Angel Dreams (An Angel Falls Book 2) Read online

  I find the bathroom almost immediately on my right. It’s small, and clean, and very bachelor-esque. There’s no decorations, one towel on the bar, and smells of cedar scented soap. After I finish with the necessities and wash my hands, I don’t return to my cot. I head down the short hallway passed a closed door and into the living room and kitchen.

  Jared is asleep on the couch like Chris said. He’s curled up on his side with his back pressed to the couch cushions. His long legs are bent and his knees hang off the front. A lock of his hair has escaped from his ponytail and hangs down over his face. I want to brush it back for him, but not at the risk of waking him up. My brother is an angel. He’s an annoying, beautiful, frustrating, charismatic, pot-smoking angel. What would have happened to me if he hadn’t forced me to leave Corrine and Travis’s house? The answer is unimaginable. Thank you, brother. I owe you. I turn and leave the room, letting Jared get some rest. His night was almost as awful as mine. Almost.

  Angels and she-demons? Really? What is happening to my summer? My life?

  At the back of the house, I take a look at my small canvas cot. An icy shiver crawls over my skin starting along my spine and then working around to cover my entire body. My eyes shut involuntarily. I want to believe all the images swimming around inside my head from yesterday and last night are just from a vivid dream, but I know it was all real. That thing, the evil soul-sucking succubus, had attacked me and wedged itself into my life. It had control over my body, and most of my mind, and it was planning to stay for a long time. Chris and his pals had forced it to leave. Actually, it was more like they had made my body so completely uninhabitable that she found the one spot — somewhere underneath my bellybutton — which wasn’t quite so painful for her, and then Chris gave her a way out. Lifting my shirt, I peer down at my stomach. Last night I was sure I had been bitten by a rattlesnake, but if I had, then I would not be standing here right now. A smear of the same gritty charcoal is just above my bellybutton. Rubbing the black smudge away, I do see two tiny puncture marks. I push my shirt back down and look up. All the blood in my head drains and must be pooling somewhere near my big toes because I suddenly feel like I’m going to fall over.

  Reaching for the nearest solid object, my hands grab the back of a chair. I bend forward and rest my forehead on the back of my arms. Breathe, I tell myself and force the air to move in and out. Right now, you’re okay. Keep breathing. There’s no snake, and you’re not possessed. Jared is in the other room and you’re going to be all right. When I run out of reassurances and realize my arms are beginning to tingle from the circulation being cut off, I very slowly raise my head.

  The tall cabinets, rough plank shelves, and workbenches are all neatly organized and very Chris Abeyta. There are various tools around the room, and lots of jars and pots. Some are empty, but most are filled with anything from screws and nails to beads or dried plants. On the largest workbench is the wing of a large bird, wood stems, chunks of carving stone, and a bunch of wilting green leaves. More jars line the back of the workbench. Furs, bones, feathers, and drying plants hang from pegs on the walls. I recognize the braids of sweet grass and bunches of artemisia and maybe a few others, but my brain doesn’t want to focus on plants. It feels too much like work right now. The sunroom looks like the workshop of someone who likes to dismember nature.

  My eyes are continually drawn to the world outside. The south and west facing walls, from the waist up, are almost entirely square panes of glass.

  The sudden urge to be outside is startling. I need air and sun more than anything I can ever remember needing. Chris said to eat the food today, but he didn’t say to stay inside. I notice the small plate of food I’m supposed to eat. I frown at it. After not eating for such a long time, I’m not sure I’m capable. I sidle around the chair and pick up the large brown fur that has been my cot companion, and for some unknown reason, I wrap it around my shoulders. Before stepping out the back door, I pick up the plate of food. Maybe it will be more appealing outside.

