“Kel? Kel, what are you doing?”
Kellan smiled through the pain. “S—Something exceptionally stupid, I’m sure,” then he let the darkness take him.
“Am I dead?”
“No, you survived, my Sentinel, but it was a near thing”
“Nurisha? Is that you?”
Laughter, again like silver on crystal. “Who else would it be?”
“I don’t know, but I can’t see you.”
“That is because you are unconscious. Your body is channeling me to heal itself. You will wake up soon.”
“I feel pretty good for being almost dead.”
“All part of being unconscious I suspect, but you are waking now, so I suspect we will find out.”
“Holy Shit! That hurts…take it out…take it out!”
“Stop moving, you idiot, and I’ll take it out,” yelled Meghan as she struggled with the small tube protruding from Kellan’s side. Finally she was able to get enough of a grip to pull it free, and watched in wonder as the wound started to seal up behind it.
“Oh, dear God that’s better. Now I only feel like I want to die, instead of feeling like I’m actually dying.”
“You did die—twice. Be glad you weren’t alive to feel the adrenaline needle I stuck in your heart. Then, you had a tension pneumothorax and I had to use a trach-tube to reinflate your lung. That’s what I just pulled out— not that you’d know given your Wolverine-like healing abilities”
Kellan relaxed at the sound of his friend’s voice, enjoying the cool stone beneath him. “Wolverine,” he began, “wouldn’t have gotten his ass kicked in the first place.”
Meghan laughed, “True, but you did pretty good for a non X-man.” She paused and Kellan opened one eye to look at her.
“What?”
“Well, there’s this giant robed guy here with eyes that sparkle like yours and he looks really pissed.”
Kellan sighed, “Don’t worry about him. That’s Raphael and he’s a friend. A mostly useless friend,” he added, voice rising, “but a friend nonetheless.”
“That’s good cause he stalking over this way.”
“Kellan Thorne, that was the most irresponsible thing I have seen done in millennia. Had you died in this place, at this time, your power would have died with you and thus tipped the scales in favor of the adversary.”
“Then you should have helped me when I asked, shouldn’t you have?”
“What?” the Angel yelled, and Kellan could actually feel heat wafting off him, “You dare blame me for this—this folly?”
“Sure, you picked me for this gig. You said I…,” Kellan changed his tone making it deeper and resonate, “would bring light to dark places that Angels feared to tread.” Then, voice returning to normal, he continued, “Well, Raphael, this is what that looks like. I am not going to leave friends to die when there’s something I can do about it. So deal!”
Meghan had been taking in the whole exchange and finally made the connection, then leaned forward and kissed Kellan on the forehead. “He’s right Kel, you were being stupid. But thanks.”
“Don’t get all mushy on me, Meghan. You can always count on me.”
Her lips quirked up in a sarcastic grin. “To be stupid?”
“Exactly!”
Raphael stood watching the two, shaking his head. “Micah would never have been so reckless,” he said in a clearly disapproving tone.
“No, Raphael, no he wouldn’t have. But as I keep telling everyone, I am not he.”
Chapter 8
GLENN FERRY
Kellan opened his eyes, grudgingly acknowledging the light streaming in from his bedroom window. “Hey Siri, what time is it?”
The pleasant and comfortingly familiar female voice responded, “The time is 10:42 am.”
Kellan groaned as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up, running one hand through his hair. He headed to the bathroom and stumbled slightly as the last vestiges of sleep left him.
“Hello,” he said to his reflection as he stared into to bathroom mirror. “You, sir, look like warmed over shit.” Kellan continued giving himself his winningest smile.
“Well, thank you, sir, but I think I look pretty good for having been mauled, strangled, and dead twice only twelve or so hours ago. Kindly piss off.”
Kellan took a couple steps back so he could see from head to waist in the large mirror and began to give himself the once over. He whistled slightly as he poked and prodded, then turned his back to the mirror, looking over his shoulder to repeat the process. All the bruises, cuts, and puncture wounds that had covered him nearly head-to-toe were gone. Even the spot where Meghan had inserted the improvised trach tube to reinflate his lung was healed, leaving only a pale scar as a reminder.
