Devil's Advocate (The X-Files: Origins #2)(17)

The agent looked into the middle distance for a moment, then shook his head slowly. “Personally, man, I doubt there are labels for what we’re into. No one’s gone this far before.”

“Not even the Russians? I heard some wild stuff,” said the tech.

“The Russians are two years behind us,” said Gerlach. “Maybe four. By the time they catch up to where we are now, we’ll have broken through to the next level.”

“What is the next level?”

Gerlach glanced at him. “That’s above your pay grade.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry; just don’t be nosy.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And stop calling me sir. I hate that.”

“Yes, sir … um, I mean, sure,” Danny said, then began turning off the video feeds. “Did you hear? They’re giving you a new driver today.”

Gerlach nodded. “I know.”

“Regular guy says he has food poisoning.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You believe him?”

The agent tore open the ninth packet, poured it in, and went back to stirring. “Not everyone’s cut out for this job,” he said.





CHAPTER 17

Scully Residence 6:43 A.M.

When Dana padded barefoot into the kitchen, she found Gran was at the table, hands pressed to the sides of a steaming cup of tea, buttered toast sitting cold on a plate. It was rare for Gran to be up much before noon. The radio was on, playing some old songs from World War II that Dana didn’t know.

“Hey, Gran,” said Dana as she came over and kissed her grandmother’s cheek. Even though Gran’s face was wrinkled, it was always so soft. She smelled of soap and Dorothy Gray face powder.

“There’s coffee made,” said Gran, though that wasn’t true. The coffeemaker stood empty. Dana didn’t comment, though. The teakettle was still hot enough, and she made herself a cup. Peppermint. Gran had a saying for that: “Chamomile to calm down; peppermint to perk up.”

She brought it over to the table and sat down. Gran smiled at her and pushed the toast across.

“You’re letting it get cold.”

Dana nodded as if that made sense, took a piece, bit off a corner, and munched it. She pushed the plate back to Gran. Outside there seemed to be a thousand birds in the trees, all of them joining voices to proclaim that spring was well and truly here. It was nice. Loud, but nice.

“Gran…?” she asked.

“Yes, sweetie?”

“What are angels?”

Her grandmother’s eyes were rarely clear and usually seemed to wander, unfocused, as if she had forgotten how to look at things. But now they clicked over to study her, and they were as clear and blue as the sky after a good rain.

“Why do you want to know about angels?”

“I keep dreaming about them.”

Gran sipped her tea, her eyes intense and unblinking for a long moment. Then she looked down into her cup. “Are you afraid of those angels?”

“A little,” said Dana, softening the truth.

Gran nodded. “You should be.”

“What?”

Those blue eyes glanced up again. “What do you think angels are?”

“Um … God’s messengers, I guess.”

“You guess.”

“That’s what they told us in Sunday school.”

Gran made a face. Unlike her daughter and grandkids, she rarely went to church. “Well, then it must be true.”

“That’s why I’m asking you,” said Dana.

The wall clock ticked through half a minute before Gran said anything. Dana knew this pattern. When Gran was lucid, it was best to wait her out, to let her work up to whatever she wanted to say. Speaking too soon, or interrupting, seemed to throw a switch and send her back into the disconnected haze where Gran spent most of her days.

Gran nodded as if agreeing with her own thoughts. “There are all kinds of angels,” she began slowly. “The name means ‘messenger,’ and a lot of people think they’re just God’s errand boys. Ha! Hardly. People think they stand around all day shouting ‘hosanna’ and playing harps and looking like hippies in long robes. But that’s just silly, isn’t it? People pray to angels as if they only exist to come help you get through a bad day. They pray to them like they’re saints, but the saints, at least, used to be people. Angels never were.”

“What are they?” urged Dana.

“They’re dangerous is what they are,” said Gran, her voice clear and sharp. “Think about it, girl. The first angel mentioned in the Bible stood guard at the entrance to the Garden of Eden with a fiery sword. He wasn’t there to protect Adam and Eve, you can believe me. Guardian angels are in the Bible, but they’re not there to protect us. All through the Bible angels act like God’s hit men, showing up to punish, to destroy.” She shook her head. “Don’t forget, Lucifer was an angel.”

“Oh … right…”

“And they’re not pretty, either. They’re monsters.”

“Monsters?”

“The seraphim are large six-winged snakes that fly. Cherubs aren’t those cute rosy-cheeked babies you see in paintings. Hardly. They’re winged lions. Not exactly the kind of creature you want watching over your baby’s crib. Why do you think every time an angel appears to a human in the scriptures, they say, ‘Do not be afraid’?