by T. R. Hamby
He then felt a surge of power run inside him. His heart slowed, and his shaking stopped. The dizziness faded, and the pain in his chest disappeared.
She took her hand away and studied him worriedly. “How does that feel?”
Barry nodded. “Much better.”
“Good.”
And she flushed. “I’m sorry we had to meet this way.”
“Are you kidding?” he exclaimed, bolting up. “I’m so happy to finally see you!”
Them laughed. “But be careful….you’ll need to rest today.”
“You’ll stay?” he asked eagerly, taking her hand.
Her hand was warm, strong. Barry could feel so much power in it, and was almost dizzy again, just touching her.
Her face fell. “Are they looking?” she whispered, squeezing his hand.
Barry tried not to sigh. Everyone was watching, with her back to them.
He looked at her. “I know you can tell them. You can do it.”
“No, I can’t,” she breathed, adjusting her hood. “Not now. I’m not ready.”
Barry decided, once again, not to push it. It had to happen--was bound to happen eventually. He couldn’t speed things up, and he couldn’t risk scaring her by trying.
“Them!” Andreas called, and Barry heard anguish in his voice.
She didn’t turn her head, too preoccupied with avoiding showing her face. “He can come.”
Barry waved his hand, and Andreas ran over.
He slid to a stop beside them. “Fuck, Barry; I’m so sorry,” he moaned, looking Barry over. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Barry replied soothingly, holding out his arms. “See? Good as new.”
Andreas didn’t look relieved. “I could’ve killed you. And Roone, and Theresa….”
And he looked at Them. “I can’t stay here,” he breathed. “I can’t put anyone else at risk. You have to take me back.”
Shit. There it was.
Them took his hand, sighing. “I think you’re right.”
“But Roone….”
“Let me help Roone.”
“He’s my best friend.”
And his voice broke.
Barry felt a pang, and wondered if he should turn away.
Them was gentle. “I’ll take care of him. You need to worry about training.”
“Let me say goodbye.”
“Of course.”
Andreas left, looking very defeated, and Barry watched him go.
“Will he be all right?” he asked, looking at her.
“It just takes time,” she replied quietly. “He’s pushing himself too hard. It’ll be better up there….less stress for him. Quieter.”
“How will you help Roone?”
And a lovely smile appeared on her face. “I’ll ask Theresa to help. They’re becoming good friends already.”
Barry frowned at her. “Good friends?”
She shrugged. “We’ll see.”
“Is that--a good idea?” he asked uncertainly.
She gave him a firm look. “I trust him. And I trust her.”
They were quiet a moment. Barry could see Andreas and Roone embracing.
“What did he do to me?” he asked quietly.
Them frowned. “You aren’t evenly matched in power. The strength of that power against your shield affected you strongly. It could’ve killed you.”
“Would I have died if you didn’t come?”
“No,” she said thoughtfully, “but it would have taken time for you to heal. And we can’t afford that right now. Andreas isn’t strong or stable enough to have healed you properly. It had to be me.”
“Thank you.”
She simply smiled, though Barry could feel her guilt. He decided not to comment.
“You got to see me,” she said, her lips twitching. “How do I look?”
Barry chuckled. “Like an Angel.”
“You’re silly.”
Andreas returned then. Barry saw that his eyes were red, and he was shaking a little.
He cleared his throat. “I’m ready.”
Them got to her feet, careful not to jostle her hood. Andreas helped Barry stand.
“Barry,” he said, shaking his head, “I am so--”
“Don’t worry about it. No damage done.”
And he held out a hand. Andreas smiled faintly, took his hand and shook it.
“We’ll see you soon,” Barry said firmly.
Andreas nodded, avoiding his eyes. “Yeah.”
“Give me time, Barry,” Them said, taking Andreas’ hand.
She looked conflicted, confused, and all Barry could do was stare as she and Andreas vanished.
The family of now seven returned to the house, exhausted. Theresa followed, gripping Roone’s hand.
Roone was a mess, and Barry wasn’t surprised. He and Andreas had practically been inseparable for weeks now, and Andreas had done a lot for him. Now he was alone….except for Theresa.
“Let’s stay out,” she said as Roone turned for his room.
He looked as if that was the last thing he wanted to do, but he shrugged and followed her to the living room, where everyone had sat down.
“You sure you’re okay?” Gabriel asked, squeezing Barry’s hand and looking carefully into his eyes.
“Never better,” he said patiently, kissing his cheek. “Just a little shock.”
“You could have died,” Mel said firmly.
“Them said I wouldn’t have.”
“Them can’t even show her face to us,” Mel growled, and Nora shushed him.
There was a chill, but not cold just yet.
Michael took a deep breath and sighed. “This is starting to get old, Barry,” he said quietly.
“I’m not going to betray her trust,” Barry replied. “And I shouldn’t have to remind any of you that she just healed me, came down to heal me, and that if she hadn’t healed me I would have probably been bedridden for the next several weeks. And what’s more, she’s helped us find Nora; she’s helped us find Sydney, she’s--”
“She’s been your only hope,” Roone said dully.
They shifted in their seats, sheepish. Even Mel looked slightly ashamed.
