Beloved Purgatory (Fallen Angels, Book 2) (13 page)

I exhaled too quickly, scattering powdered sugar into
the air. It filtered over the image of the angel like fake snow
from a snow globe. He looked cold, standing before the purple
bricks, seemingly untouched by the late afternoon sunlight.

"You can have my doughnut," he said, then looked
down at the half-eaten Virgin Mary in my hand.

I swallowed, trying to banish the exquisite, sugary
taste from the doughnut in my mouth.

"Do you like it?" The angel asked.

"Uh..."
Yeah, I love munching on the beloved mother of the savior in
front of an angel.
I didn't want to answer,
so I took another bite. Then another. Damn it! It was so good, and
so wrong, and I couldn't stop. I looked to Oz for help.

He winked. "She likes it."

Thanks for making it so much
better
, I thought. But then again, I didn't
know why I'd expect more from a demon.

I ate a repulsive number of
doughnuts on our way back to
Morrison's
. A guy was browsing the
discount stacks when we arrived.

"I guess I have a customer," Oz murmured.

"Yeah, one who can't go into the store to buy the
books he wants because the door is locked. I'm amazed you even
still have any left on the racks."

Oz fished his keys out of his jeans. He had to kick
the door twice to get it to move. "Sorry about opening late
today."

The man shook his head and smiled. I was a little
surprised he didn't call the cops, since it kind of looked like Oz
was breaking into the place.

"It's alright. I'm used to your odd hours."

Oz dropped another prawn for
Princess, then opened the pink
Voodoo
Doughnuts
box. "Do you want one?" He asked
the man.

"Yeah," I said, "you can take the--" Just as I said
"Jesus," Oz said "penis." We both looked at each other and started
laughing--in fact, Oz laughed so hard I feared he would drop the
doughnut box.

"I'm actually alright," the guy said. "I think I'm
ready to buy the books."

Oz held the door open and the two of them went
inside. Princess followed close behind. When they stopped at the
register, Princess jumped on the counter and dropped her prawn
exoskeleton beside the man's books.

"Thank you, sweetie," Oz cooed and gave her a loving
pet.

The man started asking questions about the cat, then
the store, and so I started to browse.

I ran my finger over the spines of
the unsorted, oversized books in the box by the poster of Marilyn
in the front window. An encyclopedia from the forties. A book of
photographs of the Oregon coast. And
The
Complete Guide to Guardian Angels
.

The quickening thud of my heartbeat pounded
throughout my entire body. Slowly, I wrapped my fingers around it
and I pulled it out.

"If there's something you want to know about angels,
just ask."

I yelped, dropped the book and shot backwards.
"Jesus Christ," I whispered as I shut my eyes and rested the back
of my head against the bookshelf. "Don't sneak up on me like
that."

I looked up. The angel crouched down to pick up the
book. He brushed the dust off the cover. Such a human gesture
seemed odd coming from him--why would an angel care about dust, or
books?

He held the book to his chest as he stood. "Why
won't you come to me if you want to know something?"

My throat felt tight. He didn't say anything more,
just waited for my answer as he stared at me--no, right through me.
I couldn't think straight when he looked at me like that, so I
answered honestly: "I just don't want to."

"I'll never lie to you."

"But that doesn't mean you'll tell me everything.
You're keeping secrets from me, aren't you? There are things you
can never reveal."

He didn't hesitate, or look guilty. "There are."

I tried to mimic his emotionless response. "Then
this book is better."

He offered me the book. I snatched it so quickly it
almost fell again.

"I'm not a guardian angel," he said. "And I haven't
read that book before, so I don't know how accurate it is."

I couldn't look at him anymore, so I started
counting how many Nora Roberts novels Oz had on the shelf beside
the angel's legs.

"Devi," he whispered.

How can you say my name so
easily?
I wanted to shout.
How can you stand to attach yourself to someone
who hates you?
But I didn't really want to
hear the answers to those questions, so I didn't ask.

