"I'll try to remember that next time," Michael said.
"Do."
From my elevated position, I looked around the church. I was surprised not to see any trace of Morningstar. "Where did he go?"
"Disappeared," Eion said, his eyes wide.
I grimaced. A sharp jab of pain shot through my arm when I tried to move it. The pain cleared my mind, and I remembered last night. "Like someone else I trusted. What happened to you, Michael? Why'd you leave me with Morningstar?"
"I needed to know if Morningstar told the truth," he whispered, not trusting himself to look at me.
"And, did he?"
"I'm afraid so," Michael said quietly.
I struggled to a sitting position. As I pulled my legs down clumsily, the altar cloth came part of the way with me. I reached out to straighten it. My body felt thick, and I stumbled. Michael untangled the altar cloth from between my legs. Eion rushed up the steps, trying to grab the chalice and candles that I'd brought down with me. The candles broke on the stone, and the chalice rolled down the stairs noisily. I stared at them stupidly, unable to do much of anything.
"I'm sorry, Eion."
Eion pushed the candle crumbs aside and sat down next to me. "It's okay, Deidre. It's okay."
"Deidre," Michael said, laying my head against the altar stone. The stone felt cool and hard against my back. "I have a lot to explain, I know. You need to know the whole truth."
"Damn straight," I said. Then remembering where I was, I turned to Eion. "Sorry about the 'damn.' "
"Dee ... don't worry about it, really." He patted my knee, then glancing over at Michael, he said, "I think she's delirious. You need to take her to a hospital ... or do something." Eion accented the last words as if they held special meaning.
I looked at Eion. Despite years on the force, I'd never been shot. Maybe I was delirious. After all, just a second ago I swore Michael and Morningstar were talking as if they were real angels, and I thought I saw wings ...
I shook my head to clear it and almost fell over with the effort. Michael reached out a hand to steady me. His hand was firm, solid, real. Yes, I told myself – the conversation, the wings – they were all part of some kind of fever-induced dream. That's all this was. After all, this was New York 2076, not some biblical backwater. Angels, real angels, didn't walk the Earth. Right?
"Something will be done," Michael said ominously.
"God's will be done." Eion kept his gaze slightly averted.
"There's the proof." I said, with a little smile. "I am dreaming. I think you're genuinely concerned about me, big brother."
Eion glanced up at me, and the corners of his eyes crinkled. "Of course I'm worried about you, Diedre. I always have been. I guess ..." He looked over at Michael with an odd, almost worshipful look, "... I guess my prayers were answered."
"Right." I grimaced as pain lanced through my shoulder. I slumped back against the altar. Michael's hand rested on my shoulder, steadying me. I felt a warmth seeping through my limbs, and I breathed deeply and relaxed. My consciousness floated away from the pain. Looking at Michael, I saw his lips moving as he talked to Eion, but I couldn't make out any of the words. I wondered if I should be panicked at my sudden loss of hearing, but I felt at peace.
Around Michael's face, a thin bright light shone and illuminated the outline of his body. It was as though he were only a cardboard cutout and the prop had slipped, revealing what lay beneath.
"Deidre?" Michael's voice brought me back. "Eion is going to show us to the belfry."
"What?" Tasked. I blinked. I felt like I'd just woken up from a dream. "Why?"
"We need a safe place to stay for a while. The police are looking for us." Turning to Eion, he added, "I hate to impose, but ..."
"Of course," Eion said. Standing up, he gathered the bloodied altar cloth in his hand. "You can stay as long as you like. If we had a room free, I would offer it, but God has blessed us with a full complement of priests this year. I'm afraid that leaves the belfry or the basement for your accommodations."
"The belfry would be fine, Father. It would give us a good vantage point in case the police track us this far." Michael handed Eion the chalice and, for a moment, their eyes locked. "I don't expect you to lie for us, of course, but, if you could give us some warning..."
"Leave things to me," Eion said. "You'll be safe here."
I stared at Eion in amazement. "Thanks for doing this for me ... for us."
