The Forsaken(4)

She then bowed her head to recite an ancient Hebrew prayer of forgiveness, forcing the green muck to further dissolve.

Nathanael carefully eased his way up to her. “Wow, and I thought I did fast prayer.”

She ignored him.

Wiping her hands on her pants, she moved to the other puddle of green slime.

“So, Cherub, to whom do I owe the pleasure of thanking?”

She turned and looked at him. For a second, something potent filled the space, which considering the reek of garbage milling around them, was miraculous.

“I am no one, Sere. But if I were you, I’d get some pants on before I leave this alley.” A real smile filled her young face. It had to be the loveliest sight Nathanael had ever witnessed.

Nathanael vehemently disagreed. There was no way she was just a nobody.

“And if I were you, Sere, I’d fly home.” Mockery and contempt met him square on.

He moved a tad closer, noting how her eyes cased him with suppressed laughter, but also reading her body language. She was like a lamb, getting ready to bolt. He cursed when she did.

One second, there.

Another, gone.

Nathanael blinked. He had hoped to talk to the Cherub but luck wasn’t on his side. At the moment the only thing clinging to him was rotten fruit.

A swirl of thick emotion surged through him. He had been saved by a Cherub angel. A teenager, like himself. He thanked the heavens none of his brothers had witnessed his ass being saved by a female. Nathanael gathered his composure. He might now be fallen, but if he had his way, that wouldn’t last for long.

Forced back to the Dumpster, he dug around until he found a worn sweater. He tugged the filthy thing over his head to cover up his robe and prayed the Seraphim safe house still existed. After the fall of Lucifer, the Council had created angel safe houses that were ruled and governed by humans wishing to serve the greater good of the Almighty. A few houses over the years had become extinct, but Boston was said to still have one. Nathanael could not fail. He had made his choice when he’d begged for exile, and now had to complete his task.

*

Two nights later, Nathanael felt more in control of his body and surroundings. He was armed with two small knives braced under his long-sleeved shirt and a third one tucked into his sock. They weren’t perfect. But here, he worked with what he had. Adaptation: his new word of the day.

He sauntered down the worn, crumbling steps at the back of the recreational center and caught the stench of hashish from a group of teens lingering by the side. They were careful to keep to the shadows as they enjoyed their illegal drugs. He hated the sweet stench of the drugs, but was keenly aware of the allure they offered. Since long before the demon attacks, but more so since the gates first fell, more and more angels who’d lost loved ones had turned to their own methods of escaping. A drug might have many names and come in a thousand forms but the people using were looking for the same thing—escape. Ignoring them, Nathanael opened the door and stepped inside. The symmetry of the place was like any other recreational center but there, similarities ended. Since he’d already been to about four such places in the city in two days while searching for his mate, this place with its bar-like decor and freshly painted walls gave him a measure of hope.

Two older teens with bodies all bulk and muscle moved forward.

“These are the rules. No drugs or alcohol on the premises or we’ll kick your ass out. And no fighting. Understand?”

Okay, he hadn’t expected that. And it was on the tip of his tongue to point out a group of druggies were practically camping on the doorstep, but instead, he nodded. “Got it.”

They let him pass. He made his way through the throng of teens at the center. The symphony of male colognes and female perfumes was overwhelming. How do humans handle it? Maneuvering his way through a crowd of thrashing dancers who were oblivious to the techno beat and more in tune with the light show, he made his way to what looked like a bar. At one time the mahogany wood that made up the counter had been nice, but now it was etched deeply with pits of graffiti. A dozen bottles with varying liquids the shades of copper, red, yellow, lime green, and red were neatly lined up on the backboard.

A large pink neon sign neatly placed between the middle of the bottles stated Virgin Drinks Rule!

It also looked like someone had at one time scrawled “sucks” underneath the blinking sign. Nathanael chuckled to himself. It was a prank he and his brethren would have probably pulled, and knowing that made him a bit more at ease.

So far this recreational center, located one block up from the Boston Harbor next to a stack of old, rundown warehouses, showed promise. He’d learned at the safe house that rumor had it a group of fallen angels were literally singing for their supper. At first he’d dismissed it, thinking his mate would never dare such a thing, but with little else to guide him, he’d been forced to pursue the wild tale, all the while praying with his divine heart he’d be wrong.

The stabbing colors from the light show hurt his sensitive eyes. So much color. So much of everything. Again, the thought that he was out of his element overwhelmed him. He chose his path. He’d fight for his Cherub angel and make her come back with him. After spending only forty-eight hours on Earth, Nathanael couldn’t wait to get back to the pristine, orderly world of angels where everything was preordained from birth. Status meant everything. You were born by the grace of the Almighty to be a certain type of angel, and Nathanael knew he’d been born to be a warrior, all the way.