by A. J. Downey
“What flavor of freak is this guy?” I asked, suddenly completely cool with Tab and all his weirdness. After getting a look at Rahab’s dental work, now I was willing to cooperate with Tab however much he wanted me to, as long as he would get us away from the guy with the knife that had killed Piorre. Tab ignored my question, his attention completely on the other man. His grip must have loosened slightly on my forearm because suddenly my hand was awash in pins and needles as the blood flowed back into it. Still he hadn’t let go, and I didn’t want to push my luck.
I peeked back around Tab’s left side to see what Rahab was doing, and it was a mistake. Rahab looked like he’d been waiting for it, because he suddenly lunged forward striking out just beneath Tabs arm and punched me square in the chest, low on the left side of my body. I was all at once aware of several things: one, that I was falling backwards; two, that Tab had let go of my arm and was reaching for something low on his back beneath his coat; and three, the blow to my ribs, just below my breast hurt way more than it ought to have. It felt like forever until I hit the floor, sliding back on my ass toward the front of the shop before I banged into one of the solid wing-backed chairs on display. I saw stars for a second and just sat there, trying to relearn how to breathe.
In a blur of motion, my protector had not only pushed Rahab back, but twisted him to the ground and was over him, left hand around the creamy psychotic’s throat. Tab pulled out a long knife from under his coat. The knife glowed unnaturally, the red light engulfing and surpassing the end of the blade by a couple of extra feet, forming a sort of ethereal extension that seemed to somehow be just as real as the steel beneath it. Rahab tried to grapple with the dark-colored man’s right arm but was shrugged aside as Tab reared the weapon back, high over Rahab’s pale helpless form.
I watched as Tab plunged the blade of red light into Rahab’s chest with a sense of relief. As he forced the blade further in, seemingly into the floor underneath Rahab’s blood-coated body, Tab tilted his head, grimaced, and in a disappointed tone said, “I guess I was wrong about you: you are that stupid.”
I didn’t blink. My eyes were too wide with amazement, and so I saw that before the physical blade even touched Rahab’s flesh, he turned to solid black smoke. I know its cliché, but a sound like a thousand snakes hissing or a ruptured steam pipe filled the room, and the smoke dissipated, wafting along the floor until it was no more.
My chest was on fire where I’d been hit, and I put my hand over the spot, raising it to where I could look when it came away feeling wet. I made a strangled sound in my throat when I choked down the budding scream. My hand was soaked in my blood, and my chest hurt so badly, but despite the man in black having just saved my ass, I still felt like I was in trouble. That I was next.
He turned to look at me, liquid gray eyes, flashing in a whorl of ice blue as he sheathed his blade. I sat up slowly as he moved his coat over the weapon to conceal it.
“When I put you behind me,” he said. “I expect you to stay there.”
I blinked, took my hand away from my chest and held it out wordlessly with the lack of any snappy comebacks.
He dropped to one knee next to me and grabbed the front of my shirt at my collar, snarling “Hold still!” as he ripped the front of my tee from my body in one, fluid motion.
I squealed, an undignified girly sound that I absolutely hated, and swatted at his hands while I tried to backpedal out of his reach. He simply grabbed the waist of my jeans, his fingertips down my pants, and pulled me toward him, roughly pinning me down with a hand on my stomach.
“I can give you modesty or save your life, your choice,” he stated flatly, staring into my eyes as if waiting for a response. I swallowed my pride and nodded, holding my hands up and away. He manhandled my left breast up and out of his way and jammed his thumb against the wound I still had yet to see. There was another flash of red light and a searing pain in my side that made me cry out. I balled up my fist and took a swing at his head in a reflexive awkward punch, which, had it followed through would have connected sharply with his cheekbone, but he caught my wrist and held it, leveling his gaze even with my own.
“This will buy us some time. Clearly there are those that wish you dead, and even you must be able to recognize I am not one of them. Now, do you want to live, or shall I leave you to them?” I looked at my right hand, balled tight into the fist that had been about to strike him, Piorre’s rosary still dangling in my grasp. I fought for breath, finding it hard to breathe through the crushing pain under my left breast, but things were starting to focus, and I realized this guy, Tab, still had my phone and my keys, which meant even if I did get out of here, he had a way of tracking me down and a way to get into my place.
Now that my brain was working for the time being, albeit in overdrive, I had another scary thought… the police were never in a million years going to believe any of this. What the fuck was I going to do?
He hooked the zipper at the bottom of my jacket and pulled, zipping it all the way up to my chin, concealing the bloody ruin of my shirt. He double checked my face, searching my expression, which I tried to school into a mask that would give nothing away, before he hauled me by my right arm to my feet.
For better or worse I was with this guy until an opportunity presented itself for me to get away with his having no way to track me. I’d deal with the cops if and when it came to that, but for now I had one burning question. “Where are you going to take me?”
He looked a little less annoyed, almost relieved, and said, “Remember how you started today not being special? I’m going to try to put you back that way. We haven’t much time.”
We traipsed back through the office to the side door that led to the street, and he pushed it open. I wrapped Piorre’s rosary securely around my wrist and followed him out. It was still sunny and perfect outside, the people still hustling along the sidewalk coming and going about their business like nothing was amiss, and I came to the stunning realization that for them, nothing was.