Eion just smiled, his eyes holding that Faith I'd envied my whole life. Instead of looking at the cross, Eion now stared at Michael. Behind Michael, a stained-glass window caught my eye. A white-robed angel stood with one foot firmly on a twisting, green glass shape of a dragon. The angel's fist gripped a fiery sword. The hand was outlined crudely in black lead, but the glass had been hand-painted to show each digit clearly. Though poised in action, the angel's face was frozen in a beatific gaze. He looked outward calmly, without the slightest hint of malice.
I let my gaze slip back to Michael. The leather jacket he wore was ripped along the sleeve, where he had brushed aside the glass. Dark curls spilled over his forehead. His eyes were hooded in the muted light of the stained-glass windows, but his long, dark lashes caught the light. Michael smiled at me, as if he knew my thoughts. His eyes glittered with fondness. I felt the flush of heat rising on my cheeks and remembered what he had said to Jibril about me. "A real firebrand" – it might've been patronizing, but the warmth and affection was clear in his tone. Anyway, I had known what he meant. A lot of men in my life didn't know how to express the combination of exasperation and attraction I seemed to inspire in them, especially since I lived my life outside the rigid bounds of "happy homemaker."
Michael continued to stare at me, his gaze becoming more intense with each passing second. I looked away, feigning bashfulness. I looked up at the stained-glass image of St. Michael again. Even destroying Satan, the saint's face shone with God's grace. When I looked at the stained glass, I felt nothing but reverence. Looking back at Michael, I felt something entirely different. I returned his intense stare and smiled.
Having finished putting the chalice and the cloth somewhere, Eion cleared his throat. "Let me show you to the belfry."
"I know you don't want me to rescue you, Deidre," Michael said, his eyes still glittering mischievously. "But, will you at least allow me to help you up the stairs?"
I pretended to consider his offer. "All right, but I want to go on my own two feet. You've played enough Rhett Butler."
Putting his arm around me, he helped me to my feet.
I squinted, ready for the jarring pain, but it never came. My legs were steady as we moved slowly toward the door. Pleased with the new strength flowing through my limbs, I felt buoyant, and laughter bubbled out of me.
"Deidre, are you all right?" Eion asked.
"I've never felt better." I said.
Eion frowned at me, as if, somehow, by convalescing, I had disappointed him. Turning to Michael, he asked,
"Will she be all right? I could call a doctor ... unless ..."
"She'll be fine with me, Father."
"Ah." Eion nodded, "Of course."
We stopped in front of the door to the belfry. The door was neatly hidden in the shadows of the confessional booths. It would be easy to walk right past it if you didn't know what you were looking for.
"If the police or the FBI show up ..." Michael started, but Eion raised his hand to stop him.
"As I said before, leave them to me."
Michael nodded solemnly. "Very well."
"Thanks, Eion," I said. "This means a lot to me."
He shook his head slightly. "It's nothing. I'm just glad you're keeping better company these days."
"Hmph," I grunted, but held my tongue. I let him have a parting shot. If he wouldn't take my gratitude, it was the least I could do for him.
We turned and headed up the stairs.
The belfry was open to the air. The breeze across my face refreshed me. Stan
ding there, supported by Michael, I almost felt one hundred percent recovered.
The bell tower stood in sharp contrast to the heavily Gothic influence of the interior of the church proper. The regularly spaced, glassless windows were square and fashioned of unadorned stucco. As we stepped up to one of the windows, the wind tugged at my hair. I gripped the edge and looked out.
The multilevel, concrete apartment complexes rose in heavy lines skyward, throwing lines of deep shadow across the red clay-tiled roof of the church. The after-church rush-hour traffic was just starting. Color and motion filled the tubing between the buildings, like an IV unit feeding an enormous sick beast.
Below, I saw a gravel lot. A few early-morning worshipers gathered at the front steps. A young man sat on the steps. He tapped the handrail with a stick in tune to an inner music. Two girls chased each other playfully through the car park, pausing occasionally to toss a piece of gravel and squeal with delight.
Suddenly, I noticed that the church wasn't attached to any skyway or traffic tubing. Eion's church was more cut off than my office. That meant Eion was a missionary to the un-LINKed. I was floored. I'd always assumed he preferred to work with the affluent churchgoers.
