by Tanya Huff
So they’d asked her if she had a question.
Surrounded by teenagers pulled from the streets, Byleth stood—hands jammed into the pockets of her black jeans, weight resting on one hip, expression sullen—and asked, “If Lloyd leaves London at 6:00 p.m. on a train heading east going 90 kilometers an hour and Tom leaves Toronto at 6:15 p.m. on a train heading west at 110 kilometers an hour, when will they die in a fiery explosion?”
Eyes dark from lid to lid compelled the truth.
“I don’t know.”
“Why?” She threw the word onto the end of his sentence so quickly momentum kept the ball rolling.
“I never paid attention in math.”
“Why?”
“I was fixated on Miss Miller’s breasts.”
“Why?”
“They were perky. What does this have to do with the text?” Leslie/Deter demanded, fingers white on the edge of the lectern.
“Nothing.” The last thing she wanted to do was test the man’s faith. That was the sort of inane probing the good guys got up to. “Boxers or briefs?”
“Egyptian leather thong.”
Things went downhill from there.
Staring up at the exit sign, Claire listened to Dean breathe and waited for morning. Diana had gone too far this time. She hadn’t been Summoned to the angel, or she’d have mentioned it—Summoned Keepers had the final say on any situation. Diana without a Summons meant Diana should be at home studying or whatever it was teenagers did these days. Piercing something maybe.
Claire hadn’t been Summoned either, but as an active Keeper that only meant that she was already doing what she was supposed to be doing. The angel’s physical form blocked any attempt to find the demon. Therefore, she had to return the angel to the light. QED—essentially, Latin for “so there.”
Diana’s personal opinions on the matter were irrelevant. Even more so than usual.
If functional genitalia defined personhood, then Dean…
She chopped off the thought before it could crawl out any further. Functional genitalia didn’t define love either, and she loved Dean. In a relatively short time he’d become as essential to her life as breathing. She loved being with him, talking, laughing, traveling, cuddling, touching, kissing, caressing; turning her head, she pressed her face against the warm skin of his shoulder. He smelled so good, she wanted to…
Okay, that’s it. Get up. Which wasn’t, perhaps, the best chastisement under the circumstances. Sliding out from under the covers, she grabbed her robe off the other bed.
“Hey! I was asleep on that!”
“Sorry.”
“I should hope so.” Disdaining the jump, Austin stalked over the bedside table and curled up between Dean’s legs muttering, “Angels, demons, impotence; I see no reason why the cat should suffer.”
She woke Dean at five, and they were on the road by six-thirty. They would have been on the road an hour earlier, but when they went to check out, Dean discovered that the sleepy middle-aged woman behind the desk had once lived in St. John’s right next door to a guy he’d played hockey with. The permutations took a while to work through.
Although the plows had been busy all night, it was still snowing lightly and the driving was treacherous. When it became apparent that Dean needed to concentrate on the road…
You’ll find out what Diana’s up to when we get there.
Could we deal with what happens after the angel’s gone, after the angel’s gone, then.
Claire, please shut up.
…she amused herself by watching a pair of frost fairies skating along the hydro lines. Matched double axles, a star lift, and a thrown triple salkow later, she popped in a tape of The Nutcracker.
“This is different.” Austin climbed out from behind the seat and settled in her lap. “You don’t usually like classical music.”
“I know, but somehow it seemed to fit.”
They stopped for breakfast in Huntsville.
“I should get gas,” Dean observed as they pulled out of the diner’s parking lot.
“I got gas,” Austin moaned, head and both front paws draped over the edge of the seat. “I should never have eaten those sausages.”
Claire folded her arms. “What sausages?”
“Did I say sausages? I meant, uh…” The windows rattled as his stomach made a sound between a gurgle and plate tectonics. “All right. I meant sausages; three plump juicy sausages. Slightly overcooked and containing bits of two items I couldn’t identify. The kid in the next booth dropped them on the floor, and I ate them.”
“When?”
“When Dean was explaining to the waitress how running the dishwasher at a higher temperature would keep the cutlery from streaking.”
“Right. Then.”
“Yeah, then. When you were studying the menu with such intense concentration.”
Pulling up in front of the gas pumps, Dean shot her a quick look. “You were embarrassed?” When she nodded, he grinned. “Why? The waitress didn’t mind.”
The waitress didn’t mind because he’d been smiling up at her and the combination of Dean’s smile and accent and shoulders made most women and a goodly number of men between the ages of thirteen and death temporarily lose cognitive functions. He could have told the waitress how to get black heel marks off the floor, tomato sauce stains out of her apron, and greasy thumbprints off the napkin dispenser—all of which he’d done in the past—and she wouldn’t have minded. In the past he’d never noticed the reactions he provoked, but something in the way he grinned as he got out of the truck suggested that had changed.
“So he’s noticing people are noticing.” Austin twisted his head around until he could spear Claire with a pale green gaze. “So what?”
She watched Dean clean the windshield, carefully lifting each wiper blade and setting it just as carefully back in place. “So I’m not sure how I feel about it.”
