THREE

Remy left the ancient memories behind, returning to the here and now.

 

 

“Murdered?” he asked. “How do you know?”

“I saw it,” Sariel said, stepping closer to the porch.

Marlowe started to growl again. The Grigori leader stared at the Labrador with cold, unfeeling eyes.

“I know murder when I see it.”

Remy was about to ask more questions, but stopped. No, he told himself. This time I will have nothing to do with their affairs.

The affairs of angels.

“I’m sorry,” he said, slowly turning his back and walking toward the door. “C’mon, Marlowe.”

“Where are you going?” Sariel asked from the foot of the porch steps.

“I’m going inside,” Remy replied. “To get away from you.”

“I don’t understand,” the Grigori leader stated.

“I’m through with this.” Remy stood in front of the door, but turned slightly to address Sariel again. “I’m done with all of it . . . with murder, floods, apocalypses and angels. Just leave me alone.”

He opened the screen door and then the door behind it, letting Marlowe inside first.

“You’re not human,” Sariel called out after him. “No matter how hard you try or how much you pretend, you will never be anything more or less than what you are.

“One of the patriarchs of humanity has been slain,” Sariel continued when Remy didn’t respond. “I thought this is what you do, Remy Chandler,” the Grigori leader taunted. “I thought this is what you play at while living among them.”

Remy remained silent, stepping into the cottage and closing the door behind him.

Marlowe waited on the rug just inside the door, square head cocked inquisitively.

“Okay?” the Labrador asked.

“Fine,” Remy answered. “Why don’t we see about getting you some supper?”

The dog bounded toward the kitchen, and Remy chanced a quick look through the sheer curtain over the window in the door.

Sariel was gone.