“What the hell?” I cried out as something large appeared from out of nowhere in the middle of the slick road.
The winged creature glowed such a brilliant gold, I had to shield my eyes from the glare. The smile on the creature’s lips was horrifying and the wingspan had to be at least eight feet on either side.
I knew her.
I despised her.
“Move,” I screamed as I slammed my foot on the breaks and the car began to spin out of control. “Dammit, MOVE.”
She didn’t move. The Angel of Mercy stood in the road and was the reason I jerked my wheel to the right, causing the car to careen off the road and into a horrendous nightmare.
I didn’t want to jerk the wheel, but it was exactly what Steve had done to avoid killing the beast that had come to kill him. The sound of Clarissa’s maniacal laughter as the car tumbled off the road would live in my nightmares for the rest of time.
“I should have run you down, you bitch,” I shouted as I lost control of the vehicle.
All I could hear was the scream of metal and Clarissa’s unholy laugh.
Steve’s death was not an accident. It was murder.
Somewhere in the far distance, I heard a male voice yelling at me. The words were undecipherable. Was it Steve? Was it Gideon? Strangely, it sounded a little bit like John Travolta.
The agony in the voice was unmistakable, but there was nothing I could do to comfort the man who seemed so upset.
“This is not real,” I reminded myself. “This is not my life. Not my destiny.”
The pain I felt was not my own. It belonged to Steve. This was a gift to him. He’d lived it once. I would not let him live it twice.
Shattering of glass, the shrill wails of the mangled metal as it twisted and deformed and the crunching of my bones as they broke in so many places beat against my ears. I lost the ability to think. I couldn’t remember why this was a good plan.
“No,” I screamed as the car rammed head-on into a tree.
Jerking forward into the steering wheel, searing-hot fire tore through my chest and I gasped for air. My heart pounded explosively. I could feel it all the way to my toes. The oxygen was snatched from my lungs as I cried out for help.
If I didn’t die in the next few minutes, I would kill Clarissa with my bare hands in the very near future.
My mouth tasted of metal, but I couldn’t recall what the taste was—pennies? Salty pennies? Blood?
Time refused to stop. Colors and images raced across my vision.
Strangely, riddles floated through my barely conscious mind. I tried to tell myself one to block out the agony. My voice sounded ragged to my own ears—as if I’d swallowed shards of glass. Maybe I had.
The line between Steve and me was invisible. I was him. He was me. I could see no way out even if I was willing to leave him.
“What can fly without wings?” I whispered, desperate to make the pain go away.
“Time,” Steve choked out.
I was shocked to silence for a moment. Was Steve here? Was I dead too?
“I can bring tears to your eyes. I can resurrect the dead. I can make you smile. I can reverse time. I form in an instant and I can last a lifetime. What am I?” I asked, holding on to my life and sanity by a thread.
“You’re a memory,” Steve replied in a weak voice. “Leave me, Daisy. This is not your destiny. The truth has been revealed.”
“I don’t know how,” I cried out, searching for him but seeing nothing but darkness.
“This is not real,” Steve insisted. “It already happened. It happened a year ago. It was not a suicide. It was an accident. You found what you came for.”
“It wasn’t an accident,” I said woodenly. “It was a murder.”
Steve shuddered. The feeling was odd. The sensation was next to me, not inside me. I should have felt his shudder as if it was mine.
“I’m pushing you out,” Steve insisted as I felt a violent jolt course through my body. “This is the last gift I can give you. Accept it, Daisy.”
“Yes,” I said as I grew weightless and woozy.
A hand reached for me, and I grasped it like a lifeline. It wasn’t Steve’s hand. It wasn’t Gideon’s hand.
The hand belonged to my father.
“Come with me now,” the Archangel whispered. “It is not your time to go yet.”
I couldn’t see John Travolta clearly, but his voice was unmistakable.
“It was not an accident,” I said, digging my nails into the flesh of his hand. “Steve did not commit suicide.”
“Your husband did not commit suicide,” he said.
