Dark Angel (An Angel Novel Book 2)

by Jane West

  “Look! I told Nick to help you. The Illuminati has a price on your head. This isn’t a game. It’s war. Do you understand?”

  “Yes! I do. That’s why I’m here. I want to fight too!”

  “No! This war calls for heavenly creatures. You may have the making of a Zop, but you are earthbound. In order to fight this war, we have to transform into our celestial bodies, not this human body you see.” Val stared at me.

  “I don’t understand?” My brows creased with incertitude.

  Val ran his fingers through his hair and let out an exasperated sigh. “I don’t have time to explain.” Then he cupped my face in his hands. “You have to trust me. I’m looking out for you.” Val stopped for a second as though he was getting choked up. “This war is a spiritual battle. I have to go back to my natural state. A spirit form.” He hesitated. “I’m not coming back, Freckles. For the last time, allow me to gaze upon your beautiful face.” Tears streamed down my face as Val gently wiped my cheeks with his thumb.

  “I can’t believe this is happening!”

  “It’s our reality.”

  “You’re leaving me behind!” I strangled the thought of never seeing him again.

  “Freckles, I do love you. The other night I want you to know that I didn’t set out to hurt you. I said what I said in hopes that you might move on. I thought if you hated me, it might be easier to move on. War is at hand, and I didn’t know how to explain the magnitude of what we are facing.” Val’s eyes filled with sorrow. “If...if not for this war, I’d give up everything for you. Unfortunately, I can’t, and we can’t be together, ever!”

  “Why do you have to fight? Let the Illuminati have whatever it is they want,” I asked earnestly.

  “No. I can’t do that. Don’t you see? They’ll come after you. I have to stop this invasion.”

  “You’re only one Zop. You can’t stop them single handedly.”

  “You’re right. But what other choice do we have? It’s more than just you and me involved here. Our whole galaxy faces annihilation. Don’t you see? I can’t turn away. I have a responsibility.”

  “I don’t want to face life without you.”

  “Freckles, you have to move on in life. Make a new life. Fall in love. It’s not destined for us to be together. Destiny has someone else for you.” His golden eyes sparkled.

  “No way! I’m done with you rotten men!” I crossed my arms.

  Val chortled. “Somehow I think you will find some poor bastard who will love you bigger than life itself.”

  “It won’t be you.” I choked on the words. Val took my chin in his hand, and he bent down. “You’ll see me in your dreams.” Val’s eyes searched deeply into mine. All I could do was nod. Then he kissed me gently.

  When my eyes opened, he was gone, and I collapsed to the ground, blinded by tears. I knew our relationship had ended, but I guess a part of me didn’t believe it until now. And it sucked!

  Nick, without saying a word, gathered me into his arms and sat me on his bike. He whispered softly, “Just hang on. I won’t let you fall.” Strangely, his voice was comforting to me.

  ***

  Distraught and checked out, I didn’t pay attention nor cared where Nick and his gang were taking me. Once we stopped, my mind was swooned over Val’s last words and the horror of my whole world crumbling that I didn’t bother looking up to see where we had settled.

  Through my haze, I was lay across a warm bed and a soft shawl covered my body. I recalled the Cajun ordering me to drink some clear liquid. I obeyed, choking and gasping from the burn. Though, it didn’t last long before the effects set in. What I believed was moonshine, did wonders, numbing my mind, my heart and my conscientiousness. Soon the darkness devoured the light. I didn’t remember another thing until I woke up the next morning.

  The birds seemed happy as they chirped, bouncing from limb to limb, tree to tree. It was like any other day, or at least the creatures of the bayou seemed to believe so. I kicked the shawl off and climbed out of bed, making my way throughout the house. The small rooms were dim, no lights on, just a faint light coming from the windows.

  I entered the kitchen and went to the center of the room, tugging on a long chain attached to the ceiling lamp. As my eyes adjusted to light, I gasped with surprise. We were at the swamp, back at Nick’s grandmother’s home. The house was aged, still had its original plank-board flooring. No special perks, but cozy enough. A faint breeze blew in from the bayou. I walked to the back screen door and listened for a moment to the motion of the water and the sounds of nature.

