The Forsaken(15)

Still, every night when Izzy forced herself to appear happy and relaxed in her stage outfit, she never felt at ease. She might wish to be brazen and admire the carefree attitude of the girls who dressed in skimpy attire at the recreation center, but deep down her teachings and her upbringing reared their ugly heads. As uncomfortable as she was in the spotlight, their singing voices quite literally paid for everything in their lives now and she never forgot how they had to make their living.

Sunday night, and the recreational center owned by Michael Hughes, known simply as Mike, to them and his closest friends, filled with the usual. Once again, Izzy thanked the heavens he’d found her. During those first awful days, which turned to bitter, cold months when her faith in herself and what she’d fought for had been most severely tested, she truly understood loneliness. Izzy wasn’t sure what she would have done if he hadn’t of found her. She tried not to think of the alternative, but seeing the teens using their bodies for quick cash left her no doubt what she would have had to do to secure food and shelter for her sisters. His kind offer of help with no strings attached truly touched her to this day. When Izzy had to quickly acclimatize to Earth, she’d learned the hard way that not all humans were nice or caring. With nowhere to go, she’d taken to singing for her supper on the streets. Humans called it begging but it had never felt degrading to Izzy. Not that it was fun, of course.

Michael had discovered her a month after she’d left the caring hands of humans who tried to heal her. It had been a cold, drizzly day and she’d feared her voice might give out. He had walked up to her, while she’d been busking and handed her a business card. Their hands had touched briefly, but it was all Izzy needed to grasp the intel she’d needed. Michael wanted to help teens. He’d suffered his own loss and when the heavens opened up that night with a heavy downpour, Izzy took him up on his offer of help.

Over the years the center had changed, with her help and that of her sisters she’d rescued. Luckily, Michael never once said no to her. He had inherited what he called “old money,” and thoroughly liked trying to make a difference. She knew he had hopes of setting her and the band up with a “lucrative” record deal. Izzy wanted none of that. In exchange for the brownstone he and her sisters had helped refurbish, they sang and did other chores as needed for the center.

Izzy liked performing on Sunday nights. The crowds were less interested in scoring sex or looking tough. Most of the kids crossing Michael’s door were like her—in need. Sunday nights was more a night out with friends, a last hurrah before the week of school called them forth.

Tonight Izzy knew she showed a lot more flesh than usual. She’d discarded her normal high-top sneakers for the military-styled boots she wore when fighting demons and that should have told her something. She wasn’t feeling her usual calm, in-control self, and it was all Nathanael’s fault.

“Everything okay, Izzy?” asked Mike the minute she moved up behind him at the bar. He handed her a glass of her usual—ice-cold water.

“You bet. Why?”

“Seemed like there was a bit of trouble the other night. Care to explain all that?”

No, not really. Izzy took a sip of water. Mike wouldn’t let her leave until she said something. “Old friend showed up unexpectedly. No biggie.”

He made a move to touch her arm. She tensed, her body instinctively moving out of reach. She, like all of her sisters, was an empath. While she’d touched him a few times over the years, she’d always tried to avoid it. If touched, they could find themselves choking on a sudden rush of human emotions. Izzy had learned to dull the effect by staying out of reach or instantly humming a healing chant to her soul.

Anya had yet to master turning off the tangible rush of human emotions. Tonight, like most nights, she lay quietly in her bed reading poetry. Currently, she was engrossed in Josephine Balmer’s Sappho Poems and Fragments. Izzy knew eventually she’d have to get the novice to face the real world. She’d tried in the past to get Anya to sing, knowing evoking her musical voice would bless her. Anya refused. We all have our coping mechanisms.

Mike stopped himself from touching her and instead leaned his head closer to hers. “If he becomes a biggie,” said Mike, looking over at the table near the back of the bar where Nathanael sat, “I can deal with him.”

Oh no, you can’t. “Thanks, Mike. Seriously, all’s fine. He’ll behave.” I’ll behave.

“By the way, nice outfit,” said Mike, giving her a friendly wink.

“Daring, isn’t it?”

“Yeah, it’s just not your typical attire. You sure everything’s okay?”

“Things are just blessedly great.” Before he could pop quiz her more, she turned away from him to make her way back stage.

“You’re wearing that to annoy him,” said Meredith, as she handed out the bells to each of the sisters.

For a second, Isabelle thought of asking who she meant, but why play stupid? All of them scented the Seraphim the minute his heavenly presence crossed the threshold. He smelled of soap mixed with steel. She wished he smelled like the overripe boys who frequented the establishment; they doused themselves in so much cologne it made her gag. Not Nathanael. He didn’t need to enhance what the Almighty had blessed him with. He was Seraphim.

Izzy leaned closer to Meredith. “You bet I am. Maybe he’ll realize I’m not the perfect Cherub, and certainly not wife material, and fly back to the heavens.” She made a mocking flying motion with her hands and laughed bitterly.