"We should duck down," Michael said. "Someone might see us."
"Sure," I said agreeably, since his arm still supported my weight. With a laugh, I paraphrased a passage from the Book of Ruth: " 'I go where you go.' "
"Wait," he cautioned. "The floor is filthy."
Like a perfect gentleman, Michael shrugged out of his leather jacket and laid it on the guano-spattered floor. I giggled again. "I guess Eion has bats in his belfry."
"And birds," he said, pointing his chin in the direction of a blob of straw and plastic wedged against the roof. "We should be grateful, I suppose. It means they're making a comeback after the war."
I nodded. Michael helped me down onto the floor. I leaned my back against the low wall. We sat facing the church's bell. Enormous and simple solid bronze, it hung from the center of the ceiling. Pulls disappeared into the floor, looking majestically old-fashioned. The heavy rope was for appearance; somewhere behind the pulpit was a digital panel that controlled the tolling of Mass bells.
The blood on my blouse was cold; the fabric was sticky. I told myself I should be feeling pain, but even by looking at the wound I couldn't conjure any. My head was remarkably clear.
"I should be dead," I said. As if to prove my point, I lifted the edge of my bloody blouse and showed it to him. "I've lost so much blood."
Michael nodded. "Are you in pain? I guess I should take a look at that, eh?"
He sounded so unconvinced that I shrugged. Then I remembered my shoulder and winced.
"I guess I should," he said with raised eyebrow. After moving so that we sat across from each other, he reached out to open the first button of my blouse. He undid the first two without thinking. By the third, his fingers hesitated.
I looked down at his hand hovering over my half-exposed cleavage. The look in his eyes was so far from a beatific grace that I smiled wickedly. Undoing the button myself, I shrugged my shoulder out of the blouse with a laugh. "Better?"
He neither looked in my eyes nor at my breasts. Instead, he made a big production of looking at the bullet hole. He laid his hand over my shoulder as he had in the church. I flinched, thinking it should hurt, but the pain didn't come. Instead, my body flushed with warmth. It was as though his mere touch could heal me. But, that, I told myself firmly, was impossible; it would take a miracle.
"Whatever you're doing, don't stop," I said with a contented sigh. I felt myself losing consciousness.
I must have fallen asleep because when I woke up, Michael was lying beside me, an arm thrown protectively around my waist. His chest pressed lightly against my breasts, and, with every breath, I was conscious of my half-opened blouse. Our bellies touched. My chin rested against his collarbone. Sometime during my nap, my skirt had twisted up around my thighs. My legs were entwined around his. Beneath the thin, scratchy barrier of my nylons I could feel the warm softness of his denim jeans. I slid my legs along the shape of his calves. My crotch inched closer to his.
"Are you awake?" His voice was loud in my ear and held no trace of grogginess. I could feel a blush burn the tips of my ears.
"Ummm." I started to pull away, but his arm tightened around my waist. A soft kiss brushed my forehead. That was all the encouragement I needed.
I grabbed the short hairs at the back of his neck and pulled his face to mine. I expected hot and hungry, but our lips met cool and gentle. My legs squeezed his thighs urgently. I pulled his hair roughly. "Michael ..."
He seemed determined to drive me insane with slow softness. His lips moved deliberately down my neck to the hollow of my throat. His kisses were so feather-light they tickled. I squirmed against his touch, trying to force his lips to press harder and to move farther down. Through clenched teeth, I said, "Don't stop there."
Clutching his belt buckle, I pulled at him until he finally consented to roll over on me. I wrapped my legs around him, pressing into the bulge in his pants. I felt strangely grateful to feel that there. Angels, I knew, were supposed to be sexless. Desperate to feel his weight on me, I clawed at his back. Even though I felt the material of his tee shirt rip, my hands felt oddly empty, as though I were clutching at air.
"Wait," he murmured into my chest.
Strangely grateful, I let him pull away. "Michael, what's wrong?"
"I want to go slow. This is my first time.".
