Angel Dreams (An Angel Falls Book 2)

by Jody A. Kessler

  “I want you, Juliana. I want to know you. I want to see your face in the morning light and be with you until you fall asleep at night. I want to hold your hand as we walk in these woods, not just today, but always. What I don’t want, what I can’t live with, is a collection of fading memories and a well full of regret.” I watch her closely looking for any shift of uneasiness as I pour out my soul to her.

  She looks up at me. Her face is open and the honesty I see echoes my own.

  “We will know each other,” she assures me, and then she seals her words by leaning forward on her tiptoes and brushing her perfect pink lips over mine.

  Chapter Two: Reality Check

  Juliana

  “Come on. We’re almost there. I want to wash this cut before it dries.”

  The crust forming on my right index finger is starting to crack and pull at the edges. It itches slightly, but I ignore it. The fingertips of my left hand trail lazily down the front of Nathaniel’s shirt, reluctant to let this moment pass, but I make myself turn away from my new boyfriend.

  How weird is that? Me, with an actual boyfriend. I’ve never wanted to assign that particular title to anyone before. Feeling a bit lighter of body and at the same time more befuddled in my brain, I walk up and over the last small rise toward my destination.

  The spruce and pine trees thin out allowing the sun to shine down to the ground in patches of light. It plays with my eyes so I focus on the meadow grass popping up through the thick bed of needles and forest debris. Ahead, the forest opens up into a clearing. I look to where the grass is the thickest. Where it’s long and bent over from its own weight. It’s camouflaging a shallow channel where water runs through the tiny meadow. I listen for the trickle of water that I know is running beneath the mat of green grass. I hear it like the tinkling of distant bells, a fairy’s song in the midst of this sacred place. I walk over to the teeny stream, and then turn, following alongside and moving toward its source.

  I don’t hear Nathaniel moving behind me. Did he let go of his body? When he is in spirit form he makes no sound, which is something I will have to get use to over time. Many peculiarities about my new — mhh-hmm — friend, will take time to adjust to. The first of which has to be how direct he is about his feelings toward me. I thought I was generally clear-cut with people but he makes me feel like a wishy-washy air head. That Jules, come on, I’m worried about sounding light-headed, not the fact that the person I can’t stop thinking about is a celestial being. For Gollum’s sake, get your priorities straight.

  The warm tingle in my gut still whispers to me after one feather-soft kiss. Residual tendrils of disconcerting need swim around my lower abdomen and tickle my upper thighs. Is this what one brush of lips with this guy does to me? Ridiculous — and so tempting. Turning away from his warmth had taken all of my willpower, but it has to be for the best. Doesn’t it? We need to take our time getting to know each other. If he’s as serious as he says he is, then I have to be smart about this. I don’t want to rush into anything and regret not taking the right steps with him. Too many people rush into a relationship only to find a cataclysmic end when they realize their “soul mate” is not the person they thought they were. I don’t want to be one of those people.

  We may not be a typical couple, but can’t I at least pretend some things are normal for us, like dating? Yes, we should date, definitely do not want to skip this stage. Then again, maybe I should say damn it all and do what I want. Go with this crazy magnetic force and let Nathaniel Evans do whatever he wants to me, and me to him. The tingling sensation between my bellybutton and my pubic bone twitches at the thought. No. I’m not going there. We have known each other for what? A couple of weeks. And I only found out the truth about what he really is last night. Before that, I didn’t know what to make of him, an apparition, a ghost, a delusion, a dream. It had all been very confusing. Even now I can convince myself I’m making him up. He’s too perfect. If it had not been for Chris Abeyta, the shaman who also sees Nathaniel and knows what he is, I would likely be in a padded cell. No, Father Time has to be my friend in this, and we can use it to our advantage. I want to let our relationship grow and see what it turns into.

