Fallen Angel (Hqn) (10 page)

Her mind clouded, her vision dimming as though she were underwater. Everything was a watercolor blur. She blinked, hard, then again, and it became crystal clear.

She was tied down onto the cold concrete floor of the basement, the ropes that were tied to the iron stakes sunk in the concrete were biting into her wrists and ankles. She hated it. She preferred the earth against her bare back. But it was winter and too rainy to go outside. Bad for The Grandmother’s arthritis. She could smell the melted candle wax, acrid in her nostrils. The harsher odor of burning herbs. The scorching scent of her own dread.

The Grandmother stood over her. She was alone, chanting, her body swaying. She was not well.

She didn’t like it when The Grandmother was having one of her bad spells. She used the knife then. Cut into her flesh. Never a deep wound. But she sometimes forgot to give her the dreaming herbs, so it was harder to take.

She could almost smell the metallic scent of the blade before The Grandmother knelt and bent over her to pierce her flesh. Just a small cut on her thigh, then the scent of her own blood. The smell was as metallic as the knife itself. It hurt, but not too badly. She had borne worse. Worse was the pain of knowing The Grandmother hurt her on purpose, perhaps to release her own pain.

The Grandmother cut her leg again, deeper this time, and she flinched, biting her lip to keep from crying out. The pain was harder this time, making her dizzy.

The blood was pooling between her thighs, growing sticky as The Grandmother chanted. It seemed to go on forever. Finally, The Grandmother stood, swayed. She saw the old woman’s beady black eyes roll up in her head before she fell to the floor.

Fear rose, turned into panic. She was tied down, and The Grandmother was sick. No one would come. No one ever did. There was nothing she could do. For either of them.

She tried to call Asmodeus to her, but awake and without the drugs, he was too far away.

Alone, helpless, she wept.

CHAPTER SIX

“A
NGEL
!”

He caught her as she fell. Her cheeks were pale, her eyelids fluttering. Was she having some sort of seizure?

He carried her to the sofa and laid her down, keeping one hand behind her head.

“Angel.” Her eyes opened, that stunning blue. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. I’m better now.”

“What the hell happened?”

“I don’t know. We were talking about books, I think.”

Liam wedged his way in between Declan and the sofa and nudged Angel’s hand. She stroked his big head.

“We’d kind of gotten off the subject,” he told her.

He was watching her face carefully, looking for…hell, he didn’t know what. He just wanted to be sure she was really all right. His heart was still hammering. If anything happened to her…

“Oh, yes,” she murmured, her gaze wandering. Her hand went to his arm, her fingers resting there, playing with his watchband.

“Do you really feel okay? I can take you to the hospital.”

“There’s no need. I was just…remembering.”

“Remembering?”

“Things that were…unpleasant.”

She moved her hand to her left thigh, rubbed it.

“Are you hurt, Angel?”

“Not now. But I was. It was as if I was dreaming about it, more than remembering. I don’t understand what happened. But I’m fine now.”

“Your body’s been through a lot. Maybe it’s the drugs working their way out. Or some sort of delayed shock reaction. Maybe I should take you over to the hospital to have you checked out.”

“I truly am fine, I promise. Don’t take me anywhere, Declan. Please.”

He looked at her closely. Her cheeks had color once more, her eyes were clear now. “Okay. But if this happens again, we’re going straight to the hospital. Maybe we need to get some food in you. Are you hungry?”

“A little.”

He nodded. “Will you be okay here by yourself for a few minutes?”

“I’ve lived most of my life by myself.”

He wasn’t sure what else to say to that, so he got up and went into the kitchen. He noticed Liam stayed behind, his head in Angel’s lap now. He felt better with the dog standing by her. Liam would let him know if anything happened to her.

Christ, he was like some mother hen, worrying over her. When was the last time he’d worried about anyone but himself? Too long ago. Maybe it was time to think about that.

Not Abby. Don’t want to think about Abby.

No, but maybe time to think about how he’d gotten to be such a selfish bastard.

He opened a can of chicken-vegetable soup and emptied it into a small saucepan, put it on the stove to heat. He went to the refrigerator and poured a glass of apple juice for her. Then he reached into a cabinet and poured himself a finger of Scotch without even really thinking about it.

He tossed it back, enjoying the burn as it went down his throat.

He wasn’t much of a drinker. But he was so damn tense. Questioning himself. Angel made him question himself. He didn’t like it. Knew he probably needed it.

The soup heated quickly. He spooned some into a bowl, brought it and the juice and a paper towel back into the living room and set everything on the side table next to the sofa.

“Can you sit up to eat?”

“Yes.”

