“That ain’t no possum bite,” the old woman said with a shake of her head. She leaned into the car and let Gabriel sniff her bony, callused hands. “What bit you, boy?” she asked, petting his head.
“I think it was called an Orisha,” Gabriel woofed.
“Would you look at that,” she said with a genuine smile. “You’d think he was trying to answer me.”
“He’s very talkative,” Aaron said, giving Gabriel a thumbs-up behind the woman’s back.
“He housebroke?” she asked, still rubbing the dog’s velvety soft ears and stroking the side of his face.
“Of course he is,” Aaron answered, holding his indignation in check. “And he doesn’t bark or chew. Gabriel’s just an all-around good dog.”
She emerged from the car and gave Aaron the once over. “Well, you don’t look like a Rockefeller, so it’ll be a hundred dollars a week, with meals—but you have to eat with me. This ain’t no restaurant.”
“That’s great,” he answered cheerily. “It’ll be nice to have something other than fast food for a change.”
The old woman studied him for a minute, then turned and began to walk up the path into her yard. “Don’t go thanking me yet,” she said, placing her sunglasses back on her face and removing the work gloves from her pockets. “Never told you if I was a good cook or not.”
She stopped suddenly and turned back to him. “Since you’re gonna be living underneath my roof for a bit, you might as well tell me your name.”
“It’s Aaron,” he said with a smile. “Aaron Corbet.”
“Aaron,” she said a few times, committing it to memory. “I’m Mrs. Provost—used to be Orville, but after my husband died in seventy-two, I figured I’d go back to my maiden name. Never cared for much he gave me, especially the name.”
She continued on her way up the path, tugging the gloves on her hands as she walked.
“Well, are you?” he suddenly asked her.
She stopped and turned around with that nasty scowl decorating her face. “Am I what?” she asked, annoyed.
“Are you a good cook?” he asked with a grin.
Try as she might to hold it back, Mrs. Provost cracked a smile, but quickly turned around so Aaron could not see it for long. “Depends on who you ask,” she said, picking up the pruning sheers from the steps leading to the front porch. “My husband thought I was pretty good—but look how he ended up.”
••••
“It’s nice,” Aaron said as he walked into the room and looked around.
The theme was grapes. There were grape lamp shades, a vase with grapevines painted on its side; even the bedspread had grapes on it. It was kind of funky, but he thought it was cool. Gabriel hobbled in and immediately found a place to lie down beside the queen-size bed where the warm sunlight streamed through the window.
“Is that where he’ll sleep?” Mrs. Provost asked.
“The floor is good, but sometimes I like to sleep with Aaron,” Gabriel barked.
“Is that where you’d like him to sleep?” Aaron asked with a sly smile.
“He can sleep wherever the hell he wants,” she said, moving toward the closet. She opened the door and pulled out a white comforter adorned with grapes. “Just thought if he was going to sleep on the floor, he might be more comfortable lying on this.”
As she approached, Gabriel got up and let her place the downy bedspread in the patch of sunlight. “There you go, boy,” she said, smoothing out the material. “Give this a try.”
And the dog did just that, lying back on the comforter with a heavy sigh of exhaustion.
“I think your dog’s tired,” she said, reaching into her blue jeans pocket. She handed Aaron a key on an I-LOVE-MAINE chain. “Here’s your key. It works on the front door, too, which I lock promptly at nine o’clock every night.” Mrs. Provost moved toward the door. “I eat supper at six,” she said as she walked out into the hall. “If you like meat loaf, I’ll see you in the kitchen. If not, you’re on your own.”
“I like meat loaf,” Gabriel yipped from his bed as the old woman closed the door behind her.
“Is there any food you don’t like?” Aaron asked, kneeling down to check the injured leg.
“Never really thought about it,” Gabriel replied thoughtfully.
“Tell you what,” Aaron said, patting his head. “Why don’t you give that question some serious thought while I go see if I can find Camael.”
“Will you be all right?”
