by L. L. Muir
The smell of the mountains always reminded him of her too, from their last night together, lying on the ground under that big grandfather tree and watching the stars between the branches, savoring the last hours before she was going to be blown to Kingdom Come. He also thought of her whenever he'd wrapped himself up in Grandpa's old plaid blanket and remembered...
Buchanan appeared again, shaking his head. “It’s all right,” he whispered.
A few seconds passed and her grip never eased.
“We should sit down,” he said quietly.
Once more, she nodded against him and he tried not to react to the pleasant friction against his chest. His skin was still warm after she let go.
He sat back on the couch. She looked at the space on his left, then on the right. Then she climbed onto his lap and put her arms around his neck, and leaned her head on his shoulder.
“Don’t say a word,” she warned.
“I won’t.” He was glad she wasn’t watching his face because he couldn’t suppress his grin. “But you have to keep an open mind, okay?”
“That’s what Gabriella said.”
“Well, maybe it’s because she told you what I’m going to tell you. It’s not easy to believe, but it’s true. I’ve seen plenty of proof.”
Since she didn’t protest and she didn’t jump off his lap, he told her everything he knew about the final Host and the Primaries, and that Skye Somerled had been an angel sent to answer his grandpa’s prayers. “And when it was done, and when my granddad was...gone, she was supposed to go back to...wherever, to get a new assignment. But by then, we'd...” He took a deep breath. “We fell in love, okay? I mean, really, honestly, can't-live-without-you in love.”
He paused, to see if she was going to push away and stop listening. He wouldn't blame her if she did. But she just held still where she was. She didn’t pull back to look at him, she didn’t comment. He was just grateful she wasn't laughing at him, or screaming for someone to come take him away.
She nodded, prodding him to continue. Whether she was really following along, he didn't know, but he thought he'd better wrap things up fast. If they were interrupted, he didn't want her left with just parts of the truth.
“I'll make this as simple as I can. The deal the Primaries made with God was for The Final Host to get more time to deal with the fact they needed to be born. God let them remain as angels. There was a loophole in the contract—that's the easiest way to explain it—and that loophole is that they get to be born, to get a life, whenever they decide they’re ready.”
“And this chick wanted a life?”
This chick. “Yeah. She wanted to feel things and taste things and... She really wanted to be able to have that life with me, but that wasn't possible.”
Skye pulled back and looked at him then like she was trying to guess his age. Then she looked directly into his eyes like she might be able to see inside his head.
She knew he was going to tell her that she was that other Skye, that she'd been reincarnated, or rather, incarnated in the first place. And that wasn't a very reasonable stretch to ask someone to make. But he was going to have to try.
She suddenly pulled his head close. “I can't be this chick you're looking for. You said it was impossible for the two of you to have a life together. So where do I fit into your little fairy tale?”
“You... Um...Well, Skye decided she was going to take the loophole, even though we couldn't be together. She wanted a life and I wanted her to have it. I agreed to have my memory wiped so she wouldn't have to worry about me mourning her. Then she...went, like Ruth and the others, in the arena. And when she got to wherever she was going, they sent her back to Earth, to be born.”
“Then why do you remember?”
Confession time. He was almost glad he wasn’t confessing to the original Skye. She’d be pissed.
“Because I lied. I never intended to forget her. How could I?”
He stared into her eyes, willing the Skye he knew to come to the surface and wave or something. He just wanted a sign, one little sign that said he wasn't part of some ridiculous lie, that Lanny hadn't created some giant maze for him to run through, just to find out that the cheese he’d found wasn't really the cheese he'd been searching for.
She looked away, then came in close to say something, but he hadn't turned away so their faces bumped.
Electricity shot up and down his spine and he nearly cried out from a simple face-tap. He wanted to believe it was the sign he’d been waiting for, but even if it wasn’t, it felt so good to finally have her in front of him it didn't matter if she gave him a bloody nose.
He opened his eyes and she was still right there, an inch away, watching him, looking from his lips to his eyes, and back again. She wanted him to kiss her.
He sat forward quickly and pressed his lips against hers before she had a chance to back away, but he shouldn't have worried. She pressed her lips against his with the same concentration.
It was perfect, like kissing the old Skye and the new one all at once. And just as both Skyes melded together in his mind, it was over.
She pulled back and glared at him.
“What? I'm sorry.”
She probably thought he was sorry he'd kissed her, but he was just sorry the kiss hadn't been the Disney-Prince-Kiss she'd probably been expecting. It was a test, and he'd failed. But that didn't mean he was going to give up. If they escaped Gabriella and her minions, he had a whole lifetime to win her over.
She shook her head. “How long ago was all this?”
He lifted her forearm from his chest and kissed the delicate underside of it, thankful she’d ended the kiss only to ask the question and not because he’d done it wrong.
“Last fall. I told you.”
She shook her head again. “Then I can't be your girl, can I? I was born nearly eighteen years ago. Or hadn't you realized that?”
He smiled. She almost sounded as if she was disappointed.
“I haven't told you the best part—and the worst part.”
He had her attention.