He sighed. “Well….how do you feel now?”
This was probably the tenth time he’d been asked this, but he took a moment to think anyway.
He felt fine. Healthy, breathing, energetic. Not remotely how he had been feeling half an hour ago.
There was something else, though….something missing….
He frowned, and held out his hand. He was trying to make the magazine on the counter spring open, ruffle its pages….but nothing happened.
“Shit,” he breathed, and his hand shook. “I lost it. I lost her power.”
“How is that possible?” Nora said.
“Maybe she took it when she was healing you,” Gabriel suggested.
“No,” Theresa said, speaking up. “She wouldn’t have done that. Not without permission. It wasn’t like it was hurting anything.”
“Then it just….left?” Barry asked, feeling a little hurt.
Everyone looked at each other, stumped. Despite his bewilderment, Barry decided not to Call Them. He knew she was busy with Andreas, and it wasn’t an emergency anyway.
“Andreas used his power on you,” Gilla said slowly. “He hit you full-force, didn’t he? What if that….erased your power?”
Her voice was gentle, and Barry felt a little pang. It had been nice to perform those little tricks. And the shield had been, obviously, useful.
“Divine power versus divine power,” Nora said. “One of them will kill the other.”
“Or at least dampen it,” Mel suggested thoughtfully. “Maybe it’ll come back, Barry.”
Gilla suddenly gasped, and Roone jumped. “But that’s it. That’s what will kill God. Them. Her power.”
Barry frowned. But then he understood: Father couldn’t be killed by mortal or Immortal things. He wasn’t like his Creati
on; he was a Being, a god. A god could only be killed by another god.
Andreas’ great divine power had destroyed Barry’s small power. What were the chances that Them could do the same thing?
She had to kill God.
Roone
Andreas was gone. His closest friend in all the worlds, his best friend, had left to train, and Roone couldn’t be with him while he did.
He was very depressed the first couple days, but, thanks to Theresa, he didn’t have much time to wallow in misery. She had insisted, firmly, that he was to attend training and meals, and could only return to his bed when it was time to sleep. She was bossy, rapping on his door in the morning to make sure he was up, and dragging him out of his room when it was time for dinner. She hardly left his side, and, besides how annoying it could be, Roone was grateful.
Theresa, as strange as it was, had become his friend. A dear friend. He had told her his whole story a long time ago now, and--although she had been horrified--she didn’t seem to hold it against him. She was bright, funny, and read the books he lended her voraciously. She always seemed to have something interesting to say, and was very rarely down.
Roone wasn’t sure how she did it all.
But he needed her help more than ever now. His second meeting with Father was tomorrow, and he was a nervous wreck.
“Let’s go over what you’re supposed to say,” she said, even though they had rehearsed about a hundred times now.
They were in the kitchen, helping make Christmas Eve dinner. Theresa was making Christmas pudding, and Roone was helping her, as she wasn’t used to using an electronic oven.
“I’d rather not,” he muttered, beating the eggs. “‘That way madness lies,’” he continued, quoting King Lear.
“‘Now is the winter of our discontent,’” Theresa rebutted firmly, reaching past him for the salt.
She brushed against him as she moved, and he touched her arm, needlessly helping her as she shifted on her feet.
He managed a smile. “You’ve been reading.”
“Only when I’m not wrangling you,” she replied, her lips twitching.
He studied her for a moment. She was beautiful, in a cute sort of way, tiny and large-eyed and smiling. Like a doll. Her long hair was braided today, black and wavy.
He had an urge to ask her something--anything. But she had already told him everything about herself--her time working at the sanatorium, her love affair with the patient who had given her singing lessons. Her hurtful father, and her sweet mother.
And then her death. It had been peaceful, despite the horrors of the disease that had ailed her.
She finally looked at him. Her pale eyes shone, and he suddenly had a strong urge to kiss her.
She appeared to be oblivious. “You’re supposed to be mixing the eggs, silly.”
Roone returned to the eggs, flushing.
Shit. What was he doing? This was one of many times he had looked at her that way, longed to kiss her. He couldn’t do it--they both knew what he had done to Nora. Theresa would be in danger if she let him that close to her. He had to remember that.
“Can we read Act III of The Tempest after dinner?” she asked, dumping the eggs into the mix. “It would be something good to do.”
“You need your rest,” Roone replied. “It was your turn to patrol today. You’ve been up since five.”
“I’ve been up earlier,” she said. “Please?”
He chuckled at her little plea. “If you’re sure.”
So they sat by the fireplace after dinner, The Tempest open in Theresa’s lap. The room was full of people chattering and laughing.
Roone used the opportunity to sit close to her, until their shoulders were touching. Beside them was a Christmas tree, cut down and dressed by the seven Immortals, and some of the Valkyries. Roone had been in a rough mood when they had put it up, so Theresa had thrown popcorn at his face, making him smile.
“‘I cried to dream again,’” Theresa read quietly. “How pretty his language is.”
And she murmured the line to herself, as if trying to commit it to memory.
Roone couldn’t help himself. “You can keep it,” he said, nodding at the book. “I don’t mind.”
