by Bree Despain
Daniel cut the ignition. The following silence made my ears throb.
“I want to show you something,” he said, and got off the bike with ease. He hopped up onto the curb and kept walking.
Shocking pain surged up my frozen legs when I hit the ground. I wobbled and swayed as I followed, like it had been years since I stood on solid ground. Daniel disappeared around a corner.
“Wait,” I called, trying to pull my more-than-wind-blown hair back into the French twist it had been in before we left the parish.
“It’s not far,” his voice wafted back.
I rounded the corner and went down a dark, narrow alleyway. Daniel stood at the end of the passage in front of two brick pillars and a wrought-iron gate that blocked his path.
“This is my sanctuary.” He grasped one of the iron bars of the gate. A brass plaque on one of the pillars said: BORDEAUX FAMILY MEMORIAL.
“A graveyard?” I hesitantly approached the gate. “You hang out in a graveyard?”
“Most of my friends worship vampires.” Daniel shrugged. “I’ve hung out in a lot of weird places.” I stared at him, openmouthed.
Daniel laughed. “This is a memorial, not a cemetery. There are no graves or dead people—unless you count the security guard. But this is the back entrance, so we shouldn’t run into him.”
“You mean we’re sneaking in?”
“Of course.”
A jangling noise echoed from the street behind us. Daniel grabbed my arm and pulled me into a shadowed alcove of the adjacent building.
“They lock the gates in the evening to keep vandals out.”
His face was so close to mine that his breath grazed my cheek. The deep chill in my bones disappeared and warmth tingled through my body.
“We’ll have to hop the gate and stay out of spotlights.” Daniel leaned his head to the side to check if the way was clear.
“No.” I shrank back in the alcove, feeling colder than ever. “I don’t do stuff like this. I don’t sneak into places, or break laws—even little ones.” At least I tried not to. I really did. “I’m not going to do it.”
Daniel leaned toward me until his warm breath lingered on my face again. “You know, some religious scholars believe that when faced with overwhelming temptation”—he reached out and brushed a tangled strand of hair off my neck—“you should commit a small sin, just to relieve the pressure a bit.”
In the shadows, his eyes seemed darker than usual, and his stare didn’t just make him look hungry—he was starving. His lips were almost close enough to taste.
“That’s stupid. And … and … I don’t need any pressure relieved.” I shoved him away and stepped out of the alcove. “I’m going home.”
“Suit yourself,” Daniel said. “But I’m going in there, and unless you know how to drive a motorcycle, you’ll have a long wait until you can get home.”
“Then I’ll walk!”
“You drive me crazy!” Daniel shouted at my back. He paused for a moment. “I just wanted to show you,” he said, his tone much softer. “You’re one of the only people I know who could truly appreciate this place.”
I stopped. “What’s in there anyway?” I half turned toward him.
“You just have to see for yourself.” He cradled his hands together. “I can give you a boost, if you want.”
“No, thanks.” I took off my heels and flung them over the gate. I shoved my gloves into my coat pockets and mounted the brick pillar, finding a foothold with my barely thawed toes. I climbed up a few feet, grabbed one of the pointed iron fleur-de-lis spikes, and pulled myself up to the top of the pillar.
“I thought you didn’t do this sort of thing,” Daniel said.
“You know I could always climb higher and faster than you boys.” I stood up on top of the pillar and tried not to show that I was just as shocked by my performance as he was. I put my hands on my hips. “You coming?”
Daniel laughed. His feet scraped against the brick as he climbed up behind me.
I felt a bit dizzy as I inspected the at least ten-foot drop down to the other side. Crap, that’s high. I was wondering how I was ever going to get down when I lost my balance and stumbled off the pillar. Before I could shriek, something hard and tight wrapped around my arm, wrenching me to a stop a couple of feet from the ground.