“It was murder,” I hissed, wanting to bite the hand that was trying to save me. “Clarissa murdered my husband.”
My father was silent.
“Say it,” I screamed. “Say the words. Prove you’re not a coward for all to hear.”
“It was a murder,” he said in a sad whisper. “The Angel of Mercy is guilty.”
My satisfaction was fleeting. An exhaustion I’d never known consumed me and a darkness pulled me forward. Closing my eyes, I let go.
There was nothing else I was capable of doing.
My mission was complete. Steve would go into the light.
I had no clue if tomorrow would come for me. The price had been higher than I’d ever imagined, but I would pay it again in a heartbeat.
Chapter Five
While I was fairly sure I wasn’t dead, I was positive I’d landed in one of the rings of Hell. My body felt like it had been hit by a Mack truck and the argument I could hear defied logic.
“Quit gettin’ your knickers in a knot,” Gram chastised. “I’m tellin’ you this for your own good. A toothpick hanging out of your mouth twenty-four-seven is uncouth. That habit is so ugly it would make a freight train take a dirt road in the middle of a flood.”
“You’re a pain in my ass,” Candy griped.
“Tell me something I don’t know, little missy,” Gram shot back with a cackle of glee. “And while we’re on the subject of rumps, you need a wardrobe overhaul. Those baggy clothes are a tragedy waitin’ to happen—your dang rear end looks like a flat pancake. I’m tellin’ you right now, you look like ten miles of bad road after you’ve been chewed up and spit out. If you want a male suitor or a female suitor, you’re gonna have to do some laundry occasionally.”
“You done with the compliments yet?” Candy inquired.
“Just gettin’ started,” Gram informed the Keeper of Fate.
Hell’s bells, if there was ever a time to be stuck in limbo, this was not it. Gram was screwing with Karma. Of course, Gram was dead, but Candy Vargo didn’t seem to be one who played by the rules. I had no idea if fate could mess with the dead.
“Give me your best, old woman,” Candy said.
“Well now, ain’t that the pot calling the kettle black?” Gram inquired. “How old are you?”
“Point to Gram,” Candy said with a laugh. “And to answer your question, I’m older than dirt. Literally. So, give me your best, young lady.”
“Much better, and I’m gonna do just that,” Gram informed her. “You need some meat on you, Candy Vargo. You need to eat, girlie girl. You’re so skinny if you stood sideways and stuck your tongue out, you’d look like a zipper.”
Oh my freaking God. Laughing, screaming or duct-taping Gram’s mouth shut were all fine ideas, but I was capable of none of those things. I tried with everything I had to pry my eyes or my mouth open, but to no avail. I wondered briefly if one of the ghosts had superglued them shut as a joke. Gram was skating on thin ice, and there was no way to stop her.
“Do you have a death wish?” Candy asked.
Gram laughed. “Too late for that. Already dead.”
“Then why, may I ask, are you crawling up my ass?”
“Couple of reasons,” Gram told her. “One, it passes the time until my Daisy girl wakes up. Two… I care.”
“I call bullshit,” Candy snapped angrily.
“Call
whatever you want,” Gram said. “You need some dang friends and I’ve decided that I’m one of them. You’re a hot mess and I’m fixin’ to set you up right before I have to go. You have nice eyes and a lovely smile when you decide to use it. Course, you need a haircut and a bath, but that’s on the list.”
“The list?” Candy asked, shocked.
“Yep,” Gram confirmed. “It’s about a mile long, but I figure if we knock off a couple things a day we’ll be done in about a year.”
“Shit,” Candy muttered with a chuckle. “Your nards are huge.”
“Lady balls,” I whispered softly. “Gram has lady balls like me.”
“Daisy’s awake,” Gram squealed.
I felt a rush of cool wind as the ghosts surrounded me and began to chatter unintelligibly. Slowly, my eyes opened—and I screamed.
Candy Vargo’s face was approximately an inch from mine, and Gram’s face was squished next to Candy’s.