She looked at him, surprised. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” he replied, chuckling as she beamed. “You’ll read it more than me. Think of it as a Christmas gift.”
“Thank you,” she sighed, fingering the pages.
She thought for a moment, then flipped to the back of the cover. “‘Roone,’” she read.
She looked at him curiously. “No surname?”
“Angels don’t have last names. But I go by Harrison.”
“How very English.”
He smiled. “Present day England was where I first landed when I came down. It seemed fitting.”
She simply smiled, a twinkle in her eye.
He tried not to stare. “What’s your surname?”
She sighed. “Well, my father’s name is Hardgrove. But I always hated it, and my father didn’t like me anyway. Sometimes I went by my mother’s name at the sanatorium. Gillespie.”
“Theresa Gillespie,” Roone said, trying out the name on his tongue. “It suits you.”
“My father hated it.”
“Your father hated everything,” he replied disapprovingly. “Everything precious.”
Theresa laughed. “Funny, calling me precious, when I’ve been bossing you around for the past week.”
Roone smiled. “I don’t mind being bossed around.”
She looked pleased--almost admiring--and turned away to contemplate her new book.
Roone imagined himself drawing nearer, murmuring in her ear. He shook himself--christ--and stood.
“I’ll get you a pen,” he said, as she looked up at him with those gray eyes. “So you can write your name in it.”
She nodded excitedly, and he went to the study.
He selected a pen from the desk and stared at it. His hands were shaking, and his heart was beating fast.
He glanced out the door. Theresa was still sitting by the fireplace, leafing through the pages of her new book. She was beautiful in her ignorance. And nearby, Nora--god, Nora--was sitting on the sofa, sharing a glass of wine with Mel. Mel was whispering in her ear, and she was giggling, red in the face.
Roone felt a stab of jealousy. But for once, it had nothing to do with Nora. It had to do with Mel, sitting with the love of his life in his arms. Roone could never have that. Every woman who came near him was at risk of becoming a target of his delusions, an object of his unwellness. He couldn’t let it happen….as much as he longed for Theresa.
He had to be careful.
Tomorrow came, and Roone was a wreck the whole day. He skipped training, and instead paced the living room, painstakingly rehearsing his lines. He was to tell a lie: that they were all arguing, that Reina was getting angry. They hoped this would throw him off, maybe make him hope that they would abandon Reina and join him. It was all they could come up with--Roone’s priority was finding out what Father was planning.
Hopefully the misinformation would distract him enough to tell.
It was Christmas. Roone thought longingly of Andreas as the Immortals took some time to open their presents. His sister would have delivered her baby by now, and he couldn’t be there to see it. Roone longed to comfort him.
Christmas was rather subdued--no one wanted to celebrate the holiday like this. But everyone loved their presents, including Roone, who had been gifted a small jeweled dagger.
“Mined the jewels myself,” Mel said.
Roone was awed. Mel had given him a gift.
He didn’t deserve it.
The plan was to meet with Father at three. So at half past two the Immortals and the Valkyries gathered by the back door. The Valkyries were grouped by regiment, and looked tense.
All except Theresa, who was serene.
She went up to Roone and began to pin something on his shirt.
; He flushed at her touch. “Um--what is that?”
“Holly,” she replied. “My Christmas gift to you.”
“How appropriate.”
“You’ll be fine,” she said soothingly, taking his hand. “I’ll be right behind you. Just a few minutes, and then you’ll be back, and I can boss you around some more.”
He managed a smile. “Sounds like heaven.”
She smiled too, and her face turned red. “Come on, then. I’ll walk with you.”
He didn’t have the wherewithal to try and decipher the meaning behind Theresa’s blush. She squeezed his hand, and the large party of seventy-seven tramped into the trees. Everyone had swords, and some had bows and arrows. The forest around them was as silent as death.
They finally arrived at the creek, which was still blanketed in snow.
“Remember,” Mel said quietly, “like we rehearsed.”
“You know it forwards and backwards,” Gilla said.
Roone nodded shakily. He looked at Theresa, who now looked afraid. But she nodded at him, squeezing his hand again before letting it go.
“We’re right here,” she said firmly.
Roone gave a small nod. Then, taking deep breaths, he stepped out onto the ice.
His new boots gripped the ice well. He had his sword hanging at his side, as well as his new dagger, stowed away in his pocket. His right eye took in the snow, the stillness, while his left saw nothing at all.
Finally Theresa whistled, and he halted. He glanced over his shoulder--everyone was spread out on the bank, watching.
Roone, Father’s voice, distant and quiet, said.
Father, Roone replied, thinking hard on his words.
What do you have for me?
Michael and Mel are fighting, Roone recited quickly. Everyone’s fighting. Reina is angry.
A pause.
Are they going to defect? Father asked.
I don’t know. They haven’t been speaking to me.
That’s unfortunate for you, Father hissed. The less you can tell me, the farther away you are from having your beloved Nora to yourself.
Roone shivered. I’m trying.
I don’t believe you really are, Father suddenly said, with malice in his voice. You’ve been telling me lies.
Roone’s heart dropped. No--I haven’t--
