SOUL MATES (Angels and Demons Book 3) (4 page)

Dylan was dreaming of that man again, the one with the comforting voice that promised her relief from her pain. He was standing behind her—she could feel the heat of his body—but she still had no idea what he looked like. She sensed that he was tall, as Wyatt had been, and that he had large hands that would be able to cup her face completely in one palm, as Wyatt’s once had. A part of her wondered if it was Wyatt, somehow returned to her through the miracles of God. But there was another part of her that understood Wyatt was gone for good now. She would not see him again unless she chose to go to heaven and seek out his soul. And, even then, there was no guarantee she would find the same Wyatt she missed so desperately down here from the life they once shared.

And then her dream was interrupted by the moaning voices of people whose need was strong enough to break through her mental walls. There was an attack taking place in the south, below the equator. She could feel the pain of those who were possessed, the fear of those who were suffering at their hands. Without effort, she sent a distress call to Raphael and heard his voice respond:
On my way.

Then the voices faded. But not all of them.

I need my mom,
a familiar voice moaned.
Please, mom, it hurts.

Josephine.

Dylan knew her time was drawing near. She checked in on her from time to time, traveling to her in her ethereal form, careful not to let Josephine or her husband, Matthew, know she was there. It took everything Dylan had to keep from touching her child and offering her advice when she could hear the fear and worry in her mind. A few times she touched her, took the edge off to help her sleep through the night or get through a stressful meeting as the president of the council. But, usually, she kept her distance because she knew that was what Josephine wanted.

But now…

Dylan went to her child in a flash of thoughts, arriving in her bedroom as she screamed with a new wave of labor pains. Her baby girl was about to enter the world. Matthew was holding Josephine’s hand, wiping the sweat from her brow as he whispered words of encouragement in her ear. A midwife was sitting on the bed, her hand on Josephine’s thigh as she tried to get her to focus on what needed to happen next. It was a calm scene except for Josephine’s screams—but there was something wrong. Dylan could feel it in the fading light of the baby’s soul.

She moved into her human form without thinking about it, and approached her daughter as the midwife cried out in surprise.

“The baby’s turned the wrong way,” she said, pressing her hand to the swell of Josephine’s belly.

“Who are you?” the midwife demanded. “How do you know?”

Dylan ignored her, aware that there wasn’t much time to fix the situation. Another moment or two and the child would asphyxiate. She closed her eyes and pictured the child, encouraging her to move into the proper position even as the midwife grabbed her wrists and tried to pull her away.

“You can’t just walk in here and start telling me how to do my job!”

“She’s the child’s grandmother,” Matthew said. “Please…she knows what she’s doing.”

Josephine screamed again as Dylan felt the baby shift under her hands. The screams were hard to listen to, but Dylan knew it would all be over soon. The moment the baby had turned completely, she turned and pressed her hands to either side of Josephine’s face.

“It’s going to be okay,” she said softly, infusing her daughter with enough of her healing power to give her the strength she would need to push the baby out. “You need to push now, darling. You need to get that baby out.”

Josephine nodded; her eyes were wide and glued to Dylan’s. And then she sat up and bore down. Dylan stepped back, but Josephine grabbed her hand and held her close even as she worked to give that child life. It didn’t take much. Just like when Dylan gave birth to Josephine, the child slid out with just one, really strong, push.

The room filled with the tender cries of the newborn as the midwife lifted her off the bed and wrapped her in a soft towel, wiping the products of birth from her skin.

“Thank you, Mom,” Josephine said.

Dylan leaned close to her and wiped the sweat from her brow with her bare hand, infusing her again with healing powers, taking away the pain and the memory of it, allowing only the joy behind.

“This was all you,” she said. “You don’t need to thank me for anything.”

Dylan started to step back, but Josephine grabbed her hand again. “I know what you’re doing for us. Daddy knew, too. He tried to convince them…”

“It’s okay. I know.” Dylan bent and kissed her daughter’s cheek. “I love you, Josephine. You’ve always been everything to me.”

