| |
“Can we get out of here?” Ronnie asked. As foot traffic thinned and the time crept past eight, she realized she didn’t want to be this close to home. Something about the proximity made her uneasy and fidgety.
“Of course. Did you have somewhere in mind?”
She was tempted to grab a location from her event-finder app but wasn’t sure she wanted Michael to know how she spent her free time. Unfortunately, that left her without an answer. “I guess not specifically.”
“Really? Once upon a time you couldn’t wait to see more of the world.”
He remembered. The notion warmed her. Was she really that naïve as Uriel? “I guess I’ve already had the chance.”
“You’ve ridden the waterways of Venice? Toured the Louvre? Stood atop a snow-capped mountain so tall you couldn’t see the valley below?”
“Well, no. No one’s done all that stuff.”
He smiled and shrugged. “You’ll find time. Where have you been? We’ll build from there.”
“A lot of convention centers. And Tokyo. I’ve been there.” God. She sounded pathetic. In her head, it was impressive. Admitting out loud? Not so much.
He stood and offered his hand. “If you don’t have a destination in mind, may I?”
“Sure.” As long as it took the focus off her. Was Irdu right? Had she let her appreciation for crowds become an addiction? A fetish? No. She just liked people.
Instead of phasing, he led her toward a souvenir cart a few yards away. She bit her tongue, to hold back a snide comment about a T-shirt being as poor a substitute for seeing the world as the inside of a convention center.
“One of the zipper sweatshirts, small, in red.” He let go of Ronnie’s hand to pay, and handed her the top when he was done. “You might want this.”
“Thanks?” It was in the mid-seventies outside. Even a little bit of a cool air in another country would be a nice change on her heated skin. Still, she draped it over her arm, and—
When the scenery shifted, Ronnie noticed several things at once. It was mid-afternoon and gray, rather than clear and almost sunset. And it was chilly. She rubbed her arms. “Where are we?”
“Wellington.”
She shrugged the hoodie on, grateful both for it and that she’d kept her sarcasm to herself earlier. “As in Florida? Shouldn’t it be nighttime? And warm?”
“Wellington, New Zealand.” He nudged Ronnie, prompting her to turn, and awe spilled through her.
There were rows of cars, both old and new models, but all well-loved, and painted a gorgeous array of colors. It was like a metal-flower garden, with a faint grease perfume.
“Neat.”
“Good word for it. I know it’s not exotic food or a stunning landscape, but I like it.”
There was so much about him she didn’t know. As they wandered toward a row of vehicles, she kept her hand nestled in his. The contact was pleasant, and he didn’t seem to mind.
“Any idea why someone would be screwing with Ubiquity now, and not—say—a year ago?” he asked.
She didn’t expect him to jump back to the work conversation, but the question haunted her, too, so she didn’t mind. Talking to him was nice, regardless of the topic. The realization hit her out of nowhere. “They’re bored? I don’t know why anyone would do it to begin with, so time and place doesn’t change my opinion.” She was grateful he didn’t shrug the notion off, though.
“Does it have something to do with you?”
Her laugh was bitter, and she choked it off. “I know a lot of people think the world revolves around them. Pretty sure Gabe is on that list. But no, I can’t see why it would be about me.”
He stopped in front of a black pickup truck with stark chrome trim. Even given the cloudy day, its polish shone and glinted. She had no idea what any of the terminology was for the parts of the car, beyond basic names. The way he hovered his hand inches from the hood, gliding without touching, was reverent, and she didn’t dare interrupt the admiration. She was afraid saying something like it’s pretty wouldn’t have the same impact as whatever Michael was thinking.
After a few moments, he moved away. “I don’t mean you directly, but everything surrounding when you...came back? Were named? I’m not certain what to call it.”
“Was tossed into a raging inferno of confusion, woefully unequipped to handle what the world was about to throw at me?” That sounded bitter. “It wasn’t that bad.” She met Michael, after all. And she got this life out of it, which had more ups than downs. Like coffee, good music, and sex. “How about started working for Ubiquity?”
“I suppose that will have to do.”
She shivered and rubbed her arms when a gust of wind blew in around her. Shorts seemed like a good idea when she changed, but now she was wishing for jeans. “I suppose the timing coincides, but if anything, the impetuous seems more centered around Gabe and his special development staff. What happened with Ari... The others. I may have been a catalyst for her wanting something more powerful, cluing other agents into the possibility of growing through non-organic means, but I wasn’t more.”
