The clock tower on the top of Middleburg’s city hall bonged out the hour, and its sonorous clangor seemed to rattle every brick of the large historical structure. But Savana Kain hardly noticed. She was sitting on a toilet in the first floor of the building, wearing a white dress, weeping endlessly, and blowing her nose until it was so red and disgusting she couldn’t fix it with makeup, which made her cry harder.
Her dress made her cry harder, too. It was white. Whoever heard of a pregnant ex-stripper with a sixteen-year-old kid wearing, to her second wedding, a color that was supposed to denote purity and innocence? It was like a sick joke—but Jack had insisted on it, so here she was.
“And that’s not even the worst part, is it?” she said aloud, cradling her stomach. The child inside her kicked, it seemed, in agreement. Over the last few months, she’d taken to talking to the baby. He—she already knew it was he—had become her silent sounding board, her confidant, her understanding best friend. Normally, she would have shared her thoughts with Raphael. He was often harsh with her, but that was probably because he held her to a higher standard than she was able to hold herself. For a moment, she was almost glad he wasn’t here to see what she was about to do.
“He wouldn’t understand,” she crooned to her belly. “I’m doing this for him, for both of you. How else are we going to get out of the Flats? How else am I going to support a baby and a teenage son, never mind coming up with the money for college? And Jack is good to me. He really is . . .”
There was a rap at the door that echoed wildly in the cramped, tiled bathroom.
“Coming!” Savana said brightly, then sniffed violently, yanking a huge wad from the oversized toilet-paper roll, and scrubbing her face with it. She stood and stepped out of the stall, smoothing her absurd white dress as she went. At least, she consoled herself, it was a simple silk sheath with a roomy jacket that almost hid her condition—not some puffy princess gown with a ten-foot train.
She stared at herself in the mirror, her face a miserable wreck of smeared mascara, her eyes swollen from crying.
“You okay?” She could hear the tension in Jack’s voice, a seesaw balance with sweet concern on one side and impatience on the other. “Orias just got here—he’s with Aimee—and we’ve decided not to wait for Maggie.”
“Yes, fine, honey. I’ll be out in a second. Just fixing my makeup,” she called as she dug her compact out of her purse.
“Make it snappy, okay? It looks like rain out there.”
“Okay, baby. Sure.” She was digging into her bag for a makeup removal wipe, when the bag slipped off the edge of the sink. Its contents exploded across the floor like shrapnel from a grenade.
“Dammit . . .” she muttered, stooping with great effort to pick up the items. She could hear Jack outside the bathroom door as he gave a frustrated sigh. Then, his footsteps receded, and she knew he was walking away, across the lobby.
* * *
Orias waited until Aimee was distracted in her conversation with Dalton before he went to talk to Jack. Fighting resentment that he had to waste time with this wedding when he needed to be putting an escape plan into action, he reached out to shake Jack’s hand. “Congratulations,” he said.
“Thanks,” Jack said. “How’d your trip go? Rick didn’t have much to say about it.”
“It was fine,” Orias said. “Better than expected, in fact. I may be looking to liquidate some of my holdings in the next couple of days.”
“Really? Why?”
“I’m relocating—a business deal. An offer I can’t refuse.”
“Well, I’ll be sorry to see you go. I’m sure Aimee will, too.”
Jack’s phony smile didn’t convince Orias of his sincerity. “The herbal drops I gave you,” he said. “Did you remember to put them in Aimee’s tea?”
“Actually—no,” Jack said. “She hasn’t needed them. She’s been happy and cooperative—more like her old self. Even asked permission to go hang out with her friends the other night instead of just disappearing like she does.”
Orias should have known better than to trust him. The stupid man had not given her the Lethe water. At any moment she could remember Raphael Kain—and then Orias would lose her. The realization had a profound effect on him.
He had never loved another creature—not angel or demon, human or Nephilim—as much as he loved Aimee, and he fully intended to take her with him when he fled from Middleburg. More important than anything, even more important than escaping from Azaziel, was that he did not lose Aimee.