Tab put his lips against my ear and breathed, “Your car – take us to it.” I nodded and started walking, his hand tight on my arm as we moved along the sidewalk. We went half a block east and then north down the alley, stopping and descending a short flight of steps to the side door to the garage. He held out my keys on his palm, his thumb through the ring so I couldn’t snatch them and try to run, and shook them. I pointed out the key he wanted, and he unlocked the door. We slipped out of the bright sunshine and into the dim parking structure. He gave my arm a little shake, his gaze scouring every corner of the garage, his body tense and at the ready, almost twitching at every perceived sound or movement in the shadows.
“Which one?” he asked, and I pointed mutely down the aisle. He grunted and said “Be more specific.”
I swallowed hard and told him, “It’s the Subaru, the silver Impreza at the end of the row.”
He hauled me forward, deeper into the darkness toward my car, and I could slowly feel my heart melt into a puddle of dread. If he got me into the car, would I be worse off than I was now? I decided finally, when we were two or three stalls down from it, that yes, yes I would be in much worse shape, and so I tried to fight. I threw myself away from him, but his grip on my arm was sure. He got his other arm around my waist and hauled me up off my feet as he hit the button on my keys to disengage my car alarm. I heard the chirp and the locks thump as they disengaged, and I opened my mouth to scream just as his hand clamped over it, muffling the sound to next to useless.
“Have you already forgotten who’s trying to kill you and who isn’t?” he asked as he shoved me up against the back of my car. He pinned me there between the unforgiving metal and the equally unforgiving planes of his body as he popped the passenger door, his hand still tight over my mouth. Hot tears of rage began to seep out of the corners of my eyes as he jockeyed for a better hold on me while keeping the door open. It was only a second or two before he had me shoved into the passenger seat of my own car, the door shut
firmly in my face. As soon as the door closed, he hit the button on the remote to lock the doors and somehow was at the driver’s side and in the seat before I had so much as the half-second it took to slide the lock up and reach for the handle. “If you’re going to survive the day, it’s going to require you get a lot smarter, very quickly. Personally, I don’t see why Piorre trusted you with this; you don’t even seem capable of recognizing friends from enemies.”
I stared at him as he pressed the clutch pedal to the floor and turned the key in the ignition, the car coming to life. As I put on my seatbelt, he considered me a moment and put the car in reverse, sliding her easily between gears. I closed my eyes and thought to myself, Thank God he at least knows how to drive a stick.
I reached into the glove box and hit the button on the garage door opener and looked at him. He nodded deftly and steered my car out into traffic and for parts unknown. I asked him again, “Where are we going?” I half expected him not to answer, but he did.
“The University District.” But that was the only information he would volunteer and now that I had a good look at him, I could tell his expression was going to be of no help whatsoever either, as blank and stoic as newly fallen snow. I hugged myself and huddled against my car door, not because I was cold but more so I could hold the spot where I’d been hit because damn if it didn’t still hurt.
“Who are you?” I asked finally after several moments of silence. He turned on the signal to get onto the interstate going north, and for a time his only response was its rhythmic ticking.
Finally he drew a breath and said, “Tab. Who are you?” He hadn’t really answered my question, but I took it and gave a little back.
“My name is Adelaide.” After several moments of silence I added, “But I hate it, so I just have most people call me Addy instead.” I shrugged and watched his profile to see if he would give me anything else. Finally when he did speak what he said was pretty lame.
“Adelaide is a good name.” More silence followed.
We were coming over the Montlake Cut, where Lake Washington emptied into Lake Union, which eventually emptied into the Puget Sound and so on down the line until it hit the vastness of the Pacific Ocean, when I thought to ask him, “Why did you tell that Rahab guy that I was some kind of vessel?” He finally looked at me like I said something interesting while he flipped on the turn signal to take us off the freeway into the heart of the U-District via the 45th Street exit.
“Because that’s what you humans are… vessels.” He turned my car deftly, but now it was my turn to stare at him like he’d done something interesting.
“Wait, what do you mean, ‘you humans?’” I looked at him for a span of heartbeats, and when he didn’t immediately say anything, I said, “Look, I get that you and the guy with the bad grill aren’t people like I’m people, otherwise what would be up with the smoke and the lights? But what the hell are we talking about here? I guess a better question isn’t so much ‘who are you,’ but ‘what are you?’”
“Hell is exactly what we are talking about here, more specifically, Heaven and Hell, and the powers of both. Mortals – ” He paused for effect. “ – that’s you – are caught in the crossfire, though usually not so spectacularly. Right now, each side has their plan for you, Adelaide. I’m here to see that mortals have a chance to choose their own destiny.”
“You’re doing a bang up fucking job with me on that one,” I muttered, letting out a breath, trying to wrap my brain around the entire concept that just got laid in my lap, adding belatedly, “…and it’s Addy.”
“You cannot choose a destiny if you’re dead,” he murmured, and it was a sobering thought.
He turned down Greek Row and went midway down the first block, pulling into an empty space at the curb and cutting the engine.