Tears shone in Josephine’s eyes as Dylan pulled back again. And then the midwife set the baby in her arms. She had dark hair that curled moistly against her forehead. It took Dylan’s breath for a moment as she stared at the tiny child’s features. She looked so much like Wyatt it physically hurt her to look at her.

“Rhonda,” Matthew said. “Rhonda Wyatt.”

Dylan nodded even as tears streamed down her cheeks.

Maybe Rachel was right. Maybe Wyatt wasn’t completely lost to her. Maybe there was reason to keep fighting.

Stiles was sitting in a chair, leaning back against the front wall of Rachel’s library, chewing on a piece of dried meat as he watched people walk up and down the street as they went about their daily business. There hadn’t been any dark soul attacks in more than two weeks and that was making him nervous. Dylan thought it was because Jack was planning something big and he tended to agree with her. He was just worried that that something big was something they wouldn’t be able to put down.

A young woman who’d already crossed in front of the building three times since he’d sat there crossed again, a soft smile on her lips as she caught his attention.

“Good afternoon, Stiles,” she called.

“You too.”

She hesitated in her step, and then seemed to make a decision. She turned and came up the front steps, stopping just in front of him. The gentleman in him forced him to sit up properly, and then stand.

“I don’t know if you’re aware,” she said, a blush coming to her pale cheeks, “but there’s a party of sorts in the park tonight. The town council thought it would be nice to celebrate one of the old holidays—the Fourth of July?”

Stiles nodded. “I heard.”

“I’m gonna go with a group of friends. I was…I was just wondering if you were going to be there.”

Her blush deepened, making her discomfort seem to shine on her delicate features. Stiles wanted to put her at ease. She was a young thing, probably not more than twenty, and beautiful. She reminded him a little of Rebecca in her forwardness, but she didn’t look much like her. She had  deep burgundy colored hair that revealed gold highlights when she moved a certain way, and green eyes that were as pure as the first grass blades of spring. Her discomfort made him want to promise her almost anything.

“What’s your name?”

Her blush deepened. “Caryn.”

Stiles glanced back at the front of the library, aware that Dylan was somewhere inside. The idea of going to a human party, to dancing with a beautiful girl, appealed to him. He and Rebecca had attended quite a few of these kinds of things in their time, both before Dylan and after, but it had been a long time since the last one. Maybe it was time for a little recreation.

“If you’ll be there,” he said, “then so will I.”

Caryn nearly jumped for joy, but contained herself to just the bright shining of her eyes and a touch of a giggle. “I’ll see you then.”

He watched her rush away, thoughts of clothing choices dancing in her head, and laughed at the carefree expression of life she seemed to represent. Then he turned, wondering if she would disapprove of him showing up at the party in the same jeans and t-shirt he was already wearing. He supposed she would.

The party began with a picnic. Stiles helped Rachel carry the selection of salads she’d somehow volunteered to make without telling any of the angels living in her house. Rachel was an important part of this community, as made obvious by their granting to her the largest building in town for her library. But it was more than that. Rachel had something of a calming effect on those around her and the town seemed to understand that and embrace it, including her at all the important meetings, especially when they knew the debate could grow heated. She always managed to help people keep their heads and see both sides of the issue. When they saw her coming, the people were always happy. Like now as they made way in the crowd to allow her to walk unencumbered to the buffet table.

“Thank you, Miss Rachel,” one of the young women behind the buffet table said. “We always look so forward to your salads.”

Rachel beamed even as a blush touched her cheeks. “I’m just glad to help.”

“Well, my Douglas really enjoys your potato salad, so I’d say it’s more than just a little help.”

Rachel just nodded as she slipped her hand through the crook of Stiles’ arm and allowed him to lead her away from the table. They walked slowly around the perimeter of the park, watching as families gathered their children in participation of the feast.