“So maybe that’s what it was. Ariel drew scrutiny to everything.”
“Maybe.” Ronnie turned the idea around. “That doesn’t seem like a good reason to bring Ubiquity into the public eye. Anyone doing what Ari did, like Vine and Cassiel, would want it to stay secret. There are repercussions to such actions.”
“It’s another piece of the puzzle. Ariel proved some of us are in this for themselves. Given that, would they really mind what kind of consequences there were, as long as they got the power they wanted?”
“I guess not, though it feels a little cliché-villain for me. The whole I want power, and I’ll kill whoever gets in my way thing. And if that’s the case, it doesn’t give me a direction or a solution.”
“No, but it’s a starting point, and if it’s a new perspective—even if it’s not the right one—it may point you in a revealing direction.”
She couldn’t argue with that. She was willing to dismiss the idea outright, but it did give her an angle she didn’t have before. They wandered in silence for several minutes, stopping at certain cars. She tried to figure out why some and not others drew his attention. She asked, “Why are we here? Not that I’m complaining. I’m curious.”
“They take these things that were never meant for more than utilitarian purposes—intended simply to move people from one place to another—and they give them new life and beauty.”
“Is there some kind of hidden meaning in that?”
He shook his head. “I suppose there are all sorts of hidden meanings in it, but I never looked at it that way. I do this in my spare time. Restore cars. It’s not a way to dive deep into the nature of how everything old can be new again. It gives me a chance to work with my hands. To escape the world for a few hours at a time and think. It’s relaxing.”
“You do this?” So much to discover. “A lot? Do you have a garage full of gorgeous cars somewhere?”
“No. And I don’t go to this extent. The people who work on these love their cars almost as an extension of themselves.” He stopped next to a cherry-red car with a convertible top and a Ford logo. “Like this one. This Thunderbird might as well be the owner’s baby.”
Was that why he paid more attention to some than others as they walked? “How can you tell?”
“Can’t you?”
She bristled at the implication it should be obvious, but her ire faded when she took another look. The cars that seemed to shine without direct sunlight actually had a faint glow. Whispers of the same kind of passion she felt when she went to a convention or rave. Now that she knew what she was looking for, it was as evident as the stunning paint jobs. “Yeah. I guess I can. So what do you do with yours, then?”
“I finish it, I give it to someone, and I go find another one. The joy for me is in the work. Once it’s completed, I need something else to work on.”
A new thought occurred to her, and it sank heavy in her gut before she could put words to it. The funeral this morning was for— “You were there, with the flash fire at the garage.”
He clenched his jaw and nodded.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” Way to ruin a pleasant evening. Afternoon?
“It’s all right. I’m coping, and I don’t mind you asking.”
“In that case, may I ask what happened?” Which was rude of her. He was mourning the loss of friends, and she wanted gruesome details so she could solve a work problem. Telling herself it was bigger than making things better at the office didn’t help absolve her of guilt for wanting to know. It did keep her from taking it back, though.
He led her out of the main flow, toward rows of food carts. Her stomach grumbled at the sharp smells. Grilling sausages, ice cream... even the fizz of soda mixed in with it all. He leaned against a nearby fence and laid out the story of what happened when he was hunting Azazel. The destruction in the hotel the first time and the demon getting away. His rage the second time.
Ronnie listened and watched, fascinated and horrified, as Michael’s posture and expressions shifted through grief, fury, and regret. The only thing she managed when he was done was, “I’m so sorry.”
He dragged in a noisy breath, forced it out slowly, and fixed a smile on. It didn’t reach his eyes. “So what do you do in your free time?”
A change of subject had never been more obvious, but if he didn’t want to drag his emotions through the mud, she wouldn’t force him to. Especially since she didn’t want to answer his question, either. “Working. There’s a lot of extra hours in management, but you know how that goes. Other stuff.”
*
MICHAEL WAS RELIEVED Ronnie didn’t call him out on the change of subject, and in return he didn’t push for information she seemed unwilling to give. It was odd. He spent the last several months struggling with who she was, now that two wholes had become one, and telling himself to move on. With her here, the impulse changed. When she was Uriel, he wanted to protect the demon caught in the system but loving the world around her. When she was Metatron, the fire between them burned so hot and fast it left scars. This Ronnie was neither, and both. And she was holding something back that muted her in a way which made him want to uncover more. Or the desire to discover what she hid was because they’d never spent a lot of time getting to know each other.
“Do you want cotton candy?” He nodded toward one of the tents.