  Suddenly breakfast came to mind. I needed to feel useful. First, I checked out the fridge, I spotted a gallon of milk, butter, jam and bacon. Next I checked out the cabinet, I counted, flour, salt, baking powder and Crisco oil. Great for biscuits! I heard chickens cackling out back. I found an old basket and went for the chicken coop. It had been a while ago since I’d had the privilege of gathering eggs, but I still remembered how. Before Dad died, I had been the egg whisperer. I used to think it was the funniest thing how this big white-looking ball could pop out of a chicken’s tiny rump—sort of gross when I thought about it now. I laughed to myself.

  When I returned, I’d collected a brimming basket of two dozen eggs. I spotted an old apron and slipped it on and tied a bow in the back. By the small print of flowers and its tattered ends, I assumed it belonged to Nick’s grandmother. Out of respect, I asked her if she didn’t mind. I didn’t want to offend the lady of the house.

  In no time flat, I began fumbling through the cabinets, I spied a roller and an old cutter that came in handy. I vigorously rolled out the dough and cut each individual biscuit and placed them on a flat pan. I’d preheated the oven to three hundred fifty degrees Fahrenheit and stuck the pan inside to cook for twenty minutes.

  Once the biscuits turned a golden brown, I snatched up a couple of potholders and pulled the piping-hot tray of bread from the oven. The sweet aroma of fresh bread spread throughout the whole house. Nick came waltzing into the kitchen. I glanced up but quickly went back to cooking.

  “Oh! I didn’t know you can cook. It smells good.” Nick sounded surprised.

  I cocked a brow and replied, “there are many things of which you do not know that I am quite capable of doing.”

  “I can see. You are the first rich girl I know who can make biscuits from flour.” He tossed a white smile.

  “I doubt you have ever been around a rich girl.” I mocked.

  “True. I have no use for those girls.”

  “I see we are going to be such great friends.” I teased with spite. Little did he know I wasn’t one of those girls.

  “Please be respectful. This is my grand-mère’s kitchen.”

  “I am fully aware of your grandmother. After all, I’ve met her. A nice lady.” I went right along with preparing breakfast without looking at the annoying Cajun.

  “Oui. I remember,” he said right as he went out the screen door.

  I just looked up and smiled. Then I went back to pulling the plates out of the cabinet.

  I placed five plates on the table. We each got scrambled eggs, bacon, biscuits, and gravy. I lucked out finding blackberry jam stored in the pantry and homemade butter in the small fridge. There was enough coffee for everyone to have a large cup. Thank goodness.

  When the Cajun returned, he had the strangest tint to his face. Taking his seat at the table, he glimpsed at the extra plate and back at me. A puzzled glint toyed with his deep brown eyes. “There are only four of us. Are you expecting company?” he asked in his heavy French tone.

  I didn’t know how to say this to the Cajun or how he’d feel, so I replied curtly. “It’s for Mable—your grandmother.”

  “Mon grand-mère? Are you joking?” Nick laughed, surprised.

  I laid a butter-knife with the butter down on the table then I looked the Cajun in the eye, sternly. “I don’t joke about the dead. If you must know, the plate is a token of appreciation to your grand-mère. Out of respect, I’m
letting her know that the kitchen belongs to her.”

  The Cajun sat there for a minute and held my stare. His eyes were intense. I was pretty sure he’d thought I had lost my mind. Then this Cajun had a way of taking me off guard. “My grand-mère spoke about you. She saw you in a vision. She warned me of your coming and for me to be nice.” He chuckled. “Obviously, I do not do everything my grand-mère asks.” He waved his butter knife aimlessly. “I know she told you something. I’ll find out what she confided in you. You mark my word!” He flashed an arrogant smile.

  Our conversation stalled. Dom and Jeffery came into the kitchen and took their place. “Aw, Stevie, I would have gotten up and helped you with breakfast.” Dom offered.

  “I didn’t mind. I enjoyed cooking breakfast,” I took my chair. It reminded me of a time when I was a kid. “I thought you might like some extra sleep.” I smiled trying to make light of our unforeseen future.

  “Well, it’s a lovely breakfast, if I do say,” Jeffery complimented my cooking which was out of character of my dear friend. “Does anyone know when we can return home?” Jeffery bounced his glance around the table at everyone. Yet no one uttered a word.

