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The Broken Angel

Page 4

by Monica La Porta


  Martina shook her head. “He’s my ex. And no, calling the police won’t do any good. But thanks.”

  “You know there are places you could reach out to—”

  Martina’s lips tightened. “I work in one of them.” She tried to smile at the woman. “If I can stay here for the night, it will help me a great deal.”

  “I’m sorry we called him. His name was on the list of your contacts when we checked you in—”

  For a while, Martina had been changing her preferences on every medical and legal form she had encountered, but they were too many to keep track of all of them. “I’ll update my contacts before I leave.” A knock on the door startled her.

  The door was opened and the doctor appeared from behind it. “Your husband left.”

  The pressure Martina felt over her chest suddenly lessened and she was able to breathe again.

  “He said he’ll be back first thing in the morning to take you home.” The doctor gave her one last look, then turned away.

  Martina asked the nurse to leave her alone for a moment. Once the door closed, she heaved in the sink. She hated herself for feeling helpless. They had been separated for two years, but any time he was near, she reacted as if she were still living under his roof. Her therapist said it took time to heal from a traumatic experience, but she was tired of the nightmares and the sudden panic attacks that ruined her nights and days.

  When she reentered the room, she found the nurse and Samuel were still there. The woman asked her if she needed anything, and Martina opted for some tea and saltines to settle her stomach.

  “Are you okay?” Samuel had moved from one side of the bed to the other, and had to wheel back to let her reach it.

  “I’m fine. My headache isn’t that bad.”

  Samuel’s lips turned up. “I’m glad to hear that.” He tilted his chair on the back wheels, keeping it steady only with the power of his arms. He moved it back and forth.

  Martina admired his shapely, strong arms. She knew they were a common trait in people with his kind of disability, but his arms were particularly pleasant to look at. The tattoo of an ornate wing on his right one was hidden by the long sleeves of his shirt. The first time they had trained together, he had worn only a sleeveless top. She had thought it was cute. Sometimes, she too wished to have wings to fly away from her daily sorrow. “I’m sorry you had to be involved in that.”

  He let the chair on the ground with a slow, controlled movement. “I’m sorry you’re involved with that.” He pointed his chin at the door.

  “It happens even in the best families.” She attempted a chuckle, but a sound resembling a sob escaped her mouth instead.

  ****

  Samuel saw how she was trying to keep it together, and his desire to hug her and kiss her pain away only became stronger. “I can stay with you tonight.”

  She looked at him in surprise. “You don’t have to.”

  “I want to.”

  She lowered her eyes to her hands. “But I’m sure your family wants you back.”

  “Nobody’s waiting for me at home.” He stretched his legs under her bed and pushed the back of his chair against the wall. Hands behind his head, he canted it and regarded her with a grin. “So, your husband, ah?”

  She grimaced as if he had just swore. “My ex-husband.”

  He liked how she had stressed the “ex” part. “I guess he didn’t get the memo.”

  She chuckled and shook her head. “I’m starting to think he can’t read. My lawyer has sent him dozens of official-looking pieces of paper.”

  Samuel looked at the window. “Who does he think he is anyway?” He couldn’t stay still and kept bending and straightening his knees to push the wheelchair backward and forward. Earlier this afternoon, he had set out to have a good fighting session at Alexander’s, and despite the skirmish with the three brats, his body was still humming with pent-up energy. Acting the part of a cripple sometimes was hard and he always missed the weight of his wings. At the beginning, when the integration laws had been instituted, he had forgotten he didn’t have wings when in human form and kept moving around as if he had. He had looked like a drunk more often than not and Ludwig Barnes had suggested the cripple guise for him. Samuel had found it amusing because it fit. Not now. “He sounded as if he wanted to send me a message mafia-style.”

  “Sorry about that.” She played with the hem of her sheet. “He likes to flaunt his family’s wealth and connections.”

  “And they are?” Outside, the sun had almost set, and the commuting traffic was at its worst. Samuel pushed the windowpanes closed to shield the room from the constant honking and the smell of burning exhaust wafting up from the street several stories below. From his sitting position, he could only see the burnt-brown tiles of the opposite building’s roof, and the small terrace on the adjacent wing of the hospital where a few patients were smoking. He thought one man was looking straight at him, but when he looked back again, the man was gone.

