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CHESTNUT STREET was crowded on the unseasonably warm night. The sidewalks were filled with twenty-somethings who flirted with each other beneath the colorful signs of the shops and restaurants. The man taking money at the door of the Goathead leered at some women as he gave Barakiel his change. This was the first time Barakiel had ever been to this tavern, and he was glad to get his hand stamped and get away from the man, who smelled like fatty meat.
The club was industrial chic with garage-like doors open to the street. He headed upstairs and settled in a dark corner at the end of the bar. He was anxious and not in the mood for stares. He told himself his presence was necessary because Zan had refused to meet him, but his body ached with the need to see her.
As the room filled with people, Barakiel sucked down beer. At one point he spotted Scott at the other end of the bar. The bass player spotted him as well and hastily turned away with his beers in hand.
He’ll tell her.
Sure enough, Zan walked up to him a few minutes later, her eyes bright with anger. Her body seemed lush, as if Barakiel could walk into her and disappear.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. “No one invited you.”
“You ignored my texts.” Barakiel leaned toward her so he wouldn’t have to speak so loudly. He breathed in her scent and listened to her beating heart. “I came to tell you that I have information about the murder of Emanuel Morales. Information that could lead you to the killers.”
“And I told you to call me. You’re supposed to leave me alone.”
“We have much to discuss! Don’t you care that I can help you solve this crime?”
“Maybe you’re full of shit,” she said. “You should leave.”
He had to take care not to shatter the glass of beer in his hand. He wanted to smash every human she’d ever been happy to see.
Don’t you miss me at all? Why are you so cold?
“I will watch the band like everyone else here. I paid my money.”
Zan glared up at him. Her eyes dampened and her pulse quickened. He watched the throbbing vein at the base of her silky neck. He licked his lips.
“You are not like everyone else,” she said. “Now leave. Just fucking leave.”
“I want to see you play.” Barakiel stepped within inches of her. He felt weightless for a moment. “Zan,” he said, the ache in his voice matching the ache in his body. She froze. He knew she wanted to touch him.
Come back to me, my love.
She didn’t touch him. She turned away with a cry and ran off toward the back. He fought the urge to go after her. He pressed his fist into his forehead, hard, trying to get himself under control.
Stupid. Stupid.
By the time Zan made it to the greenroom, she was crying. Scott walked over and hugged her.
“That asshole,” he said. “Are you okay? Christ. Of course, you’re not okay. I’m sorry. That asshole.”
Lifting her head from Scott’s chest, Zan wiped her eyes. Mikey and Jason came over and put their hands on her back. She smiled at them then grabbed a tissue to angrily blow her nose.
“That fucker won’t leave. Oh, god. How am I going to play? The new songs are about him! I can’t play.”
“I never thought Rainer would act like a stalkerish loser,” Scott said, his neck turning scarlet. “I’ll go make him leave. We all will. Right?” He looked at Mikey and Jason. They nodded.
“No, you won’t!” Zan said. “He’s dangerous. Don’t get near him.”
Scott shook his head. “What’s he going to do in a public place, Zan? If he doesn’t leave when we ask, we’ll sic the bouncer on him.”
Zan protested again, but Scott was already out the door, Mikey right behind him. Jason looked at Zan and shrugged. He followed them out.
Barakiel knew he should leave but needed to see her, a need stronger than his pain, stronger than his sense that it was right to leave her alone. The crowd was restless. The band was supposed to be on by now. He spotted the band members coming toward him, pushing through the crowd with angry looks on their faces.
Who do they think they are?
Scott reached him first. The others arranged themselves behind him. Barakiel looked down at them, his mouth curled in a half smile.
“Zan told you to leave,” Scott said. “So that’s what you should do.”
“What business is it of yours?” Barakiel hissed, leaning toward them, his eyes stabbing like icy poniards. All three took a step back. Mikey clutched Scott’s shoulder. Scott’s face drained of color. Barakiel was shocked they were still standing there.
“It, ah, it is our business,” Scott said. “Zan is our friend and you’re upsetting her. She doesn’t want you here. You’re upsetting her.”
These are brave men.