* * *
Savana looked up from her scattered belongings and saw her reflection in the mirror on the back of the door. She looked sad, miserable . . . and pathetic.
She could almost hear Raphael chastising her. It’s bad enough to deceive everyone around you, including your new husband. It’s worse to lie to yourself.
Then she remembered what Lily Rose had told her. Ain’t no medicine like truth, sugar. Remember that. There aren’t too many problems it can’t fix, even those that seem unfixable.
She stared at herself in the mirror for a moment, and before she knew she’d intended to speak, she was shouting.
“JACK!” In the echo chamber of the bathroom, it sounded like someone yelling from inside a tomb. A moment passed and then she heard his footsteps returning.
“What is it?” he asked from the other side of the door.
“Jack,” Savana said, her voice tremulous. “I need to talk to you.”
“Yeah. You want to come out? You want me to come in?”
“No,” she said quickly, then added, “It’s bad luck.”
The truth was, she was afraid. Afraid she’d look into his eyes and lose her nerve. Afraid of what his reaction would be—and knowing that it would be the end of their relationship.
“Okay, then,” he said, annoyed. “So talk.”
“I have to tell you something. About the baby,” she said.
“Yes?” Jack said slowly, with exaggerated patience.
She took the deepest breath she could. “Jack, the baby is—” she stopped abruptly and winced.
“The baby is what?” Jack said, his patience eroding at last.
Savana’s mouth was open, but no sound was coming out. Finally, a strangled groan escaped her, and she fell to her knees, holding her belly with both hands.
“The baby is . . . coming,” she managed to say.
“Lily Rose!” she heard Jack shout. She heard the door opening, and then everything fell away from her, like the ending of a movie, fading to black.
Moments later, she found herself blinking up at the ceiling, cradled in Lily Rose’s arms. Aimee and Dalton were standing in the doorway, watching her with concern.
“Am I . . . is the baby . . . ?” Savana whispered, confused.
“You’re fine, and so is the baby,” Lily Rose said patiently. “And don’t worry—he’s not coming quite yet. I’ll bet my hat it was just false labor brought on by the stress of the day.”
Savana glanced up at Lily Rose’s hat. It was a jaunty little lavender number covered with fake flowers—daisies and baby’s breath—and it had an organza frill accent. As much as Lily Rose loved her hats, Savana knew, there was no way she would bet one if it wasn’t a sure thing. Feeling better, she sat up, but it took a huge effort. It really felt like the baby was doubling in size every day.
She looked up at Lily Rose and the two frightened girls in the doorway. “I’m getting married today,” she said softly.
The girls probably thought it was just an affirmation of the obvious, but Savana knew Lily Rose understood what she meant.
“We all got our path to walk, don’t we?” Lily Rose said. “Come on, girls, help me get her on her feet and let’s get her makeup done.”
* * *
Ten minutes later, Aimee stood on the courthouse steps, hand in hand with Orias, as her dad and Mrs. Kain faced each other and the justice of the peace started the ceremony.
“We’re gathered here today to join Jack Banfield and Savana Kain together as man and wife . . .”
It was a small party. The only people there were herself and Orias, a mildly disgruntled Rick, the Shaos, Dalton, and Lily Rose. Aimee wasn’t surprised that Maggie hadn’t shown up. She didn’t think her former best friend had much interest in Rick anymore.
“I do,” said Savana.
But more important than the people who were there, Aimee thought as the justice’s voice droned on, were the people who were not there. Emily Banfield and . . . someone else. Someone Aimee had once cared about very much. Since she’d been staying at her dad’s, she’d started getting quick little memory flashes of things she used to do with her friends . . . that boy Tyler, who had died . . . and another boy, after Tyler. Someone she had really liked. Her mind grappled for more information during those brief flashes, trying to remember, and just as she almost had it, it faded away. The one recollection that stayed with her now was her burning need to find her mother and bring her home. Somehow, she’d gotten so comfortable in her life with Orias that she had forgotten.
“I do,” said her father.
“Do you have the rings?”
Aimee’s mind wandered throughout the ceremony, jarred back to reality only by the sound of applause as the justice said, “I now pronounce you man and wife.”