“That certainly is a bonus,” he said as he reached into the shower and turned on the water. While he waited for it to warm, his phone came to life playing the familiar “Amy Pond” theme from Doctor Who as it sat on the nightstand next to his kingsized bed. He walked over and stared at the name and face illuminating the phone while the music continued—Juliet Herrick.
“Shit. She’s gonna kill me,” He slid his finger along the phone anyway and tapped the speaker icon.
“Kellan? Kellan are you there?”
“Hey Juliet.” He heard her give a relieved sigh.
“Kellan, you’re alive.”
“Yeah—”he began, but she interrupted him.
“Good, cause I’m going to kill you!”
He cringed. “Look, Juliet, I’m sorry. It was a,” he paused, “really weird night and I’ll fill you in when I get to the shop.”
“And when exactly will that be?”
“Oh, come on, don’t do that.”
“Do what?” came the innocent reply.
“That—that mother voice. I’m the boss, remember? I’ll be there when I’m good and ready to be there.”
“You better be here in an hour, mister, and bring lunch”
Kellan sighed, defeated, “Ok. I’ll be there in an hour with lunch,” then smiled to himself as he continued, “Now let me get going, Juliet. The shower is running and I’m standing here stark naked.”
“Ew! Gross Kel. Gross. Gross. Now I have that in my head,” and the phone when blank.
“Heh.” Kellan said to the air, feeling somewhat victorious as he headed back to the shower now billowing with steam.
Some minutes later, Kellan had toweled off and pulled on his favorite uniform: well broken-in jeans and graphic t-shirt. Today’s depicted a man wearing a long coat, broad brimmed hat, and carrying a staff that blazed with energy. Beneath the figure the shirt was emblazoned with “Don’t mess with a Wizard when he’s wizarding.” It seemed appropriate. “God, I love a hot shower,” Kellan mused as his bare feet slapped against the aged wood of the floor. He crossed to the living room and slid down in the chapped leather of his sofa to pull on his socks. The smell of wood and leather filled his nose. He paused to look around, reveling in the simplicity and familiarity of his small home.
All about him were old things made with hands rather than machines— except for the abundant technical gadgetry of televisions and Apple products. That aside, Kellan’s home consisted mostly of full grain leather and reclaimed wood. He rested one foot on the old wooden chest that served as his coffee table. It was bound with iron bands, dark brown with the patina of age. He pulled on each shoe in turn, kicking against the heavy chest to drive them home, then hopped up and headed to the kitchen.
Kellan’s love for natural materials was evident there too. Old, hand finished walnut cabinetry stretched across the small kitchen and down to rich forest green granite that always reminded him of a creek running hither and yon. He reached up and pulled down a mug and a coffee pod, then slipped it into the little machine and pulled down the lever.
Affecting his best British accent, Kellan said, “Tea. Earl Grey. Hot,” and pressed the glowing brew button. The machine hissed and sputtered as Kellan waited impati
ently for it to finish dispensing its nectar of the gods. He took the mug, now warm in his hands, inhaled deeply, and smiled as he brought it to his lips.
“That isn’t tea,” came a loud voice from behind him.
“Wha!” yelled Kellan, whirling about and sloshing hot coffee all over his neck and chest.
“That is coffee, not tea. You asked the machine to make tea. It must be defective.”
“What the fuck, Raphael!”
The Angel winced. “Your language—”
Kellan held up a hand palm out. “Stop—just stop or I’m going to unleash a torrent of profanity that will rip a hole in space-time, and suck you away into its profanity vortex.”
Raphael seemed puzzled as Kellan turned back to the sink, setting down his mug, and reaching for a sponge. “There is no such thing as a…profanity vortex.”
Kellan had put down the sponge in frustration and stripped off his shirt. “Well, there should be!” he yelled over his shoulder as he went to find a clean one.
A minute later he returned, drank the quarter cup of coffee that had remained after the spill, and pushed past Raphael, bumping him out of the way as Kellan made for the door.