Barakiel closed his eyes. He moved back.
“You’re good friends,” he said as quietly as the space would allow. “She’s lucky to have you. I’ll leave.” He turned and walked toward the stairs. He heard them speaking as he went.
“That man is in a lot of pain,” Mikey said.
“Yeah. Well, so is Zan,” Scott said.
When he got outside, Barakiel walked into an alley down the block and concealed himself.
My shame is not strong enough.
He slipped back into the club through the open garage door, went back upstairs, and slid in between the back wall and the merchandise counter.
I can watch her now, in peace.
At first, the set was all he’d hoped. He fantasized about kissing her, taking her home. The admiration he felt for her washed away his pain. He knew it was temporary. He knew he would feel worse later. He didn’t care.
His happy feeling didn’t even last through the set. When the band reached its fifth song, shame coursed through him. And fear. Terror that he had lost her. That it was real. He slumped against the wall as he watched Zan thrash around on the stage, howling the lyrics.
What can I say?
Who knew I’d spun beyond
A touch so ordinary?
Smile too faint, eyes too dim.
It’s not about you.
You’re just not him.
Angel, fucking devil,
Adonis, avatar
He opened my secrets,
Filled me with lies.
He ruined me.
What can I say?
I’ve worshipped at the altar
Of perpetual light.
Lost my heart, maybe for good.
It’s not about me.
Anyone would.
Angel, fucking devil
Adonis, avatar
He opened my secrets,
Filled me with lies.
He ruined me.
Zan’s voice trailed into softness on the last phrase, as her head rolled back on her neck. She tilted her face to the ceiling, eyes closed, before she attacked her guitar with a violent shudder. The amplifiers screamed with dissonance as her hands commanded the strings. The crowd pushed in. She fell into a trance, playing on, pouring all her pain into a wall of thundering noise. Barakiel would have fallen to the floor if he could. He realized what he had done to her.
I opened her like the sun opens a flower. I had no right.
As he walked to the Travelers Guild Hall, Pellus indulged in his most frequent pastime of late – worrying about Barakiel. The warrior had barely said a word to him on their trip back to the Earthly Realm. Pellus told him he was going to ask Roan, his former apprentice, to help them ascertain the identity of the traitorous traveler. He could barely get Barakiel to acknowledge that he knew who Roan was.
Perhaps if I solve this mystery some of Barakiel’s light will return.
He clung to that hope as he approached the hall. Normally, Pellus felt nothing but pride as he passed its threshold. Citizens still came to gawk at the travelers’ accomplishment.
The guilds tried to outdo each other with their halls. The artisans had constructed an enormous citadel surfaced with intricately carved, braided columns, a paean to strength and diligence. The quickeners had created a hall as sculpture in the form of a beautiful reclining Covalent, their skilled hands able to coax the appearance of sensuous life from cold stone. The home of the Scholar’s Guild appeared as a glittering jumble of logograms from the Covalent language, a tribute to their written works. The healers had opted for a simplicity of light so pure it seemed the doorway to a world free of pain and care.
The travelers had outdone them all. None but they could understand the principles and power behind their hall, which appeared as a fortress of shimmering fire.
The possibility of a traitor within wounds my pride.
Pellus touched the Conduit at the front of the hall, causing the door to appear. When he entered, all the travelers in the reception area bowed to him. He inquired after Roan, who came to join him. They greeted each other warmly.
“I owe you an apology, Roan,” Pellus said, “for missing your induction into the Guild as a navigen traveler. I am doubly sorry that you had to complete your training with someone else because I was stripped of my rank.”
“No need to be sorry, sir. I received your gift, and everyone knows I was your apprentice for most of my training. This has opened many doors to me.”
“Good, good,” Pellus said. “If I may, I would like to discuss a delicate matter with you.”
Roan rubbed the back of his neck. He suggested they go to his chambers, where they would enjoy complete privacy.
Once they were there, the young traveler poured root wine while Pellus took a seat. He admired a table full of large, many-faceted gems in rich shades of blue, green and gold.
“Are these from your thesis project?” Pellus asked.
