BROKEN ANGELS (Angels and Demons Book 1) (15 page)

Stiles slept for what seemed like hours, but it was really only a few minutes. He woke in the bed he’d shared with Rebecca, lying there for the first time since the night she’d died. He rolled toward her side of the bed and gathered her pillow in his arms, taking a deep breath of her scent.

“I’m sorry,” a voice said.

Stiles rolled over and found Harry sitting in a chair in a corner of the room.

“You’re sorry for what?”

Harry gestured to the pillow in Stiles’ arms. “For being so pissed at you. For blaming you for her death.”

“Don’t be sorry. You had every right.”

“Maybe. But I knew better than to doubt your love for her. And I knew she was ready. I just…I wasn’t.”

“Neither was I.”

Stiles got up and crossed to his son, dropping to one knee in front of him. “I don’t blame you for hating me. I should have been there for you.”

“You were. After a while.”

“After you were grown.”

Harry shrugged. “You did the best you could. It was my fault. I built you up in my head to be this bigger than life kind of guy. You and Dylan both. And when I realized that you weren’t what I imagined, I was disappointed.”

Stiles smiled. “I think I would have been disappointed too.”

“I hear all these stories about you…you really were pretty awesome.”

“Were?”

“Are.” Harry smiled. “It was pretty impressive, you and Dylan pulling some poor guy out of the past to get him to cure this thing. I don’t know what we would have done without Matthew.”

“Yeah, well, I kind of owed him something.” Stiles stood up and settled back on the edge of the bed to pull on his boots. “Where is Matthew, anyway? Still at the hospital?”

“No, I sent him over to Dylan’s to get some rest. He said he was staying there.”

Stiles nodded. “Did you send the cure for Wyatt and Josephine?”

“Were they sick?”

“Yeah. Matthew knew. I’m sure he took something to them.”

Harry followed Stiles out of the house. It was dark, late in the night. “You should get some sleep,” Stiles said to his son.

“I think my body has forgotten what it’s like to sleep.”

“It’ll remember.”

Stiles touched his forehead, and then took him home in a deep slumber. Alone, he walked in the streets, his mind reaching out to the townspeople, feeling the joy of those who had family who had received the cure. Rachel was already taking liquids, sitting up in bed and having long conversations with her brother. Another who had been on the edge of death was laughing at his brother’s bad jokes. It was working, this cure. Matthew had done it again.

Stiles stopped at the cemetery and stood beside Rebecca’s grave. There was so much he wanted to say to her, but he knew it wasn’t necessary. He could almost feel her spirit wrapped around him, could almost feel the remnants of her love clinging to him.

“I’ll never forget you,” he whispered to her.

And then he turned away. The living needed him now.

The cure worked quickly. Most of the sick were back to their normal routines within a few days. A few had to stay in the hospital, their illness so close to the end when they received the cure that it took more time for their bodies to heal.

Stiles helped duplicate the results, providing enough of the cure to send it to the other cities. In a short time, the disease was eradicated from their region with instructions going out to other areas that had not yet been affected. It never hurt to prepare.

Josephine was back to work within a few days; her gratitude to Matthew was profuse. They seemed to hit it off, spending a little more time with each other than Wyatt was comfortable with. But Dylan was pleased. It made Josephine come home more often since Matthew was still staying with them.

The weird dreams stopped as suddenly as they had begun. Dylan didn’t mention them to Wyatt and she had no plans to tell Stiles. She told herself it was exhaustion that had caused it. And maybe it was. Maybe it was just the workings of her overtaxed mind.

She could almost make herself believe it.

Life slowly settled back into something like normal. The dead were missed. Dylan found it difficult to look at her shrunken group of students without remembering Benji. The cemetery was a little more populated than it had been predicted to be this early in its existence. There were constant reminders.

But Stiles and Harry were friends now. And Rachel had decided to move her library to their town, to be closer to Wyatt and Jimmy and the rest of the family. So, a few good things had come out of the whole mess.

Dylan was walking with Wyatt late one evening, not really talking, just holding hands and watching the others who were also out for a late walk.

“Josephine asked me if I would be interested in taking a position on the council,” Wyatt suddenly said.

“Oh?”

“She said she could use my common sense.”

Dylan smiled. “I can see that.”

He lifted Dylan’s hand to his lips and kissed the tips of her fingers. “I think I’m going to do it.”

“What does it entail?”

He shrugged. “I’ll have to attend all the council meetings and make myself available to the people. It’ll mean a lot of travel to check in with the city councils.”

“Travel?”

“Yeah. You don’t mind, do you? You’re so busy with your class and whatever shenanigans you and Stiles are always getting into.”

“I haven’t talked to Stiles in days.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sure he’ll find another excuse to drag you out of here sometime soon. He always has.”

Dylan stopped walking, forcing Wyatt to stop too. He looked at her, a mask of innocence on his face. “What?”

“What do you mean, ‘what’? Are you accusing me of something?”

“No, of course not. I just know Stiles. And I know the hold he had on you.”