I scooted out from under him so fast, I nearly kicked him in the groin. "You're a ... vir ..." I stumbled over the word, the concept, and then settled on, "... a really good Catholic?"
"I ..." He dropped his gaze bashfully and shook his head. "I've just been really busy."
Too busy to have sex? I tried really hard not to laugh, but I could feel a giggle rising in my throat. I put my hand over my mouth to hold it back; I didn't want to embarrass him any further. It wasn't really all that unusual for man Michael's age to be a virgin.
These days preachers constantly rallied against the sins of the flesh, and the harsh penalties for being involved in prostitution were not worth the risk for most people. With the inaccessibility of birth control and abortions, the lack of treatment for STDs, the social stigma of being or having a child out of wedlock – well, honestly, I was in the minority. Many people took vows to abstain until marriage; many people kept them.
Undoing the last button, I let my blouse fall off my shoulders. A cold wetness slid down my arm, reminding me that I should feel something more than the ache between my legs. I did, but it was a hunger that burned me. I wanted, I needed to know more about Michael as a man.
I touched Michael's chin, stroking the prickles of his stubble. I pressed both of my palms to his face. I let my hands trail down his body, touching, testing. A little laugh which I hoped sounded kind slipped out. I moved closer to him, snuggling back into our embrace. "If you've been too busy for sex, big guy, then maybe you deserve a nice, long vacation."
I kissed his forehead, softly, as he had kissed mine. "We can go slow," I said, even as I pulled at his shirt. My legs knocked against his desperately. "Or maybe we could just do it twice."
* * *
////READ.TXT only////
Dee, I thought you might find this interesting. I found it while doing a job for Mouse ... I won't compromise your cop-honor by going into details about that. Sorry about the dingbats. I caught it mid-hack, er, I mean, mid-JOB, so it's not in the best shape. Plus, your rustbucket of a motherboard isn't very forgiving. Anyway, looks like your old college roommate is having more troubles. Allah protect us all from the FBI. – The page P.S. [file follows]
/////(*)**&)&A&*$%$%$#%$# !@$%A&*()( +..... protection program. All you need to do is give us just a little more information.
Malachim: Screw your witness protection program. I want an upgrade. I was told your office would be willing to provide me with what I need.
Agent Chan: What you're asking for is highly illegal.
Malachim: No upgrade, no info.
Agent Ramirez: Playing hardball with us isn't a very inspired idea, wirehead. You could spend the rest of your snotty little life in prison with zero access for the LINK-crimes the Malachim Nikamah have committed. As an admitted member of that organization, you're not in a position to bargain. Period.
Malachim: uh ... What do you want?
Chan: Current location.
Malachim: They're already on the move, since I was ... uh, expelled, I'm sure. I can only tell you where we were.
Ramirez: Why aren't you dead?
Malachim: What?
Ramirez: Why weren't you executed? Terminated with extreme prejudice. Silenced. Whatever you people call it. For your betrayal.
Malachim: I think you're projecting, sir. That sounds more like your organization than mine.
Ramirez: Why you impudent little ...
Chan: Let's not lose our heads. I think Agent Ramirez has a good point. Our sources tell us that the leader of the Malachim, one former-Colonel Rebeckah Klein of the Israeli army has a very fierce and unforgiving nature. She's not known to give quarter.
Malachim: To the enemy.
Ramirez: Don't get all righteous on us, Malachim. You're the one who came to us. You're the one who named names.
Chan: If we've gotten the wrong impression, why don't you tell us more about her?
Malachim: She's a nice Jewish girl. My mother would have liked me to marry her .. ))((A&A&A%
Chapter 12
Michael and I stood in an orchard. The heady fragrance of apple blossoms in the sunshine hung in the air. Swans floated on a lake nearby. Their passing caused the slightest ripple on the smooth glass surface. The water was as gray as Michael's eyes. He kissed me again. When he pulled away, I saw he was dressed in a crude tunic like the one the stained-glass angel wore. I was afraid to look at his face. Somehow I knew it held that same beatific gaze. "You're human!" I tried to tell him, but it was like I was speaking underwater. The sounds distorted, and seemed to float away.
Archangel Protocol Page 13