And that was it. They were really married. The truth was Aimee had expected something to stop it—some grand catastrophe, maybe, or someone speaking up to object to the proceedings. But no—it was done. She and Orias followed as Jack and Savana descended the courthouse steps, smiling while the Shaos showered them with handfuls of rice. Her dad was shaking Orias’s hand and then hugging Rick. Savana was giving out hugs, too, first to Lily Rose, then Dalton, and then scooping Aimee into an awkward embrace.
She watched in bemusement as her father helped her new stepmother down the steps to the waiting white limousine, and then the car took off, on its way to the nicest hotel in Topeka for a mini honeymoon. Jack had promised Savana the real thing in an exotic location after the baby was born. Just like that, they were gone. The whole ceremony had taken less than fifteen minutes.
A fat, cold raindrop plunked down on Aimee’s face, then another and another, and suddenly she felt the insistent swell of an encroaching panic attack. With it came the overwhelming need to be someplace else. Before could stop herself, she slipped.
Almost instantly she was standing in front of the perpetually burning fire in Orias’s living room hearth. She moved closer and warmed her hands, allowing the heat to evaporate the rain from her skin and her hair. She watched the flames quiver and intertwine for several minutes before she heard Orias come in.
“What the hell was that?” he asked angrily.
“I had to get out of there. I couldn’t breathe.”
“We’ve been over this, Aimee,” Orias admonished. “You can’t slip in front of others—you know the problems it could cause. Lily Rose is pretty savvy, but most humans are not advanced enough to understand your gift.”
Her eyes locked onto his, and she felt the sting of tears. She fought to hold them back.
“I know,” she said. “But during that farce of a wedding, it hit me.”
“What?” His tone was warmer now, less angry.
“Don’t get me wrong,” she said. “I’ve loved spending all this time with you. I loved it so much that I forgot about some other things I want to do. I forgot how badly I need to find my mom. All this time—we were supposed to be looking for her. How could I just forget about that?”
“You’re not ready,” he said.
“Yes, I am.”
“Did you remember anything else—staying at your dad’s?” he asked quietly.
“Just . . . I don’t know. Some disjointed things I can’t quite put together. But I remembered the most important thing—I’ve got to go and get my mom.”
“You can’t go alone—”
“I’ll be fine,” she said. “If anything gets too weird, I’ll just slip. Anyway, I won’t go unprepared. This time I’m taking supplies. A flashlight, for one thing, and—you’re going to help me, right?”
Orias put his hands on her shoulders, and she loved the strength she felt in them. “This has to wait, Aimee—just a little while. There are other factors at work now,” he said. “I can’t stay in Middleburg any longer, not even eighteen-seventy-seven Middleburg. I have to leave—maybe forever—and I want you to come with me.”
“Where are you going?” she asked. “Why? What’s happened?”
He sighed, a darkness she hadn’t seen in a while returning to his eyes. “I’ve explained to you the relationship—or lack thereof—between Nephilim and the fallen angels?” he said.
“Yes. No love lost. Enemies for centuries and all that. I got it—and?”
“And it seems I’ve somehow offended a very angry—and very powerful—fallen angel named Azaziel.”
“How?”
“Who knows?” he said, shrugging slightly and giving her a little smile. “Maybe I got too rich.” He leaned over and lightly pressed his lips to hers. “Or maybe I became too happy. With a Nephilim there doesn’t have to be a reason. They despise us.”
“But what’s the problem?” she asked. “If you can’t die, how can he hurt you?”
“He can make the rest of my existence—many thousand more years—a living hell. He wants to arrest me and take me to trial in the Dark Territory.”
“Maybe a trial would be good,” she ventured. “I mean, if you didn’t do anything. Maybe it’s an opportunity for us to find out how to save your mortal soul.”
“Half soul,” he reminded her. “Even if there was a way and Azaziel knew it, he wouldn’t tell me. And he doesn’t have the authority to grant anyone’s redemption. He’s a cold, jealous Irin who hates all humans and all Nephilim.”
“Why does he hate humans?” she asked.