  Martina moved on the bed, rearranging her legs so she was angled toward him. “The Severis own half of Rome. They are a family of lawyers, bankers, builders, you name it. They have friends in all the right places.”

  “Severi…” Samuel repeated the name a few more times in his mind. It still sounded familiar, but he was sure he had never met any Severi before. “It’s because of their connections that you haven’t been able to get rid of that ass?”

  She let out a small laugh. “The prefect of Rome has dinner at their attic at The Spanish Steps once a week.” Her eyes went to her legs on top of the linen sheet. “When I called the police the first time, they—”

  “What did you call the police for?” Samuel froze and let the wheelchair come to a halt before her bed.

  She hugged herself. “You know… the usual.”

  A sudden surge of rage left him breathless, but he kept his turmoil hidden. At first sight, he had classified her ex as a bully, but knowing he was also violent made him regret once again the loss of his powers. A full-fledged angel could have caused the arrogant bastard internal injuries by simply willing it.

  She visibly gulped and hastily flung a solitary tear away from her right cheek, her eyes still on her legs. “The police never came to take my testimony. When I went to the precinct, someone listened to me for two hours straight without writing down a single word. Then I was called inside a room and told to stop spreading lies about one of the most illustrious families in Rome.”

  Samuel felt her pain and made it his, his stomach contracting in painful cramps. He reached out his hand to brush hers, but at the last moment, he pulled it away. “Did you start training to defend yourself from him?” He had been looking at her from afar for a while. Even before he had thrown at Alexander that comment about Martina looking scarier than him, he had been studying her and wondered about her intensity. That day, six months ago, he had seen her starting her solo routine, and he had thought it was now or never and suggested he could spar with her instead. Alexander, worried about Ravenna, hadn’t noticed Samuel’s nervousness and accepted to call Martina as his replacement. Since then, when they didn’t spar—he had made sure to subtly scare away any other sparring partner she had trained with before they met—Martina punished herself with repetition after repetition of abs and legs routines. Sometimes, she worked out for two- or three-hour sessions without a break.

  She nodded and a small smile graced her lips. “I met Alexander Drako one night at one of the Severi family’s high society gatherings. We immediately hit it off, and he proposed I trained at his place.”

  Samuel felt a pang of jealousy at the mention of his friend’s name. He had never given a thought about how Martina had come to frequent the gym. But Alexander’s notorious reputation as a playboy tinted her previous words in a whole different color. Alexander was now happily shackled to Ravenna, but that hadn’t been the case until half a year ago, and he’d had a penchant of going through women at an alarmingly fast rate. Samuel hated the idea that Martina cou
ld be one of those interchangeable women who had spent a night or two in Alexander’s company.

  “Alexander is such a nice person when you get to know him.” Martina looked at him, as if waiting for him to say something.

  Trying to manage the red-hot anger clutching at his stomach, he grabbed the rubber wheels with both hands and pressed his fingers in the sturdy material. “He’s all right.” His work cell phone rang, saving him from the misery of that conversation. He raised a finger. “Just a sec.” When the caller ID was displayed on the screen, he was surprised to see his friend Ophelia’s number. She never called him on his office line. “I apologize, but I must take this.”

  “Sure.” Martina gave him an encouraging smile.

  “Give me a moment,” he said to Ophelia, but Martina thought he was talking to her and smiled again. He wheeled outside the room, then headed toward the exit door at the end of the hallway, pushed it open with his arm on the horizontal bar, and finally reached the emergency stairwell where he parked on the landing.

  “Ophelia? Is everything okay?”

  “I need you at once.” Ophelia sounded agitated, which was out of character for her. The werewolf was flamboyant and larger than life, but always in control, even when it seemed she wasn’t.

  “What’s going on?” He kicked at the metal railing of the stairwell. “Where are you?” He heard a ticking sound. Ophelia must be pacing in her high heels. The werewolf was almost two meters tall and she wore stilettos even to buy groceries.

  “I’m at the paranormal morgue at the Tiberina Island Hospital.”

