Текст книги "The Watcher"

Автор книги: Lisa Voisin

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

“Mom!” I whispered, glancing at Michael to make sure he hadn’t heard her. Even with his hair messy from fighting, he looked more like a movie star at a photo shoot than someone who had just fought off a demon.

Fought a demon! We had a lot to talk about indeed.

Chapter Thirteen

Michael went outside to split some logs while I paced the living room, trying to collect my thoughts. Damiel was a demon. If I hadn’t seen that black smoke around him attack me like something out of a horror movie, I never would have believed it. And what were those weird images? They came in too quickly to make any sense.

Fiona used to say that she would love it if a guy fought for her, but having just been in that position, I could honestly say it was terrifying. Michael could have been hurt. He tried to warn me, but I didn’t listen.

Michael came in with an armful of logs and placed them in front of our old brick fireplace. Crouching on the floor beside them, he grabbed a piece of newspaper and crumpled it in his smooth, strong hands.

I knew his hands when they were callused. How could I know that? Mom told me once that people who experienced psychotic breaks saw things that weren’t really there. Was that what was happening to me?

The light was suddenly too bright. I rubbed my eyes, pressing with my fingers. I didn’t even know where to begin. “This is crazy. Am I hallucinating?” I asked.

“No,” he said.

I kept pacing, the heels of my boots noisy on the oak parquet floors. My thoughts—like a tongue to a broken tooth—kept returning to that small mud-plaster house. Pinkish yellow morning sun filtered through the open doorway. Michael was outside, wearing robes of some kind. He was so tall he had to stoop to come in.

“Why do I keep seeing things? It feels as if I know you, but not from now. Everything’s…” I realized I couldn’t bring myself to explain the way things looked. Nothing made sense. “Different.”

Raking a hand through his hair, he glanced down the hallway to see if my mother was within earshot. Her door was closed, but I could hear the water running for her bath.

“Those are memories,” he said.

Memories? It was one thing to have hallucinations, but to have them confirmed was something else. Visions of him flashed before me, too numerous to track. Darkness and light. Some were present-day—fighting with Damiel. Others seemed to come from another time.

I shook my head, as if I could shake them away. “It’s too unreal.”

His back toward me, he stacked small logs around the paper in the fireplace, making a teepee. “Reality isn’t what you think.”

“I don’t know what to believe. It seems like a different life.”

“It was a long time ago,” he said.

“What do you mean a long time ago? How long?” I pressed.

Michael struck a match and held it to the paper. Flames licked yesterday’s front-page news, consuming a scrunched color photo of the Space Needle. “You tell me.”

I closed my eyes to hold onto what I was seeing. It was before the Roman Empire, before the Chinese Dynasties, even before Mesopotamia, but try as I might I couldn’t register how long ago it was. My mind spun. I’d been fascinated with ancient cultures most of my life, only to find out that I’d lived in one. I had been there.

Buzzing like I’d had too much coffee, I collapsed on the couch. “How can that be? Both of us remembering that far back? It’s impossible.”

“No, not impossible,” he said. “Improbable. There’s nothing left of that time, no artifacts, no written records. Everything it once was has washed into the sea. People can’t remember their past lives that far back. If Damiel hadn’t tried to dislodge your memory from this life and throw it back into that one—”

“Damiel did what?” I scowled at him.

“I stopped him.”

“Michael. Tell me what’s going on!”

Sighing, he blew the flames until one of the logs caught. The light from the fire cast an orange shine in his hair. “I’ve been given another chance.”

“Another chance for what?”

The air around us grew still and cold and the fire gave off too little heat. I shivered.

Michael got up and sat on the couch beside me. Resting his elbows on his knees, he tented his fingertips together; they were gray from the newsprint.

“I’d been sent to watch,” he said. “I saw many things over the years and at first I thought all there was to this world was sickness, brutality, and death.”

His skin drew a little tighter to the bone and filled with golden light, as though he shone from within. “But one day I saw you…and you were the most beautiful thing…” Heat rushed through my chest: he’d called me beautiful. “I became obsessed, neglecting my duties to watch you each day…preparing food, gathering flowers to make dyes for the fabric you wove.”