  “Jeff,” I interjected. “We may never be able to go back. Time will only tell.”

  “What!” Jeffery squealed louder than an opera singer off key.

  “I suppose we are best to prepare for the worst and hope for the best.” Dom added.

  “I think the bottom is about to fall out from under us.” I went on and added, “As far as we know, we are refugees running for our lives. Everything we own, our home and money is most likely gone. Though, at this point, we can only speculate.”

  My eyes stopped on Jeffery. Frozen, his eyes were bugged out of his head and his mouth was gaping wide enough for fly catching. “But-but,” he stammered on. “I belong to the little old, fat ladies society club! How am I gonna face those old biddies with no money?”

  I couldn’t laugh. This poor man appeared as if he might be having a stroke. “Jeff, sweetie, those ladies’ are just as poor as you are now.”

  “Oh lord have mercy on my ratchet soul!” He fanned himself with his hand. “Jesus come get now!” he rambled.

  Forget stifling a laugh, I broke into chortles. “Jeffery,” I snorted. “Bro, you might want to look the word ratchet up.”

  Everyone joined in laughter.

  Jeffery’s face twisted almost into a completely different dimension. He reminded me of a 3D movie. “I don’t know what is so funny!” he fluttered. “After losing a billion lovely dollars, it makes my soul and every other part of my delicious body retch! Y’all need to get over yourselves, you is in the same poor boat as me!” Jeffery stuck his lips out snapping his fingers and bobbing his head.

  I swear, someone needed to monitor that skinny man’s TV viewing. He could be more dramatic than any of those housewives on Bravo.

  I glimpsed over at the Cajun. He sat there quiet for a minute with a gloating face. “See, that is the very reason I am not wealthy. Take me for existence, the whole world can go to hell in a hand basket, and I will still eat and have a roof over my head. And why? Because I did not allow myself to become lazy and fat, all dependent on money. I’m smart like that.” Nick tapped his temple with his butter knife as a smirk painted his face. Apart from his exaggerated self-opinion and uncivilized nature, the man possessed quite a come-hither charm, excluding that he needed a bath.

  Before I could stop myself, the words flowed from my mouth. “Yes, Cajun, we all know what you do best. Getting shitfaced and forcing your affections upon innocent girls.” I grinned right when I shoved a large bite of eggs in my mouth.

  A little glint of ire played in the Cajun’s dark eyes. “I’ve never heard any girl complain of my er, affections. Yes?” Nick took a huge bite of his eggs, mocking me. I glared at him for a moment. Then I decided, no point in slinging dirt this morning, so I turned the conversation back to earlier. “I’m hoping Mable will appear to me again. Maybe she can tell me something about the uprising.”

  “If our government turns on us, people are going to get desperate,” the Cajun added his two cents.

  “Who is Mable?” Jeff interrupted. He was always the last to know.

  The Cajun answered, “she’s my dead grand-mère. Her ghost appeared to Stevie the other night.”

  Jeffery’s mouth dropped opened. “Gurrrl! Not right here in this very kitchen when I was ?”

  “Yep. Right where you sit, Jeff.” I smiled innocently, batting my lashes.

  “Just a whole bunch of weird follows you.” Jeffery’s lips pursed.

  I gave way to a laugh. “You can say that again. I’d take boring any day over this celte saloperie!” (peace of crap) I glared at the Cajun.

  “Stevie! Not at the table, especially when we are guest.” Dom scolded me. Then he turned to Nick. “Pardon! She is not herself, I’m afraid.”

  The Cajun slapped a couple of pieces of bacon on a dry biscuit, then he blurted out to Dom, “Il fait frais. Je l’ai vue plus mauvaise.” (It is cool. I have seen her worse.)

  The small kitchen filled with cackle by everyone but me. I failed to see the humor. I withdrew my napkin from my lap to my plate and scooted myself from the table and politely made my way out the screen door. I needed some swamp air.

  ***

  When I came around to the front of the old house, I noticed all my tools were cleaned and placed nicely in a tool box. I spotted empty buckets in the dumpster. Then I turned my gaze toward the house. Surprise swirled around me as my eyes combed over the freshly painted house. “Well, color me stunned! The Cajun followed through with his grandmother’s wishes after all.”