“Yes, sir. I was able to identify the base commonality in the crystalline structure of all these gems. Now travelers will be able to replicate them more easily.”
“You are navigen now, Roan. Please call me Pellus.”
Roan handed his former teacher a goblet, his face as red as the wine it contained. “Oh no, sir, I couldn’t.”
Suppressing a smile, Pellus thanked Roan for his service to Barakiel during the time he had been forbidden to see the warrior. Then he told him that he needed his help once again. Roan knew that Pellus had been stripped of his rank as an adept, but he didn’t know why. Before he explained, Pellus asked Roan if he was willing to withhold information from the Guild and the Council. He warned him that he could be ejected from the Guild if his activities were discovered.
“I trust you, sir. I am honored to help you.”
Pellus told him everything. About the false monks and their followers, about Zan and the demons, and about their suspicions that a traveler was helping the followers. Roan went pale.
“I cannot imagine a traveler in league with Lucifer,” he said. “We were always so proud that not a single one of us had joined him in his rebellion.”
“Yes. I do not want to believe it either.”
“Poor Barakiel,” Roan said. “What a tragic thing, to love a human.”
‘Indeed, it is.” Pellus stared into his wine for a moment. “Please remember, it is imperative that no one knows about this woman. The Council would have her killed. Balance only knows what Barakiel has told her by now. I cannot control him. You know what Warriors of the Rising are like.”
“They never listen to anyone for long,” Roan said. Pellus thought the young traveler was wise beyond his age.
Roan would enter his time of exploration in a few more phases. His duties would keep him away from the Covalent Realm. Pellus asked him to become involved in as many Guild activities as he could before that time, and to keep his eyes and ears attuned to the unusual. Besides listening to gossip, Pellus suggested he look for unexplained absences or injuries, anything that smelled of guilt.
“Very well, sir. I will be diligent. Not only is it an honor to serve you, but it will make me happy to help Barakiel in any way I can. He was nice to me, and his life has been so difficult.”
“Yes, it has.”
Annoyed by a clutch of noisy agents in the common area, Zan shut the office door.
I can’t even concentrate enough to do this monkey-work.
Rainer had sent her into a tailspin by showing up at her gig. She had wallowed in misery all weekend. Now, she tried to focus on the case study in front of her. Maybe it would help her stop thinking about him. Mel came over close to noon, smiling at her like she was a toddler who’d been stuck with a big needle and was trying to be brave.
“I think you need lunch therapy again. Let’s go to Old City.”
They walked to the restaurant in a slight drizzle, past the wide lawn in front of Independence Hall. When the clock in its tower showed noon, the bell began its mournful tolling. Zan knew it was a recording. The park service didn’t ring the actual bell anymore, afraid the vibrations might harm the tower, more than 250 years old. She looked up at the lonely old bell and the thick clouds that hung behind it, light rain coating her face.
I wish they could ring it again.
The weather had cleared the usual crush of tourists out of the restaurant, so they were able to get a seat by the window. After they ordered, they started talking shop, so absorbed in their conversation they didn’t notice the young man approach until he was right beside the table. He was one of those scruffy, tattooed types who begged on the street, their hungry-looking dogs beside them. Zan always figured they’d go back to their affluent parents when they got the vagabond out of their system. Or the drugs, as the case may be.
“Uh, ma’am,” the kid said. “Sorry to disturb you, but some guy asked me to give this to you.” He tried to hand her a small powder-blue box and a letter.
“What guy?”
As if I don’t know.
“Some huge, blond guy. Please, ma’am. He said he’d give me a hundred bucks, but only if you take it.” Zan immediately began scanning the street.
Unbelievable.
“What the hell is wrong with him?” Mel said.
“Sorry, kid. I’m not taking it,” Zan said. She lifted her bag. “I’ll give you twenty. You give that back to him.”
“Please, ma’am. He really wants you to take it. I’m scared of him. Don’t make me go back and tell him you wouldn’t take it.”
Zan sighed.
Now your intimidating street people, Rainer?
She took the box and the letter. After the kid had gone they sat there staring at the items.
“Well, are you going to open them?” Mel asked.