“About him noticing that waitress noticed him?” When she nodded, he snorted. “Don’t worry about it. She made him French toast. You made him a man.”
“But he really liked the French toast.”
“And once you’ve dealt with the angel…”
“And the demon.”
“And the demon—he’ll really like locking me in the bathroom again.”
“You think?”
“No. I’m just talking to hear myself.” Belly sagging, he heaved himself up onto his feet. “Now open the door. There’s a trio of sausages I have to introduce to a snowbank.”
“I’d have thought that angels were more the early to bed, early to rise types.”
Samuel heaved himself up into something close to a sitting position, blinked at the room in general for a few moments, and then reluctantly swung his legs out of bed. “Why?”
“I dunno. The whole sentiment is just so sanctimonious I figured it had to be one of…oh, man!” Diana clapped her hands over her eyes and rocked back in the chair. “Like I needed to see that first thing in the morning. I thought you were going to sleep in your underwear.”
“This is what was under what I was wearing when you said that.”
“Pardon me for not assuming angels would head out commando style.” A quick look elicited a low whistle. “You ought to send Mr. Giorno a nice thank you letter.”
His eyes widened. “It’s doing it again!”
“Well, don’t wave it at me!”
Ears burning, Samuel grabbed a pillow off the bed and held it protectively in front of him. “I’m not doing anything. It just…” He started to gesture, thought better of it, and resecured the pillow. “It just does that,” he finished miserably. “I hate this body.”
“Are angels allowed to hate?”
“Are we allowed to walk around with one of these?”
“You have a point.”
He sank down onto the edge of the bed, pillow on his lap. “Like I need you to remind me.”
Diana could feel the laughter rising. When she tried to hold it back behind her t
eeth, it escaped out her nose. Any chance she might have had at stopping it after that got blown away by Samuel’s affronted glare. Nothing to do but ride it out. After a few minutes, she wiped her eyes, drew in a shaky breath, and managed a fairly coherent, “Sorry.”
“Sure. Whatever.” He glanced under the pillow. “Anyway, you’ve taken care of the…Would you stop that!”
This time the apology came out in separate syllables as Diana slid off the chair.
Samuel sat and watched her flop about, indignation wrapped around him like a cloak. Finally, he stood and walked into the bathroom, every movement radiating injured dignity. “I’ll figure out the shower on my own,” he informed her reproachfully, reaching back for the door.
Wondering who he could possibly be reminding her of, Diana waved a weak hand in his general direction and fought to pull herself together. With the door closed, with her anatomically correct angel safely behind it, she staggered to her feet and dropped back into the chair. Her stomach hurt. She hadn’t laughed so hard since the time Claire’d coughed half a cheese sandwich through her nose listening to one of Dad’s old George Carlin albums.
Claire.
Suddenly it wasn’t so funny.
Claire was on her way to Toronto believing she had to send an angel back to the light for the greater good. But, logically, emotionally, rationally, and every other ally Diana could think of, destroying a life couldn’t be a part of the greater good.
There had to be another way to find the demon.
“All right…” She stood and walked purposefully over to the big mirror on the wall. Hands flat on the dresser, she leaned forward and glared at her reflection. “Let’s do something radical for a Keeper. Let’s actually think about the situation instead of just reacting to it.”
Her reflection looked skeptical.
“Problem: there’s a demon in the world, a big ol’ walking around piece of darkness. And that’s bad. We can’t find it because there’s also an angel in the world. Which would be good if it wasn’t bad. We can’t find the demon because of the angel. Because the big chunk of light that’s Samuel balances the dark.” She glanced over at the bathroom, then back at the mirror. “Except that the dark hasn’t really been very dark, has it?”
Her reflection frowned in thoughtful agreement.
“You’d think that a demon would cause more havoc, wouldn’t you? All the active Keepers should be scrambling to repair the damage it’s caused, and I should have been Summoned to help. But that hasn’t happened. Why? Why hasn’t the demon caused more havoc?” She was close. She could feel it. “The demon is balancing Samuel. It hasn’t caused more havoc because balancing means it’s an exact opposite of Samuel.”
Following the cord, she dove under the bed for the phone.
In the mirror, her reflection performed a truncated version of Deion Sanders’ touchdown dance.
“All right. The demon’s a fully functional teenage girl. We still can’t find it while your angel is in the world. Yes, that narrows the search but not enough. Diana, I’m sor…” Claire let her head fall back against the seat as she powered down her phone. “She hung up on me.”
“She’s some set on saving that angel,” Dean noted, carefully easing the truck around a blind curve.
“I know.”
“Is there any chance she could be right?”
“No.”
“You’re sure?”
Claire sighed. “I’m a Keeper, it’s my job to be sure.”
Austin stretched out a paw, his claws sinking into Claire’s jeans. “Far be it from me to point this out, but you seem to be forgetting something.”
“I fed you. Although I don’t see why, when you tried to kill yourself with sausages.”
The claws sank a little deeper. “You’re forgetting that Diana is also a Keeper.”
“So?”
“It’s as much her job to be sure as it is yours.”