“I’ll be fine.” Aaron climbed to his feet and walked to the door. He was just about to leave when Gabriel called.
“Aaron, do you think we’ll find Stevie here?” Aaron thought for a moment, trying to make sense of odd feelings that were still with him. “I don’t know. Let me poke around a little and we’ll talk later.” Then he left, leaving his best friend alone to rest and heal.
••••
Aaron strolled casually up Berkely Street
, taking in his surroundings. He turned left onto a street with no sign, committing landmarks to memory so he wouldn’t get lost. Lots of quaint homes, nicely kept up, many with beautiful flower gardens more tame than Mrs. Provost’s version of the Amazon rain forest.
At the end of the nameless street he stopped to assess his whereabouts. There was still no sign of Camael, and the bizarre sensation he’d been feeling since arriving in Blithe continued to trouble him. It felt as though he’d had too much caffeine after a late night of studying. He knew he had the ability to interpret this strange feeling, but he didn’t know how to go about it. There was still so much he had to learn about this whole Nephilim thing.
“You will need to master these abilities,” Camael had said during their ride to Blithe. “Sooner rather than later.”
Aaron found the angel’s words somewhat annoying. Mastering these so-called abilities was like reading a book without knowing the alphabet. He just didn’t have the basics.
He recalled a moment not long after they’d first left Lynn. Camael had been describing how an angel experiences the five senses—not as individual sensations, but as one overpowering perception of everything around it. “Do as I do,” the angel had said to him, closing his eyes. “Feel the world and everything that makes it a whole, as only beings of our stature can.” Aaron had tried, but only ended up with a nasty headache. Camael had clearly been disappointed—apparently Aaron just wasn’t turning out to be the Nephilim that the former leader of the Powers thought he should be. Maybe it’s not me the Seer wrote about in the prophecy, he thought. Maybe Camael’s finally realized this, and took off to find the fallen angels’ real savior.
Something rustled in a patch of woods behind him, and Aaron turned toward the noise. He noticed a glint of red in a patch of shadow, and then, as if knowing that it had been discovered, a raccoon slowly emerged from its hiding place. This is odd, Aaron thought, watching the animal. I thought raccoons are nocturnal. He recalled how he’d hear them late at night through his bedroom window as they tried to get into the sealed trash barrels.
The raccoon moved closer, its large dark eyes unwavering. It was moving strangely, and he wondered if it was rabid. “Is that it?” he asked aloud, knowing instinctively that the animal would understand him. “Are you rabid?”
The raccoon did not respond. It just continued to stare, and pad steadily closer.
As Aaron gazed into its eyes, an overwhelming sense of euphoria washed over him. It was all he could do to keep from bursting out in laughter and then breaking down in tears of sheer joy. He closed his eyes and swayed with the waves of emotion.
Stevie. His little brother was here—in Blithe, he was sure of it. Aaron could feel him, waiting to be picked up—embraced, played with. Stevie was unharmed, and that brought Aaron the greatest pleasure he had ever felt. Nothing would ever come between them again.
“Excuse me,” a voice suddenly interrupted his reverie.
Aaron opened his eyes and saw that the odd raccoon was gone, replaced by a police officer
who was eyeing him strangely. “Is there a problem, sir?” the policeman asked him, moving closer, his hand clutching his gun belt.
Aaron swayed, feeling as though he’d been on a roller coaster. “I’m fine,” he managed. What just happened?
“You don’t seem fine,” the officer barked. “You been drinking?” he asked, stepping closer to sniff Aaron’s breath.
Aaron shook his head, feeling his strength and wits slowly returning. “No sir, I’m fine. I think I might have sunstroke or something.”
“Can I ask you what you’re doing here?”
“Actually I’m looking for a friend of mine,” Aaron said, bringing a hand up to his brow to wipe away beads of sweat. “Tall, silvery white hair and goatee, dressed in a dark suit?”
The policeman continued to watch him through his mirrored glasses. “I’d like to see some identification,” he finally said, holding out his hand.
