“I’m in another world,” she said to herself. The longer she stayed in the pool, the more it felt like a dream, and she became slightly dazed as she tried to take it in. After a nice, long soak, she reluctantly stepped out of the water, looking for something to dry herself with. But it wasn’t as though she had carpets to worry about, so she walked through the trellis, naked and glistening with water, in search of something to eat.
The garden gave way to a large green lawn. More lanterns were scattered about, some hanging in trees, some on crooks atop poles, others forming a path to a small pavilion. When she approached the cluster of furniture, she found a table surrounded by four wooden chairs and one place setting with elegant silverware. A domed serving plate held a scrumptious dish of glazed figs, pomegranates, and a bright yellow fruit she’d never seen before. Zoë served herself and sat down to eat. She wondered mildly who had cooked it, or if Alexander could somehow conjure food out of thin air.
Once she’d finished eating, she stood and looked around the pavilion. She couldn’t help but wish Alexander were with her. It seemed strange to wander around this place alone. She feared she might inadvertently go somewhere she shouldn’t.
Part of her wanted to poke around the gardens, but she decided that would be as rude as going through a friend’s closets while they were gone. She went to a low soft seat, and didn’t have any trouble relaxing, as she curled her legs under her. She grabbed a folded blanket from the back of the chair and pulled it around her.
By the time Alexander returned, she’d fallen asleep. She felt his presence several minutes before she saw him. His question earlier returned to her. Was she changing? For some reason, she didn’t like the sound of that. The idea of changing into something else didn’t sit well, particularly if she didn’t have any say as to what that might be.
The smile on her face faded as she saw Alexander’s expression. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
He sat beside her and kissed her hand. “I do not know where Henry is, and neither do the Powers, but they are aware of him, and are now looking for him.”
“Why?” she said, sitting up.
“Henry was a person of interest since even before his death. They think he may have killed Kent McGee.”
“No,” Zoë insisted. “Never. Henry is a gentle soul. He would never harm someone else.” She paused. “Wait. I thought Kent had a heart attack or something. Are you saying someone killed him? But there wasn’t any blood.”
“The Powers know when a life is taken wrongly.” Alexander’s tone was gentle.
“It doesn’t matter what they think. Henry didn’t kill him. Wait. There was someone on the stairs, someone who nearly knocked me down when I went into the maintenance area. He wasn’t one of the usual people there. He didn’t work at Fiskers.”
“Zoë,” Alexander began.
“Is it possible they’re wrong? Truthfully. Is it possible?”
Alexander thought carefully. Finally he spoke. “The lower angels do not often question the judgment of those in authority.”
“Then it is possible.” Zoë felt triumphant. “We have to find Henry. We can sort this out, and they’ll leave him alone, right?” When Alexander didn’t answer she repeated, “Right?”
“I do not know.”
“What will they do to him if they can’t be convinced he didn’t do this?”
Alexander looked away. “He will be detained.”
Between the expression on his face and the tone of his voice, Zoë got a chill. “For how long?”
“Eternity,” Alexander said.
Nausea overwhelmed her. “Are we talking hell?”
“There are many things you do not understand, Zoë.”
“You’re right. There are. The sooner you start talking, the sooner I’ll understand.”
“It depends what you mean by hell. It is a place of utter darkness. He would float for eternity without contact, feeling, or meaningful existence in the bleakness between reality and unreality.”
She shivered, cold all over. “Do they do the same thing to live humans that kill each other? Who are they to judge? Maybe Henry had a good reason for anything he did.” Zoë felt scared for Henry and furious at the same time. When Alexander didn’t answer any of her questions, she said, “You do what you want, but I have to do something. I want to go home.”
“Slow down, Zoë,” Alexander said. “I will help you find your friend. If you will allow me to.”
“And what if he’s guilty? Will you turn him over to them?”
“We will hear what he has to say, and we will decide.”
Zoë wanted to trust him, but found that difficult. If forced to choose, Alexander would likely side with his own kind. It’s what she would do. But she nodded anyway, and said, “Okay.” At least she wasn’t completely alone.
“When we go back, would you take me to my car? It’s still at Fiskers,” she said as they made their way through the pathways to the bed.
Alexander agreed and waited as Zoë got dressed. When she reached to pick up her purse, she said, “Oh, I didn’t even get a chance to ask Henry about this knife.”
“Knife?” Alexander asked.
“It’s not an ordinary hunting knife, I can tell you that much.” She pulled it out of her purse and it slipped comfortably into her grip. With her left hand, she removed the sheath.
When Zoë glanced up, she saw that Alexander had backed away from her, and his skin had begun to glow. “Alexander, what’s wrong?”
He didn’t answer at first. A low rumble came from within, like the beginning of a growl. He backed away from the gazebo completely, but never took his eyes off her. “You are a Stalker.” He spat the words, and his tone rung with betrayal.
“No,” she said. “No. Alexander, I don’t even know what that is.”
Without warning, Alexander’s skin took on a bluish tint, and he began to change.
Zoë watched in horror. She glanced around to see if there was anywhere she could run, but he was standing between her and the only exit she knew of. The blade sang in her hand as though urging her toward him.