“I’m going to be late—again. And she’s going to give me shit—again. And it’s your fault—again. Why don’t you make yourself useful, fly away, and get us lunch.”
Kellan slammed the door as the Angel continued to stare at him from within the house. He locked the front door, turned, and jogged down the four steps of the stoop to find Raphael staring at him from the walkway that led to Kellan’s small house.
“Nice trick,” he said walking past the Angel and turning right onto the sidewalk.
It was warm, but not unpleasantly so and there were many people walking on both sides of Canton street. Canton street was in the old historic district of Roswell where Kellan lived. His shop was one of the few remaining that had not been renovated into a restaurant of some kind.
“Why are you even here right now?” Kellan asked while noticing the strange looks sent his way by those he passed. He stopped, staring at the Angel.
“Don’t take this the wrong way, but people are staring at you because, well, because you look weird. I’ll grant you that you’re pretty darn handsome, but you are also freakishly tall and wearing long robes with shiny embroidery scattered over it. That may be all vogue in the celestial realm, maybe even in midtown, but here in Roswell…you just look stupid.”
“They are not staring at me, Kellan Thorne? They are looking at you.”
Kellan laughed. “Ha! Denial doesn’t become you, Raphael. Look at me. I look normal. You don’t.”
The Angel cocked his head slightly, “No, you misunderstand me. They are not staring at me because they cannot stare at me. I am not visible to them.”
Kellan paused. “Say what?”
Raphael smiled in what was almost a mischievous way. “Which word was difficult for you to comprehend, my young Sentinel?”
Kellan felt his stomach clench as he looked around. “So, to be clear, it looks like I am talking to—”
“Empty air, yes.” Replied Raphael with a supremely satisfied look on his face.
Kellan turned stiffly and resumed his walk, talking softly out of the side of his mouth. “You know, I thought Michael was a dick, but now I’m starting to think it is a prerequisite for the whole Angel job.”
Kellan turned left and stepped into the crosswalk and cars stopped as he jogged across the street, walking into the small shop with a “Roswell Provisioners” sign hanging over its door. He went up to the deli counter and greeted the clerk. “Hey Ben…how’s it going?”
“Good, Kel. What can I get ya?
“Patton’s sausage po-boy, loaded, and a turkey and ham panini with lettuce, tomato, mayo, and mustard.
Ben raised an eyebrow and smiled, turning away to make the sandwiches.
“What?” asked Kellan, but Ben just waved his hand, dismissing the question as he continued to work.
“We need to discuss what you did last night,” said Raphael.
“Not talking to you in public,” Kellan mumbled as he pulled a Mexican Coke out of the cooler and selected two bags of Zapps potato chips.
“Here you go,” called Ben smiling, “I added extra pickles since you forgot to mention that. Hope it helps you get out of the dog house.”
Kellan accepted the bag and tapped his phone to the register where it chimed pleasantly. “Hey, I am not in the dog house. I’m the boss, Ben. The boss.”
The young man laughed, “Sure you are, Kel.”
Kellan glared, first at Ben and then Raphael, but said nothing more as he stalked from the store, went two more doors down to the right, and swung open the one to his shop.
The bell jingled as he, again, closed a door in Raphael’s face. Juliet looked up from her book, then glanced meaningfully at one of the many clocks. 12:32.
Kellan spread open his hands. “It wasn’t my fault. It was his.” he said, gesturing to Raphael who had materialized just to Kellan right in front of the counter.
Juliet, directed her gaze at the Angel. “That true, Raphael?”
“Wait, what? So she gets to see you all the time?”
“Of course. She already knows about me. Why shouldn’t she be able to see?”
Kellan sighed. “Whatever. Here’s your lunch.”
Juliet sifted through her bag and brightened. “Mexican Coke and extra pickles? Ok Kel, you are forgiven.”
Kellan had seated himself on a stool by the counter and was about to take a bite of his po-boy. “Forgiven, Juliet? I think you are forgetting again. I am—”
“The boss. Yes, I know, and it was very sweet of you to get me my favorite lunch as if you had nothing at all to apologize for.”