“No. But thanks.”
He gave her a concerned glance. “Suit yourself.” He stepped up and ordered one large cotton candy from guy working the stall. The kid grabbed a paper cone from the stack and lowered it into a machine that looked like it was spinning vivid, sugar-scented smoke. Seconds later, he handed Michael the results.
Michael nudged Ronnie back toward the crowds. “We can keep looking if you’d like.”
She glanced at him, and a laugh escaped her throat—a gorgeous, playful sound.
“What?” he asked. This was better than lingering on the darker places the conversation threatened to take them. Death. Destruction. He shoved that all aside.
“I don’t know. You look a little silly—a grown man plucking spun sugar from a stick.”
The comment wasn’t insulting. As long as Ronnie was having fun, he didn’t care what anyone else thought. “You’re jealous you didn’t get any.”
“Maybe I’ll have some of yours.” She reached out, and he held the cone away. She crossed her arms and stuck her bottom lip out so far, the pout had to be intentional. “Meanie.” The corners of her mouth threatened to turn up.
It was nice to see her light and playful side. He tore off a piece of candy for her. A pleasant shudder ran through him when she sucked one of his fingers into her mouth and licked the pad clean. He expected a pang to accompany the sensation, but this was all appreciation for her rough tongue gliding along his fingertip.
They shared the rest of the snack as they roamed and looked at more cars, sometimes feeding each other, and sometimes snatching wisps of sugar for themselves. Afternoon melted away and crept up on evening. Five local time meant it was eleven at night back home.
Ronnie yawned for the second time in as many minutes. She rubbed her eyes. “I know it’s boring to be tired so early on a Friday, but it’s been a long day.”
Funerals and all that. He understood. “It’s not boring. I’ll take you home.”
It felt odd to land in front of the door instead of inside, but also appropriate.
She unlocked the condo. “Do you want to come in for a while? I mean, I guess you could come in anyway, it’s your place.”
“It’s just a building. And I’d love to stay a little longer.” That wasn’t a completely accurate statement; it was more than a building.
They stepped into the living room. Though she hadn’t changed the furnishings, her essence lingered on most of the things in the room—the couch, the coffee table, and he knew from earlier, the bed in the master suite. From the room to her, everything was so familiar, and at the same time, foreign. He felt out of sorts and wasn’t sure what to do with the sensation.
Not suffering from the same hesitation, she tugged him to the couch and settled next to him when he sat.
“You never got a TV.” He wasn’t sure why he said that, but he couldn’t sort out the rest of his other thoughts enough for something better.
“Why would I? You’ve got a kickass stereo system, and I stare at a screen enough at work all day. I was surprised by your music collection, though.”
“Not modern enough for you?”
“Eh...” She fiddled with the frayed edges of her cutoffs. “Nirvana. Hendrix. Lennon. Joplin. Richie Valens. You notice there’s a theme there?”
He had. They all died at the height of realizing their potential. A bittersweet notion that felt right but so wrong at the same time. “What would you prefer?”
“It’s not a matter of preference. I expected you to have a wider assortment of classical, or something like that. Chinese opera? I don’t know.”
“There’s Mozart in there.”
“That’s one guy.”
“My tastes have grown and changed with time. It doesn’t do to be stuck in the past.” As he spoke, he watched her expression shift into something pained and sad. She smiled, but it didn’t wash away the ache in her gaze. Did she think he meant her? The evening with her wasn’t what he expected, but it was better—comfortable, friendly, and mostly angst-free. He wanted her smile to be genuine, though. “Would you replace it with something loud? A pounding beat?”
“Some days. Most of the time, I plug in my phone, pull up a random station, and let it play what it wants. I like it all.”
He held out his hand. “So let’s do that now.”
She gave him her phone, and he crossed the room to hook it up to the stereo. “What do I choose?”
“Little blue button on the home screen, telltale U on the logo. Let it shuffle.”
He did as instructed and returned to the couch. When he was seated, she scooted closer and rested her head on his shoulder. In the background, the music faded from country to rap to R&B, with a sprinkling of metal and some gorgeous orchestration mixed in.
They talked long into the night, and yet somehow managed to avoid sharing how they spent the last few months of their lives. Somewhere along the way, a nagging voice reminded Michael why he left the first time and asked if his reasons were still valid.
He didn’t have an answer for that, especially with her distaste regarding how he eliminated the threat. If it came down to picking between keeping her in his life or continuing to do what was needed, would he be able to walk away again?