Goose bumps formed on my arms and tickled the back of my neck as he spoke. What he was saying had to be true. I’d never told him about the loom. How else could he have known?

“I wanted to be with you. Wanted you to see me,” he continued. “Even though so many of the others had fallen before me, I thought this was different, that I was different. That letting you see me would be enough…”

An image of a meadow came to me. Yellow sunlight streamed through bright spring leaves, bathing everything in dappled light. Michael stood there, wearing the robes I’d seen him in before.

“One day, I appeared. You weren’t much older than you are now.”

I stayed with the image. Behind Michael were wings—actual wings—the same ones I’d dreamt of. Had I been dreaming of him? As the goose bumps on my arms spread all the way down to my feet, I remembered how peaceful, how good being near him felt—much as it did now.

“You had wings.”

“Your mother had died. You asked me to stay in the meadow to keep you company. An angel’s duties.”

“You’re an…” I couldn’t say the word. But it explained so many things: the flashes of light that day in the woods, the way he seemed to glow, his unearthly beauty.

“It was forbidden for us to mate with humans.”

A tendril of sadness wove itself around my heart. What we felt was forbidden?

“Other Watchers started to see I was in trouble, told me to get reassigned. I should have left you alone… Instead, I came to you often.”

I remembered returning to the meadow to wait for him, the late afternoon sun dancing through the leaves.

“Even this lifetime, when I first saw you…It’s like I’m being forced to choose again, between Heaven and being with you.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Don’t be,” he snapped, then quickly composed himself. “Being with you back then made this world bearable for me.”

I could hardly believe what I was hearing. Happy tears welled behind my eyes. I blinked them back, smiling at him.

“Don’t look at me that way,” he said, frowning at me. “You wanted an angel’s presence. I was consumed by lust. What I became, what I did…”

Memories sped through my mind faster than I could catch them, dizzying me—one of Michael kneeling on the sun-baked grass, holding and kissing my hands. I gasped from the force of the memory. “You loved me.”

He took both my hands in his now, gripping them as a palpable anger flashed through him. “No, I became obsessed. What I did was wrong.” Sighing, his grip lightened as he let my hands go. “But you loved me anyway, believing for the rest of your life that you had seduced an angel. When it was all along the angel who had seduced you.”

Not sure what to say, I didn’t speak, taking it all in. All I could remember was the love.

“I can’t do that again,” he said, standing.

“You won’t.”

He knelt in front of the fireplace. One of the logs had fallen in the fire he’d built, its embers glowing beneath the flames. Poker in hand, he stabbed at it and clusters of hot, angry sparks gasped up the chimney. “You don’t know—”

“You asked me to trust you.” I couldn’t understand why he was warning me against him, after everything he’d done to help. “And I do.”

“That’s different.”

Was it? I didn’t see how. As crazy as it all sounded, I believed everything he was telling me. I even remembered some of it, and the memories I had were good ones. Though I was curious about everything—how we lived, what it was like, and especially what he’d done—I couldn’t bring myself to ask. Not yet. It didn’t seem right to mistrust him for something he did thousands of years ago, in a different life. Something I didn’t even remember. How was it relevant?

“It was a long time ago,” I said.

Putting down the fire poker, he closed the screen. “I hurt you.”

I joined him by the spitting fire and knelt beside him. “That doesn’t mean you will again.”

Exhaling sharply, he leaned his head into one of his hands and covered his eyes. As I watched him struggle with his conscience over his past, a tightness gripped my chest. Without thinking, I touched the back of his head, stroking his hair, and it felt natural, as though I’d done it many times before. He sighed as his shoulders visibly relaxed. Squeezing my hand, he moved it to his lips and kissed it, palm up, before taking it in his.

The heat of his mouth lingered on my hand. When he looked up at me, his eyes were soft and unfocused.

“Thank you,” he said, and a sense of peace washed over the room.

Chapter Fourteen

Once the fire died down, Michael admitted he was starving and we headed out in his car for a bite. When he turned on the ignition, a loud, moody guitar riff blared through the speakers. I recognized the melody, the steady beat. It was by a local indie band, but their name escaped me. The song itself was about love.

Noticing my smirk, he asked, “What?”

“This is the kind of music angels listen to? I always wondered.”

