The Forsaken(41)
“Yeah, I heard that too. Trust me, I’ve believed in demons longer than angels, so I’ll teach you everything I know about killing humans and hopefully some of that intel will work on slaying demons.”
“Are you serious, Mike? You’d want to help me?” asked Shea.
“Shea, I would do anything for you. First things first.”
He walked into her small bathroom and turned on the water. “Take a shower. I’ll give you ten minutes. Clock’s ticking, Shea. Once you’re dressed, meet me downstairs. We’re starting our first lesson today.”
Shea felt a ray of hope light through her for the first time in a long while.
“If you’re not done in ten, I’m coming in to get you.”
“You wouldn’t.”
Mike grinned and winked at her. “Oh yes I would.”
Chapter Twelve
Bone-weary and feeling unsure of her skills, Meredith slid into the bath. The fragrant lilac oil she’d poured in soothed her frayed nerves. Seeing the future is not for the heavenly fainthearted. Sighing, she dunked her head under the water, loving how fast her mind went blank. Like her fellow Cherubs, most of Meredith’s powers had been taken. She, like her sisters, still felt the rush of human emotions but her foretelling the future, something she had not shared with any of them, had not been with her before the fall from the heavenly realm. That curse she’d been damned with the moment her feet graced the filthy pavement. Like most things, the curses the Mistress leveled at her showed glimpses, never the whole truth. For instance, she had seen Shea singing inside a large church with a beautiful smile on her face. She had not seen her fall from grace.
What good is seeing the future if I can’t get it right? That is the crux of things and why the Mistress gave it to me. Meredith lathered the soap on like there was no tomorrow. Reluctantly she got out of the tub and toweled off. The minute she stepped into her bedroom, she felt Gareth’s dark energy curl around her.
The knock on her door told her exactly who was opposite the barrier. “Give me a minute, Gareth,” said Meredith, quickly slipping on some clothing.
Gareth barged in. “Why didn’t you tell me about Shea?”
He knows. Mentally, Meredith made a note to reprimand her sisters. Disclosing what happened to them had to remain strictly private. Moving to her dresser she took out a large sweatshirt, noticing immediately the tremors cascading through his body. His hands jerked in place on his jeans and Gareth kept wetting his lips. Not a nervous man, Meredith knew he endured withdrawal for his own betterment. Part of her sympathized with his plight. She had felt that way when she’d first landed on Earth. Two years later it still hurt as much.
“What would you have me do? Call you? You were the one that left, Gareth.”
He looked at her. Always, his green eyes disarmed her. They were so unlike an angel’s. Rooted to Earth, his green irises reminded her more of this realm than anything else.
“I had to leave. What…what you showed me, I needed time to think. Next time anything like that goes down you call me. Hear me, Meredith.”
Gareth sounded so like a Seraphim when he was not.
“You have need of me?” asked Meredith.
“Stop saying that Meredith, it makes me…” Meredith raised her eyes watching his cheeks blush.
“Makes you what?” she fished, enjoying herself.
“Never mind. It’s just that this isn’t normal.”
Meredith sat down on her bed, patting the space next to her. “You are saying I am not normal.”
He ran a tired hand through his bristly hair. “No, for Christ’s sake. Shit, I’m probably not allowed to say that now.”
Meredith laughed. “Say what you want, Gareth. Let me tend to you.” She reached out and gently, placed her hand on top of his. His energy licked her skin, goose bumps of desire shimmed to life, and Meredith forced herself to ignore it all. What she desired could not happen. He needed her and she would do this for him. Without waiting for him, she closed her eyes and started to hum, allowing her healing light to invade his body. He sighed, fell back onto her bed, and looked so much like a Seraphim her voice faltered.
*
Izzy walked along the sidewalk leading to the alley where Shea’s soul had been taken. Each step she took had purpose. Clad in her new skinny jeans and new Boston Red Sox sweatshirt, she teetered, looking like she’d had one too many drinks. Inside, she seethed. Her mind, clear as a bell, her goal to get the demon who had destroyed Shea.
Tonight revenge cloaked the air. She inhaled, scenting the immorality of mankind in all its forms. Four teenage males did a double take at her as she swayed into the darkened alley. Not one uttered a word of caution. If she had been human, she should worry. Since she wasn’t, it annoyed her. She put the lack of compassion down to a causality of the times. Pretending to stumble, she ambled fully into the darkened alley, noting the streetlight had been knocked out. Glass still littered the asphalt and the alley reeked of rotting garbage, stale booze, and slimy oil. None of this concerned Izzy. What she sought took blood and her life essence. Smothered in the darkness, she stilled and then quick as a whip, slid the dirk out of her bodice to slice her arm. Calmly, matter-of-factly, she watched the golden liquid of her essence slither down her arm to the grungy pavement.
She counted minutes. Seven. Of course, she thought sarcastically to herself. That blessed number, which was the holiest of numbers in the heavens, seemed to fit with her mood of the night.