“This is nice,” Rachel said. “You and I haven’t enjoyed time alone like this in a long time.”

“I don’t think we ever have. There always seems to be someone else around.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

Stiles thought of those people: Rebecca, Jimmy, Wyatt. All gone now. And others…Harry and his family, Rebecca’s other children and their families, Josephine, Dylan.

Dylan.

By habit, he searched the faces of those around him for hers. She wasn’t there and he had already suspected she wouldn’t be, but it was ingrained in him to look for her anyway. He’d devoted his life to protecting her for the last sixty years. It was instinct now. And, as much as he hated to admit it, today he resented it.

For months now she’d been free, and she knew it was important that she make a connection with a new soul mate. Yet, she continued to resist the idea. He didn’t understand. It was his instinct, as an angel, to desire that connection. He had sorely missed it these past forty-three years. The only thing that got him through it, besides Rebecca’s presence in his life all those amazing years, was the knowledge that Dylan would eventually choose him. But now…he wasn’t as convinced as he once was. And he was beginning to wonder if it was time for him to choose another, an angel who wasn’t special, who didn’t have the same oddities that made Dylan who she was. But when those thoughts crossed his mind, he felt disloyal to his mission—to everything he’d given up and all the terrible things he’d done to be here—to watch over Dylan and make sure she fulfilled her purpose.

The thing was, though, he never felt the disapproval of heaven. He expected to. Whenever an angel tries to go against their purpose, there is this overwhelming sense of disapproval that came from heaven. Granted, Stiles had been cut off from parts of heaven for a long time, but he still felt that basic connection. It was like animal instinct in a human—the flight or fight instinct. It was always there no matter the angel’s situation. But he didn’t feel it. And he didn’t understand what that meant. He had always assumed that becoming Dylan’s soul mate was part of her purpose—part of her destiny—and, therefore, it was part of his. Now…he wasn’t so sure anymore.

“She worries about you,” Rachel said.

Stiles glanced at her. “Who?”

She gave him a look that made it clear she knew he knew who she was talking about. “She’s just struggling right now. Wyatt’s death, Josephine’s new baby—it’s all been a hard adjustment for her.”

Stiles paused in his step, watching a young mother soothe her toddler over an injured knee. “There are decisions she needs to make. And I’m not sure how much longer everyone can wait for her to make them.”

“Or how long you can wait.”

Stiles shrugged. “I’m not an impatient man, but forty years is a long time for anyone to wait. Even an angel.”

Rachel nodded, a sadness coming into her eyes. “I know you’ve sacrificed a lot for Dylan.”

“That’s my purpose.”

“Yes. But you’ve been among the humans for a very long time, Stiles. You’ve developed a strong sense of our emotions. And, as they used to say, even a saint has his limits.”

Stiles turned away and began walking again. “What about you?” he asked. “What about this flirtation that’s been going on between you and Raphael?”

Rachel didn’t answer right away. Instead, she distracted herself tugging at a string that hung from the bottom hem of Stiles’ shirtsleeve. He pulled away as he spotted Raphael himself watching them from the far side of the park.

“Don’t let him break your heart, Rachel,” he said softly.

She smiled. “I’ve lived a remarkable life, Stiles. But I’ve never made time for a romantic relationship. My books were always my lovers, always the only thing I really wanted or needed. But now…”

“Just don’t forget that he’s an angel. He doesn’t have the freewill to remain with you at his leisure. He could be called back to heaven at any time, or ordered to leave you and go watch over some important human thousands of miles away.”

“I know,” Rachel said, reaching up to touch Stiles’ face. “Thank you for caring so much about me. But I am a big girl.”

Stiles studied her face and saw in her eyes the same stubborn determination he often saw in Dylan’s eyes when she fought to get her own way. He knew no matter what he said she would never change her mind. So he just pressed his lips to her forehead and sent a warning to Raphael:

If you break her heart, I will make sure you suffer more.