  “Why—?” He couldn’t finish his question. Despite his recent less-than-friendly thoughts about Alexander, he couldn’t bear the idea something had happened to any of his friends. He didn’t have many to begin with.

  The furious pacing abated for a moment. “A cub has died in a freakish accident and you were mentioned.”

  “What?” Samuel stopped kicking the metal rail.

  “The cub’s girlfriend has just testified that you had a brawl with her, the deceased were, and one of their friends.” Ophelia was breathless. “Is it true? Did you meet those people earlier today?”

  “Yes. I’m actually at the Umberto I because those three idiots were high as kites and hurt a woman who came to my rescue.”

  “A woman came to your rescue?”

  “Yes. Martina Colonna. I think you’ve seen her once or twice at Alexander’s gym.”

  “That lady you always spar with?”

  Samuel heard the way Ophelia had emphasized that. He didn’t think anyone, beside Alexander, had noticed he had more than a fleeting interest in Martina. “Yes, her.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “She has a concussion, but she’ll be fine.”

  Ophelia paused for a few heartbeats. “I’m sorry, but you must come here to deal with this mess. The cub’s name was Leandro Denari. He was related to Quintilius.”

  Samuel swore. Werewolves were a gregarious race. All-for-one-and-one-for-all kind of pack mentality. The clan headed by Lucius Seneca Quintilius was one of the oldest and most powerful shifter clans in Rome. “Give me half an hour and I’ll be there.”

  He reached Martina’s room and found she was staring outside the window, lost in thought, a sullen expression on her face. As she heard his chair approaching, her head swung his way, and her eyes lit with a more joyous light. He wheeled to the side of the bed free of bars, ready to make his excuses, but not eager to leave her.

  She tilted her head and clasped her hands on her lap. “You must go?”

  He thought he heard the faintest hint of disappointment in her voice, and hope surged in him that she might feel something for him. Then he remembered the way he appeared to her. “It’s work related. I’ll come back here as soon as I’m done.”

  She sat straighter, propping the pillow on her back so that it rested behind her shoulder blades. “Work related? At dinner time? What kind of job do you have?”

  “Law enforcement.” He waited for her reaction, his hands tensing on the wheels as her eyes roamed over him, lingering a moment on his legs lying at an angle. Thin legs attached to a frail body she couldn’t be possibly interested in.

  Her smile became bigger, then she laughed a genuine laugh. “Well, aren’t you full of surprises, sparring partner?”

  “What can I say? Deep inside, I’m truly badass.” He made a show to stand on the wheelchair’s back wheels as he turned around in the confined space. “In truth, I don’t even need the walking stick.”

  “I’m sure you use it only to get the ladies to buy you drinks.”

  He nodded, a grin spreading on his face despite his previous feelings. “It has worked once or twice.”

  She gave him an odd look, then her cheeks colored ever so slightly, and she averted her gaze for a moment. “Thank you for standing up…” She blushed even more and brought her hand over her eyes. “Sorry.” She grimaced, sighed, then looked back at him. “Thank you for defending me against Giulio.”

  “You saved my life. It was the least I could do.” He grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “See you later.” Now that they had just shared a moment, he wanted to stay more than ever. Instead, he reminded himself why what he did for the paranormal community was important and wheeled out of the room, reached the elevator at the end of the hallway, exited at the first floor, and got rid of the chair.

  Once outside the hospital, he called a cab. Not twenty minutes later, he was inside the morgue chamber three floors below the paranormal hospital, staring at a metal drawer. As soon as he had knocked at the window behind which a tired-looking janitor was busy playing crosswords, the man had informed him he could enter the morgue, but had to wait for the forensic anthropologist to come back to see the body.

  He heard Ophelia coming before she rounded the corner. Her stilettos always announced her. The door opened and the most exotic werewolf he knew entered.

  Ophelia, wearing a miniskirt that showed so much leg it shouldn’t be legal, hurried to his side. She handed him a small plastic cup. “Sorry, but I’ve been waiting for you for a while and I needed an espresso ASAP. I’ve been awake for the last three days and—”

  Much to his chagrin, Samuel knew all about her nights. His friend was prone to overshare when it came to her busy sexual life. “What happened to the boy?” He accepted the espresso with a silent thanks.