Kellan nodded and took a bite.
“Raphael,” Juliet began, “for reference, that was sarcasm.”
The Angel nodded gravely. “I will make a note of it. Thank you, Juliet.”
Kellan put the remaining half of his po-boy back in its bag and headed toward the rear of the shop. “I’m gonna eat in my office; I need to check in on Meghan and you two jerks can enjoy each other’s company.”
Moments later, they heard the door slam and Juliet turned to the Angel suspiciously. “Meghan Daugherty, can catch bullets with her teeth. If she needs checking up on, then something went down that I need to know about. Spill it.”
“Kellan?” Juliet asked, tapping softly on the door.
“What? I’m busy.”
She opened the door and peered inside to find him leaning, back swiping something on his iPad. He glanced at her. “What part of, ‘I’m busy,’ is confusing?”
“I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”
Kellan brightened. “In that case, have a seat. Please, go on.”
Juliet walked around the desk and gave Kellan an awkward hug, then punched him hard on the shoulder.
“Ow!” he yelled reflexively, then noticed Raphael’s head had poked in through the partly opened door.
“The hug was because you are a freaking super hero. The punch is because you nearly died like an idiot.”
“In actuality, he did die—twice,” offered Raphael.
Kellan’s eyes narrowed and Juliet turned to the Angel. “Not helping.” Raphael nodded and moved silently to a corner of the office.
“How’s Meghan?”
Kellan shook his head. “She’s Meghan—all pissed off that she’s too sore to do her cross-fit today, but other than that she seems no worse for wear.”
“No worse for werewolves,” said Juliet, snapping her fingers and pointing at Kellan.
He snickered despite himself. “Very clever, Miss Herrick.”
Her smile faded. “So, I closed the shop.”
“Huh? Why?”
“Cause we have work to do.”
Kellan immediately became suspicious again, looking first at Raphael and then to Juliet. “Work? What kind of work? What have you two been up to out there?”
Juliet held up a hand. “Nothing sinister. Raphael was just filling me in on your exploits and that you needed to…go meet someone.”
“Why did you say it like that? You paused. Who do I need to meet?”
“A girl who apparently, needs your help because there are monsters after her.”
Kellan sighed. “Of course there are. Fine. Where is she?”
“Scotland, a place called Glenn Ferry.”
Kellan paused as information flashed through his mind. “Glenn Ferry Scotland—annexed in 1282 by Alexander III and became part of Berwick. Glen Ferry doesn’t exist.”
“Now…” added Juliet softly.
“Aw shit, really?” said Kellan, looking toward Raphael who nodded solemnly. “This isn’t cool. I fought werewolves all night. Can’t we just deal with this some other time, like maybe next week? I mean if I’m going back in time, it doesn’t matter when I leave, right?”
“Unfortunately,” began Raphael, “It does matter because the girl is rapidly approaching a fixed point in time that, once reached, cannot be altered.”
“Seriously,” replied Kellan, “That’s mighty convenient, Doctor Who. A fixed point in time—really?”
Raphael continued, clearly confused, “It is not convenient at all. If she is killed, or even materially diverted, it will absolutely create a fixed point that no one or no thing can alter. These fixed points are a foundational aspect of creation.”
Juliet placed a hand on Raphael’s arm. “He was being sarcastic.”
Kellan nodded.
“Oh,” replied the Angel, “It is difficult to tell with him.” It was Juliet’s turn to nod in solidarity.
“Fine,” said Kellan, setting down his iPad and standing. “Open up a portal, Raphael, and I’ll jump through and save the damsel.”
“I cannot.”
“What? Why? Micah told me you did it for him.”
“He was incapable to create such a portal and, more importantly, when I intervened it was directly related to your ascension to the position you now hold. For both those reasons, I cannot interfere with your freewill. You are free to learn how to make a time portal or to fail. Assuming you do learn how, you are then free to go back to Glenn Ferry or not. Assuming you go back, you are then free to help or—”
Sentinels of Creation: A Power Renewed Page 17