“I don’t know if my grandpa had anything to do with it or not—he thought you were his own personal angel, by the way—but when you were placed into the flow of time, or whatever, you were dropped in eighteen years ago. I know it sounds ridiculous, but there was this guy who came through a mirror—”
“What was your grandpa’s name?”
He’d lost her. The whole flow of time was the part he’d worried about. Maybe he should have had Buchanan explain it, and maybe do a mind-reading trick to seal the deal.
“Your grandpa’s name,” she said again. “What was it?”
“Kenneth Jamison. He was—”
“Scottish.”
He frowned. “How did you know that?”
“Because your grandpa has been haunting me for just about all my life.” She shook her head. “No. That’s not true.” She looked Jamison in the eye. “Only on the worst days of my life.”
Before she had a chance to explain, Buchanan returned, gesturing frantically. “It’s Pilot. We’ve got to hide!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“Skye, keep your mind clear,” Jamison hissed as he hurried away from her. He'd been so determined never to leave her again he couldn't believe he was already doing it!
Buchanan ducked inside a small office and waved him on, toward the bedroom. As Jamison shut the door behind him, he turned and caught the blur of a white-robed form entering the apartment. He closed his eyes and hoped the blackness behind his lids would help his mind settle.
Nothing, nothing, nothing.
~ ~ ~
Skye sat quietly on the couch and tried to do what she had to. She filled her mind with the images around her. The blue couch. The paisley pattern of the two chairs that warped into the vague shape of a peacock. The touches of pink here and there. It was like the furniture was supposed to represent some combination of Gabriella's taste and her own. Was that supposed to be subliminal?
> She pretended only mild surprise when Pilot stepped into the room.
“What?” she said. “No knock?”
“Oh, good. I didn’t have to wake you. It seems Jamison has wandered off and I thought he might have come looking for you.”
He smiled pleasantly but she refused to let herself think of him as handsome. Once you get a whiff of a guy's unpleasant side, it was impossible to think of him as anything else.
“Pity,” he said. “Though you have no reason to think of me as unpleasant, do you? Or have you been hearing tales from someone? Mmm?”
“You haven't let me speak to anyone, remember? And if you were so pleasant, you wouldn't have stuffed a rag in Jamison’s mouth. I could have asked him some questions—questions that wouldn't have hurt anything.”
Pilot's eyes narrowed and he watched every little detail of her face. If she twitched, he would catch it. But if he watched her thoughts just as carefully, he would only see her memory of the meeting in Gabriella's office and her paranoia about cameras in the apartment.
“Tell me what you want to know, my dear. I know Jamison's mind. I can guess how he might have answered.”
She had a hard time looking away from his lips. They were full and red, and combined with his dark hair, slicked back like some dude from a black and white movie, he could have passed for a vampire in white.
“I doubt it,” she said, and closed her eyes for a second to break the spell.
He grinned and sat in one of the chairs across from her. “Give me a try.”
“Okay. Fine. I want to know why he chased me in Henderson. What does he want from me?”
“Well, then, you were right. I don’t know how Jamison would have answered. He certainly wouldn’t have told you the truth, that he was sent by Lanny, the woman who used him to lure you away from immortality. However, even mortal, Lanny cannot allow Gabriella and you to join forces against her. I have no doubt he came to prevent that, even if he has to kill you to do it.”
“I thought…” She shook her head. The trick to being a good liar is to stay as close to the truth as possible. “Gabriella made me think Jamison and I were, you know, together in a past life.”
Pilot's head snapped to attention and he studied her again. “Who put that notion into your head?”
“Gabriella. She said our stories are alike. She was in love and was betrayed. I just assumed that Jamison was supposed to be the one who betrayed me.”
“Oh, he was. And he did. But there was no love involved on his part.”
He watched for her reaction, and she knew she could only control her thoughts for so long before she slipped up. She had to get him out of there. She wondered if the Taser would work on him.
“Is there a reason for your visit? Immortal, demon, or angel, I don't feel comfortable being alone with you like this.”
His smile slid up one side of his face. “You have nothing to fear from me...sexually.”
She grunted with disgust. “Gross.”
It managed to wipe the smile from his face, but he kept his seat.
“You're an intelligent girl, Skye. Interesting, even. Maybe, if Gabriella and I go our separate ways...”
“Ew. Don't even say it.” She stood up and walked around the couch to put it between them. “Look. We both know it would be smart for me to suck up to you. But I'm not going to do it. You can just go. I'll take my chances with Gabriella. If I have to decide between nut jobs, I choose Gabriella.”
“Nut jobs?”
She rolled her eyes. “I'm not buying into this angel crap, okay? No matter how long she keeps me here, I'm not going to believe any of it unless God himself comes down to verify your story. And I don't see that happening. In fact, I've heard a lot of angel talk without much mention of God.”
“You think God is unaware of what goes on here?”
“Of course not. I'm sure God knows you're nuts too.”
That got him out of the chair.
“Until I stand before Him again, I'm not too worried.”
“But you're immortal, so...”
“So that meeting can be put off indefinitely.” His grin was back. “And to answer your question, no, your Taser won’t have any effect on me, but I’d like you to give it to me just the same.”