He laughed, a warm inviting sound that curled itself around my insides. “Expecting harp music? No, wait. Gregorian chants.”

“Yeah. Something like that.” I laughed too, happy for the distraction. “But this is way better.”

I leaned back and let the music flow through me as he drove along the tree-lined side streets. Lights from the houses and streetlamps flickered through the leaves, so bright they hurt my eyes. I took a deep breath to relax, but my mind was sprinting. Even as a kid, I’d wanted to become an archaeologist so I could discover ancient civilizations, and here I was remembering one. Instead of artifacts, I had memories, fragments of a story. I could have just as easily been remembering a dream.

“Have you been alive all this time? You know, since…?” I tried to fathom the idea of being immortal.

He glanced at me before returning his attention to the road. “No. I was born into this body, but it wasn’t until the accident that I got a chance to come back.”

“How does that work? Is it like being possessed?”

“Possession implies there’s no choice, an invasion by something evil.” He pulled the car onto the West Seattle Bridge, overlooking downtown and the Port of Seattle where cranes, lit like sentinels, watched over shipyards below. “This is different. When I came into this life, I thought I was human. The best way to describe it would be to say my soul was some kind of sleeper soul. It wasn’t until I had the accident and died that I was reactivated, returned to duty.”

The hairs on my neck prickled. “Is that…reincarnation?”

He shook his head. “This is my first time in a human form. I’m not strong enough to exist here without one anymore.”

“Was it strange? Going from thinking you were human to…” I stopped myself. How couldn’t it have been strange? It was like asking if water was wet.

“It’s like not knowing you had another limb until it grows back. Then you know what it was and how to use it.”

He turned the car along Alaskan Way and parked near the waterfront. City lights sparkled and danced off the water. Thick gray clouds covered the sky, except around the moon which had managed to peek through and light up the rippling waves.

“Why are you back now? After all this time?” I asked as we got out of the car. The sea air smelled of kelp and creosote from the docks, and its dampness made my skin tingle.

“I was in…recovery. Time doesn’t exist the way it does here. I had no idea where or when I’d be assigned, but I knew eventually I’d have to come back.”

“What for?”

He gazed out over the water and the wind caught his voice, making it almost inaudible. “To face you.”

We crossed the street and headed to a Mexican restaurant nearby. When he opened the door, the warm smell of fresh salsa, chilies, and herbs washed over us, making my mouth water. The fluorescent lights were so bright I had to squint to read the menu on the wall. Even then, the words swirled as though I were drunk. I drew in a deep breath to steady myself. Michael touched my arm, standing so close to me I could smell the sweetness of his skin mixed with the scent of fresh lime that hung in the air. In that moment he seemed very real, very human, and very sexy.

A man working alone behind the counter took our order and offered to bring it to our table. We sat by the window. Michael held my chair for me, and even though it was casual we were definitely out together, like a date. I should have felt guilty about going out with someone else’s boyfriend, but I didn’t. Being with him seemed right.

My cell phone rang, startling me. I fished it out of my purse and saw Heather’s number. Immediately thinking it was about Fiona, I answered. “Is everything okay?”

“You asked me to call you, remember?” said Heather. With everything that had happened, I’d forgotten. “I know I’m late, but I figured you were doing fine.”

I checked the time. It was 8:45. So much for my plan to use a phone call to escape Damiel. If Michael hadn’t arrived, I could have been dead by now. “Everything’s okay.”

“Have fun,” she said and hung up.

I didn’t realize how hungry I was until there was food in front of me. Before I knew it, I’d wolfed down a large bean burrito. As Michael chewed, the bright fluorescents revealed a tiny scar at the hinge of his jaw, a flaw that didn’t detract from his looks but enhanced them.

“How’d you get the scar?” I asked, gesturing at it.

“Oh, that.” The corners of his mouth pulled into a wide grin and the scar crinkled slightly. “I’ve had it since I was six. Thought I’d try shaving one day. Took my dad’s straight razor, but forgot to use shaving cream.”

I wasn’t sure if it was the idea of him being six or the idea of an angel with a shaving nick, but it made me want to laugh. I stifled it—poorly.