The change in Alexander was not instant as it had been with Thomas. It seemed as though he fought it. The strain wracked his features. He crouched as ice-blue scales appeared on his face, arms and chest. A beak formed on his face and his legs twisted to a muscular cat form. He looked like a great, scaly blue griffin, but he stood on two legs and had human arms, enormous and incredibly powerful. Leathery blue wings unfurled behind him, and Zoë was both awed and terrified.
“Zoë,” he growled, his voice echoing strangely in her head. “That is a Stalker’s weapon, a chaos blade. And you brought it here.” He roared the last word with anger.
Her heart pounded as adrenaline pumped into her body, giving her heady alertness and energy. “I didn’t know, Alexander. Please. It was given to me by a spirit. After Thomas freed Jackson Burly. I only had it with me because I wanted Henry to tell me about it.” Her hands shook. She fought to stay calm, but it was proving nearly impossible. She wanted to scream, but she thought fear would be the wrong reaction.
Traces of the familiar Alexander showed still in the strange, bird-like face. He tilted his head with a solid black eye trained on her, and she tried desperately not to look like prey.
“Alexander,” she said evenly, “I’m going to put this down, okay?” She crouched slowly to put the knife on the ground. It vibrated as she got closer.
“No,” he roared, and in her fear, she dropped the blade. When it touched the ground, the green grass immediately turned gray, and dissolved around the knife, leaving nothing but mist. Alexander winced as though wounded. “Zoë, take up the blade.” His breathing was ragged, whether from fear or a frantic attempt at self-control she was not certain.
Zoë snatched the knife and put it in its sheath, and then stowed it in her purse. She trembled from head to toe as she watched Alexander warily.
Alexander relaxed and the gray patch of grass began to heal itse
lf, slowly returning to a more natural color. Still watching her with a wary stare, his human form returned, and he rose from his defensive crouch.
“I don’t understand what just happened,” she said with a quavering voice.
“A chaos blade is one of the few things that can kill my kind.” He looked away, as though ashamed he was in any way vulnerable. “They are made of mordicite, and are forged in another realm. The only creatures I have ever seen possess them are Stalkers. Assassins.” He paused, his mouth set in a grim line. “Angel killers.”
“Demons?” Zoë asked quietly.
“No, this was created by the elder race. They are the ones who created us, the demons, the fae, and humanity.”
“Alexander, you must believe me. I am not one of these Stalkers. I’m just a normal person.” More or less, she thought, but a time like this called for absolute assertions. “I would never hurt you.” He looked wary, so she added, “Just as I have to trust you wouldn’t hurt me. It would be easy for you, wouldn’t it, especially when you’re like that?” The sight of him transformed had stirred so many emotions. He was magnificent and utterly terrifying.
He nodded. “That is true. Then, you will not run from me now, as you did from Thomas when you saw his exalted form?”
Zoë took a tentative step toward Alexander. “He surprised me, and I was afraid. I thought it was because he was Fallen he looked like that, that he changed.”
Alexander shook his head. “Our normal appearance is similar to yours, and we rarely assume the other when we live and work among you. Our other form, however, is a part of our true nature, albeit a more primal incarnation. Demonkind can also alter their appearance, although their ability works differently. The fae and humans do not shift.”
She’d never been so acutely aware that the man in front of her was not human. She couldn’t bring herself to ask why he’d seduced her, if he was even capable of loving her. Her heart twinged when she thought about the incredible, lusty experience. Not that she expected commitment when things were this new. But it would change things to believe he couldn’t ever love her.
“I have to find Henry,” she said finally, doing her best to push her emotions aside. She knew with certainty Alexander would not be coming with her to search for him. They both had a lot to think about, and trust issues had wormed their way into the mix.
“May I come to you again?” It sounded formal, and somewhat tentative, as though this strange and powerful being actually feared her rejection.
She paused and considered before nodding. “I need to be able to get in touch with you without having to call Thomas. Can you get a phone?” She looked around. “Although I’m not sure where you’d plug in the charger.”
For the first time in what seemed like ages, a grin spread across his face. “I think I can manage that. In the meantime, take this.” He bent down and picked up a small stone that lay near the arch. He pressed it between his palms and it glowed for a moment. Alexander’s skin paled slightly, as though the process hurt. He handed her the warm stone. “If you call to me while you are holding that, I will come. But do not let the blade touch it, or it will be unmade.”
She nodded, certain that would be a very bad thing. She put the stone in her pocket, afraid even to put it in her purse with the chaos blade close by.
She walked toward the arch, coming within inches of him, and when she passed him, he turned with her. She wanted to kiss him, to throw herself into his arms one more time, but she held back. His eyes looked warm now, having lost the frost of his transformation.
“I’ll call you,” she said and passed through the arch. Once again, she stood in the hotel corridor, and she set off to find the elevator and the way out.
In this ordinary and real building, bleak lethargy overtook her. The colors seemed dull and the sounds indistinguishable and soft. Even in the shadows of the late evening, it pressed on her. The elevator opened into a bar. People meandered in an open area with glass walls overlooking a swimming pool. Low music filtered through the din of chattering voices and the clink of glasses. A few people stole glances at her, and Zoë unconsciously ran her hands over her hair, afraid she must stand out, as though surely they could see her recent experiences played out on her face, or in some kind of strange aura. She forced a smile and wound her way through the bar to the reception desk, where she picked up a hotel brochure.