“Jealousy. Because Irin are banished from the light of the All, and humans are not,” he said. “It’s that simple.”
She thought about that for a moment. “Okay,” she said. “All the more reason to go and find my mom. I don’t think I ever told you but she studied angels for years—read everything she could get her hands on. She’ll know what to do.”
“Aimee,” he was pleading now. “You have to listen to me. It’s wonderful that you want to help me—but Azaziel is coming, and I cannot stay here. Don’t you want to be with me, as we planned?”
“Of course I do,” she said—and she did. She didn’t remember ever being as happy as Orias had made her. “Just call or text me when you get to wherever you’re going, and I’ll come to you. In the meantime, I’m going back to 1877 Middleburg and bringing my mother home.”
“No,” he said softly. “You’re coming with me.” He took her in his arms and kissed her then, and his kiss was full of longing. So full, in fact, that she knew if she didn’t get out of there she would give in to him.
* * *
And suddenly, Orias was holding only empty air. Aimee was gone.
He uttered a curse and sank into the easy chair to stare again into the dancing flames in his fireplace. He had to find her—but it would have to wait until after he had arranged his departure. And he would have to go soon. It wasn’t death that frightened him. It was the kind of judgment Azaziel would pass on him.
Azaziel could add eons to his Nephilim curse. He could torture and mutilate Orias, make him so repulsive that no one would want to look at him, so that he would go through all those lifetimes completely and utterly alone. He could throw Orias into the Pit and keep him there indefinitely while Aimee grew old—and then release him on the eve of her death.
Orias knew he had to take evasive action. He had to stay a few steps ahead of Azaziel, to escape and hide until the Lord of the Prefects moved on to other business and forgot about him for a while.
There was only one thing he could do. An explosion would distract anyone who might be looking for him as he made his getaway. It had worked for him before, a couple of times. Orias had everything he needed to make the bomb—he’d been gathering it for a while, just in case, and he knew how to build it. It wouldn’t kill Oberon, Azaziel or their minions, but if he was lucky it might slow them down a little and give him the precious time he needed to escape.
After he had placed it and set the timer, he would find Aimee and convince her to come away with him.
* * *
On Saturday morning, Agent Hackett lounged in a chair inside his room at the Solomon Motel on the outskirts of Middleburg, chewing on a plastic coffee stirring stick—a bad habit he’d picked up since he quit smoking. The remains of a fast-food lunch were scattered on the bed and his feet were propped up there too, atop a luridly colored duvet made from some kind of stiff synthetic fabric. Judge Judy was on TV, berating some young kid for failing to pay his child support. Hackett chuckled. No one could eviscerate people like ol’ Judy.
His phone chirped then, and he was still grinning when he answered it. It took him a second or two to recognize the voice on the other end—it was the Darling kid.
“Weston. I thought you’d fallen off the face of the earth. What have you got for me?”
What he had, he said, was a piece of the ring. Finally.
“Good work,” Hackett said. “Sit tight. I’ll send a car for you.”
He rallied his team, and on the way to the police station, he felt more energized than he had in days. When he was first assigned this mission, the prospect of bringing in a high-level target like Feng Xu had him salivating, and the particulars of the case were interesting. Hell—Feng Xu wasn’t just high level, he was almost legendary in the counterespionage field.
Mounting his head in my trophy room, Hackett had thought, will make my career. He would be able to write a ticket to whatever cushy, high-level job he wanted. But as the Middleburg mission wore on, he grew increasingly frustrated. He’d kept the recon team on point—they had half the town wired up for surveillance by now—but the surveillance had turned up nothing. He had some ideas for flushing Feng Xu out of hiding, but every time he called his superior in Washington, his orders were the same. Be patient. Sit tight and wait. Let the target make the first move. Well, Hackett was getting sick of waiting. There was only so much fast food and daytime TV a man could endure.
Today, however, all that had changed. The Darling kid had finally turned something up. And he learned when he got to the station, there had been another development.
“Agent Hackett, you need to see this,” the desk officer on duty said as he handed Hackett a file.
“Thanks, Johnny.” Hackett scanned the documents inside and then looked up at the officer. “Anyone check this out?”