“Told you that you needed to work on your appearance,” Gram told Candy as she fluttered around me. “Daisy girl, can you hear me, darlin’?”
“Yes,” I whispered, sitting up in my bed gingerly. “Steve. Where’s Steve?”
“Right here,” he called out as he flew to my side.
Squinting my eyes, I wondered if I was dreaming or if what I was seeing was accurate. Steve wasn’t alive, but he was in the same state he was in when he’d first come back to me.
“How?” I asked. My throat was dry and my words felt rusty.
Steve raised his brow and gave me the same look he’d given me when I’d broken my foot years ago because I jumped off a ladder to grab a fresh paintbrush. In my defense, it was a small ladder, but the ground was hard. “Your little stunt in my mind reversed the damage the darkness caused.”
“Are you mad at me?” I asked, trying to smile.
“Understatement,” Steve said, shaking his head. “However, it doesn’t change how much I love you.”
“Good,” I said, glancing around.
My relief that Steve hadn’t moved into the light before I could say goodbye was overwhelming. Seeing him eased the pressure in my chest.
“Hoooooooookaaah,” Birdie yelled with her foul middle digit raised.
I choked out a laugh. Never did I think that being flipped off by a cranium-challenged dead hooker would make my day.
But it did.
Birdie was holding her head and most of the squatters were missing appendages. Shitshow didn’t even begin to describe the way my roomies looked. I was going to need a lot of superglue.
Wait.
“Clarissa,” I growled. “Has she been punished?”
The room went silent. It didn’t bode well.
“Not exactly,” Candy hedged.
“Not at all,” Gram added with disgust in her voice.
“Explain,” I said as adrenaline fueled by anger helped me stand up. My legs were shaky, but they worked.
“She’s gone missing,” Heather said, entering the room and wrapping her arms around me in relief.
“I repeat. Explain,” I said, hugging Heather back.
She pointed to the bed. “Sit.”
“Nope,” I told her, slowly beginning to pace the room. The ball of fury in my gut wouldn’t let up. Moving was necessary if I was going to keep a lid on my temper.
“Fine,” Heather conceded. “The Angel of Mercy’s fate has been sealed. There is no doubt of her guilt. It’s been reported and recorded. She will be stripped of her power, heritage and Immortality. However…”
“However, what?” I ground out.
“However, she has to be found first,” Candy chimed in.
Pressing my lips together so I didn’t drop an F-bomb in front of Gram, I attempted to gather my scattered thoughts. Had John Travolta given her a heads up and she’d gone into hiding?
With what he had done to save me, it didn’t make sense. But sense wasn’t necessarily going to be made out of anything that was happening.
“I have questions,” I said in a tight voice.
“Shoot,” Heather said, crossing her arms over her chest and waiting.
“Where is Gideon?”
“Gideon, Charlie and Clarence have gone in search of Clarissa,” she said.
“What exactly does that mean?” I questioned.
“It means all Hell will break loose shortly,” Candy muttered.
“Are you being literal or figurative?” I demanded.
At this point I assumed nothing. I’d had my fill of assumptions and they hadn’t worked out so well.
“Figurative,” Heather supplied quickly, understanding that literal explanations were imperative right now. “A state of mind can’t break loose from anything.”
“That’s what Heaven and Hell are?” I asked. “Simply a state of mind?”
“It’s the easiest way to explain it,” Heather said calmly.
I was glad she was calm because I was anything but.
“So, Gideon, Charlie and John Travolta are searching the Universe for Clarissa?”
“Yes,” Heather confirmed.
“Where’s Tim?”
“Delivering the mail,” Heather said.
I almost laughed except not much was funny right now.
“And is the search for Clarissa similar to finding a needle in a haystack?” I pressed.
Candy and Heather exchanged a cryptic glance.
“Yes and no,” Candy said, taking the lead. “The soon-to-be-ex-Angel of Mercy can run, but hiding will pose a problem.”
“Immortals have footprints for lack of a better word,” Heather explained. “Wherever Clarissa goes, she’ll leave evidence of her essence.”