“It’s not about Stiles. When we go off together, it’s usually to help someone, or to stop something from happening.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you acting like a child?”

Wyatt’s eyebrow cocked slightly. “Is that what I’m doing?”

“Whatever happened to, ‘where I go, you go’?”

“That’s still true, Dylan.” He took her face in his hands and kissed her softly. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m just telling you that I’m okay with your doing whatever you have to do.”

“Are you?”

He kissed her again, a little harder this time. And then he slid his arm around her and said, “Let’s go home.”

***

Time passes slowly when there is no joy, or happiness. But when you want to hold on to every passing second, time flies by so quickly you can hardly keep up.

Wyatt took the council position and Dylan traveled with him at first, trying to stay in the background as he built his reputation. But her story had been told so many times, becoming so elaborate, that she couldn’t help but overshadow her beloved husband. He never would have asked her to stay home; it never would have crossed his mind. But she could see it was a gift that only she could give to him.

She filled her days with her classes, tea with her few female friends, and an art class that went terribly wrong. Artistic she wasn’t. She and Jimmy spent a lot of afternoons sitting silently side by side on his back porch—a few nights, too.

Her life was changing. Not hers, really, but the lives of the people around her. They were growing older and their interests were changing. They were growing. But she was staying exactly the same.

“It’s like time just stands still for you,” Matthew said one night.

She looked over at him, not sure what she had said or done to make him say such a thing.

He smiled softly. “You and Stiles. You both look exactly as you always have, as you did the day I first met you. It’s fascinating.”

“Not so fascinating for me.”

“Is it weird, having a daughter who is older than you will ever be? At least, on the outside?”

Dylan nodded. “Sometimes I look at her and I think, that’s what I should look like.”

“Can I tell you a secret?” Matthew asked, leaning close to her so that he was nearly whispering in her ear. “I think Josephine feels the same way sometimes.”

“Yeah?”

He nodded. “It’s strange for her, to introduce her mother to strangers…the nineteen-year-old girl.”

Dylan had never thought of it that way before. “And you? How does she introduce you to strangers?”

Matthew blushed, a first as far as Dylan knew.

“We’ve discussed that, actually. We were going to wait until we could get you and Wyatt together. But, since you asked, we’ve actually decided to get married.”

Despite the fact that she’d suspected it, Dylan was still surprised. “When?”

“If it was up to me, a month ago. But Josephine wants a big wedding.”

That was a new phenomenon in their city. For a long time, when a couple declared themselves married, they were. But now, everyone wanted to have a ceremony, with pretty clothes and lots of people to witness their declaration of love. Stiles told her it was something people in the past did, usually in a building devoted to the worship of God. She didn’t really understand the point, but if it was what Jo wanted, she was willing to do just about anything.

“A wedding?”

“A wedding.”

“Did you do one of those before, with your first wife?” Dylan asked.

“We got married in a small chapel in her home town.”

“Then you probably know more about planning one of these things than we do.”

Matthew shrugged. “It’s really the bride’s place to do the planning.”

“Hmm, fun.”

But, it turned out, it was lots of fun. Josephine was so excited. And the neighbor ladies who’d had weddings of their own were more than happy to come over and tell them everything they would have to do. Dylan made the dress, which was a test of her patience, but she had never been prouder than she was the moment she watched Josephine walk on that purple carpet on her father’s arm. She was so beautiful that Dylan found it hard to believe she was that tiny, wrinkled baby that had come from her womb.

The whole night, she watched. She watched Josephine promise to love Matthew forever and listened to him make the same promise to her. She watched them dance and listened to their laughter. Saw the tears in Josephine’s eyes when Wyatt whispered words of love and pride in her ear. She watched, and she felt like an outsider, someone who happened to come across this beautiful moment and stopped to soak in some of the happiness.

This no longer felt like her family. She no longer felt a part of them.

Even when Wyatt held her in his arms and whispered his awe at the fact that they had created this perfect human being together, she felt distant. And when he took her to bed that night and touched her, his hands as gentle and kind as ever, she didn’t feel that excitement, that warmth that had always been a part of who they were, of what they were.

All she could see when she looked at her husband was how old he had become. All she saw was the white that had grown from his temples to the once dark curls that often fell over his forehead. All she saw were the heavy wrinkles beside his eyes and along the curves of his lips.

She didn’t belong here anymore.

And that only made her want to hold on that much tighter.

Stiles was sitting on his front porch, reading a book he’d borrowed from Rachel’s collection. It was about a boy and his dog, a sad tale that made him want to track down the author and suggest a few edits to the end of the story.

If only he had Dylan’s ability to travel in time.

He was about to put the book down and go find something to eat when he heard the soft tap of a walking stick. He looked up, surprised to see Jimmy walking up his front steps.

“Didn’t know you knew how to read.”

“Like I’m supposed to believe Rachel doesn’t tell you everything.”

“Of course she does. And I tell her a few things, too. Who do you think told her to loan you that book?”

“Then it’s you I have to thank for this terrible ending.”

“It’s better than the one you offered me.”

