The patrons, the bartender—none of them were human. Eyes narrowed, she checked out two men sitting together at a back table. They were the only humans in the place, besides herself, of course, but they didn’t seem completely human. What else could they be? Her brain ticked with their presence, and she tried to place them, but couldn’t. They looked as uncomfortable as she felt. They kept their heads down and refused to look at anyone else. They didn’t even talk to one another. Even stranger, a spirit hovered behind them. It wasn’t fully formed, as though it had trouble holding on. Zoë had difficulty making out its features. “Who is that?”
Alexander followed her gaze. “I do not know. Possibly clients of Thomas.”
“He represents, um, other races?” She didn’t know how to take it in.
“It would not be like him to discriminate.” Alexander indicated a chair and pulled it out for her. She sat, wondering when they were going to get to the point, but not feeling particularly rushed. She relaxed as she listened to the music.
The piano player was quite good, although she supposed that shouldn’t surprise her, since he was super-human. He was gorgeous too, with coal black hair and the deep gray eyes that made her wonder what the world looked like when he looked out of them. But again, none of these people were exactly ugly. The unfamiliar tune had a sexy, jazzy sound, and he played with feeling. It reminded her of something she couldn’t quite place, and she lost herself in memories of a trip she must have taken with her parents, before her father died and her mother walked out. She had few memories of her mother. Some hotel restaurant, somewhere, more like a bar, but she was so young, it couldn’t have been. In the South, she thought, but maybe she thought that because of the jazz. It took her a second to realize the music had stopped.
She looked up and saw the piano player nod at Alexander.
“Time to go,” Alexander said. They stood and walked toward the stage, following the piano player through a curtain in the back, which led through a dark corridor. At the end of it, he opened a door, and they entered a beautiful office with high ceilings and leather furniture arranged in a small seating area. In the back stood a huge wooden desk, and the far wall was lined with hundreds of leather-bound books. It smelled like paper and ink.
The piano player turned to her, and she noticed he was tall. He smiled. “You must be Zoë.” His faint accent carried a hint of something she couldn’t place. “I’m Thomas.”
She stuck her hand out. “Zoë Pendergraft.” Did angels even shake hands? She wasn’t left hanging because even if they didn’t, Thomas was polite enough to take it. It pleased her that touching Thomas didn’t have the same gushy effect on her that contact with Alexander did. So maybe it wasn’t some kind of generic angel influence after all.
“Alexander has filled you in?” Thomas said and indicated one of the chairs to his right.
Zoë settled herself in one and put her purse beside her feet. “I think so. This is all, um, very new to me.”
Thomas grinned. “Don’t worry about that. It’s supposed to be. Humans are generally kept in the dark about us and what we’re doing, unless they choose to involve themselves.”
“You’re not interfering with the timeline by telling me this? It seems to me, Thomas, simply existing anywhere humans can see you is, in itself, interference. How can these Higher Angels expect Alexander to interact with humans, do his job, and yet not have any influence on them? Isn’t that the nature of his work? I figure if you don’t want to influence something, you stay the hell away from it. If, erm, you’ll pardon the expression.”
Thomas grinned. “It’s a duality we can’t ever completely get away from. What I need from you is to hear about Tuesday. Go through it in your own words. Don’t leave anything out.”
“Starting from when Alexander walked in?”
“Let’s take it back a bit further to get a feel for the day. Did anything happen that morning? Something unusual you can’t attribute to routine?”
Zoë considered, and wondered if he was trying to figure out if Alexander had influenced her before they even met?
“Before we start, Alexander, why don’t you go ask Nicholas about the writ for me. We need to go over that in a little while.”
“Sure,” Alexander said and stood. “You are all right, Zoë?”
She smiled. What choice did she have but to be all right? “Yeah, I’m fine.” She watched him go, sorry when his presence faded. Even Thomas’ office seemed to lose some of its color.
She blushed when she realized Thomas watched her closely. “How long have you felt like that?” he asked.