  Aspen trees have taken up residence in this little nook of heaven. The trickling water is now visible and is nicely framed by the trees, mountain grass, and wildflowers. This place is timeless, a constant in an endlessly changing world. To the Natives this is a sacred place and for me it is fitting to enter in silence. If I was forced to have a church in my life, then this would be it, not necessarily this place, but nature in general would be my safe haven. Earth’s Heart Spring could very well be the most holy place I’ve ever been, but anywhere there is untouched natural beauty is sacrosanct to me.

  I still haven’t looked back for Nathaniel. Instead, I’m letting my thoughts process. It surprises me how comfortable I am with him in these woods and even more surprised that I could mention my dad to him. I’ve never been able to talk about my father with anyone. With Nathaniel everything seems effortless. I wanted to share this quiet and peaceful place with him to see if he’ll like it as much as I do, but as I approach the pool of water I see we’re not alone. Odd as it is to see anyone up here — it’s never happened before — it’s even more bewildering to recognize the person. Coincidences don’t happen. I stiffen, wondering what the universe has planned up its mysterious sleeve.

  This spring is not often visited, mainly because people who come up this side of the mountain are usually seeking the more coveted hot springs nearby. The other reason, I would guess, is because it is not easy to get to. My grandmother Charlotte showed me the hidden trail when I was ten and then explained the significance of the water here.

  It occurs to me that Chris may have been the source of the eerie feeling I had while digging the devil’s club roots. No. Chris may be serious and a little intimidating but he’s nothing like what I felt coming from across the side of the mountain. It was dark and cold. After staying up nearly all night with Nathaniel, my imagination must be taking advantage of my exhaustion. I shake off the remembered feelings and focus on what is before me.

  Stopping next to the chalky white trunk of a mature aspen, I decide to go back and give Chris Abeyta his privacy. He’s kneeling down next to the tiny pool scooping up some of the spring water with a jar. I can come back another time. Turning around with the utmost care to make as little noise as possible, it becomes inevitable — based on the laws of Murphy — that I’ll make some loud intrusive sound. A twig snaps under my boot. I look over my shoulder to see if I caught Chris’s attention. I did. Deep brown eyes stare into mine. At first his glare is cold and penetrating but then I see recognition pass over his features and it lightens him, as if the sun came out from behind a cloud to shine on his face.

  “You don’t have to go.” Chris stands and screws on the lid of his jar.

  I throw a glance over my shoulder, no Nathaniel, thank God. Chris has some rather frightening ideas about my boyfriend, and I would rather skip the whole introduction thing if I can get away with it. Wherever you are Nathaniel, just hold back for another few minutes, I silently plead.

  “Hey, Chris,” I say, slightly too loud, hoping Nathaniel will hear me. “Don’t let me interrupt. I know this is a sacred place for the members of the tribe.”

  “You do? I would not be surprised, if it weren’t for your previous ignorance at the Spring of Souls.”

  Chris is referring to my first experience and complete lack of information on the hot spring near Castle Hill, another ancient spiritual site for the local Native American tribe. “My grandmother told me about this one,” I assure him.

  “Do you need the water?” His eyes widen with what I think is concern. I watch the pale green and yellow energy of his aura expand in my direction as if he is actually reaching out to me. Touching, I think, that he cares I may be up here for my health.

  Then I remember, he’s an expert at reading my thoughts, at least from our previous encounters, a
nd he also sees energy fields around people. He’s the one who taught me to do it. I shut down all thoughts, like wrapping a wool blanket around my brain. It doesn’t matter so much if he knows what I’m thinking, but it’s a bit unsettling, and I like my privacy. Just knowing someone is capable of such a thing is the main reason why I don’t want him doing it.

  “Yeah, I do, but it’s nothing major.” I hold up my finger to display the ragged tear as I walk closer until I’m on the opposite side of the miniature pool from him.

  Chris’s eyes crinkle and he gives me a real smile with white teeth and everything. “You are practicing shielding your thoughts. Nice attempt.”

  “Thanks, Chief,” I say flatly. “What good is it if you know what I’m doing?”

  “Keep practicing and it will get easier, and less apparent.” Humor plays on the planes of his flat oval face, but his teeth are no longer showing. “You must understand by now I am not the normal test subject for this exercise.”