“I did,” Johnny said. “There wasn’t much to see except a broken window, but look at the description of the perps—two Asian men with black hats and daggers.”
Hackett was already nodding,
“And the only thing missing was the ring shards. These are our guys,” Johnny finished.
Hackett gave the report back to Johnny. “Make copies of this for everyone on the team. Is there any surveillance footage for that area for the time frame?”
“Already looking into it, sir,” Johnny assured him.
“Good. The snake has slithered out of his hole. It’s time to find it.”
That’s when Weston Darling entered, with his cute little Chinese girlfriend at his side. Hackett glared at Li, then at Weston.
“This is how you keep a mission secret? You bring your girlfriend along?” he demanded.
“But I never would have gotten the shard without her help,” Weston protested.
Hackett cursed and grumbled for a moment before finally letting the matter drop. The younger Darling would never be half the man his father was, but that wasn’t Hackett’s concern. All that mattered was the glistening piece of crystal the boy was now pulling out of his pants pocket.
Hackett put a thick rubber glove on before examining the ring fragment. If it generated as much power as everyone claimed, there was no way in hell he was going to touch it bare-handed. God only knew what kind of radiation might be coming off the thing.
When he was finished he called in his science officer, Rom Blipton, who placed it in a lead-lined box and walked away with it.
“Where’s he taking it?” Weston asked.
“We’ve got a mobile lab set up out back,” Hackett said dismissively. “Come on, let’s sit down over here. I want to go over this list with you one more time.”
He led the kids into a back room and sat down with them. He took a document out of the file and handed it to Weston. “This is the list you gave me—of people who might have a piece of that crystal ring.”
“Yeah?” Weston said.
“Take another look. Is there anyone else you can get to? To try to find pieces?”
Weston scanned the list. “I don’t think so,” he said. “We got lucky with this one. We just happened to be in the right place at the right time. We don’t have many opportunities to go wandering around in other people’s houses, you know.”
“I guess that’s true.” A plan was fast taking shape in Hackett’s mind, and he wanted to make sure he had his facts straight before he took any action. If the Order of the Black Snake was planning to go around breaking into houses and collecting ring shards, he might be able to work it so that they would play right into his hands.
The plan was simple: Hackett and his men would collect the ring shards from all the kids who lived in the Flats. If they resisted, his men would ransack their homes until they found what they were looking for. That was one of the perks of being a Black-Ops agent—normal rules didn’t apply. Once Hackett had all the shards from the Flats kids, the Snakes’ only option would be to get the rest from the kids in Hilltop Haven—and that was where Hackett would catch them. It was gated, guarded, and already outfitted with a top-of-the-line video surveillance system, and he’d already found a vacant house where he could set up his command center. The minute the Snakes set foot in Hilltop Haven, he’d clamp down on them like a bear trap. All he had to do was catch one of their foot soldiers. Hackett was confident he could make him spill his guts about where Feng Xu was hiding. That was another perk of being off the books. He didn’t have to worry about pesky things like human rights violations. And torture was a tactic that Agent Hackett rather enjoyed.
“Thanks, Weston. We appreciate your help,” Hackett said. He shook the boy’s hand and then looked at the lovely young girl there with him. “And you too, miss. Thanks.”
Hackett reached for the girl’s delicate hand, but she was momentarily distracted, glancing out the back window of the station, where Blipton was standing on the steps of the mobile lab, talking on his cell phone.
It was only for an instant, though, and then the girl’s sharp eyes flicked back to Hackett. She took his hand and squeezed it and her strength surprised him.
“I’m Li, nice to meet you,” she said and smiled.