He swallowed a bite of his food, noticing my expression. “What?”

“Sure. Demons can’t hurt you, but shaving?”

“What makes you think demons can’t hurt me?” He took another bite of his taco.

Of course they could. But if they could hurt him, I didn’t want to think about they would do to me.

I scooped some guacamole with a tortilla chip. “You mentioned something before about other Watchers. What are they?”

“Grigori. It’s the order of angels I belonged to.”

“Not anymore?”

He chewed thoughtfully. “You could say I’m in rehab.”

“Rehab? Like AA—only Angels Anonymous?”

He shook his head despairingly at my joke. “What else would you call it? Coming back to this world to live a human life.” He lowered his voice. “While I try to be an angel again.”

“Slumming?”

“There are worse places.”

“Than high school?”

That made him laugh. “Okay, maybe not.”

***

He picked up the tab for dinner despite my protests, and we made our way to the door as the restaurant filled with a later crowd. Not wanting our evening to be over yet, I lingered on the way out. His hand brushed my lower back to guide me and a tingle ran all the way down my legs.

Still warm from his touch, I didn’t notice the cold sea air until we stepped outside and it cut through my clothes. I’d dressed for fashion, not warmth. Michael took off his jacket and draped it over my shoulders; it was warm and smelled of lightning and grass after it rains.

“Where to now?” I asked, hoping he wouldn’t say home.

“It’s too cold for a walk.” His breath formed clouds of steam as he spoke.

“I’m okay if you are.”

He guided me a few short blocks to the waterfront and piers. The tourist shops were closed now, but there was a well-lit path that led to the docks. Nearby, a group of young guys practiced tricks on their skateboards while a busker put away his guitar. Though it wasn’t a dangerous area at night, it was close enough to some of the seedier areas downtown that I wouldn’t have gone there alone.

We approached a long boardwalk lit by globe lights, our steps rhythmic on the wood below. “Damiel called you ‘brother’ earlier.”

“That’s what Grigori call each other.”

“He’s a Grigori, too?”

Michael slowed his pace. Sadness tightened the hollows of his eyes and reminded me that this being standing beside me—half-human, half-angel—was truly ancient. “He was. Before he fell.”

“You said he was a demon. How can he be a Grigori like you and a demon now?”

“He’s not like me,” he said so quickly I was afraid I’d upset him. He took a deep breath. “When you’re one of us, you don’t just fall and that’s it. Falling is a constant, endless thing. At first you feel the same, only you’re alone—no longer connected. But then the other voices start.”

He spoke about the voices as if he’d experienced them first-hand. The idea chilled me. “What kind of voices?”

“Dark voices,” he said. “If you give in and side with them, you keep falling, which is what Damiel did.”

“What about Hell?”

“Hell is just a place. Demons that are strong enough come and go at will so they can hurt people.”

He spoke of Hell as though he knew it. Had he been there? Would Damiel be back? I wanted to ask him so much more, but the hurt and warning in his eyes had me deciding against it.

We stopped on the dock. Across the harbor, tiny lights from the streets and houses speckled the islands of Puget Sound. The ferry leaving Colman Pier sounded its horn.

Michael rested his hand on the railing, and I became very aware of his presence beside me: the deep slow sound of his breathing, the closeness of his body, and all the barriers between us. I reached for him, gently touching the backs of his fingers. As I did, I felt an electric current that made me want to pull him toward me. Afraid of the intensity of that impulse, I backed away.

Closing his eyes, he exhaled. Though he didn’t move, everything around him seemed to come alive. Light radiated from his body, its outer edge shimmering with golden white sparkles. Trying to touch the light, I reached out. It moved around my hand like phosphorescence in the night sea and tingled like warm soda bubbles on my skin.

Michael turned to me at that moment, unfocused, as though returning from somewhere far away.

“There’s something around you,” I explained. “Gold and white flashes.”

He smiled self-consciously and the light around him flared brighter. “You can see that?”

“What is it?”

“My halo.”

“All the way around your body?” I asked, thinking of those old paintings of angels with their golden rings of light. They didn’t even come close to what a real halo was.

“It used to go much further.”

“I saw you that day I went to the hospital,” I said, recalling the girl who’d been stabbed. “Then you were gone.”