I dangled for a moment, my feet swinging above the frozen earth. I tried to catch my breath before looking up. But I found it even harder to breathe when I saw Daniel kneeling on the top of the pillar, holding me with only one hand. His face was completely smooth and calm, not puckered or creased by the strain of my weight.
His eyes seemed too bright to be real as he stared down at me. “Nice to know you don’t do everything perfect,” he said, and rather than just letting me drop the last two feet, he tightened his grip around my arm and pulled me effortlessly up to meet him on top of the pillar.
“How …?” But I was unable to speak when I looked into his bright eyes.
Daniel wrapped his arms around my trembling body and jumped. He stuck a perfect landing on the gravel inside the memorial, and set me on my feet.
“How … how did you do that?” My legs felt as soft as a couple of well-kneaded putty erasers. My heart beat too fast. “I didn’t know you were so close behind me.”
Or that he was so strong.
Daniel shrugged. “I’ve had a lot of practice climbing since we used to race up the walnut tree.”
Yeah, from sneaking into a lot of places, no doubt.
“But how did you catch me like that?”
Daniel shook his head like my question didn’t matter. He shoved his hands into his coat pockets and started down a narrow walkway that stretched in between two tall hedges.
I bent over and slipped my heels on. My head swam a bit when I straightened up. “So what’s so special about this place?”
“Come,” Daniel said.
We walked down the path until it opened into a wide gardenlike expanse. Trees, vines, and bushes, which were probably dotted with blossoms in the springtime, filled the open area. A misty fog swirled around us as we followed the meandering path deeper into the garden.
“Look there,” Daniel said.
I followed his gesture and found myself standing eye to eye with a white-faced man. I gasped and jumped back. The man didn’t move. The fog parted, and I realized he was a statue. I stepped to the edge of the path and studied him closer. He was an angel, not of the cute cherub variety, but a tall, slender, majestic figure, like an elfin prince from The Lord of the Rings. He was dressed in robes, and his face was carved with great detail. His nose was narrow and his jaw was strong, but his eyes looked as though he had seen the wonders of the heavens.
“He’s beautiful.” I ran my hand along one of the statue’s outstretched arms, tracing my finger along the folds of his robe.
“There’s more.” Daniel gestured to the rest of the garden.
Through the fog, I made out more white figures, standing as majestically as the first. Little spotlights shone on their heads from above, making them look particularly divine in the dimming evening light.
I drew in a breath. “The Garden of Angels. I heard someone talking about this place once, but I never knew where it was.” I moved down the path to the next regal statue. This one was a woman with long, beautiful wings that tumbled down her back like Rapunzel’s locks.
Daniel followed behind me as I floated from angel to angel. Some were old and ancient looking. Others were young children with eager faces, but they were still slender and noble like the rest. I stretched up on my toes at the edge of the path to brush another angel’s wings.
Daniel laughed. “You never stray from the path, do you?” He passed close behind me, his arm brushing across the small of my back.
I looked at my toes perched on the border of the gravel trail, and rocked back on my heels. If only he knew how imperfect I felt most days. “Isn’t that supposed to make life easier?”
“Doesn’t that make lif
e boring?” Daniel flashed me a wicked grin as he slipped between two of the statues and disappeared into the mist. A few moments later, he reemerged onto the path near an angel statue that was taller than the rest.
“This place was built as a memorial for Carolyn Bordeaux,” Daniel said, his voice drifting back to me. “She was rich and greedy and hid away her wealth, until one day, in her seventies, she took in a stray dog for no apparent reason. She told people that the dog was an angel in disguise, who revealed to her that she was supposed to help people. After that, she devoted the rest of her life and fortune to helping the needy.”
“Really?” I walked closer to him.
Daniel nodded. “Her family thought she’d gone crazy. They even tried to have her committed. But at the moment she died, an otherworldly chorus of beautiful voices filled her bedroom. Her family thought the angels must have returned to claim Carolyn’s soul, but then they realized the house was surrounded by singing children from the orphanage where Carolyn volunteered. The Bordeaux family was so touched they built this memorial for her. They say there is an angel for each of the people she helped. There are hundreds of them throughout the garden.”