* * *
Saturday morning Zhai was in the basement of the Shao house. He had just run through some attack sequences on his Mook Jong in preparation for his battle with Rick that night and had finished his cool down. Now he was anxious to get to his violin. Master Chin would have advised him to spend the day of a fight in silent, relaxed meditation—or better yet, trying to find a way to avert the battle. He missed his sifu’s wise counsel, and as the appointed time of the confrontation drew nearer, Zhai felt increasingly nervous. It wasn’t his own abilities that worried him. He was confident that he could, if not defeat Rick outright, at least survive the fight and teach his former second-in-command a lesson in humility. He wasn’t worried that his honor or his body would receive injury today. He was concerned that the feeling with which Shen was filling him—a jittery, buzzing sensation of uncontainable electricity—meant what it did when he’d felt it before: major events would soon come to pass in Middleburg. Last time he’d felt this way, his sidai Raphael had disappeared. Zhai wondered if tonight it might be his turn.
There was another possibility, too. What if Rick didn’t show? He and Bran had been suspended from school for the last three days, and no one had seen them outside of school, either. But Rick never missed an opportunity for a fight. Zhai was sure that, wherever he was, he would make it back in time for their face-off.
He picked up his violin, took a few deep, relaxing breaths and began to play, eager to lose himself in the music. He’d only managed a few bars when his father entered.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, Zhai,” he said, and Zhai noticed that he was more subdued than ever. “I heard you playing. Would you be so kind as to honor a request? Brahms concerto in D major?”
Zhai eyed his father warily. “It’s such a sad piece. Are you sure?”
“If you please.”
“Of course, Father.”
He began, the bow slithering across the strings as smoothly as a feather moving across a tabletop. It was a gentle, serene melody, and Zhai felt his apprehension, his anger, and his nervousness drifting away on the wings of the glorious, soaring strains.
When he was finished, he let the violin slip from beneath his chin. His father was smiling warmly at him, and in the simplicity of his happiness, he almost seemed childlike. The sight gave Zhai pause. He’d never once seen his father shrug off the black mantle of tension and rectitude he wrapped himself in day and night. Now, he seemed utterly fallible, flawed, human, and Zhai wondered if the fact that he knew about the tattoo over his father’s heart, and hence his mortality, had made the revelation possible.
“Lovely,” his father pronounced. “Such a sweet, calming piece. Thank you. It was just what I needed.”
Zhai smiled. “I’m glad, Father.” He started putting the instrument away.
“And . . . I have another request,” his father said. “Li wants to go down to Macomb Lake this afternoon, to meet with some friends from school. Something about selecting a site for the spring break party. Bob is driving Lotus today. Will you take her?”
“Sure,” Zhai said. “But I can’t stay too long. I have plans later.”
“Ah . . . Kate?” his father asked. The inflection of his words betrayed interest, but his face remained passive.
“No,” Zhai said truthfully. “With Rick.”
His father nodded. “Well, I’ll tell Li you’ll take her.” He turned to leave but paused in the doorway and turned back. “It has come to my attention that there are people staying in the guesthouse. Some of your friends, I believe.”
Zhai felt as if all the air had been sucked out of his lungs. He’d known it was only a matter of time before his father and Lotus found out.
“Yes,” Zhai said, facing his father squarely, a hint of accusation in his tone. “They were thrown out of their home by Jack Banfield’s redevelopment project. They have nowhere to go.”
Cheung nodded slowly. “You have your mother’s heart,” he said. “A giving heart. Still, that guesthouse belongs to me, Zhai, and to Lotus. It is not yours to give. You should have asked me first. Lotus will not be pleased.”
Zhai sighed heavily. “Yes, sir.”
“So—please do not tell her,” his father finished, and Zhai saw the hint of a smile.
Zhai gaped at him. “They can stay?”
“For a while,” Cheung Shao said, and he left the room.
* * *
When Aimee had slipped out of Orias’s grasp, she’d teleported to the top of the tunnel mountain, to a spot that overlooked the town. It was peaceful up there, and beautiful. The storm that had blown through during the wedding had dissipated as fast as it had come, sweeping the sky clear except for a few crisp, fast-moving clouds set against a pale-blue firmament. She sat there for a while, collecting her thoughts and making a plan.
Orias was right, of course. She shouldn’t go slipping in and out of public places just because she could or because it was easier than asking for a ride or dealing with a situation. All that would do was complicate her life. He was right about something else, too. She shouldn’t go after her mother alone, but she couldn’t ask him to go with her again, either—he would just try to talk her out of it. Her dad was on his honeymoon and, like Rick, he would be no help anyway. She didn’t want a confrontation with her brother so she decided against going home.