  Then it came to me why we were here and the dire predicament we were facing. I sat in one of the rockers and closed my eyes. The heat against my skin was soothing.

  I think I drifted off to sleep. When I opened my eyes, the sun had climbed to mid sky. Unaware I heard crunching grass. I didn’t bother looking up. With the big guy’s heavy footing, I knew instantly. “Cajun, you’re going to need to learn how to walk lighter. A deaf mute can hear you coming,” I spoke flatly, not looking up.

  “Don’t worry about me, fille stupide. (stupid girl) I can handle myself when I have to. You should worry about yourself. You keep up this nasty attitude, and I might have to change it for you.” The Cajun sat beside me on a turned-over bucket.

  I scoffed. “You have no idea who you’re dealing with, do you?” I held my face to the warm sun with my eyes shut.

  “I could easily describe you”—he gave a deep grunted laugh—“but if my grandmother is listening, I’d rather she not hear the words I wish to say.”

  I smirked. “I didn’t mean your opinion of me. I couldn’t give a rat’s ass what you think. I meant… what I am.”

  “I don’t know exactly. Non! De quelque manière que. (However, you have some special gift.) Non woman can throw those daggers as far as you. Impossible!” His deep eyes sparkled with wonder.

  I smiled with a wicked grin. I thought, should I warn him or show him? I pushed myself to my feet. “I think action speaks louder than words. I reached for the sheath strapped over my shoulder and grabbed my knives. The Cajun didn’t waste time going stiff. “Although tempting, I’m not throwing my knives at you.” I tossed a sideways smile.

  “I never trust a woman with a knife who hates as you do.”

  I smiled brightly. “I think you’re catching on! Now watch,” I said. Then I summoned the voltaic magick within me. I opened my hand willing one of the knives to ascend. With ease, it lifted, hovering at eye level.

  Nick’s eyes orbed followed by a string of curse words, then swiftly, I released the knife straight for the tree, sailing past the Cajun, missing his ear by a fraction. I laughed to myself watching the Cajun jump. Momentarily he stood as still as a statue. Soon he returned back to life. His face turned pale then quickly blazed. I think he wanted to strangle me. At any cost, I found myself doubled over chuckling in hysterics while tears s
treamed down my face.

  I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a good laugh. Then a noise interrupted the fun. My head snapped up as quickly as the humor vanished. Someone unexpected was approaching. Both the Cajun and I stood silently, listening to the tires rolling over gravel. The trees blocked the view, but I didn’t need to see. I knew the newcomer. It was Aidan. He’d found me. That goddamn binding spell was a GPS. As long as we held that spellbound hex between us, I’d never be free of his reach. Dammit to hell!

  “Do you know this intruder?” Nick asked with caution filling his voice.

  “Yes,” I said flatly.

  “Friend or foe?”

  No matter how hard I tried to pull away, my eyes stayed glued to the oncoming visitor. “Maybe both,” I whispered.

  “I have us protected.” The Cajun lifted his shirt, showing a 44 Auto Mag pistol.

  I glanced down at the steel and scoffed. “Oh, you are so out of your league here, Cajun. Put your damn gun back into your pants, and try not to blow off the parts you treasure most,” I advised, hard-lined. “In fact get in the house. Keep out of sight. Let me handle him.” I ordered, keeping my eyes on the approaching car.

  Moments later, a bright yellow jeep cleared the stand of trees. “I have a bad feeling about this.” I mumbled to Nick. “Don’t do anything stupid. This guy isn’t human.”

  “Don’t worry about me. Like I said, I can handle myself.”

  I didn’t bother to answer. I sauntered over to meet Aidan, halfway. I played it cool. “Hey! How’s it going?” I smiled with my hand cupped over my eyes, blocking the sunlight.

  “It’s going well. I hope you didn’t mind, but I took the liberty to bring some of your things. You know, clothes, toothbrush.”

  “Thanks!” Aidan placed the bags by my feet. “How did you get into my house?” I stayed back a few feet in case he made a move. My radar sensors were on high alert.

  “Oh, I had a key.” He shrugged slyly while pulling it off his key-ring. “Here!” he handed it to me. “I won’t be needing it any longer.” He flashed his deviled grin. Strange though, I’d seen that same grin a million times, but this one—I sensed different.