“Wow. How do you know all that?”
“It says it on that plaque over there.” Daniel grinned, as devious as ever.
I laughed. “You had me going there. I was starting to think you were some kind of intellectual, what with all this knowledge of obscure local history and quoting religious scholars.”
Daniel bowed his head. “I had a lot of time to read where I was.”
The air felt thick between us. Did Daniel want me to ask him where he’d been for the last three years? I’d wanted to—since the moment I first saw him. That question was just as important as finding out what happened between him and Jude. No doubt those two answers were connected. I told myself to seize the opportunity—to finally find the answers I needed so I could fix things for good.
I clenched my hands, digging my fingernails into my palms, and asked before I could change my mind, “Where did you go? Where have you been all this time?”
Daniel sighed and looked up at the tall statue next to him. This angel was a young man—early twenties, maybe—who was accompanied by a stone dog that sat at attention at his side. The dog was tall and slender like the angel, its triangular ears stretched to the man’s elbow. It had a long snout, and its bushy coat and tail seemed to get lost in the intricately carved folds of the angel’s robes.
“I went back east. Down south. Out west. Pretty much every other directional cliché you can think of.” Daniel crouched down and studied the dog. “I met him when I was back East. He gave me this.” He brushed his black stone necklace with his fingertips. “He said it would keep me safe.”
“The dog or the angel?” I goaded. I should have known better than to think Daniel would give a straight answer to my question regarding his whereabouts.
Daniel swept his shaggy hair out of his eyes. “I met the man this statue was carved for. Gabriel. I learned a lot from him. He talked about Mrs. Bordeaux and the things she did for other people. He was the one who made me want to come back here. To be close to this place again … and other things.” Daniel stood and sucked in a deep drag of foggy air. “Coming here always gave me such a high.”
“You mean you used to come here to get high,” I said, hazarding a guess.
“Well, yeah.” Daniel laughed and sat on a stone bench.
I instinctively took a step farther away from him.
“But I don’t do that anymore.” He tapped his fingers on his legs. “I’ve been clean for a long time.”
“That’s good.” I dropped my hands to my sides and tried to look casual and unshaken by his admission. I knew that he was no saint. I knew that his life had gone to a dark place long before he’d disappeared. I’d seen him only three times in the six months after he moved away to Oak Park with his mother—the six months that led up to his vanishing altogether. The last of those three times was when the Oak Park public high school called Dad because Daniel had been expelled for fighting. They couldn’t reach his mother, so Dad and I had to escort him home. But in some ways it was like thinking of my own brother doing drugs or something worse.
I glanced at the tall statue of Gabriel the Angel looking down on us. His carved eyes seemed to rest on the crown of Daniel’s head. That thread of curiosity pulled me to the seat next to him on the bench. “Do you believe in angels? Real ones?”
He shrugged. “I don’t think they have feathery wings or anything like that. I think they’re people who do good things even if they get nothing out of it. People like your father … and you.”
I looked up into his glinting eyes. Daniel reached out his hand like he wanted to brush my cheek—little tingles sparked under my skin—but he pulled his hand back and coughed.
“You’re all crazy, if you ask me,” he said.
“Crazy?” My cheeks flamed even hotter.
“I don’t know how you all do it,” he said. “Like Maryanne Duke. She had nothing and she still tried to help people like me. I think she was an angel.”
“Is that why you came to the funeral? For Maryanne?” And not for me?
“I used to stay with Maryanne when things got messy between my parents. If I wasn’t at your house, I was with her. She was always there for me when others weren’t.” Daniel wiped at his nose with the back of his hand. His fingernails were blackened with what looked like marker ink. “I just felt like I should pay my last respects….”
“I guess I forgot. Maryanne took care of a lot of people.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m not special or anything.”