She didn’t need much—just a couple of bottles of water, a flashlight, matches, and some food, and she could get all that from Dalton. And she knew that she should tell someone—a grownup, like Lily Rose—where she was going. She had one shard from the crystal ring, and she thought Dalton would give her the one she carried. And maybe, just maybe, those two pieces, combined with her ability, would be enough to get the Wheel of Illusion working again, so she could teleport back to Middleburg in 1877.
Before the ring had shattered, the Wheel had taken her—and someone—to other realms, other times. As she made her way to Lily Rose’s house, she tried to remember who it was.
Dalton answered the door and led her into the living room where Lily Rose, Maggie, and Miss Pembrook were waiting—like they were having a meeting or something, Aimee thought.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
“Well,” Dalton began. “We were just—”
“Praying for you,” Lily Rose finished, a serene smile wrinkling her features. “So good to see you here, my dear. And it’s good to see you walking on the two good legs God gave you.”
Aimee glanced from one face to the other. “What do you mean?”
Dalton hesitated and then confessed. “We were sort of talking about you, Aimee. We’ve been worried about you. You’ve been kind of out of it since you hooked up with Orias.”
“And there’s that little matter of how you just up and disappeared from the courthouse today,” Lily Rose put in. “We decided to get together and try to figure it out.”
“So this is some kind of intervention?” Aimee asked.
“I guess you could call it that,” said Lily Rose. Dalton and Miss Pembrook nodded in agreement. “So . . . what’s been going on, little girl?”
Aimee was confused—and touched—by their concern. “I don’t know,” she said. “Okay—I guess I have been spending a lot of time with Orias and not enough with my friends.” She knew they all thought him cold and unapproachable. How could she make them understand that he was a kind, loving, patient guy who had helped her more than all the shrinks at Mountain High Academy? “Orias is good for me,” she said, louder than she’d intended. “All he’s done is care for me when no one else has.”
“We all care about you,” Miss Pembrook said gently.
Aimee had a sudden feeling of panic, like the world would collapse around her at any moment. Lily Rose moved quickly to her side and put one age-gnarled hand on her arm.
“Sit a spell with us, child, and have some of my lemonade.”
Looking into the old woman’s two different colored eyes, Aimee saw in them what she was longing for: peace. But she still felt afraid—not for herself, but for Orias. What if something happened to him when she wasn’t there to help him? What if he couldn’t get away from Azaziel?
Not that she could protect a mighty Nephilim from the wrath of an even mightier fallen angel, of course, but she still felt a need to be with him. It hit her suddenly and hard that she could lose him, and it felt like a thorn lodged deep in her lungs, pricking her with every breath.
She couldn’t lose him.
She wanted to pull away, to slip back to Orias, into his arms, his house, his bed. But Lily Rose’s hand was on her arm like an anchor, gently tethering her to the earth. Those kind bright eyes were still upon her.
“Orias can take care of himself, Aimee,” she said calmly. “It’s time for you to go find your mama. And you know what? I betcha we can find a way.”
Lily Rose led her into the kitchen and sat her down at the table. Dalton and the others followed. Aimee was so moved by the love surrounding her that she couldn’t speak, and her vision was blurred by tears. When she blinked them away, she saw a glass of lemonade sitting in front of her, the white, flowered pattern on it bristling with water droplets.
The fear, sadness, and loss she felt threatened to dislodge her, to break her tenuous grip on time and space. In the beginning, it had been hard to slip. Now, it was almost too easy—and she could escape any situation, any fear, any moment of sadness with a single twist of her thoughts. She almost did it now, almost slipped out of Lily Rose’s kitchen, but when she wrapped her hand around the cool glass, it seemed to hold her in place. And when she took that first sip of lemonade, it was like a blast of sunlight shining into the darkened recesses of her brain, chasing the shadows away.
“It’s fresh-squeezed,” Lily Rose said. “Grew the lemons myself in a tree out back. You drink deep now, my dear.”
And Aimee did.