  On Chris’s back patio, I settle into a chair and make a nest for myself. The evening sun shines through a break in the trees. It warms my face and hair and provides me with a kind of nourishment all its own. After drinking in the light, I force myself to try the food in front of me and then remember after a couple of bites, to express gratitude for the sustenance. At first, the act of chewing feels foreign to me, like I had forgotten the most basic act of survival, but after my saliva glands begin to work again, my stomach is more than appreciative for the food. To my surprise, I eat every morsel of the simple food, including the meat which I almost never eat, and catch myself staring at the empty plate. Thank you for the wonderful food, I say internally. May it keep me healthy and strong. And, thank you Chris for providing the meal. And thank you for everything you’ve done. Emotions swell up inside me as the enormity of what Chris has accomplished rises up afresh. He forced a succubus out of me and saved my life. At the least, he saved me from a life I wouldn’t want to live.

  The she-demon’s possession of me was more horrifying than there are words to describe it. I could feel everything she felt, and desired. And what she most desired was lust, and greed, and domination. She had absolutely no conscience. That part of its personality is strangely exhilarating — which is terrifying. I got to experience total self-absorption, and to act on it in the most inappropriate ways. Holy crap! What have I done? The memories from my night at the Edge are clear, and foggy, in my mind. Even though she was controlling my body, I remember almost everything. But there are blank spots, breaks in the conversation, and empty voids, like missing pictures in my memory. I would have to guess the cause of this is because of the hash I smoked, but I’m not sure that is the only reason I can’t remember everything. I’m also fairly certain the hash was laced with some unknown substance. Extremely potent is describing it mildly. No one, except my brother and Chris, will know it wasn’t really me dancing on the table and kissing those guys. And after we left... Oh jeez, after we left the nightclub, I… I was totally ripped. Jared’s friend? I don’t even know him. What did I do? No. What did I try to do? Breathe, Jules. She’s gone now. That’s all that matters. Chris pulled her out of my body and burned her in the fire. I must move forward and let the past be behind me. It would be great advice, if I could listen to myself and actually believe it.

  This experience has created a shift in a corner of my mind and I’m afraid I won’t come all the way back from it. She did things with my body I would never have done and some things can’t be taken back.

  A depressing sadness adds to all the other emotions swirling around in my mind and body. I blink hard a few times realizing I’ve been staring at the empty plate in my lap for a long time. Reaching over from my chair, I place the dish on a table and then lean my head back against the chair. The openness of the sky overhead makes me want to escape into it and sail away on the next passing cloud. Only there are no clouds.

  I will never be able to face Nathaniel again, not after what I’ve done. What kind of girlfriend am I?

  Wait!

  Where is he? Why haven’t I seen him? And how long has he been gone? My brain twists and turns and wrings itself out trying to figure out how long it’s been since Nathaniel left me in my kitchen. Think, Jules. But time is an enigma to me right now. I can’t grasp exactly how long it’s been. Oh Mother, what if he didn’t survive from his injury? Here I am pitying myself, and he may not be alive. I mean he’s not alive anyway, but he’s not here either. My eyes close. Now I can’t even face the sky. Then I find that even the inner darkness behind my eyelids is unbearable. I force the tears to keep away. I hate crying and God knows I’ve done enough of it lately.

  But why? What was I bawling about yesterday? The lack of control was one thing, but there was something else. I can feel the truth of it. Something else had me wracked with misery and sobbing until I couldn’t cry even one more tear. The memories I want to retrieve are as elusive as catching starlight. The succubus controlling m
e must have had something to do with it, I decide, as regret, shame, and an emptiness, which I cannot justify, take hold of me and won’t let up. To my utter dismay, my eyes start to leak from the corners. I wipe away the evidence with the back of my hand and then shake my head from side to side. Sitting straight up in the chair, I open my eyes and face my reality. It’s what people do, right?

  I have a visitor. I shut my eyes again and turn my head away. My hair falls over part of my face. Why do things like this have to be a part of my reality? I take a deep breath, not wanting to deal right now, but of course I will. What choice do I have? Sometimes, life really blows.

