by Cassie Miles
"Hugh Montclair has allowed me some small artistic license in my decision-making," Alex said stiffly. "Rafe will have to work out the money details with our esteemed producer, of course."
And so would Jenna. She had money concerns of her own. "Do you have any idea when Mr. Montclair might be coming to visit the set?"
"Jenna, my dear, I thought you knew. Hugh Montclair is a bit of a recluse. Rafe will have to go to his home."
"I should go along," Jenna said. "It's obvious that you're going to need my animals for longer than specified in my contract. I need to renegotiate terms with Mr. Montclair."
"Careful, Jenna," Alex warned. "You're not Hugh Montclair's favorite person right now. Not after the…the incident, last night."
The incident? "Are you referring to Eddy Benson's death?"
"A nasty bit of business," Alex said. "Our esteemed producer has decided that you need help with your animals. When we spoke on the phone this morning, he said he'd send someone."
"What?" If she'd been doing an unsatisfactory job, the producer was within his rights to fire her. But assigning a helper? "That's not the way I work. Denardo Animal Wranglers has been in business for twenty years and—"
"Fine, fine." Alex flicked his fingers as if waving off the dull business end of filmmaking. "Talk to Hugh about it. My assistant will set up a time for you. Won't you, Dorothy?"
"You bet." Dorothy stepped forward, making a note on her clipboard. This gnomish lady had always worked in the motion picture business and was old enough to claim that her first movie memory as a child was being clasped to the bosom of none other than Mae West. She peered over the reading glasses perched on the tip of her nose and said, "So, Jenna. How's later tonight? Does that work for you?"
"Fine," Jenna said. "After we've finished filming, and I've bedded down the animals, I could leave for a while."
Dorothy turned to Rafe. "What about you?"
"I can be free this evening."
"Okay, kiddo." Dorothy jotted a note on her clipboard. "I'll let Jenna know the time."
Alex gestured to Rafe. "Walk with me. We have a few bits to discuss. Tell me, have you ever worked naked?"
"No, but I wouldn't mind."
Jenna swallowed hard. All other thoughts blanked from her mind. Naked? How would Rafe look in the nude? Fabulous, she thought, echoing Alex's assessment.
"Naked, huh?" Dorothy chuckled. "I'd like to see that! Your friend, Rafe, is one great-looking guy."
"Ditto," Jenna replied.
"So, kiddo, are you okay? It must have been a shock for you, finding Eddy like you did."
"I'm going to miss him," Jenna said. "If Eddy had been here, the whole incident with the tiger wouldn't have happened."
"I liked Eddy." Dorothy glanced down at the hen scratchings on her clipboard. "But there were a lot of people who didn't. Like our director."
"Alex?"
"He might look like a namby-pamby, but he's a…what do you call it? A 'seething pot of emotional turmoil.'" Her thin lips grimaced. "That's a line from a movie I worked on. One of those gorgeous costume dramas. I love those things."
"I thought Alex was fairly new to Hollywood. How has he had time to make enemies?"
"He comes from a theater and movie family. 'Sins of the father,' you know. That's another quote."
From the Bible, Jenna thought. The greatest of costume dramas. "Did Alex's father know Eddy Benson?"
"His brother," Dorothy said. "The brother was seriously injured in a film Eddy was working on a couple of years ago. The poor kid ended up in a wheelchair, lost the use of his legs. Not as bad as Christopher Reeve, but bad."
Jenna looked toward Alex and Rafe. The two men were standing at the edge of the klieg lights aimed at the Garden of Eden set. Rafe seemed to be glowing, again. "Did Alex blame Eddy for the accident?"
"Sure did." Dorothy stood beside her, following her line of sight. "From what I understand, it wasn't really anybody's fault. Alex's brother took a bad fall. People don't realize how dangerous these stunts can be. Anyhow, it was real tragic. Eddy blamed himself."
Jenna wasn't surprised. Eddy had been extremely responsible in his work—almost to the point of being irritating. He even fussed with her animals, The day before yesterday, he'd informed her that one of her pigs seemed ill, and he'd wanted to take the animal to a vet.