“All right, fine. So Claire can’t find her, big whoop. That doesn’t mean I can’t.” Euphoria having been shot down, Diana sat cross-legged on the end of the bed, reached into the possibilities, and jabbed seven numbers into the phone. “Local call,” she muttered after the first ring. “I’ll just deal with the demon before Claire clears Barrie, and she can stuff her…”
“Greenstreet Mission. Drop by and hear the word of God.”
Diana opened her mouth and closed it again. Finally she managed a strangled, “The what?”
“The word of God.” The young man on the other end of the phone sighed deeply. “And, no, it isn’t aluminum.”
“Okay.”
“Can we help?”
“No. That is, sorry, I’ve got the wrong number.” Hanging up considerably more gently than she had the last time, Diana stared across the room at her reflection. Her reflection stared back, equally appalled.
Higher Knowledge had told him that showers were both the cubicle or bath in which one stands under a spray of water and the act of bathing in same. It offered no help at getting the water the right temperature, but after a few false starts—and he would not give Diana the pleasure of hearing him scream—he worked it out.
Soaping up gave him the first chance to really examine the body he found himself in. Was he supposed to have hair in so many weird places? Why were his feet so big? If he hadn’t actually been born, which he hadn’t, why did he have a belly button? And nipples—sure they added visual interest to the male chest but what were they actually for?
“These things really ought to come with owner’s manuals,” he sighed, reaching down to turn off the water.
The tiny room didn’t seem significantly drier.
Shaking drips off the ends of his hair, he stepped out of the tub, slipped on the wet tiles, and suddenly found himself airborne.
Seventy-eight percent of all accidents happen in the bathroom, Higher Knowledge informed him as he landed.
“Samuel? Samuel, how many fingers am I holding up?”
“Why?”
“I have no idea, but it’s what they always do in the movies when someone knocks themselves out.”
“I’m not out.” He blinked and tried to focus on what looked like three fat pink sausages. “I’m in the bathroom.”
“No, you’re not. I moved you to one of the beds.”
“You carried me?”
“As if. I just, you know, poof.”
“Oh. Poof. Was that the burst of light?”
The sausages disappeared and the edge of the bed dipped as Diana sat down. “No. I think that was when your head hit the edge of the tub.”
“My head…” Movement brought smaller bursts of light. Pain. He remembered pain. On the up side, it didn’t hurt as much as catching himself in the zipper.
“There’s a bump, but angels seem to be pretty tough.”
“Yeah, well, soldiers in the army of the Lord and all that.” He could feel her concern—her pain for his pain—and he kind of thought he ought to do something about it but he just couldn’t seem to muster the enthusiasm.
“Samuel, I don’t want to rush you or anything, but could you get over this a little faster. Checkout time is at noon, and I don’t have enough money for another day—which clearly means we’re not supposed to stay.”
We. He felt a vague nostalgia for the time he’d spent on his own. “Maybe it means you’re supposed to send me back to the light.”
“Maybe you should just stay out of this.”
“Sure.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means my head hurts.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
The bed rocked as she threw herself off it. Samuel winced. “You want to hear the weird thought I had as I finished showering?”
“I guess.”
“That makes me feel more human.”
“What does?”
“The shower, I guess. It’s the thought I had: That makes me feel more human. And then…” He waved a hand in the general direction of hi
s head. “…this. Pain.”
Diana snorted. “Got news for you, bucko. Pain is the general human condition.”
“Then send me back. I don’t think I want to be human anymore.”
“Well, that’s just too…” Her voice trailed off into thought. They couldn’t find the demon because she was the exact opposite of Samuel. The exact opposite. Throwing herself back onto the bed, she grabbed his shoulders hard enough to dimple the bare skin. “I’m an idiot!”
“Look, I know it’s unangelic of me, but I don’t really feel up to dealing with your lack of self-esteem right now.”
“What?”
“Stop shaking me!”
“Sorry.” She pulled her hands away but continued looming over him. “I’ve just solved the problem. If you don’t want to be in a human body, you don’t have to be.”
“I don’t?” Pushing back against the pillow accomplished nothing much, but he didn’t like the way her eyes were gleaming.
“No, you don’t. I helped make you. My, for lack of a better word, power signature is a part of you. That’s why I can unmake you, but it should also mean I can transform you.”
“Should?”
Ignoring him, she leaped up and spun around, arms outstretched. “You’ll still be you but different. The demon copied this body, so without it, we’ll be able to find her. It’s simple.”
“I won’t be human?”
The spinning stopped. “No.”
“But I’ll still be me.”
“Yes.”
“What will I be?”
“I don’t know. I’ll undo the human seeming and the light will rearrange. Without Lena and her father to interfere, you’ll self-define.” Suddenly serious, she sat down and pushed her hair off her forehead. “I don’t want to push you into this, Samuel, but it would solve all our problems.”
It took him a moment to figure out her expression. When he realized he was looking at hope, he couldn’t stop himself from smiling. Hope was, after all, one of the primary messages of the light. Maybe this was why he was here. “Would my head hurt?”
“Different body. No reason why it should.”