He continued: "Why do you want that book?"

"So that I can protect myself," I whispered. "From
you."

I didn't look at him when I said
it--I focused on the wide expanse of painted prairie that graced
the cover of
Montana Sky
so hard that the clouds in the background seemed
to move.

He put his hand on my shoulder. He kept it there,
even after I flinched. "I will never hurt you."

My vision went bleary. I blinked once, then again.
"How can you say that?"

"I promised to protect you."

He still didn't understand. "You were supposed to
guard my brother, right? And now you don't even know where he is."
I hated the sound of my trembling voice, that I was too weak to
even look at him. I shut my eyes.

In the darkness, his soothing, haunting voice found
me: "That's right."

That's right.
No other explanation necessary. It was what he'd been told to
do, and so that alone, I suppose, was meant to satisfy me.
"Camael," I said, raising my gaze to his.

As it turned out, that wasn't a smart thing to
do.

For a moment I forgot what I was going to say. His
eyes shifted color, just slightly, turning a deeper blue. I think
he wanted to touch me with his healing hands, but he didn't because
I'd asked him not to.

"Are you alright?" He asked.

"I'm just cold, is all," I finally said. Then: "Do
you really want to know why I don't trust you?"

He wet his lips--another human gesture that, from
another, would suggest nervousness. "It's important for me to
know."

I nodded. "It's because you took him without knowing
where he would go or what would happen to him, because you were
told to. You did it without a second thought, even though you'd
spent years with him."

I took a deep, nervous breath. The angel said
nothing. He was really going to make me say it.

"That's why I don't want to trust you," I began
softly. "Even if what you say is true--even if you would never lie
to me--even if you've vowed to protect me I still can't trust you,
because your heart will never recognize my suffering or my desires.
In fact, it doesn't even exist."

Out of the corner of my eye I saw his fingers
twitch.

I swallowed, forcing down the ball in my throat. "I
don't want to trust you, because I know someday that you will have
to make a choice, and it won't be me."

We fell into another silence. The angel stepped
back. My body felt lighter, as if he'd taken my discomfort with
him. But something lingered--a feeling of loneliness he couldn't
remove, or perhaps something that had emerged in his absence.

I stepped into the aisle. From there I had a clear
view of Oz at the register. Princess rubbed against the customer's
wrists, demanding pets. He happily obliged.

Then Oz caught me staring at him. He grinned and gave
me an enigmatic wink, then turned his attention back to the
customer.

I gripped the book to my chest. I didn't understand
how something as small as a smile from the person you loved could
make you so happy, or why such an innocent feeling was so quickly
replaced by fear.

Chapter 7

Oz dropped me and the angel off late to a dark, cold
house. Mom probably wouldn't get off work until close to dawn. I
was happier about that than I had any right to be. It was still
difficult to look at her without remembering the cruel, unnecessary
things I'd said.

I dropped my bag and kicked it into the corner. A red
light flashed in the living room. The school had probably
called.

I sat on my knees in front of the end table by the
white couch. Our phone was an ancient office phone one of my mom's
old bosses had given to her when she worked as a secretary. I hated
it. Every time I tried to put someone on hold, I accidentally hung
up on them. Oh well, at least I knew how to work the answering
machine. Sort of.

I hit the play button and the familiar, automated
voice boomed. According to the school, I'd only missed second,
third, and fifth periods.

I smiled. "I didn't even show up and I only missed
three periods. That's my superpower, angel."

The angel just stared blankly at me.

I got up. "Alright, then. I'm going to bed."

Then I walked to my room with my angel behind me.

***

That night I decided to sleep in my clothes. I knew
the angel wouldn't peek--or at least I was pretty sure he
wouldn't--but it just didn't feel right undressing when he was
around. Maybe I'd wear these clothes tomorrow, too. Or even for the
rest of my life.