Beside her, Dorothy exhaled a sigh. "That Rafe is something else! Is he single?"
"I don't know. I only met him a few minutes ago."
"You're single," Dorothy pointed out. "If I were you, I'd latch on to him quick. Before our female star gets the chance."
Latching on had never been one of Jenna's talents. "And how should I do that?"
"Ask him out," Dorothy said. "Don't tell me you've never asked a man out before."
"Sure," Jenna said. In fifth grade, she'd asked Richie Vanderpool to the sock hop. He'd turned her down and stolen her lunch. "It didn't work out too well."
"Dorothy!" came the bellow from Alex. "Where are my stars? I need them on set. Now!"
"Gotta run," she said. "Remember what I told you. Dinah Aaron is coming out here any minute, and I guarantee she's going to have the hots for your stuntman."
Jenna really hadn't considered the possibility of dating anyone involved with this film. Or any other film. Typically, when she was on set, she was too busy with her animals to think about anything else.
But Rafe was different than most movie people. He was different than anyone she'd met before. Supernatural? As he approached her, she had an impending sense that it was now or never. If she didn't act quickly and ask him out, Dinah would be all over him, and there was no way Jenna could compete with the glamorous female star.
Rafe came up beside her and smiled casually. In a low voice, he confided, "You wouldn't believe what Alex has in mind. He wants me to get naked and parade around with the tiger, perhaps pull a thorn from his paw."
"That didn't happen in the Garden of Eden, did it?"
"Not according to any Scripture I've seen. But the idea of aliens landing in Eden isn't biblically accurate, either."
Jenna's lips stretched in a tense grin. In the few minutes he'd been with her, her heartbeat had accelerated, her cheeks felt warm and her palms were sweaty. "How did you get Darius to go along with you?"
"Concentration," he said.
"It was more than that," she said. "It was as if you'd hypnotized him."
"I'm not a sorcerer, Jenna."
"Well, no." Of course not. What had she been thinking? He was just a man. A very good-looking man. "So, Rafe, are you married?"
"No."
"I was thinking, you know, maybe tonight, after we meet with Hugh Montclair, we could kind of go out on a date. Maybe."
Oh God, that was awful! She'd wanted to sound as self-assured as a femme fatale. Instead, she'd been reduced to a stammering klutz.
His eyebrows raised. A slight smile flickered across his well-shaped lips. "Actually, Jenna, I don't date women."
"Oh." Jenna's cheeks flamed. Simultaneously, she felt embarrassed and relieved. He was gay. All the good men were either spoken for or gay. Why hadn't she thought of that? Somebody as delicious as Rafe wouldn't be wandering around unattached.
"Jenna!" Alex bellowed. "I need you. Jenna!"
She went to see what he wanted. "Bye, Rafe. See you later."
"Later," he said.
Rafe watched her hurry toward the director. Her behavior toward him was different than before. She seemed diffident, perhaps hurt. By his refusal to go on a date?
Rafe shrugged. He hadn't meant to injure her pride, but he really couldn't concern himself with the emotional state of this pretty young woman with the wildly curling blond hair. She had little to do with the death of Eddy Benson. Beyond finding the body, Jenna was not a part of this crime. And the murder was the only reason Rafe was here. If Eddy had been infected with a virus, he needed to act quickly.
He turned away from Jenna. A more pressing problem had presented itself
. While Alex was talking, Rafe realized that he'd be expected to appear on film. Naked or not, he was fairly certain that his angelic radiance would be evident—if not as an aura, the slight glow that accompanied him might cause the film to distort.
He should have figured that out before he offered himself as a stuntman. It wasn't like him to make a blatant oversight.
Of course, there was a solution, but Rafe wasn't anxious to pursue it. In order to appear on film, he needed to become a mortal.
Though Rafe regularly assumed the human form that most accurately reflected his eternal soul, he was still an angel—a spiritual being made of purest energy. He could fly. He could dematerialize. He could whisper his thoughts into the minds of men without making a physical sound.