Aaron was getting nervous. First Camael disappears, then the strange raccoon—and now an evil sheriff. As he handed the police officer his license, he couldn’t help but wonder what other surprises the town of Blithe had in store for him.
“Just passing through Blithe, Mr. Corbet?” the policeman asked, handing back his identification.
Aaron returned the license to his wallet. “I’ll probably be here for a couple of days,” he said, sliding his wallet into his back pocket. Suddenly Aaron couldn’t help himself; the attitude he had worked so hard to keep in check was rearing its ugly head. It had been the bane of his existence—he just couldn’t learn to keep his mouth shut. “Is there a problem, Officer …?” he asked, an edge to his tone.
“Dexter,” the policeman said, touching the rim of his hat. “Chief of Police Dexter. And no, there isn’t any problem—now.” He smiled, but Aaron saw little emotion in it. If anything, it appeared more like a snarl than a smile. “Blithe is a quiet town, Mr. Corbet, and it’s my job to make sure it stays that way, if you catch my meaning.”
Aaron nodded, biting his tongue. After all, he was a stranger, and evidently that made him immediately suspect.
Chief Dexter began to walk toward a cruiser parked by the side of the road nearby. Aaron had been so caught up in the bizarre spell of raw emotion that he hadn’t even heard the policeman pull up. He looked back to the wooded area. “Chief Dexter?” he called.
The policeman stopped, his hand on the door handle of his cruiser.
“You didn’t happen to see a raccoon when you pulled up here, did you?” Aaron asked.
Dexter pulled open the door, and the squawk from his radio drifted out to fill the still air of the neighborhood. He smiled that nasty snarling smile again before easing himself into the driver’s seat. “No raccoons around this time of day, Mr. Corbet. They’re nocturnal.”
“Thought so.” Aaron nodded. He stared at the police officer. There was something about him …
“Enjoy your visit, Mr. Corbet,” Chief Dexter said. “Hope you find your friend,” he added, before slamming closed the door of his car, banging a U-turn, and driving away
••••
From a woman who brought her dog in for its annual heartworm check, Katie McGovern learned that her former fiancé had been missing for at least four days. Apparently, the dog—an eight-year-old poodle named Taffy—had had an appointment for Monday morning, but no one had been in the office until Katie arrived that Wednesday afternoon. It’s very unlike Dr. Wessell to miss an appointment. I hope everything is all right, the dog’s middle-aged owner had said, her voice touched with concern.
Katie had made up a story about a family emergency that Kevin would have to deal with when he finally got back—if he does, said a nasty little voice at the back of her mind. She had tried to ignore the voice by cleaning up the office and catching up with Kevin’s appointments. From organization comes order, her mother had always said. And from order comes answers. But the creeping unease she’d been feeling in the pit of her stomach since receiving that first e-mail from her former lover a little over two weeks ago continued to grow.
Think I’ve found something here that might interest you—care for a visit? Katie had thought it nothing more than another attempt by Kevin to get her back into his life, and she’d ignored the message—until she received another a few days later.
Not sure if I can handle this. Really need to see you. Please come.
There was a certain urgency in the communication that had piqued her curiosity. She had called him the next day, but there was no answer at the clinic. And when Kevin had failed to return the multiple messages she’d left on his home phone over several days, she’d decided to take some vacation time and head to Maine. They may have broken up nearly two years earlier, but it didn’t mean they weren’t still friends.
The office had been in complete disarray—Kevin did have a tendency to become easily distracted. In fact it was a distraction with another woman that had brought an end to their relationship. But this was different.
Katie glanced at her watch; it was nearly six, and she felt as though she hadn’t stopped to breathe all afternoon—between appointments, trying to bring order to the place, and figure out where Kevin had gone. She thought of Aaron Corbet. He seemed just the person to help her keep the practice afloat during Kevin’s absence.