“From the beginning, I think.” Warmth crept over her skin.
He nodded and gestured for her to continue. “So, Tuesday?”
“Tuesday was pretty normal. I went to work, and everything was what I’d expect. I did paperwork in the morning. I had lunch with my friend Henry Dawkins. I’d gotten him a present, and was looking forward to giving it to him. He collects keys. Well, not exactly. I collect keys and give them to him. You know how it is, being dead. You can’t really pick things up well. I mean he can, but Henry doesn’t steal. Plus, not all of them seem to hold on to physical objects easily, if you know what I mean. But Henry is quite strong, for a spirit.” When she looked at Thomas, she realized he hadn’t known about her. Oh, crap. “Then, um, let’s see, I saw a little girl I didn’t know in the bathroom.”
“Alone?”
“Yeah, um, she was dead too, you see.”
“That happens to you a lot?”
“Always. They like it when they find someone they can talk to, usually. It’s not like in the movies.” Feeling dumber by the moment, she wondered if Thomas had ever even seen a movie. “I’m only friends with a few though. More than with living people, though, now that I think about it.” She cleared her throat, wishing she had a glass of water so she’d have something to do with her hands.
“This didn’t start Tuesday?”
“Heavens, no. All my life. Alexander is my first angel though.” She smiled nervously, hoping she wasn’t saying anything offensive.
Thomas walked her through her meeting with Alexander, taking her over everything she could remember. The worst part was his asking whether she had any unusual emotional reactions. How could she answer that? Flushed and horny was pretty normal, wasn’t it, when confronted with a drop-dead gorgeous guy who wanted to take you dancing?
“What does this have to do with Ronald?” she asked finally, when he got to Tuesday night’s date. She really didn’t want to describe that.
“Nothing,” he said.
“Then why—”
“The Higher Angles will question Alexander about the humans he comes in contact with, how he interacts, if he interferes with human lives as a matter of course. Because you met him on the day of the primary incident, they’ll want to know about your relationship.”
“Okay. Anyway, I think we said goodbye to Mrs. Paez next door, and I took him inside to meet Gran, since he’d shown up early. I thought she could keep him company while I took a shower. But it didn’t go well. She doesn’t have much truck with angels, apparently. I’d have thought the dead would like you people.” Realizing that might sound bigoted she said, “You see what I mean. They’re dead, you’re…well, not human.” The supposed connection now seemed more tenuous than when it had first occurred to her.
“Your Gran is dead?”
“Yeah.” Fidgeting with the trim on the couch, Zoë said, “Gran warned me about Alexander. Said to make sure he wasn’t one of the Fallen.” She stole a glance at Thomas.
She read nothing in his expression. Zoë figured this would mean he was a very good advocate, because it wouldn’t be smart for an attorney to scowl every time he heard something he didn’t expect, or to give away his plan by telegraphing it all over his face.
“I know it might seem rude to ask, but seeing as how some angels don’t have much time for the, erm, not-so-departed, and nearly all of my friends are of that persuasion, I�
�m wondering if you are, well, that type, because if it means you wouldn’t be fair about Alexander, knowing about me, it’s something we might want to know.” We. Like she and Alexander were an item and not two virtual strangers of different species who had gone out exactly one time. If she hadn’t been waiting intently for Thomas’ answer, she would have rolled her eyes at herself. So what? So what if she was being selfish and asking for herself?
“It isn’t the Free that dictate to human spirits. My religion doesn’t mandate where a person should or shouldn’t go after he dies.”
Okay, angels had religion. Zoë always thought angels were religion, but today was a day for learning new things. Like discovering Alexander’s advocate was a “Free Angel”. Great. Whatever that meant.
“I also wondered because of the spirit in the bar. He doesn’t seem very happy.”
Thomas sat forward. “There’s a spirit in the bar?”
“Yeah, and that’s another thing. Why can’t you guys see them? I thought maybe it was just Alexander who couldn’t, because he seems to be…new.”