Jimmy paused at the top of the steps, sucking in a few deep breaths as he stood there studying Stiles.

“I never thanked you for saving Rachel,” he finally said.

Stiles looked down at his book. “You don’t have to.”

“I do. You saved her when nothing else was working.”

“I did what I would have done for anyone else.”

“Maybe.” Jimmy crossed the porch and settled in a wicker chair Rebecca had salvaged from some ruins years ago. “But you did it, and I’m grateful.”

“Alright.”

Silence fell between them for a minute. Stiles put the book down and silently offered Jimmy a water bottle from the few he’d set on ice when he came outside. Jimmy shook his head.

“I wanted to talk to you about the memory you showed me.”

Stiles crossed his arms over his chest. “What about it?”

“In the memory, you say that my father, you call him Jophiel, you say that he took Joanna from you.”

Stiles sat up a little straighter in his own chair, nodding just slightly. “I fell to Earth to take Joanna back home. Jophiel convinced her that I was there to hurt their cause. He turned her against me and encouraged her to stab me with her sword and leave me for dead.”

“She did that?”

Stiles nodded, his hand automatically moving to the scar on his side that her sword had left behind.

“And that’s why you killed my mother?”

That was a difficult question. Stiles stared at the ground a moment, gathering his thoughts. “I was angry,” he finally said. “Hurt and angry and scared. My own people—my soul mate—had turned on me. There was a war going on and I didn’t know whom to trust. When I saw her, saw the way he looked at her, he made something inside of me splinter.”

“And then you killed him.”

“I did. I’m not proud of it.”

Jimmy sat back, twirling his walking stick between his hands. “I’ve thought about it a lot these past five years. Thought about my memories compared to yours. I remember the angels rushing out of the sky, and I remember the fear in my mother’s eyes. I remember seeing my sister die.” He shuddered a little. “I always honestly believed it was Luc who’d done it all.”

“Just your sister.”

He nodded. “Somehow, that seems to justify everything.” He tapped the walking stick on the ground. “I should be ashamed for hating him for something he didn’t do. But I’m not. My sister was an innocent. All those children were innocents and he targeted them on purpose.”

“He wanted you left with the memory of the angels’ cruelty.”

“Why?”

“Because, in his strange way, he was trying to protect you. He wanted you to lead the resistance; he wanted you kept occupied so that you wouldn’t realize what was really happening, who you really were.”

“What did they do to you?”

Stiles shook his head. “It’s not important.”

“You killed one of your own. Surely they didn’t allow you to just walk away from that.”

“I killed your parents. Aren’t you more interested in that? Aren’t you angry with me?”

“I was—at first. To be honest, I wanted to kill you. I thought about it a lot those first few days after you showed me that memory. But then Rachel got sick and I began to realize that there were more important things to worry about.”

“Your mother was an innocent.”

“She was. My mother was a good woman. And she loved us dearly. It would have destroyed her to live her life without Rachel in it.”

“And your father?”

“An archangel.” Jimmy shook his head. “It’s hard to reconcile that with the man I knew. But I never really knew him, did I? So, how can I grieve someone I never knew?”

“I always regretted that you had to see what happened. I tried to watch over you, to make sure that your life was better after that.”

Jimmy shrugged. “I had a good life. I’ll admit, Joanna messed with my mind and Davida was too good a woman for me. But I found a good partner in Martha. And I have four wonderful children. What more could a man ask for?”

“I suppose you’re right about that.”

“Then tell me. What did they do to you?”

Stiles thought about that day, thought about the regret that weighed heavy on him the moment he saw Jophiel’s wife fall under the ball of flame he threw. He thought about his anger, the way he let his emotions rule him that day. And the pain, the overwhelming pain.

“They took my wings.”

Color drained from Jimmy’s face, but he just nodded. “You paid, then.”

“I paid.”

Jimmy slowly pulled himself to his feet with the use of his walking stick. He paused once he was on his feet and studied Stiles. “You saved my sister. You probably saved my boy a few times, too. And his wife. And you sacrificed your wings. I think, then, that we’re even. Your debt to me is paid in full.”

Stiles had not expected that. He stood up and faced Jimmy.

“I wasn’t asking for your forgiveness. I simply wanted you to know the truth.”

“And now I do. I’m glad for it.”

That surprised Stiles. “Why?”

“Because it made me realize I’d spent far too much time being mad about something I couldn’t control. Because I’d spent a long time being mad at the wrong people. I shouldn’t have been angry with the attackers. I should have been angry with my father and Luc for putting us in that position in the first place, if I was to be angry with anyone. I’m angry that my mother was taken from me much too soon, but I know now that it was a waste of time to hate and to live with that anger.”

“But I did it. I killed them.”

“And you’ve carried the burden of your guilt long enough. Just as I have.” Jimmy touched Stiles’ arm lightly. “What’s done is done. There’s no point in living in the past.”

Those words were like a cooling balm on a sunburn. Stiles took Jimmy’s hand between his own and whispered, “Thank you.”

Jimmy inclined his head and walked away.