Archangel Rafe (A Novel of The Seven Book 1) (8 page)

An edge of disquiet bled into Rafe’s mind. The Universe had seemed just a little off for the last few weeks. A strange unease hovered in the air. But he would have to figure out what was going on later.

“How is the fire?”

“I’ve managed to contain the rest. The burn area won’t exceed the perimeter in place.” Uri’s gaze swept the devastation.

“We lost many souls tonight,” Stanislaus whispered from the ground, his body had already begun to fail.

Uri asked Stas, “What happened to Lev?”

Stanislaus glared at them both. “Exactly what happened to me.” He held out his hand and opened it so that Rafe could see what he had clenched so tightly. Blood oozed from the wound. “I was stabbed.”

Stas had been stabbed directly through his angel’s mark. The seemingly innocuous Bic pen protruded from both sides. Shit.

An ancient death blow.

“Don’t judge them,” Stas implored. “Don’t. They are the same as me, just...different.”

Rafe frowned. What the hell did Stas mean? But before he could ask, the old Polish healer fell over. Gone. His heart had just given out. He said a small prayer for the soul of Stanislaus. Tonight was a loss for the entire Angel community.

“What the hell?” Uri said softly.

Rafe said, just in case Uri couldn’t see where Stas was attacked, “He was stabbed through his mark.”

Uri whispered a curse. “Certain death.”

Rafe’s mouth tightened. As far as he knew, no Angel on earth had been killed in this manner since the great flood. His unease heightened. “What in the Cosmos is going on?”

“This is serious.” Uri glanced back at Angelina. “Only one survivor?”

“No, that’s my transitionee.” Rafe ran his fingers through his hair.

“Why is she here?”

“I didn’t have time to get her somewhere else.”

“We’ll get to her later.” Uri swept his arm to gesture towards the destruction. “We need to figure out why Lev and Stas were killed. Because this was deliberate.”

Rafe agreed. “Stas said, don’t judge them.”

“Don’t judge who?” Uri propped his fists on his hips.

“I don’t know.” Rafe said, “We need to take this to the council.”

“Agreed.” Uri looked at Angelina. “You need to take her home first?”

“Yes.” He could also use this time while they were figuring out what happened to their Angels to figure out how to convince Angelina to become the healer she was meant to be.

Rafe must have spoken out loud.

“She needs to be convinced?” Uri snarled.

Rafe was compelled to stick up for Angelina. “She’s had a rough time lately. She has very little joy in her life.” He swallowed. He certainly hadn’t helped.

Joy. Angelina had little. He had none.

“And she can’t find joy in healing others?” Uri shook his head, and sweat flew to the dirt. “I can’t believe Angelina Guerisse’s granddaughter would think that way.”

“The old lady is an exceptional healer.” And her granddaughter Angelina was following in her footsteps. She had instinctively healed a very difficult condition without any training or the correct technique.

Uri continued to extoll the virtues of the old lady. “I still remember right after she first transitioned and she rushed into that building without regard to her own safety to save those people.”

Uri was right. The elder Angelina was an uncommon woman. “The granddaughter is uncommon also.”

Uri snorted in disgust.

“I need a creative solution.”

“Why?” Uri took the towel tucked into the back of his pants and wiped the sweat from his face and neck. “She’s proved your complaint that humans want more, want the next best thing. I would think you’d be happy that she conformed to your expectations.”

Uri had a point. But instead, Rafe was stuck. He could accept her decision. Find a new human to transition. As far as he knew, the Virtues were not monitoring his progress. He was only to report to them after the transition was complete.

But if they knew that she’d rejected the power, the Thrones would take immediate action against Angelina. Her
Vis viva
would be transferred and she would begin a slow decline into poor health.

“Have you tried to reason with her?”

Their interactions had been brief and he’d been so careful not to touch her since that last dream. “Ah....”

“Did you appeal to her duty to the human race?”

Rafe was silent.

“Did you tell her what would happen if she refused?” Rafe still didn’t answer. He hadn’t told her much. He’d been too busy sticking his tongue down her throat.

“Jeez Rafe. What did you do with her?”

“What do you mean?” Uri couldn’t possibly know that he’d had inappropriate contact with Angelina.