Thomas grinned. “New,” he said. “Yes, I suppose that’s one way to put it.” He sat back and spread his arms along the back of the couch. “The Higher Angels have certain abilities we do not. Angels are varied in power and ability.” Thomas turned his head for a moment as though thinking.
“Zoë, would you mind helping me? I realize this is unusual, but the two men you saw in the bar are my clients. I’m not entirely sure if they’re aware they brought a spirit with them. But we’ll be faced with the Higher Angels at trial, and they certainly will be able to tell. I would like you to help me question it. Would you do that for me?”
She didn’t have a reason to say no, but she sort of wanted to. But then, somebody had to speak up for dead people, and as strange as this one looked, it might need her help. Could this be a way of using her gift for something useful? On the other hand, she had a funny feeling about Thomas. Maybe it was some prejudice against the Fallen, rather, the “Free.” Another thought for another time, she told herself.
“Okay, yeah. I don’t mind. If it’s okay with him, I mean.”
Thomas smiled. “Thanks, Zoë. I think that’s all I need to know about you and Alexander. If you would wait in the bar for a few minutes?”
A gentle tap came from the door, and a rather remarkable angel peeked in. She had stark, raven black hair around a pale, heart-shaped face, and muddy green eyes that seemed both gloriously deep and troubled. “Ready?” she asked Thomas. She wore tragedy like a cloak wrapped around her shoulders. Zoë fought the urge to cry. Instead, she cleared her throat and stood.
“Yes,” Thomas said, again his eyes fastened intently on Zoë. “Please show Miss Pendergraft back to the bar and offer her refreshment.” To Zoë he said, “Have you had lunch?”
It wasn’t until then she realized exactly how hungry she had become. “I would kill for a sandwich,” she said, and then laughed. “Sorry, that was inappropriate. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today. It’s a little overwhelming.”
The sad angel touched Zoë’s arm and led her out the door. She passed the two characters from the bar, and they refused to meet her eyes. The spirit followed them, clinging like a sticky spider web.
The female angel shut the door and smiled at Zoë, sorrow seeping from her being. “This way, Miss Pendergraft.”
The sad angel told Zoë her name was Camille and brought her a tofu and avocado sandwich that turned out to taste a lot better than it sounded. Zoë asked for a Coke, and she listened to a new piano player who had taken Thomas’ place after they left. Camille came and asked her if she wanted anything else. Zoë declined politely.
“He’s really good,” she said, indicating the man on stage.
Camille glanced up. “Yes. That’s Marc.” She smiled at Zoë and then went through the dark curtain leading to the offices. The other patrons had left, so the only people left were Marc and the bartender.
Zoë relaxed into the music, the notes swirling around her, leeching weariness and tension from her bones. The bartender smiled in a guileless and honest way, his bald head reflecting the light from above. She wondered if it was wise to trust these creatures she knew little about. Could they engender trust?
Zoë was relieved when Alexander returned.
“Sorry,” he said. “I had something to take care of.” He absently put his hand over hers and watched Marc for a moment. “How did it go with Thomas?” he asked after a while.
“Oh, fine. He wanted to know basically everything you’ve ever said to me.”
Alexander turned and raised an eyebrow. “What did you tell him?”
Zoë shrugged. “I told him pretty much everything you’ve ever said to me as best I could remember. He seemed a lot more interested in my spirit friends than in me.”
“Did he?”
“Yeah, even asked me if I’d interview one for him. For a case he has. That’s why I’m waiting.” Then thinking it sounded like she otherwise would have ducked out the back, she added, “Besides waiting for you, of course.”
Alexander squeezed her hand. “Of course.”
“Umm, why does Thomas work out of a bar?”
“Oh,” Alexander said, as though he’d never considered it. “I think he likes the place like this. I do not think there is a real reason, Zoë.”
What was it about the way he said her name that made her melt? “Oh?” She resisted the temptation to bat her eyelashes.