Trust me, brother,
Raphael said,
it is I who will suffer the broken heart.

The food was amazing; the company more carefree than people aware of the threat that loomed constantly over them had the right to be. For just that one night, the community forgot about the dark souls and the wrath they perpetrated on the humans as often as they could. Even Stiles found himself forgetting his troubles for a while.

After the food was packed and put away and the children were gathered and placed in their beds, a group of musicians gathered in the center of the park in the seashell shaped band shell that was built on a whim a few months before by a building enthusiast who’d spent a lot of time at Rachel’s library studying her materials on the old society’s architecture. They played songs that were remnants of the war, many of which were about hope and resilience and survival. There were a few ancient tunes that were remnants of the time before the war, songs about romance and heartbreak, but those were few and the lyrics were mostly lost to time.

Caryn had been circling Stiles since the picnic had begun, giggling with her friends every time he glanced her way. It reminded him a little of a girl he once knew when Jack James’ group settled in Pennsylvania toward the end of his time with them. Robbie. She’d had something of a crush on Stiles despite the fact that Rebecca was pregnant with Harry at the time.He didn’t even see it until the night Mammon and his crazed buddies descended on the settlement. There’d been a dance that night, too.

A few songs played before Caryn finally worked up the nerve to move away from her friends and make herself available. Two local boys immediately sought her out, but they quickly scattered when Stiles approached.

“Would you like to dance?” he asked, holding out his hand with a bit of a flourish.

Caryn looked like she was going to burst, but she managed to take his hand and stay on her feet as he led the way to the area the town had designated as the dance floor. Stiles turned to face her once they stood among the other couples who were enjoying this excuse to hold each other close in public. She wouldn’t look him in the eye, but she moved quite willingly into his arms. Stiles had to admit it was nice to hold a soft, feminine body close again. He’d forgotten how nice it could be.

“I think we’re making a few people jealous,” he said to her after a minute.

Caryn didn’t turn to look like most girls would. She just moved her slight shoulders in a little imitation of a shrug. “Let them be.”

“Those boys seemed pretty intent on dancing with you.”

“Those boys are just that…boys. They’re always doing stupid things to try to get my attention.”

“That’s just because they like you.”

“That doesn’t mean they can act like fools. They embarrassed me last week when they told everyone that I was going to come to this dance with the two of them.”

“Is that why you asked me?”

She looked up at him, a furious blush on her pale cheeks. “You’re so much more mature than them. And I saw you—you and the others—fight those demon things. It was impressive.”

“Impressive?” Stiles shook his head. “Not impressive. Dangerous and frightening.”

“You were scared?”

“I would be stupid not to be scared.”

“You fought them even though you were scared. That’s even more impressive.”

Stiles just shook his head again even as he drew Caryn closer to his chest. He found himself watching the other couples around them, the way they moved together, and the little whispers they shared. He’d never fully understood the rituals of mating among humans. When he was a scholar of sorts in heaven, he’d read about it and watched it from a distance, but it all seemed too complicated for its purpose. Being here on Earth and participating in it himself with Rebecca, he still didn’t fully understand. But he was also beginning to learn that no one really did, not even the humans who’d been doing it for generations. But he envied the easiness that grew between couples who were truly compatible with one another.

“What’s it like for an angel, living here?”

Stiles focused on Caryn again. “What do you mean?”

“Is it strange, being on Earth instead of where you come from?”

“It’s different. It took some getting used to, at first.”

“Do you like being here?”

That was a complicated question. He hadn’t. Not at first. He didn’t like the needs his human body needed fulfilled; he didn’t like the emotions that came with having a human body. It was so much easier to experience things with a certain level of—indifference wasn’t quite right, but it was the only word that really worked—in heaven. Feeling everything, especially the physical and emotional pain that came when Joanna stabbed him and left him for dead, was the hardest thing he’d had to get used to. He still struggled with it.