She snatched up his dog’s file from the corner of the desk and casually began to review it. The words “raccoon bite” stuck out like a sore thumb. Katie had seen many bites in her years as a vet—and Gabriel’s hadn’t been caused by any raccoon. She wasn’t even sure if the bite had come from anything that walked on four legs. In fact, the wound looked as though it might have been made by a small child. Something else to add to the strangeness of Blithe, she thought.
The veterinarian sighed and closed the folder. She moved to the file cabinet next to the desk and pulled open the drawer. Katie added Gabriel’s file to the others she had organized and tried to slide it closed. But something was blocking it. She reached in and felt behind the drawer. Sometimes a file slipped out of place and became wedged in the sliding track. Her hand closed on what felt like a book. She tugged it free and slammed the drawer shut.
Probably some veterinary journal, she mused, bringing it to the desk to take a look. It was journal, all right, but one of a far more personal nature: Kevin’s journal. She remembered him writing in it each night before bed. It was something he had started in college. Helps me get my thoughts in order, he had told her one night when she’d asked him about the habit.
She flipped through the entries and stopped at the one dated June 1:
Saw another one today on my hike. I’d swear they were watching me. Gives me the creeps. Wonder what Katie would think.
That was right about the time she had received his first e-mail. With a churning sensation in the pit of her stomach, Katie turned to the date closest to the last message he had sent:
June 8 Found another one and put it in the freezer with the rest. Don’t know what the cause is. Don’t want to alarm the locals YET. Never in all my years have I seen anything like it. I wonder if it has anything to do with how strangely the local fauna’s been acting lately. I still swear they’re watching me. I need somebody else to see this—somebody I trust. I’m going to ask Katie to come. I’m feeling a little spooked right now, and it’ll be good to see her.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Katie said to the journal, her frustration on the rise. It was the last entry and, like the others, it told her very little.
Katie tossed the journal onto the desktop and thought about what she had read. “You found something and put it in the freezer,” she said to herself, chewing at the end of her fingernail. Her eyes scanned the reception area, and she bolted to her feet. “All right, let’s take a look, then.” She hadn’t seen a freezer, although most veterinarians kept large units to store deceased animals, tissue samples, and other specimens. There must be one around here somewhere, she thought.
She moved away from the desk and strolled down the hall
way past the examination room. At the end of the hall was a door that she had originally thought was to a maintenance closet. Katie grabbed hold of the doorknob, turned it, and found herself looking down a flight of wooden steps that disappeared into the darkness of a cellar.
She felt for a light switch along the wall and, finding none, used the cool stone for a guide as she carefully descended. At the foot of the stairs she could just make out the iridescent shape of a lightbulb that seemed to be suspended in the darkness. She reached out, fumbled for the chain, and gave it a good yank.
The bulb came to life, illuminating the cool storage area dug out from the rock and dirt beneath the building’s foundation. She recognized Kevin’s mountain bike, ski equipment, and even a canoe, but it was the freezer in the far corner that attracted her interest. Plugged into a heavy-duty socket beneath a gray metal electrical box, the white unit sat atop some wooden pallets, humming quietly.
Maneuvering around winter coats hanging from pipes, Katie approached the freezer. She stood in front of the oblong unit, feeling a faint aura of cold radiating from the white box. Her fingers began to tingle in anticipation as she slowly reached for the cover.
“Let’s see what spooked you, Kev,” she said in a whisper, lifting up the lid. A cloud of freezing air billowed up, and she breathed the cold gas into her lungs, coughing. The distinctive aroma of frozen dead things filled the air, and she took note of the red biohazard symbols on the bags lying along the freezer bottom. She leaned into the chest, reaching down to pick up one of the bags. It was covered in a fine frost, masking its contents, and Katie brushed away the icy coating so she could see within the thick biohazard container. The thing inside the bag stared back with eyes frozen wide in death.
“Holy crap,” Katie McGovern said as she studied the specimen through the plastic bag. A creeping unease ran up and down the length of her spine, making her shudder. “No wonder you were freaked out.”
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