He leaned his elbows on the railing. “We’re often invisible when we’re working, but you’ve always seen me.”

“And with Fiona?”

He shrugged. “Going to the dentist freaks her out, and she’s not the best driver when she’s distracted.”

I smiled at that. Fiona was always getting caught up in the conversation, forgetting to look at the road, and she did have an appointment that day. He was trying to calm her down so she wouldn’t have an accident along the way.

“Angels do that?”

“She’s your friend,” he said.

He closed his eyes again, and his halo flared and hummed around him. Stiffening, Michael said, “We should go.”

“What is it?”

“I’m on duty tonight.”

“On duty? What does that mean?”

He led us down the boardwalk. “The Grigori still watch over people, keep things safe.”

“Safe from what?” I swallowed nervously.

“Things you shouldn’t know about.”

“I’m not a child, Michael,” I snapped.

My reaction rolled off him. “I never said you were.”

We turned down the street that his car was on, and I recalled that first day I’d seen him in the park. And the pieces started to come together. “That shadowy dog—you saw it, didn’t you?”

He gave me a wary look.

“I asked and you… You let me think I was crazy!”

“I was trying to protect you. You’re not supposed to see these things. They sense fear; they live on it. The more afraid you are, the more they can materialize. They’ll drain your life force until you pass out.”

“That old man! Is that what happened?”

He nodded. “After that, you’re just meat.”

“It was going to eat him?” Bile rose to my throat over the thought of being eaten alive, but I fought it back. “What the hell was it?”

“A hellhound,” he muttered. “Scouts. Damiel sent several of them to find you.”

“He did?” I shuddered at the idea of Damiel looking for me. “You were watching me even then?”

“I only knew there was danger. I didn’t know I would see you.”

Approaching his car, he clicked the remote and the doors unlocked. Within seconds, he was opening my door.

“What about that day I sprained my ankle?” I asked.

“Then too.”

Partway through the ride home, my mind overloaded itself and shut off, and an easy silence grew between us. Though sometimes obscured by passing streetlamps, the light around Michael still glowed. His halo burned beside me, brushing and tingling my skin.

“You’ve been through a lot tonight,” he said. “You ought to sleep. It’ll help you process.”

His sweatshirt draped open at the neck, exposing the edges of his collarbones and the dip in his throat where they met. Despite everything I’d been through, all I could think about was planting kisses there. Clearly, sleep was the last thing on my mind.

Catching my gaze, his face became shadowed. “Arielle said we should keep an eye on you.”

“Arielle?” I asked. At the mention of her name, I had a twinge of envy.

“Sure. We work together.”

So Arielle was a Grigori too. That explained a lot: her otherworldly beauty, the flickering lights that day in the café, and even the way the shadows—hellhounds—disappeared. “She’s not your girlfriend?”

“No,” he said, scrunching his nose. “It’s not like that.”

A knot in my chest relaxed. It had formed the moment I first saw them together at the movie theatre, but I’d become so used to the feeling I’d forgotten it was there.

Next thing I knew he was outside the car, opening my door. As I got out, I accidentally brushed his arm, and the draw to be near him was so strong I had to lean back against the metal to steady myself. Then, as if in answer to a silent prayer, he wrapped his arms around me and closed the distance between us.

Pressing his lips to the crown of my head, he breathed the words “I missed you” into my hair, softly, as though it were a secret that only I was meant to hear. Then, letting his arms drop, he stepped away.

All the lights were on when I got in the door and the house smelled of pine cleaner. Mom scrubbed the kitchen counter with the TV on, trying not to look like she was waiting up for me. From the looks of it, she’d cleaned the whole house.

She greeted me cheerfully, focused on removing a spot from the counter. “Did you have fun?”

“Yeah,” I said, trying to be understated. She seemed different to me now, still my mom, and yet not the same. Perhaps I was the one who had changed.

Realizing I was still wearing Michael’s jacket, I hung it up in the hall closet before she could notice.

“He likes you,” she commented.

“Mom,” I said. “So not ready to talk about it.” And I didn’t just mean my date. The things Michael told me—that I remembered—shook me. I’d lived another lifetime before.

Mom didn’t let up. “There’s something really good about him.”