“You haven’t told her anything, you haven’t reasoned with her, you haven’t explained her rights.” Uri wrapped the fire hose, using his hand and his elbow to loop the hose into a tight roll.

“No.” Rafe’s voice was tight with concern but he could no more stop the emotion than he could stop his response to her. He knew what should be done. What had been decreed long ago. But he couldn’t stomach the thought. He would have to wipe her memory and her time on earth would be limited. “I haven’t done a very good job of communication.”

Uri’s smile faded. His tan took on a grayish cast. “I don’t like what I’m thinking right now, Rafe.”

“Yeah, well, don’t think it then.” Avoidance had worked so well for him.

Rafe knew Uri had figured it out. If he was truthful, he wasn’t trying very hard to hide it. He needed a freaking solution.

“You didn’t.” Uri didn’t say the rest out loud for which Rafe was grateful.

“Not technically.”

“How the hell did this happen?” Uri whispered harshly.

Rafe didn’t know how to explain what had happened. He still wasn’t sure exactly why he couldn’t stay away from her. “It’s complicated.”

“It’s more than complicated.” Uri paced back and forth, his gear forgotten. “It’s suicide.”

Rafe nodded. Miserable.

Uri crossed his arms over his chest. “Why did you tell me?”

“You’ll kill me quickly?” Rafe quipped.

“Not funny, my friend.”

“Yeah. I know.” Rafe hesitated. “I need a little time.”

Uri tunneled his fingers through his blond hair and pulled the chin length strands from the rubber band. “I knew you were disenchanted but aren’t there easier ways to quit?”

Rafe heard what he didn’t say.
And did you have to use me to do it?

“Help me out.”

“I can’t for very long. The only reason I’m agreeing to this is because you saved my ass and I have a soft spot for the old woman.”

“I understand.”

“I don’t think you do.” Uri shook his head. “This is bad.”

“I know.”

“Yeah but you were done with this life anyway. I love what I do, Rafe. I love my existence. I don’t want to screw it up.”

Rafe’s indiscretion had put more than himself and Angelina in jeopardy. If the Virtues discovered that Uri had covered for him, he could be sanctioned. “I will not let that happen.”

“How much longer does the elder Guerisse have?”

“She’s stable for right now.” But her condition could change. It was her mind that continued to deteriorate, not her body.

“You have a week to figure it out.” Uri gave him a deadline. “After that I can’t keep quiet any longer.”

“Okay.” Rafe had monitored Angelina while they talked. Out of the corner of his eye, Rafe saw someone stalk toward her. From this distance it was difficult to determine whether male or female, friend or foe. Two Angels had been stabbed through their mark. An execution in the old style. The stealthy figure could have a nefarious purpose.

The figure crept up behind her. Because her attention was on Rafe and Uri, she seemed unaware of the looming danger. Rage engulfed him, stronger than the heat of the incendiary flames.

“No!” Rafe roared, and sprinted toward Angelina.

TWELVE

Rafe thundered toward Angelina. Sweat coated his skin. Soot streaked his arms. His muscles bunched and released as he ran flat out toward her. His face was hard, the expression murderous, the lines of concentration so fierce that she jerked back. He launched his body over her head and she finally realized that he hadn’t been screaming at
her
. He hit the other body with a thud.

Angelina whirled around and scuttled away from the intertwined fighters. They rolled on the ground amid the sickening thunk as fists hit flesh, the crunch as bones broke, and the grunts of mortal combat.

Angelina shook in the presence of such unabashed violence. She swallowed the urge to scream, to cringe in fear and held her emotions inside. The trembling increased with the roar of the fire. The ground shook from the force of the flames. The hen houses fireballed in an incredible display of fury. Heat scorched the ground and seared her through heavy denim. She yelped inadvertently.

Rafe turned his head to check on her and the instant of distraction cost him. His opponent jumped up but didn’t attack, instead he ran away.

Rafe hopped up. His face was a mass of bruises and his shirt had ripped to expose the rippled strength of his stomach. Rafe limped toward Angelina. “Are you okay?” He rasped harshly, as if the smoke that clogged the air had jammed his throat.

She nodded silently.

A trail of blood seeped from a cut underneath his eye and trickled down his cheek. Instinctively, she reached to wipe away the blood and examine his wound. But, Angelina curled her fingers into a fist and lowered her hand to her side. So many questions crowded her mind. Where were they? Who attacked him? What had he done earlier to the man on the ground?