“We’re here,” he said flatly and got out of my car. I stared up at one of the imposing mansions and the lettering above each the door, but yeah… I couldn’t tell you what it said, because it was all Greek to me. I unfastened my seatbelt, and he was just there, opening my car door for me like some kind of old-fashioned gentleman would. I mean did guys even open doors for girls anymore? It’d been forever since I had been out with one, so I couldn’t tell you.
I got out and almost doubled back over with the pain that lanced through my chest at the act of straightening up. He put his hand on my back and ushered me up the sidewalk and up the steps of a house just down the block from my car. It was brick with a wrought-iron decorative gate out front and the white Greek columns like so many others down either side of the street. He let the gate clang shut behind us and led me up and through the front door like he lived there, and as soon as I crossed the threshold I was assaulted by the booming and gunfire of everyone’s favorite first person shooter emanating from a living room off to my right.
The big-screen TV was split into two screens, and two men sat on a sagging leather couch in front of it, game controllers in hand. One had turned to look at us, his fiery red hair in a loose ponytail, his face tan and handsome with a chiseled jaw line and lovely hazel eyes. He looked like he should be on the football team, with how broad-shouldered and muscled he was.
I couldn’t say what the other looked like, as I just had a view of the back of his head; his hair was shoulder-length and black like Tab’s, and from what I could see of his neck and shoulders he wasn’t as built as the redhead. The redhead was the first to speak, and his voice was deep and rumbled out of his broad chest in a genial way.
“Hello, Tab, who is this?” he asked, but before anyone could respond, the slighter man next to him spoke without turning around.
“Is she hot?” He rolled his shoulders without turning around and continued with, “Because if she’s not hot, it’s not worth turning around. I’m kicking your ass, Urie.”
I looked back at the redhead called ‘Urie’ and raised an eyebrow at him waiting to see what he would say. He had the grace to look embarrassed when he said to the other man, “She’s hot, Gabriel.”
I looked away from them and back to Tab to see what he thought of the exchange. His face gave away nothing. I swung back around at the sound of cloth sliding against leather to see the other man hanging over the back of the couch, his cornflower blue eyes traveling up from my feet in a slow sweep, definitely pausing longer than what was appropriate at my hips and again for even longer at my chest. I already didn’t like him much.
“Tabby Cat! What did you bring us?” he asked, and I turned back to Tab, his mouth definitely turned down in an expression of disapproval.
“Tabby Cat?” I asked him, and he just shook his head.
“There’s no time for this. Where is Michael?” he asked the two on the couch, and it just sort of clicked in my brain.
“You mean to tell me that’s Gabriel? The Gabriel? And that he’s Uriel?” I said, gesticulating at the two on the couch. “I mean I suppose I can get my head around him being one of the Archangels, at least he’s built like one,” I said pointing at Uriel, “but this yahoo?” I asked, indicating Gabriel.
“Yeah… bored now,” Gabriel said, turning around and resuming his game with a muttered “Mortals.”
“Michael is upstairs; let me get him for you,” Uriel said, rising to his feet. I expected him to go for the stairwell with the dark wood banister against the wall in front of us but I was sadly mistaken, instead he drew a deep breath and shouted “Michael!” but it wasn’t a normal shout-across-the-house thing. I jumped with the force of it, feeling my bones creak as I clapped my hands over my ears. His voice rolled through the house like thunder. None of the other men–er, Angels?–were even fazed by it, but it brought tears to my eyes. Uriel shrugged apologetically and sat back down, resuming his game against Gabriel.
Expensive wingtip shoes and gray slacks appeared at the top of the stairs, beginning their descent, and my vision wavered. I rubbed my eyes, dashing the tears from them, blinked, and looked up again. He wore the slacks of an expensive tailored suit and a white oxford
shirt with the sleeves rolled back over tanned muscular forearms. He was broad in the chest, and his blond hair was long and loose. He turned to look towards us, and again my vision wavered like the lights were flickering, subtly at first, then stronger, and suddenly, he just wasn’t dressed like he was before. Now he was in silver armor, like medieval armor, and the lights weren’t electric but were burning torches instead. The stairs weren’t carpeted anymore, but made of stone with no railing, and his wings…
I gasped and almost fell to my knees, the breath knocked clean out of me by what I saw. His wings were so beautiful, arching high, bright, and white behind him, the long feathers dragging the steps as he came down. But this wasn’t right; I was in a frat house in Seattle. I blinked, and he was standing halfway down the steps in his expensive gray pants and white shirt, wingless but no less lovely, a queer expression painting his features, like I had just done something fascinating, but then the other vision wavered back over everything. I closed my eyes tight, and it was a mistake: the vision became all the more clear.
Michael was saying something to someone, and I turned to my right, but instead of there being the couch with the game system there stood three more Angels, Uriel in copper chainmail, his wings pure white and bathed in a golden glow, and beside him another whom I didn’t recognize, a brunette, and then Gabriel, his hair much longer but with the same bored expression of only moments ago.
I didn’t understand. What was happening to me? I must have said it out loud because a hand closed on my left arm, where Tab was standing, and I turned, and that is when I let out a scream, a short, high-pitched bleat of terror.