I stifled a wry smile. “Angelic, even?” If she only knew!

“No, honey. Men are never angels,” she said sagely. “Besides, it’s the devil in them that we love.”

Before she could ask any more questions, I kissed her goodnight and went to my room just so I could be alone. I doubted I’d be able to sleep. Every idea I had about my world was being challenged. Demons were real and came here to hurt people. The strange creature that chased me that morning in the park was a hellhound, and Damiel—who was a demon—had sent it to find me. Michael was a Grigori—an angel—albeit in rehab, and I’d shared a life with him thousands of years ago.

As soon as I closed my eyes, memories of the night flooded my mind with dizzying speed: Damiel at my door surrounded by black sooty shadows, Michael fighting him with the blue sword in his hand. I wanted to know more about the past, who I was back then, what had happened to me. To us. Had I lived other lifetimes since? But no matter how hard I tried, my present-day memories wouldn’t give way.

An hour later I lay in bed still awake, shivering. It wasn’t from the cold, because I’d already cranked the heat up and covered myself with every blanket in the house. The only thing that helped was thinking about Michael. I remembered the warmth of his arms around me as he hugged me goodbye, and a flush of restlessness flowed through me.

With Mom now in bed, the house was quiet and still. I crept out of my room to the hall closet and retrieved his jacket. I got back into bed and laid it beside me, enjoying the comfort of its smell. This time when I closed my eyes, I remembered the feel of his arms around me, the sound of his beating heart, and with these memories I relaxed easily into a deep sleep.

***

I awoke well-rested. Sunlight streamed through my bedroom curtains, filling my room with a peaceful, warm glow. My phone was crammed with text messages from both Heather and Fiona, asking how my date went. I replied with a quick Good—I’ll tell you later which must have had them thinking Damiel was still around. But I couldn’t explain his disappearance, or even the fact that he was a demon. When I got out of bed, Mom had already made a pancake breakfast, so we ate together in front of the TV. Mercifully, she was focused on getting ready for a mid-shift at the hospital and didn’t ask about my date.

Shortly after she left for work, Bill called my cell.

“Hey,” he said. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I tried calling and all I got was static. Then I called back and some guy answered.”

“Just now?” I asked, sitting on the couch. “I’ve been here the whole time.”

“Yeah. Said he was expecting you.”

I shivered in spite of myself. “Weird. What else did he say?”

“Nothing. The line cut out, so I called back and got you.”

For a brief moment, I wondered what it could have been. Was it just a wrong number or something else? But Bill changed the subject. “You know that guy you asked me about…”

My throat constricted. With everything that had been going on, I’d completely forgotten. “Damiel?”

“Yeah. I checked him out. He’s got no birth records, no school records. There aren’t even any death records for him. This guy is totally off the grid. Technically, he doesn’t exist.”

Of course he didn’t exist. He was a demon. A wave of panic pushed at me, but I fought to stay calm. “Wow,” I said. “You checked all that?”

“Yeah, of course.”

What if Damiel knew Bill was looking into him? I didn’t know all he was capable of, but I knew he was dangerous. “Can anyone tell that you did all that? I mean, you won’t get caught, will you?”

“Gee, paranoid much? Shouldn’t I be the one worrying about you?” I could hear the tapping of his fingers on the keyboard. Always multitasking. “Who is this guy?”

“Nobody. Forget about him.” The idea of Damiel getting anywhere near Bill terrified me. “Please?”

Bill stopped typing and when he spoke, he sounded worried. “Hey. He’s not bothering you, is he?”

“No,” I lied. “I’m fine.”

“Stay away from this guy, Mia. I mean it. He sounds like a scumbag.”

If he only knew. “I will,” I said. “I promise.”

A few minutes after Bill and I hung up, the doorbell rang, startling me. Still a little creeped out from my conversation about Damiel, I peeked out the kitchen window and saw Michael.

“Hi,” I said. Rushing to open the door and hug him, I buried my face against his chest and felt the softness of his light gray sweater against my cheek.

“Hey.” Caught off guard, he chuckled, but his body was stiff as he put an arm around me. Was he nervous? “I thought we could finish that walk we started last night. While the rain holds off.”