Unencumbered by a body, he could taste if he chose to. Yet, he needed no food or drink to survive. He felt neither hunger nor thirst. His beard didn't grow. He didn't sweat.
But if he became human? Not only was the transformation risky, but if he took human substance, Rafe was subject to aches and pains, wheezes and sniffles. As a mortal man, he could die.
The risk didn't frighten him, but the idea that he might fail in this assignment did. He must make no more careless mistakes.
He left the soundstage, needing to begin his investigation of the possible virus. Outside, the Los Angeles skies were a hazy gray. On the movie lot, Rafe could see many other angels, invisible to the human eye, as they enacted their duties as guardians, heralds and special messengers. A delicate female form, complete with pearly wings, lounged atop one of the buildings, casually watching. A guardian shadowed his charge, dogging every step, whispering advice that would be called conscience. Every human had a guardian angel, but these caretakers were not always present.
None of these angels had witnessed Eddy's murder, or else they would have reported to St Michael. But what had happened to the guardian who should have kept watch over Eddy Benson? Rafe needed to communicate with this individual. On the human side of this investigation, he had already determined that the Los Angeles coroner's office had not yet performed an autopsy on Eddy Benson. His death hadn't even been classified as a murder.
No one knew, except the angels. And Jenna. She had suspicions.
Making sure that no one was observing, Rafe dematerialized, releasing the physical manifestation of himself. He was utterly free, without shape or substance. As pure energy, he soared through the heavens, gliding through beams of light, riding on the wind, seeking truth from a being like himself.
An unassigned guardian angel might be anywhere, but Rafe's essential wisdom guided his flight. He abandoned conscious thought and sensation. His investigative instincts guided him to a small, adobe church near Olvera Street.
Angels were often found in a place of worship. Near the altar, Rafe identified the former guardian angel of Eddy Benson.
Rafe alighted on a front pew. In an instant, he had resumed an identity, the well-drawn portrait of Rafael. To the being beside him, Rafe posed the silent question: What happened to Eddy Benson?
"I don't know." The angel became solid. He was youthful, a handsome fellow with long blond curls and mournful eyes. "I should have been watching, but it wasn't Eddy's time to die."
"Then he was murdered."
"Yes. I came too late."
"How did he die?" Rafe asked.
"Some sort of poison affected his heart." The young angel shifted uncomfortably. "I'm not a doctor. I don't know exactly what it was."
"Could it have been a virus?"
"I don't know."
Even in the world of the omniscient, there were boundaries to knowledge. All wisdom was available to those who sought such things. However, most thinkers quested for eternal truths, not physical intelligence.
"In Eddy's final days, what was he doing?" Rafe questioned. "Who had he seen?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"I seek to avenge his death. Upon direct orders from Saint Michael."
"You're an avenger? Oh, good." The guardian seemed to lighten with relief. "I'm glad that somebody is taking notice. Eddy Benson wasn't the most important person on earth, but he was a good man."
"My question," Rafe reminded. "Do you suspect anyone of Eddy's murder?"
"Not really. He was working on that stupid movie. All day, every day, he was involved with those movie people. It really didn't seem like there was anything to worry about."
"What about Alex Hill?"
"He hated Eddy." The guardian considered for a moment. "Alex Hill is dangerous. And so is that woman."
"Jenna?"
"No, the beautiful one. Dinah."
Rafe hadn't yet met her. "Why do you think she might have something to do with Eddy's murder?"
"I just do," the guardian said somewhat petulantly. "She was always nasty to Eddy, and she isn't the type to offend men, if you know what I mean."
"Anyone else?"
"It's hard to tell. Everybody in the movies lies and cheats. I hope the next person I get assigned to watch is an accountant or a farmer, maybe. I'd like a farmer."
"After your negligence with Eddy Benson, you'll be lucky to be guardian to a flea."
"It happened so fast," he whined. "It wasn't my fault."
How unfortunate, Rafe thought, that Eddy Benson's guardian angel hadn't been more perceptive. If he had been, Eddy might not have died before his time.