The news wasn’t welcome. But it wasn’t surprising either. Clarissa was well aware of what she had done and that she would be found out.
“Will they be able to find her?” I asked, testing out my fingers and arms.
“They will,” Heather assured me.
“In a reasonable human time frame?” I asked. I knew we were dealing with Immortals. A hundred years was a mere blip in time for them. I’d be dead and gone in a hundred years and I wanted to see Clarissa brought to justice. Hell, I wanted to serve the justice up and shove it down her throat.
“Remains to be seen,” Candy Vargo said, shrugging. “Just hope they find her before she finds you.”
I cocked my head to the side and glared at Karma. “Do you know something I don’t?” I inquired in a brook-no-bullshit tone.
“I know many things that you don’t,” she said. “But the end of this particular story? No. I don’t know anything about that.”
“Crap,” I muttered as I continued to pace. With each step, I felt better and stronger. Part of me wanted to go for a run. I was sure that wouldn’t go over real well with my company right now. They were all staring at me like I’d grown another head.
Maybe I had…
“How long was I out?” I asked, realizing I had to pee. Badly. “Hold that answer.”
Sprinting to the bathroom, I did my business and brushed my teeth for a good five minutes. What I really wanted was to see Gideon, but I understood why he wasn’t here. Heather tossed in a clean pair of yoga pants, undies, a sports bra and a t-shirt. She was a good friend. After a quick shower that felt heavenly, I got dressed and was ready to confront the world—or at least the people in my house.
My hair was a wild mess of long dark curls, but that was nothing new. Giving myself one last cursory glance in the mirror to confirm I wasn’t sporting an extra head, I froze.
“What the heck?” I squinted to make sure I was seeing things correctly.
My eyes, normally a dark golden color, were now sparkling back at me in the mirror. I couldn’t blame it on the sun shining through the window because it was overcast outside. My eyes were now more like John Travolta’s—and I didn’t like it one bit.
“Damn it,” I said, narrowing my gaze at the image staring back at me. “Heather, can you come in here?”
“Yep?�
�� she said, popping her head in the door.
“Shut the door behind you, please,” I said and sat down at my vanity. “Can you look at my eyes and tell me if I’ve lost my shit?”
Heather stared at me for a long moment and sucked in a quick breath. “I think your shit is intact, and I think something is happening.”
“Can you be more specific?” I questioned.
“No,” she said. “I wish I could.”
I nodded and considered punching something to release the anxiety building as my mind raced with frightening scenarios. However, I let that plan of action go fast. I’d recently knocked down a massive tree. I didn’t need to punch a wall out of my house. Changing the subject would lessen the chance of a panic attack or property damage.
“How long was I out?”
“Two weeks,” she replied, closing the lid of the toilet and sitting down.
“Are you kidding me?” I shouted. A panic attack was sounding more appealing with each new piece of information revealed.
“I kid you not.”
“How was that explained?”
“Explained?”
“To June, Jennifer and Missy.” They were human, and some of my dearest friends along with Heather. A two-week absence on my part wouldn’t fly with my girls.
“I told them that Gideon kidnapped you with your full approval for a long getaway. With Gram dying, you needed a change of scenery. I also told them I was house and dog sitting for you.”
“And they believed you?” I asked.
“June and Jennifer bought it hook, line and sinker,” Heather said, and then paused. “But Missy seemed surprised and a bit hurt that you didn’t tell her yourself.”
Scrubbing my hands over my face, I wondered if I was going to have to weave a web of lies for my best friend since childhood. Missy was like a sister to me. I would be hurt, too, if she took off and neglected to tell me.
I sucked as a liar. The truth was so much easier to remember.
And I was certain Heather hadn’t liked lying to Missy, either. They’d had a relationship in the past and were slowly trying again. A relationship full of lies was like a house of cards waiting for a gust of wind to blow it down.
“What do I do?” I asked. “Lie?”
A Most Excellent Midlife Crisis: Good To The Last Death Book Three Page 5