“No. That’s not what I meant…. I’m just sorry I didn’t remember.” I put my hand on his shoulder. He shrank away, and I could barely feel the firmness of his body under the fabric of his coat. “Things were really hard for you. I’m sure Maryanne made you feel—”
“Loved?”
“I guess. Loved, or at least normal.”
Daniel shook his head. “I felt close to loved sometimes. Like when Maryanne read me stories at night, or when I’d sit around the table with your family. There’s nothing like a Divine family dinner to make you feel like someone might care about you. But I never felt normal. Somehow, I always knew I didn’t …”
“Belong?” For some reason I could understand.
“I never did belong, did I?” Daniel reached up and wrapped his long fingers around my wrist. He moved like he was going to cast my hand away, but then he hesitated and turned my hand over, cradling it in both of his. “But I can’t tell you how many times over the last few years I wished I could be eating at that table with your family. Like I could take back everything I did, change things so I could be a part of it again. But that’s impossible, isn’t it?” He traced his warm fingers up the heart line in my open palm, and slipped his fingers in between mine.
It may have been the glimmering from the spotlights or the swirling of the fog, but for a moment he looked like the old Daniel, the one with white-blond hair and mischievous but innocent eyes—like the years had melted away and the darkness had drained out of him. And in that moment, something—an energy—passed between us. Like the thread that had drawn me to him was now a live wire, a lifeline, that bound us together, and I needed to pull him to safety.
“We’re having a big Thanksgiving dinner tomorrow,” I blurted out. “You should come. I want you to.”
Daniel blinked. “You’re freezing,” he said. “We should go inside somewhere.”
Daniel stood up, still holding my hand, and led me down the gravel lane. I didn’t know when he was going to let go of my hand—and I didn’t want him to. And I held on because I knew he needed me.
He finally let go as he stepped off the path and into a patch of decaying plants. “The fence isn’t as high if we go this way,” he said.
I hesitated for a moment on the edge of the path, watching him slip away into the mist. I stepped off the gravel walkway and followed
him through the depths of the garden. When we made it to the iron fence, I let him help me over, his hands skimming my waist and legs as I climbed. We walked side by side as we found our way back to the motorcycle. Our fingers brushed once, and I longed for him to take my hand in his again. I climbed on the back of the motorcycle and took in a deep breath of Daniel’s earthy scent as the bike shot into the city night.
A FEW MINUTES LATER
The motorcycle lurched to a stop in front of Daniel’s building. I slammed into his back and almost flew right off into the gutter.
Daniel gripped my thigh and steadied me. “Sorry about that,” he mumbled, and let his hand linger for a moment.
Daniel got off the bike, and I followed. He rested his arm on my shoulder and steered me up the sidewalk and through the doorless entry of the apartment building. My heart thumped so hard as we went up the stairs I feared that Daniel might hear it. The thumping grew louder and heavier as we climbed, and I realized there was music coming from behind a door on the third landing. Daniel put his key in his pocket and tentatively pushed open his door. Sound engulfed us. Gyrating dancers packed the front room, and Zed—looking much more lively than he had before—sang (i.e., screamed) into a microphone while a few other guys banged on musical instruments with reckless abandon.
Daniel led me into the throng. I choked on the sickly sweet smoke wafting in the air. I was coughing and sputtering when this person, who looked more woman than teenage girl, emerged from the crowd. She came toward us, moving and convulsing to the indiscernible beat of Zed’s song. Her short hair feathered out like she was some type of exotic bird, and her bleached white bangs made three perfect triangles on her forehead—the tips of them were dyed a garish shade of pink.
“Danny Boy, you made it,” she said in an Eastern European–sounding accent. She turned her thick kohl-lined eyes on me and plumped her blood-red lips.
Daniel released my shoulder.
“Oh, look”—she took me in from head to toe—“you brought treats. I hope there’s enough to share.”
“Grace, this is Mishka. We knew each other a long time ago,” Daniel said about the female clad in a black leather mini and what I think is called a bustier.