“May I help you, madam?” asked a middle-aged man who wore a green jacket with the hotel logo embroidered on the breast pocket.
“I need the hotel’s address,” she said and looked at the leaflet in her hand. She tried not to look shocked when she saw she was in Redwood City. She had assumed, rather foolishly she now thought, that they were somewhere in San Francisco. “And a taxi please,” she said.
It wasn’t long before a taxi arrived to take her to the CalTrain station. From there she headed to San Mateo. Within forty-five minutes of leaving Alexander, Zoë was in the Fiskers parking lot, fumbling with the keys to her car.
The building looked strange in the darkness with only a few other cars around. The requirements of the Fiskers servers meant they were monitored twenty-four hours a day, but even with cars dotted around the parking lot, it seemed desolate. Zoë wanted to get away from there as soon as she could. She hugged her purse to her body and shivered, even though the night was warm.
After a long moment of considering, she steeled her nerve and dialed the tech department on her cellphone. “Brad? Hi, this is Zoë Pendergraft. Listen, I’m outside in the parking lot. I left, um, kind of unexpectedly today, and I need to get some stuff out of my desk for the weekend.”
Of course, everyone would have heard about Kent McGee and how she’d been taken away in an ambulance. Brad, one of the database techs who regularly worked the night shift, came and let her in without even questioning whether or not he should.
“Thanks, Brad,” she said when the thin young man opened the door.
He shoved his wiry glasses up onto the bridge of his nose. “No problem, Zoë. So, you found Kent, huh?”
“Yeah,” she said. “Look, it was awful. I don’t much want to talk about it.” She frowned and tried to look distraught, but not helpless, because the last thing she wanted was him trying to stay and comfort her.
“Oh yeah, of course not,” he said. He dallied for a moment after walking her to her desk, but when she didn’t offer any details, he said, “Okay, I guess I’ll see you Monday. If you’re all right to come back.”
She smiled reassuringly. “Yeah, I’m fine. It was a shock is all. I’ll see you Monday.”
As soon as Zoë was alone, she left her desk and headed for the maintenance door. She steadied her nerves and pushed it open, turning on the lights as she went. No point, she decided, in floundering around in the dark.
An occasional thump in some distant pipe broke the deadly silence. Zoë jumped at each sound, even though she knew it was ridiculous. She couldn’t feel a spirit or angel anywhere nearby, so she forced herself to proceed until she arrived at the boiler room and pushed the door open.
“Henry?” she called, knowing he wouldn’t be there. Part habit, she told herself, and part wishful thinking.
She flipped the light switch and held her breath as she passed over the area where Kent McGee’s body had fallen. She didn’t know why she’d come. If there were any clues to how Kent had died, the police would have found them. The floor was as clean as always, and she could find no sign anything amiss had happened.
But the Powers, she reminded herself, said Kent had died wrongly, whatever that meant. It wasn’t until she reached the back of the boiler room she saw anything unusual, and it was something the police would never have noticed. The pegboard where she hung gifts for Henry had been partially stripped. The door near it, which she had never seen opened before, had definitely been disturbed.
Zoë walked closer and tugged at the door handle, but it wouldn’t budge. Could it have been her imagination? She did her best to remember what had hun
g on the pegboard. She saw a pocket knife, an old money clip, and a few other odds and ends. The only things missing were the keys. She had bought Henry at least a dozen. Now gone. All of them, including the one that had shimmered strangely when Henry touched it. Or had she imagined that? Even with all she’d been through before, she found it difficult to accept the sudden changes in her life.
Zoë hesitated. Should she tell the police? She couldn’t think of a way to explain why she had such an odd collection of things and why she kept them in her company boiler room. “Gifts for Ghosts” didn’t seem like something the average cop would understand.
She gathered up the rest of the items and put them in her purse. Although she wanted to tell herself Henry would be back here soon, she couldn’t bear the idea of someone taking them. When he had lived here, Henry could have kept people away. A strong spirit like Henry could have made himself felt if he wanted to. But now, her strange little shrine had no protection.
With her treasures packed up, Zoë glanced around again before leaving, turning off the lights as she went. It chilled her that someone had come into the boiler room looking for those keys. It had to have happened that way, because otherwise, why take them and nothing else? The truth sank in. That meant whoever went down there knew about Zoë, her habit of leaving things, and where to find them. That also meant, as if the first part wasn’t strange enough, Zoë had been partially the cause of Kent’s death.
Whoever went down to search for Zoë’s keys would never have been there to kill Kent if she hadn’t left those things there. And Henry wouldn’t have gone away. Now she was certain a third person had been in that room. So why did Henry run, and where did he go? Did he know the Higher Angels were searching for him?
She had to find him. She couldn’t ask the police most of the questions that filled her mind. Saving a spirit from the Powers wouldn’t exactly fall under their jurisdiction. She supposed it fell under hers.
Ordinary Angels Page 10