  “Death by decapitation.” Ophelia stretched her neck by moving her head first to the right, then the left. “Drink it first.” She waited for him to gulp the content of the cup, then made a sign to the janitor who had resumed his crosswords and forgot about them. “The most bizarre accident.”

  The janitor fished the right key from the dangling ring attached to his utility belt and unlocked the drawer that opened with a hiss and a cloud of white smoke. The temperature in the room seemed to lower almost immediately. The janitor raised the white sheet covering the body, then left.

  “Do you recognize him?” Ophelia hugged herself and caressed her arms, her long ivory nail drumming on her mocha skin.

  “Yes. That’s one of the boys I tried to restrain earlier today.” He would have recognized the boy just by the preppy clothes he wore.

  “That was an accident?” Samuel pointed at the truncated neck and the head lying before it.

  “His car was totaled on impact with a semi coming the opposite direction. It seems a portion of the roof came down and guillotined him.” Ophelia’s face paled, but she didn’t look away, her chocolate eyes barely blinking. “That’s what the human police report says. We’ll give the accident further consideration of course. Also, unknown drugs were found in his body. Our guess, vampire blood.”

  He nodded, then turned to face Ophelia. He had seen enough of the boy. “He was already high when he confronted me.”

  She gave the content of the drawer one last glance, then slowly pushed it close. “He must have consumed again right before driving.” She moved toward the center of the room, then stood silent for a
moment, her legs crossed at her ankles, her arms under her chest. “The boy was Quintilius’s sister’s nephew. He called me to check the boy’s remains. I called you to give you the heads-up because Quintilius has formally asked for your expulsion from the Council. In his eyes, you failed your job.”

  Samuel inwardly groaned, but didn’t dare speak ill of the werewolf every shifter in Rome, and especially Ophelia, who worshipped him as a father. Plus, he did feel responsible for not having stopped the three cubs when he had a chance.

  Ophelia tilted her head to the side. “That a human was there doesn’t help matters.”

  “No, it doesn’t, but Martina didn’t see anything she shouldn’t have. As far as she’s concerned, she saw three underage thugs high on drugs, ganging up against a defenseless cripple.” He watched as Ophelia tensed up. “Is there something else?”

  She looked over her shoulders at the janitor sitting in the back of the room, then stepped closer to Samuel. “An infant was found inside the car. A were-puma who escaped the accident with just a few scratches.”

  “A baby?” The image of a small, defenseless child popped in Samuel’s mind. “Why did he have a kid in his car?” His eyes went to the wall where the dead werewolf lay in his refrigerated drawer.

  Ophelia’s gaze went to that wall as well. “That I don’t know.”

  Samuel couldn’t help but think of how scared the were-baby must have been. His immediate thoughts went to a lifetime in the servitude of his creator as an angel of life. An existence he wanted to forget, but his fallen condition wouldn’t let him, gifting him from time to time with the odd memories haunting him at the least opportune moments. Yet, every time, he had to bear the onslaught of images and sounds until it ran its course. Like the tide of a vengeful sea, once it receded, his unwanted memories drifted back to the shore as if they were castaways, tarnished and broken.

  “I name thee Samuel. The Asked of the Divinity. Your job ‘til the end of time is to serve humanity. You are an angel of life, and your task will be to ease newborns’ transition from the womb to the mortal realm.” Samuel opened his eyes to intense, white light. Later, he realized he had heard the voice in his mind, but at first he hadn’t known he was now one, singular. Not part of the multitude anymore. He had felt safe in the multitude, but the voice reassured him he was meant to be singular to carry on his creator’s vision on Earth. Samuel didn’t know what Earth was, but when the light dimmed and left him, he knew. His mind was full of knowledge that hadn’t been there before. He knew all. He knew he had a body and wings to fly with from the high ledge he was perched on. Full of wonder, he flew over Earth, taking in its beauty and wilderness. Before long, a pull impossible to refute made him turn and gave his flight a new purpose. In a blink, he was inside a warm, dimly lit cavernous space, before him the unborn soul of a scared boy. Samuel cradled the soul in his arms and spoke to the boy in soothing tones until he relaxed and cooed to him.

 

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