Angel shifted, wincing as she leaned her back against one arm of the sofa.

“Here, let me get you a pillow.”

She leaned forward, let him place a couple of throw pillows behind her. She settled back carefully.

“Okay?” he asked her.

“Yes, much better now. Thank you. May I have the soup, Declan?”

“What? Sure.” He handed her the ceramic bowl, then sat in the leather chair.

“You made this?” she asked, raising the bowl to her face, the steam rising against her skin.

“Sort of. It’s from a can.”

“A can?”

“You didn’t have canned food?”

“We canned food for the winter. Peaches and tomatoes. And I made jam for The Grandmother. That was her favorite. But in jars, not cans. And not soup. It smells wonderful.”

“I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to how many things I take for granted that you’re totally unfamiliar with.”

“I’m not sure I will, either.” She tasted the soup, smiled. “This is very good. Are you not having any?”

“Maybe later.”

Outside, an owl hooted. Liam’s ears lifted, but he was used to the soft nighttime sounds. He was more focused on Angel’s soup, watching every motion of her spoon hopefully.

Angel picked a small piece of chicken from her bowl, paused. “May I give this to Liam? He looks hungry.”

“He always looks hungry. But sure, you can give it to him.”

She held the tiny bit out for the dog, who took it delicately from her fingers in his enormous teeth.

“Good boy,” she told Liam, who wagged his tail stump.

“He’ll be devoted to you forever, now,” Declan told her. “Actually, I think he was the minute he saw you.”

So was he. But he wasn’t going to admit that out loud. Hell, he didn’t want to admit it to himself.

“Declan? Will you tell me about some things?”

“What kind of things?”

“About the world. About your life. I don’t know what anyone else’s experiences have been, but I’ve gathered from books and from people at the hospital that my existence has been unusual.”

“That’s for sure.”

“So tell me. Tell me about a normal life.”

“I don’t know if mine was ‘normal.’ I guess that’s a subjective thing.”

“Tell me about growing up. With a mother and a father.”

Her eyes were shining. He could see she was on the verge of tears. He didn’t want to talk about his parents. But he wasn’t going to deny her anything, with her looking at him this way.

“You’ve wondered about that for a long time, haven’t you?” he asked her quietly.

“Always. But there was no one to ask. The Grandmother did not encourage questions that had nothing to do with my education. And this particular question I always sensed would make her angry. Please tell me.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Okay. Okay.”

Angel turned to set the bowl on the table, then settled herself onto the throw pillows, her blue gaze focused on him. She had a strange way of doing that—focusing on one thing so purely he didn’t think she noticed anything else.

“So…” he started. “I grew up around here, in Mendocino. My dad, Oran, was a forest ranger. That’s probably why I became one myself.”

“In the hospital Liz explained your job to me, how you watch over the forest.”

“It’s not as grand as it sounds.”

“It sounds important to me. Will they miss you from your job if you’re here taking care of me? Liz wanted to take a day away from the hospital and they wouldn’t allow her to. I heard her talking to another nurse about it.”

“I took a leave of absence.” When she looked confused he explained, “I let them know I needed to be away for a while. It’s not a problem.”

“I want to know more, what you do when you work each day. But right now I need to know what it is to have a family. To have a mother. Tell me about your mother, Declan.”

Small stab of pain in his chest. But he could talk about her, couldn’t he? He’d loved her. He just wasn’t used to it. Who would he have talked to about her? There’d been no one since Abby. But it was too much to think about right now. Abby. His mom.

Focus. One thing at a time.

He pulled in a breath, blew it out.

It was his mom Angel wanted to hear about, and there was as much love for her as there was pain. He couldn’t feel one without the other, but maybe for a few minutes he could focus on the love.

“Her name was Mary. She and my dad met when they were teenagers. He always said there was no other woman for him.” He had to pause and pull in another long breath. “Anyway, she was totally devoted to him. And to me. She was a good mother.”

“Do you look like her?”

“I get my blue eyes from her. But her hair was a lighter brown. She had pale skin, like yours. She was a tiny thing, like some sort of fairy. I could pick her up by the time I was thirteen or so. It made her laugh.”

Another small stab, like the twisting of a knife. Still, after all these years.

“And do you have siblings? Brothers and sisters?”

“I… No.”

“Declan?”

He didn’t talk about this. Ever. He didn’t think he’d said a single word to anyone in his entire fucking life. But he was going to tell Angel. He didn’t know why.