  “I know. You can read me like I’m a first grader’s school book.” Mental phenomena, like mind reading and shape shifting, are apparently Chris Abeyta’s forte.

  “How are you trying to shield yourself? There are different techniques you can use and for different reasons as well.”

  “I don’t know. I was sort of, well this sounds funny and kind of embarrassing, but I was imagining wrapping my whole head with wool.”

  “You don’t need to be embarrassed. Your effort without prompting is something you should recognize as a quality in yourself. It is a decent place to start but try next time to shield your entire body and mind. Use a visual that is impenetrable. It can be anything that works for you, brick wall or bullet proof glass, it doesn’t matter as long as you feel the strength of it.”

  “Thanks. I guess wool isn’t exactly bullet proof. I’ll keep your advice in mind next time I run into you.” I give him a playful but still somewhat sarcastic wink. I mean honestly, when do I ever need to shield my thoughts from anyone? Hmmm, well maybe now that I know, it could come in handy in certain situations, like with my mom, or Jared.

  “It is not only for thoughts. Sometimes protection is needed from the spirit realm or emotional attack.” He’s back to the Chris I remember, Mr. Serious Sourpuss.

  I squat down next to the pool and dip my hand in the cold water and think about what he said. Spiritual realm and emotional attacks. I can protect myself from these things? “How does it work?” I ask.

  “Have you ever been verbally assaulted?”

  “Yeah.” I remember all too clearly the episode with my brother at the dinner table. It had felt like an attack, leaving me shaken to the core, and brain-boggled. In fact, the fight was what had propelled me to leave the house and spend the night on Grandma’s land last night.

  “You do not have to absorb someone else’s negativity. Try using the protection and notice if you do not feel quite so drained after fighting. As for the other, protecting yourself against evil is always good practice.”

  “I guess it would be.”

  “For sure,” he agrees.

  Chris’s smile is back, not mocking or laughing at my expense this time, but a genuine kind smile. I smile back. He always surprises me when he acts more his age and not like the old grumpus he portrays so well. Not that I know his exact age, with his general temperament he could be anywhere from forty to one hundred and forty but outside in the sun I again have the distinct feeling he is closer to my age. Smooth red-brown skin, free of wrinkles, and shiny black hair without any gray. Twenty to thirties maybe?

  “Have you always been a medicine man?” I ask, not holding back my curiosity.

  He snorts out a small puff of air before he answers. “I believe so, but in terms of this life, more or less. My father has been training me since I showed an interest, which is before I can remember.”

  “Ever thought of doing anything different?”

  “For a while I wanted to be a dinosaur. T Rex. Then I grew up and wanted to drive Formula One race cars. The questionable life choices passed by the time I was ten. At eleven years old I moved on to studying magic. I guess that one sort of stuck. Only when I was eleven, I thought it was all illusion and tricks, and now I know what is real magic and what is not.”

  “Yeah? So you’re a magician of sorts,” I say. The amount of words coming out of Chris is mind blowing. Oh, he of little words is awfully talkative today.

  “No, I would never call myself a magician. I know the traditional medicines for the spirit, and a little of what our Great Earth Mother’s medicine can do for the body. It is your Grandmother who knows how to heal the physical. She is a very wise woman.”

  He pauses and stares at me for a second. Then he breaks our brief connection and fiddles with the cap on his bottle of spring water as he continues telling me about himself. “I spent some time at university studying land management and conservation. You know, in case the Native Medicine could not pay my bills.”

  “Really? Where did you graduate from?”

  “C.U. Surprised? Don’t I look like a university graduate?” He teases and then goes on without waiting for me to answer. “I have not used my degree, but it is there if I need it. The last couple of years have kept me busy with Medicine work and the ghost hunting. People can be very generous when you get rid of whatever it is haunting them.”

  Couple of years and four years at school. That makes him around twenty-four. Smokin’ frijoles, he is close to my age.