  He sits on a bench to my left, near the edge of the patio. His ankles are crossed and his large hands are clasped loosely in his lap. He’s not really staring at me, I don’t think. It looks more like he’s watching the cabin. Multiple things about him make the hair on the back of my neck bristle with alarm. It should be his size. He could easily be considered a giant in some countries, but that isn’t it. I’m used to being around really tall males, just look at my brother. Nope, what worries me about this man is that he isn’t alive. Well, I should clarify. He probably is alive in some way. But, I would bet money if I were to throw a rock at him, it would pass right on through, like he wasn’t there at all.

  “Hey,” I say.

  Maybe if I take a direct approach with the members of the mystical world, it won’t be as terrifying. Nathaniel isn’t scary after all, I remind myself. I reach over, tightening the fur robe around my shoulders.

  “Hello, Jules,” he says. His eyebrows rise a tiny bit and he turns his massive dreadlock covered head my way.

  Wow, deep voice, a part of my brain acknowledges, even before I realize a millisecond later that he knows me by name. Lovely, he knows who I am. When in need, I find sarcasm becomes a trusty old friend. “Since you know who I am, may I ask who you are?” With some success, I think I’m controlling the shake in my voice. What is he doing here?

  “Ah. I am a friend, and it is my pleasure.” His bright and lively brown eyes close in a slow blink as he gives me the slightest bow. “I was told you can see us. You did not say anything to me the other night so I was uncertain, but now I see it is true. Did you know your kind are very unusual?”

  “Yeah, I know,” I say flatly. I want to ask him who told him I see ‘things,’ and what does he mean by the other night, but I don’t. If I learned anything about dealing with beings of unknown origin, such as she-demons, it is to be overly cautious.

  Chris once told me, one way I could tell whether or not I was seeing a real person, or a dead one, was that the dead don’t have an aura. This is how I knew the man on the patio with me is not made of flesh and blood, no aura. Although as I continue to stare at him, he does have an energy field of sorts, but it’s not human, more like Nathaniel’s. The realization startles me further. His glow resembles Nathaniel’s. He’s an Angel of Death, my brain informs me. The field of light around his body — or rather where his body should be — is mostly clear, but radiant, and if I had to give a name to the color it would simply be white with a hint of gold. People, living people that is, have energy fields full of different colors. He definitely looks different than a “normal” person. I press my back hard against the chair, instinctively trying to get away from him, if only by an inch. If he’s here now, does that mean he’s here for me? Did getting possessed by a succubus cause more damage than Chris could repair? I feel awful. Could I be dying?

  “What are you doing here?” I manage to say.

  “I’m gonna ask your forgiveness for not answerin’. At least not yet. You should be resting. Last night was taxing, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, it was,” I say. “But why would you care if I’m well rested?”

  “Believe it or not, I’m hanging around to ease suffering, not cause it.”

  “Is there any way I can make you leave?” I ask. When I first met Nathaniel, he thought he was assigned to escort me to the afterlife. That my life was ending after nineteen and a half years. He actually tried to keep me alive, which he wasn’t supposed to do. In the end however, he made a huge mistake and another girl, Ashley Johnson, had died. “Oh my god,” I blurt out.

  The Angel of Death, sitting nonchalantly on the bench, gives me a questioning look at my outburst.

  “I’ve seen you before,” I say. “The night Ashley Johnson had a seizure, by the Spring of Souls.”

  “I know.”

  “But I didn’t know what you were at the time.” I wonder if I should just walk away and see how far I can get. He has to be here for me. Why else would he be here?

  He frowns. The change that transforms his easy going features to one of anger and frustration is phenomenal and a little spike of fear clenches my insides.

  “No, no. I don’t mean to frighten you. That night upsets me still. I have not lost a client in over a century. It’s distressing and I’m not used to being helpless.”

  Swallowing his statements takes some effort but I manage, and then say, “We helped her.” He blinks at me a couple of times so I make an attempt to explain. “She, or her soul, I don’t really understand it all, but Chris and I went back to the Spring of Souls at Castle Hill, and I saw her leave this world. It was…well, I don’t really have the words, but it felt right.”