I sighed as I crawled into bed and carefully wrapped
the covers around my face so just my nose poked out. When I was
little this was how I'd hid from monsters, so I figured the same
technique would work with angels. It had worked last night. Well,
alright, probably only because I'd been so tired that I'd just
passed out.

Unfortunately, right then, I wasn't that tired.

I closed my eyes.
The angel isn't here. The angel
isn't here,
I repeated. Instead of counting sheep, I counted
how many Camaels weren't in the room with me. But even though my
lids were shut and I got up to 138 Camaels, I couldn't bring myself
to believe it.

I peeked out of the hole in the blankets.

The angel stood in the middle of the room. Staring at
me.

I froze. This was a nightmare. No, worse than a
nightmare. The images that slithered in my mind were so creepy that
I didn't want to give them an identifiable form by naming them.

"I can't sleep when you're watching me like that." My
throat was so tight that it hurt when I spoke.

"How do you want me to watch you?" He asked.

I threw the covers off me and shot up. "I don't want
you to watch me at all!"

"I've always watched you," he said, and for a second
I couldn't do anything but watch him back.

I felt like throwing my pillows at him. No, burying
myself under them. Instead, I took a deep breath and stated as
evenly as I could: "That doesn't make it okay. You need to stop
looking at me all the time--especially when I'm trying to
sleep."

"If I don't watch you, then I can't protect you."

I bit my lip to keep myself from groaning. "Do you
really need to watch me every second of every day?"

He looked down and ran his fingers over the top of my
chair. "It just doesn't feel right when I can't watch you."

Something deep in my chest began to ache. Maybe it
was how young he looked in the moonlight--the silver streaming
through my open blinds softened his luminescence. Or, perhaps it
was how carefully he touched the mundane things in my room. He even
hesitated when his hand brushed against a simple chair, as if it
were a sacred object.

I glanced at my quilt, not wanting to look at him
anymore. For some reason I wanted to touch the entwined hearts--my
brother, Cammy, and me. In the end I didn't, and just said: "If you
don't stop watching me, I'll never get any sleep."

The bed creaked softly. He was sitting beside me as
if he was a real thing, and not some ethereal compilation of
moonbeams and otherworldly light.

I brought my knees to my chest. Why did he think that
coming closer to me would fix things when I'd just told him it made
me uncomfortable when he watched me?

"If you want, I could make you fall sleep," he
said.

I was tempted to accept his offer. More than tempted.
In fact, the only thing that stopped me was the knowledge of how
disgusted I'd be with myself when I woke up the next morning to his
unblinking eyes.

"I don't want that," I mumbled.

He leaned closer. His fingers were so close to my
toes that, if I wiggled them, we'd touch. "Where do you want me to
go?" He asked.

Away, where I'll never have to see or think about
you again. I don't care where, as long as you're no longer with
me.

I froze. My chest constricted with guilt even though
I hadn't spoken those words out loud.
I don't think it's good
for me to be around you. I don't like who I become when you're by
my side
, I thought as I glanced up into his clear, blue,
neutral eyes.

"Maybe you can stand outside the house? You'll still
be close enough to react if something happens, and I can fall
asleep."

He held my gaze. It seemed like an eternity before he
spoke. "Alright."

And then he disappeared.

Moonlight streamed through the windows, beautiful and
cold. It seemed to preserve his presence, somehow--like how fabric
absorbs the scent of smoke. I rolled to my left with my knees still
pressed into my stomach and shut my eyes.

Sleep did not come.

"Damn," I muttered. I got up and wrapped my quilt
around my body, then waddled to the window and looked out.

The angel stood in the middle of the lawn, glowing
like a white Christmas star at the top of the tree, staring
straight at me.

I ducked under my desk. Damn. Had he seen me?
Alright, stupid question. How could he not see me? Was he really
going to stand there all night, watching?

My hands curled around the edge of my desk. Slowly, I
lifted myself up and peeked out the window.