Once again, Rafe took to the skies. Purely for his own pleasure, he assumed the traditional angelic form. Effortlessly, he stroked the air with luminous white wings and sailed above the lingering California smog, reveling in absolute freedom. How could he give this up? Even a brief time as a mortal was an unpleasant prospect.
But it had to be done. He needed to be ready to appear on film while he continued his inquiries.
The transformation was a skill Rafe had discovered during the centuries of his angelic existence. Because he was an avenger at the highest level, it was sometimes necessary to physically confront the forces of evil—dark angels who stood at the shoulder of dictators and sycophants, enticing them with greed and lust for power. If those evil ones had recognized Rafe as an angel, they would have rebuffed him. And so he had learned to take human form to fool them, to turn their attention away from his investigations. Among the angels, humanity was the ultimate deception.
After gliding over the soundstage and determining that everyone was busy on set, he slipped into a private room. It appeared to be a dressing room with a well-lit mirror and a messy makeup table. A woman's clothing, size six, was scattered about carelessly.
Rafe resumed his typical physical manifestation and stood, staring at himself in the mirror. To the mortal eye, he appeared to be one of them. Except for the slight radiance that Jenna had noticed, he had the shape and form of a man.
His eyelids closed as he began his meditation, concentrating upon a void, a nothingness, while exerting the considerable force of his will. A spiral of magnetic energy surrounded him.
"Rafael."
His inner voice whispered to him, calling him from this course, reminding him of the peril. To be trapped in a human body was surely the darkest circle of hell, but he could not allow fear to dissuade him. He must trust in his judgment.
The energy spiral entered at the base of his spine. Coiling upward, it reached his head, the center of idea and thought. Solid matter consumed him. A heavy skeleton weighted him. Human organs formed his new anatomy. His blood, fiery hot, churned along the spinal column, then spread to his limbs. He felt skin beneath his clothing. Flesh, solid flesh.
Fierce pain accompanied every pulsing throb. He suffered the agony of birth, yet he did not lose his concentration. He acknowledged the torture and accepted it In a labored gasp, he inhaled the first breath of air and felt his lungs crackle and expand. Finally, his angel heart became a heavy, blood-filled organ within his chest.
The change was complete.
Exhausted by the effort, Rafe collapsed into a chair in the dressing room. With his spirit
imprisoned in flesh, he could barely move. His arms and legs felt ponderous and heavy. Small aches and twinges made themselves known. He would have to work with this body if he expected to perform as a stuntman.
Slowly, he rose to his feet and looked in the mirror. Physically, he did not appear to be much different than before.
From outside the dressing room, he heard female voices. Though Rafe was not yet recovered enough to face anyone, he must be ready. He jogged his slow-thinking human brain, trying to invent an excuse for being here in a woman's dressing room.
The dressing-room door swung open, framing Jenna and another woman, a brunette with full lips and exquisite makeup.
The brunette stared at him. "Well, hello there."
"Hi," he said. Apparently, that was the best response he could muster with his inferior human brain.
"Most times, I'd be really annoyed to find a man in my dressing room. But you, darling, can stay right where you are."
Who was she? He looked toward Jenna for an answer. Her dark eyes glowered. "Gosh, Rafe, this is an odd place for you to turn up. Especially since you aren't interested in women."
"Apparently," Dinah said. "He's interested in me. Introduce us, Jenna."
"Dinah Aaron, this is Rafe Santini. He's a stuntman."
"How convenient," Dinah purred as she sidled into the room and approached him. "I have a few stunts in mind."
"Sorry to be here," Rafe said. His voice sounded hoarse, and he cleared his throat, tasting the slick interior of his mouth. "I needed a little privacy. I'll be going now."
"You can stay." Dinah reached up and patted his cheek. "I hope you won't mind if I change clothes."
"You don't need to change," Jenna said in clipped tones. "Alex wanted me to work with you on handling the python."
"But I despise snakes." Her gaze stayed on Rafe. "Don't you?"
"I don't mind reptiles," he said. He considered the snake to be one of the more fascinating creations. "Their method of locomotion is beautiful."
"Slithering? Oh, ick." She lowered her gaze toward his thighs. "Hike legs."