  “Whatever it is haunting them?” I ask, quoting his words. I would do or pay just about anything to never see the ghost at Castle Hill again.

  “I’ve dealt with some real boogers.” Chris’s attention becomes distracted and he peers over my head, eyes intent on the trees.

  Is Nathaniel finally making an appearance? I look in the same direction. I don’t see anything other than a mountain meadow and white aspen trees under the blue sky.

  “Are you working today?” I ask, trying to keep our conversation going and hopefully take his attention away from Nathan, if it is him.

  “This?” He lifts the bottle. “Yes. I need this for a ceremony.”

  The water inside his bottle refracts the sun’s rays and breaks them into glints of rainbow colors.

  “This is Great Mother’s life force. Earth’s Heart Spring water will bring displaced spirits back into their earthly body. It is strong medicine.”

  Displaced spirits sounds ominous, and way over my head, so I contribute what I know about this spring. “My grandma Charlotte told me to use it for diseases of the blood and circulatory problems, heart and spleen and such.”

  The lines around Chris’s eyes and jaw soften ever so slightly as he watches me, which is good on one hand, but also a little disconcerting on the other. Does he consider me a friend now after our run-ins at Castle Hill? He did help me with an errand to release a girl’s soul from being trapped on earth. Once you have done those sorts of things with someone, I guess that makes you friends.

  “That, as well.” He pauses, staring passed me again, and then asks, “Did you come alone?”

  There’s no point in lying to someone who can read your mind, now is there? Being a powerful shaman’s friend may have some pitfalls. “No, my friend was somewhere behind me. I don’t know what happened.” No point in giving out names though.

  “Did you come up here by motorcycle?”

  “No,” I say with questioning uncertainty.

  Chris hops over the small pool close to where I’m squatted down. I rise, giving him a perplexed look.

  “I saw a bunch of bikes on the south side of the mountain, near where I left my truck.”

  “No. I hiked up here from Grandma’s land. I camped out last night.”

  “You like to go camping?” He asks me with his normal serious straight face, which is impossible to read.

  “Yeah, sometimes.”

  He’s standing so close. His aura of earthy colors blends with mine to the point where they almost cannot be seen as separa
te from each other. The chest pockets of his army green vest bulge with their hidden contents. I have yet to see him without a vest. It makes him looks like he is always on some kind of fishing trip. Cargo shorts, white T-shirt and hiking boots complete his look. Very typical Chris Abeyta.

  Chris stares over my shoulder, looking suddenly distracted. I would have sworn he was about to ask me to go camping with him sometime, but he doesn’t. Instead, he jerks to attention just as Nathaniel steps into view.

  Nathaniel’s smoky silver eyes focus on mine and the shy smile on his full lips is enough to turn my world upside down — or maybe that’s already happened. My heartbreakingly beautiful view of him, and those perfect amber highlights shining in his thick chestnut hair, is blocked as Chris physically shields me. He spreads his arms wide and shifts his booted feet to a wider stance. Leaning to the side I watch as Nathan stops his progress in my direction. His attention is on Chris now. I can feel the tension shimmering over Chris’s flesh like watching a heat wave roll over hot pavement. As I try to move around Chris, his arm locks into place like a closed iron gate. His hand grabs for my shirt and I immediately pull back.

  “Chris, stop,” I say, but he doesn’t. His fingers have a handful of the fabric and he manages to keep me behind him.

  Chris growls low under his breath. “When did he return to you?”

  “It’s not what you think,” I try to explain. Somehow Chris shoves the bottle of water in his shorts pocket, has a firm grip on my waist, and is slowly moving us away from the spring.

  “What you’re doing isn’t necessary.”

  “Don’t be naïve, woman!”

  I roll my eyes with exasperated impatience. I like Chris, as odd as he is, and I would also like for him to chill out and realize Nathaniel is not what he thinks he is. Chris believes he’s a Shadow of Creator, or what I call an Angel of Death. Someone who comes to take back the lives that Creator has given. “Calm down for a second.”