“And if I refuse?”
“I simply can’t have you harming yourself.” He held out his hand, silently demanding her compliance.
She had the impression that it wasn’t really the Taser that might harm her. Staring into his eyes, she got a nice, clear message—no matter how intent Gabriella was to keep her safe, this man didn’t feel the same. Keeping Gabriella happy was the only reason he kept his disdain for her in check.
She pulled the useless weapon from the generous pocket of her robe and handed it over. “But Gabriella can’t put off facing God, can she?”
Genuine sadness stole Pilot’s smile. “No. A few more decades are all we'll have together.” He stared off into the distance for a minute, then pulled himself back and dropped the Taser into his own wide pocket. “I told her I'd make certain Jamison wasn’t bothering you, and see if you need anything. And apparently, all you need is sleep. As does she. I'm afraid she is suffering from migraines at the moment. She won't be able to see anyone for a few days. Until then, don't hesitate to ask for anything.”
“As long as I don't ask for an escort outta here?”
He nodded soberly. “We understand each other.” He stood and headed for the door, disappearing around the corner of the wall. She held her breath and waited for the sound of the door closing. But then he appeared again, headed down the hall.
She had to stop him! “So,” she called out, “does she get headaches often?”
His dark head turned back and he eyed her suspiciously. She kept her mind focused on their conversation alone. He was waiting for an explanation.
“Gabriella said I am just like her. I want to know if headaches are a side-effect of being an angel once. I have migraines.”
Finally, his shoulders turned and he came back to the edge of the sunken room. “You said you don't believe all this angel crap.”
“I don't.”
He shrugged like he was tired of the discussion. “She's overly stressed by the unfortunate events of tonight.”
“Tonight? My arrival upset her?”
He shook his head. “No. We lost Ruth, the young woman who passed you that note of warning. The woman also tried to kill Jamison, and we can’t allow that, can we?”
Skye's mouth hung open but she had no words. She couldn’t imagine the quiet woman trying to hurt anyone, but also, she realized how stupid she’d been, not showing any kind of shock when he’d read her mind, confirming that she’d been warned.
Pilot laughed lightly. “That's what I like about you, Skye. You're a terrible actress. A terrible liar.”
She fought the urge to argue. “What happened to Ruth?” She forced herself to imagine Pilot slitting her throat and it nauseated her.
“Oh, please. Stop painting me as a monster.”
“Stop acting like one.”
He waved her words away with a gesture. “Ruth was cast out. Sent to pay for her betrayal.”
She smirked. “Cast out. Sure.”
Pilot drifted down into the room and over to the couch where he put a knee on the cushion, bringing him close enough she could see the smoothness of his skin. Ageless. Whiskerless. Flawless.
“How is it you don't believe in angels, but you aren't surprised by mind-reading? Or ghosts?”
She took an unconscious step back. Old Mr. Jamison was her own little secret and she didn't appreciate anyone knowing about it.
“The old man who comes to you, Jamison's grandfather?” He jumped effortlessly over the back of the couch and slowly pursued her back to the wall of rock.
Skye put her hands out behind her and cold water cascaded over them. It splashed lightly onto her pajama bottoms, getting her butt wet, too, but she was grateful for the shock. It helped wake her up
.
Pilot smiled and wagged his perfect eyebrows. “That old man works for us, you know.”
“What?” His words shocked her more than the water had.
“Old Mr. Jamison was happy to keep an eye on you for us. We've been watching you since the day you were born, but since your parents died, you've moved around a bit. The old Scot was our tracker. He was happy to keep an eye on his grandson too, knowing the boy was searching for you, to destroy you.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Every cell in Skye’s body hurt at the suggestion that Old Mr. Jamison hadn’t been her guardian angel. No matter how much bad luck clung to the hem of his kilt, she’d still believed every warning he’d ever given her. In fact, she believed the old ghost a lot more than she believed a word Pilot said.
The guy must have read the doubt on her face, or in her mind.
“Truly,” he said. “He has been spying for us since—”
“That's a bleedin' lie!” Old Mr. Jamison stood just inside the room, ten feet away, his hands fisted at his sides.
Skye was swamped with a sense the cavalry had just arrived.
The old man looked slightly worried and mostly pissed as he scowled at Pilot. “Stop yer bletherin’ and leave her be. I'll set the hounds of Hell on ye...”
Pilot turned slowly to face the ranting ghost. “There you are, Mr. Jamison. I see you got my message.”
The old Scot's shoulders bunched, ready to charge. “I get no messages from ye, and ye ken it. I only knew that Skye was in grave danger, and now I see why.”
“Oh, come now, sir. I've already explained the truth to her, that you've been working for us from the beginning. No need to lie now.”
The old man turned a pleading look on Skye. “Dinna listen to his bletherin', lass. Only Adrian can let me loose, only when ye're in danger. And Adrian would never have anything to do with this devil.”
“I doubt there is such a personage, my dear.” Pilot leaned close. “I hate to see the man make a fool of himself, denying he had a hand in any of this—”
The old man looked over his shoulder toward the hallway and Skye's stomach dropped.