“We are not prone to being logical all the time. I think being mortal makes you think you have to organize and be practical.”
“I dunno,” Zoë said. “These Higher Angels seem pretty organized to me.”
Alexander nodded. “That is true as well. But then they are not like us ordinary angels.”
She opened her mouth to make a comment about ordinariness and Alexander’s complete lack of understanding of the word when Camille returned.
“Thomas would like to see you now,” she said.
When Zoë stood, she saw Alexander wasn’t coming with her. She pondered that, and then thought if she was going to act as translator for the dead, there wasn’t any excuse for her to invite her maybe-boyfriend to come along. That’s when she understood Thomas scared her a little. He had an aura of power, something raw and, well, she didn’t have words for it. Not animalistic, because he also seemed ethereal. No, maybe primeval. She decided to chew on the idea.
When she returned to Thomas’ office, the two men she’d seen in the bar sat on one of the couches, and Thomas sat opposite, exactly as when she had left. He motioned to the two others. “I’d like you to meet Josh Grieve and Ren Jones.”
Zoë nodded to them, since they didn’t seem inclined to shake hands.
“Gentlemen, this is Zoë Pendergraft. She’s going to act as our translator.”
The “gentlemen” didn’t seem pleased by the prospect. Zoë might not have been psychic in the least, but she could tell when people didn’t want her around. Josh, with his intense pale eyes, seemed the more volatile of the two. He twitched and his leg jumped as though he was antsy. Ren sat back and stroked his ratty goatee. “Sure thing. Whatever.” He smirked. Zoë could tell that whatever they were, and whatever they had done, they certainly didn’t believe it was a big deal. Judging from the serious look on Thomas’ face, however, he disagreed.
“Sit, please, Zoë.” He stood and dragged over a chair from the other side of the room. It was straight-backed, but surprisingly comfortable.
“Zoë, is the spirit you saw in the bar here now?”
She nodded. It hovered around Ren’s shoulder.
Thomas looked satisfied. “Do you need anything to proceed?” he asked her.
She smiled. A lot of people thought being a medium was some kind of hocus-pocus to do with energy or channeling or ritual. She didn’t need to do a routine to talk to the dead any more than she needed to perform a rite to talk with the three people seated in front of her. She shook her head for polit
eness’ sake, and kept her comments to herself.
“He’s sick,” she observed.
“Sick?” Thomas sat forward. “Sick how?”
The smirks on the faces of the other two faded, but only slightly.
“I don’t know. It’s hard to put into words.” The spirit clung to Ren, like an eerie mist coming out of the collar of his dirty jacket.
To his credit, Thomas didn’t interrupt. He just waited.
“I’m Zoë,” she said to the spirit. “Can you understand me?”
A face coalesced briefly in the mist. It looked at her with hollow eyes before receding.
“He does, but he’s not…whole somehow,” Zoë whispered. Not that it would mean the spirit wouldn’t hear her. It just seemed polite. To the spirit, she said, “What’s your name?”
The sound like a wooden chair being dragged across a worn hardwood floor filled her ears. “Jackson Burly.”
She relayed the name to Thomas, and Josh went pale.
“Holy Christ,” he muttered. That seemed particularly inappropriate to Zoë, but she ignored him.
“It’s very difficult for him to speak, Thomas, so we’d best keep it brief. What specifically do you want to know?” The spirit snaked away from Ren slightly, and then snapped back, as though chained. “I’ve never seen anything like this.” Zoë said, mostly to herself.
“Please ask him why he’s still here. Why he’s following my clients?”
This hardly seemed the most pertinent question, but he was the lawyer and she was just the translator. “Did you hear that, Jackson? Thomas of San Francisco…” She paused because she felt like an idiot calling him that. “…wants to know why you cling to Ren.”
Strings of misty goo dribbled from the spirit’s mouth. “Bound,” it rasped.
Ordinary Angels Page 6