and his clothes seemed to dissolve, leaving him naked in front of her. His skin all over was as flawless as his face but for tattoos on his back, a beautiful design like a Da Vinci drawing, elaborately feathered wings, and the scars on his shoulder. She stumbled back against the kitchen counter, grabbing for it to stay on her feet. He lowered his head, his eyes falling closed. The tattoos began to ripple, shimmering black on his skin. “Holy God,” she said breathlessly, reaching out to him. He caught her hand and stood as massive, golden wings unfurled from his back, glistening, glowing with light.
The world seemed to crumble under her, leaving her falling through darkness. “Noooo,” she heard herself saying, her blood running cold. The image of the angel Caleb wavered; her eyes were filled with tears. Not real, she thought, her heart screaming in pain. None of it was real.
“Laura, listen to me.” His beautiful face was too close to hers, impossible to shut out.
“No,” she said, snatching her hand from his grip, tucking it under her arm. “I don’t want to.”
“I’m a seraph,” he said. “An angel. Please don’t be afraid.” The pain on his face was unbearable. Her mama had always said the angel
s cried if she tried to turn them away. “I saw you in the cemetery. I read your letters—Jake’s letters.”
“I burned them,” she said. “Nobody could read them.”
“I put them back together.” He seemed to put his hands on her shoulders. She could feel him touching her. She had felt him kiss her; it had all seemed so perfectly real. “I was so afraid for you,” he said. “I just wanted to help.”
“Let me go,” she begged, closing her eyes, raising her fists to her face to shut the vision out. “Leave me alone.”
“I just meant to comfort you that one time,” he said. He sounded real, too, so loving and kind. “I thought if you could see your husband one last time, talk to him, tell him face to face all the things you had written, you would feel better, stronger.”
“Cruel,” she said, her voice barely more than a squeak. “So cruel…”
“I knew what he would say,” he said. “I knew he would tell you not to be afraid for him, to stop blaming yourself. I just wanted to save you, beloved.”
“Don’t call me that!” She had thought he was a real man who magically appeared just when she needed him, but he was a delusion. Deep inside her memory in the place she never looked, she saw her mama pacing in front of the china cabinet in the dining room, singing at the top of her lungs, trying to drown out the voices of the angels she saw all around her. “I can’t get no SATISFACTION!” How could she not have known? All her life she had lived in fear of this moment. As soon as she saw him the first time in the cemetery, she should have known. She realized she was moaning, keening softly.
“Laura, stop, I’m begging you.” She felt him take hold of her wrists so tenderly, trying to pull her hands from her eyes, to make her see him. “I didn’t know how it would feel to touch you,” he said, his voice rough with emotion, so intimate, so close.
“Stop it,” she said. “Please stop.”
“I didn’t realize I would be putting you in danger.”
“Oh God,” she moaned. “The demons on the street.” But that only made sense. If she needed a warrior angel, she needed demons for him to fight. She needed him to save her. Keeping her eyes shut tight, she pushed forward, shuddering to feel what felt like solid flesh. In her mind, she could still see him so clearly. “I’m losing it,” she said. “I’m finally losing it.”