His face had been stoic as he placed his hand upon the man’s chest. She’d watched him. The man on the ground stopped moving, stopped breathing in time with the labored breath of her Archangel. Angelina couldn’t help the thought that popped into her mind. He’d killed that man.

As if he’d read her mind, he glanced back toward the two men, both now prone on the ground.

“I need to get you home.” He reached out his hand, his knuckles bloodied and swollen.

Tentatively Angelina grasped his larger, rougher hand. “Hold on.”

In a blink, they were back in her house. Back in the cozy, sheltered warmth of her kitchen. “Who--” Angelina was disoriented at the abrupt change from the noisy inferno to the quiet of her house.

“I have to go.” Rafe said, “I’ll be back to continue your training.”

Training? “What? Oh no.” She couldn’t. She couldn’t do what he’d just done. That hadn’t looked like healing. It had looked like killing.

Whatever it had been, she wasn’t cut out for the task. He had the wrong woman. He had to be wrong. She couldn’t handle one more responsibility. “I can’t.”

His brows were an angry arch over accusing gray eyes full of utter contempt. “We will discuss it later.” He hesitated then said, “If you need me, call my name.”

“But--”

“Healing comes with a price.” Rafe ignored her protest. “You must keep yourself isolated from people. Remember what happened at the doctor’s office.” His bruised and bloodied hands gripped her shoulders in a ruthless clasp. “Don’t touch anyone.”

And he was gone.

THIRTEEN

Just because her day had taken a whirl down into crazy land didn’t mean she could neglect her responsibilities. Angelina shoved all the confusion about her confrontation with Rafe to the back of her mind. Part of her couldn’t believe he was real, the other part acknowledged that she had been on the beach and then at a fire and then, thankfully, back in her own home. But she would have to deal with all of that later. She had kids to take care of.

Brandt sat on the ladder-back chair at the kitchen table, and looked miserable. He hadn’t thrown up in six hours. She knew that talking about this when he was physically ill was probably not the best time. But the conversation had to take place, now while frustration and worry were hot in her mind.

Gary, of course, had bailed.

She should have known he wouldn’t show. He didn’t like to deal with anything unpleasant. That always fell to her. It had been that way for years. But somehow she’d just realized it.

She dropped down into the chair kitty corner to her almost grown son. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” he croaked.

“You want some chicken noodle soup?”

He thought about it for a second and nodded. “Yeah.”

She used the request as an excuse to postpone the inevitable and gear up her courage. The rote actions, twisting the can opener, listening to the grind of metal against metal, comforted her. Water rushed out from the tap. The starter click-click-clicked as the gas burner caught. The small everyday sounds gave the moment a normalcy that she needed. Then she took a deep breath, dread balling in her stomach.

And she pulled out the baggy.

Just like when he was little and gotten caught in a lie, Brandt’s eyes got really wide, as if he could mesmerize her with the expansion of his pupils and deflect the punishment he knew was coming.

“We have to talk about this.”

He opened his mouth. She could see he was getting ready to play dumb.

“Don’t.” Angelina shook her head. “Don’t go there. It’s yours.”

He sighed. “Yeah. But it’s no big deal. Everyone does it.”

Her blood pressure started to rise. That was so not an excuse in their household. She refrained from the
>
if everyone jumped off a cliff would you do it too?’ retort. “It’s illegal.”

“Mom. Seriously, weed is minor.”

“Doing something illegal is not minor.” Was this a boy thing? A teenage thing? This compulsion to argue even when they had to know they were wrong, wrong, wrong? Her stomach began the stress grind, and she realized for a few hours the constant ache had been gone.

“It’s just pot.”

She skittered over possibilities, trying to find some argument, some twist that would get through to him. “You can’t do drugs and still run the four hundred.”

He snorted. “You’re kidding right?”

“You took health class.” Why couldn’t he see how bad this was? “Pot is a gateway drug.”

He sighed. “It’s just to take the edge off.”

“The edge?” She heard that hysterical note but she couldn’t stop herself. Was it too much to ask for a simple apology? A simple, ‘you’re right, I’m wrong, thanks, Mom’?