“Probably some half-assed apology for stalking me at my gig. I need to learn to take this shit in stride, don’t I?”
“If you want to leave it behind you, yes you do.”
Zan opened the box. Inside was a brooch, a spray of cherry blossoms made of colored glass with a cluster of small diamonds at the center of each blossom. Zan stared at it, the blood pounding between her ears.
“I didn’t know pricey jewelry would have this effect on you, Zan,” Mel said. “It is beautiful, though. So delicate.”
“It’s not that, Mel,” Zan said, forcing herself to look at her friend. “The first time Rainer kissed me was under the cherry trees in Fairmount Park. I’d never been kissed like that.” She lowered her eyes. “And now, I never will be again.”
Do not cry, O’Gara. Do not.
“Please, don’t exaggerate. It’s not good for you,” Mel said.
“I wish I was exaggerating.” Zan gazed out the window, not really looking at anything, her voice oddly high. “He had such a gentle touch. He pulled away. To check my reaction, I guess, to be sure I wanted more. I did, of course. The lust must have been gushing out of my pores. When he kissed me again, it was so deep. So hot.”
Zan closed her eyes but opened them a split-second later. She didn’t want to lose it.
“I felt out of control so I pushed him away, but it wasn’t awkward after. He made me laugh. Called me a beautiful guitar goddess. We talked a mile a minute all the way home. Fell right into each other’s groove. That had never happened to me before. God, it made me high.”
Mel stared at her, frowning as if she thought she should say something but had no idea what. Thankfully, the food came to distract them. Zan ate as Mel inspected her.
“What?” Zan asked.
“I have to say, I’m worried about you. You should be getting over this by now. I’ve had girlfriends who went through bad breakups. Some of them were messes. One wouldn't get out of bed for a week. But they were young and stupid and didn’t know who they were. You know who you are. Before you met Rainer you didn’t even care if you had a boyfriend. Now, look at you. It doesn’t even seem like a breakup. More like grief. Like you lost your husband of thirty years.”
“I know, I know,” Zan said. A few tears leaked from her eyes. She wiped them away. “I’ve been through far worse shit in my life.”
But not crazier shit. If you knew the truth you’d commend me for not losing my fucking mind.
After she shoved another forkful of food in her mouth, Zan grabbed the envelope and ripped it open. The letter was written in his hand. She ran her finger over the fine paper, feeling the groove of the cursive.
My love:
I used your refusal to meet with me as an excuse to see your band. I couldn’t find the discipline to stay away, even though I knew I should. I’m sorry. Your friends thought I had left, but I came back. Don’t be angry. I needed to hear your song. It told me something I would not admit to myself. I had no right to ask you to love me when you didn’t know my nature. I took away your choices.
Forgive me.
I will prepare the information regarding your case and have it delivered to you. You can decide if you need to speak with me. Otherwise, I will leave you be.
Please understand that I will love you as long as I have conscious thought.
Rainer
She crumpled the letter and covered her face with her hands, gasping, trying to stop herself from sobbing.
You should have said you don’t love me. That would have been the kind thing.
Concentrating on her breath, Zan tried to empty her mind the way she’d learned in her martial-arts classes.
Breathe in, count one. Breathe out, count two. There is nothing else.
When the threat of tears was over, she resumed eating. Mel waited, chewing.
“He’s given up,” Zan said. “He said he’ll leave me alone.”
“Well, that’s good. He’s hurting you.”
“Yeah, it’s just great.”
“See now, reactions like that confuse me,” Mel said. “You may be furious with him for lying to you, but you’re still hopelessly in love with him.”
Zan sneered as if to say, “Yeah, genius, tell me something I don’t know.”
Mel scowled and leaned forward. “So why don’t you forgive him? You said he’s not a criminal. It’s not another woman. He shouldn’t have lied to you, but like I’ve said before, I have to believe Rainer is a good man.”
“I know you don’t understand, Mel. I’m sorry. I can’t be with him and I can’t tell you why. I have my reasons, but the whole thing’s got me messed up in the head.” Zan forced a smile. “I’ll be all right. I am grieving, but I don’t expect you to get it. Eventually, I’ll come out of it. I just need time.”