  “You? And the shaman man? Released her soul. Really? Well, that lightens me. I thank you. Your shaman is something special. A good soul is what he is.”

  The angel’s facial features soften to his previous look of good natured humor.

  “Wait a second,” I say as the wheels in my mind continue to turn with vigor. “You were assigned to Ashley? Do people usually have two angels when they die?” I was under the impression Nathaniel was hanging around to help Ashley after she passed. Nathaniel and Ashley were both by Forge Creek when we first met and then again at Castle Hill.

  “What?” he asks. One of his large hands rubs at his chin as he contemplates what I just asked. “Two of us? No. On occasion, we will assist each other if we need to.”

  “So you came because Nathaniel was a little distracted and not paying close enough attention to Ashley?” I ask trying to sort this all out in my mind.

  He looks mildly confused as he attempts to answer me. “Ashley, no. Ashley’s death was sudden. I often get the harder cases because I have more experience. Sudden changes in fate can be more difficult. For the deceased, but also for the families.”

  His answer sinks in slowly as if the workings inside of my head are trying to operate in a pool of quicksand. My next words come out rather slowly. “Are you telling me Nathaniel was not assigned to Ashley Johnson?”

  “That’s correct. I was. Now I’m here to take care of someone else.”

  My head drops and I stare down into my lap, breaking eye contact with this angelic being. My fingers rub at my temples as if massaging my brain will help me process better. I try to make sense of what he has told me. “Someone else?” I ask tentatively.

  “Mmmh-hmm,” he answers simply.

  The brain massage isn’t working. I look over at him expecting a pointed look to confirm my suspicions that I’m near to death, but he’s no longer looking at me. He’s staring at the sky, or Chris’s cabin, or who knows what. His large fingers absently scratch at his stomach over his linen shirt.

  Nathaniel wasn’t Ashley’s escort to the afterlife. Then what was he doing there? He said it wasn’t me, so he either lied, or he’s not telling me something. Either way, he’s a liar. That’s impossible. Part of me immediately starts to argue. I would know. I’m never wrong about people. Nathaniel is a true and honest guy if I’ve ever met one. He’s almost too easy for me to interpret. He’s also moody, intense, and overprotective, but I accept that about him. Nathaniel is the most straightforward and sincere person I know. I would bet my life on it, or would I? What was he planning to do? Continue to save me from my death so he could sneak in a kiss here and there? Rescue me from danger and illness until I became an old lady? The
idea is ludicrous. Something is wrong. What am I missing?

  Nathaniel neglected to tell me something, and that makes him a liar. If he loves me, like he proclaims, then he would have told me. Is this the end then? I can’t be with someone who can’t tell me the truth. If there is no honesty in a relationship, there’s no relationship. And where is Nathaniel? Do I even want to see him again? The growing pain in my heart tells me some piece of me isn’t ready to walk away from this relationship.

  “Are you hangin’ in there alright?” my strange visitor asks.

  “Huh?” I say stupidly. At first, I think he’s some kind of mind reader like Chris, but then I shake myself.

  “You’ve been through an ordeal like no other these last couple of days. I’m asking if you’re handling it okay.”

  The snarky reply is out of my mouth before I can stop it. “Is this your way of preparing someone for death, because I have to tell you, it’s more than a little strange. I would think you would try to give me a heads up about what’s coming, and to ‘follow the light,’ all that kind of woo-woo crap. I mean, if I’m dead, what does it matter?”

  Confusion crosses his broad face and then is replaced by a look I can’t read. Then quite unexpectedly, his mouth spreads into a wide grin, his chest heaves, and a deep chuckle rumbles out of him.

  I can’t watch while he finds something rather hilarious. “Oh, dear,” he says between gasps. “Jules, oh my.” He laughs some more, his hand slapping the top of his thigh.