“When I was five years old, my mother had a baby. Her name was Erin. I remember how I was told that I had to be a good big brother to her. I don’t remember being jealous. I know some kids are. But Mom was so happy about the baby. I’m not sure how old Erin was, but I don’t think we had her very long. A few months, maybe. She died of SIDS, I guess, although I didn’t understand it until I was older. No one ever talked about it. She was just…gone.”

“SIDS?”

“Sudden infant death syndrome. Babies just…die sometimes. No one knows why.”

“And you felt you’d failed as her big brother.”

He looked up at Angel. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, Declan.”

“It’s okay.” He shrugged, even though there was no sincerity in it. It fucking wasn’t okay, was it? Which was why he never thought about Erin. Never talked about her. Easier not to think about it.

“What was your family like after that?” Angel asked.

“Everything just went on. Everyone accepted it. Mom was sad for a while, but not forever.”

“And your father?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember anything about how he reacted to it.”

“You seem very distanced from the death of your sister, Declan.”

No apologies. Just forthright honesty from her.

“Maybe I am. No, you’re right. I always have been. Shit.” He twisted his hands together. “You’re right.”

“And do you really think everyone simply went on without her? I don’t see how that’s possible. Even when one of The Grandmother’s dogs died, or I found a bird still and lifeless in the garden, I mourned.”

He unclasped his hands, ran one through his hair. Why did it feel as if his breath had left his body? He didn’t want to ask himself what Angel was asking him. And how did she sense these things? How did she have this kind of insight into situations she’d never really experienced?

He took in a long breath, blew it out. “Maybe. You probably have a point. I don’t like to think about it.”

She said, her voice soft, “Sometimes I think when something bad happens to a child, they develop a perception of the event that has nothing to do with what actually happened. We make something up that’s easier to bear. And we carry those ideas into our adult life.”

He nodded, his mind racing. It was too much to take in all at once. “Yeah. You’re right. I think that’s exactly what I’ve done. But at this point I have no idea how to separate what really happened from my five-year-old ideas about it.”

“Maybe we don’t have to. I’m not sure. I have to think about it some more. I didn’t mean to upset you, Declan.”

“No, it’s fine. I don’t mind talking about it with you so much.”

She smiled at him, warming him. And making his stomach tighten with need. The need to just kiss her. Hold her.

Don’t think about it now.

“Do you have photographs of your family?” she asked him.

“You know photographs?”

“There were photographs in the hospital, at the nurses’ station. Photographs of their children, mostly.”

“I have a box somewhere. But this is my mom.” He got up, took a framed picture from the bookshelf and brought it to Angel.

“She’s pretty. She looks like a happy person. And you do have her eyes. Does she live nearby?”

He took the frame from Angel’s hand, carefully set it back on the shelf. With his back turned to her, he said, “She died.”

“Ah, Declan. I’m very sorry.”

“Please don’t.”

“Don’t be sorry? But I am. You have lost much.”

“Don’t pity me,” he said, his tone harsher than he meant it to be.

Angel was quiet for several moments, while he stood there feeling like an asshole.

Have to get it together.

He turned back to face her. Her brows were drawn together, worry etched on her face.

“Angel, I’m sorry. It was a long time ago. I don’t know why I’m being like this.”

“There is a difference between empathy and pity.”

“Yes. You’re right.”

“I don’t feel pity for you.”

He nodded. “I know.”

He did know. His shoulders loosened a little.

“We don’t have to talk about it anymore. Thank you for sharing your family with me.”

“Sure.”

The gears in his head were shifting. This brief conversation was some sort of emotional roller coaster for him. Not the kind of discussion he usually had with anyone. Maybe that’s why it was so damn confusing. He needed to calm down, take another breath and just calm down.

“All done with your soup?” he asked her. He couldn’t talk anymore.

“Yes. Thank you.”

“Maybe we should get you back into bed. I’m taking you into town to see Ruth Hehewuti tomorrow.”

“I will be glad to see her.”

He wouldn’t. But he knew Angel needed it.

“Come on. Let’s get you up.”

Once he had her settled in her room he sat down at his desk. The computer screen was a pale, blue glow. He should probably get on there, do some more research, see if he could find out who Angel was, what had happened to her. But he was distracted by their conversation tonight.

He still could not believe he’d told her about Erin. And his mother. There was some weird sort of purity about Angel—he didn’t know what else to call it—that made him want to open up with her. She was completely without judgment. He’d never met anyone like her.

He didn’t get how he could be talking to her about these intensely private, loaded issues and still be so distracted by the way she looked. By his overwhelming desire for her.

Nothing made much sense when it came to Angel. It was as if the normal rules of the world didn’t apply. Or maybe that was just something he was making up to excuse what he was feeling for her. Because
that
made no fucking sense at all.