by Lisa Kuehne
Sam is right—I'm in shock. Although the never-ending danger of Satan and his followers hunting me like a predator hunts prey hangs over my head, that's not what is monopolizing my thoughts.
Instead, I'm focused on the incredible non-human sitting next to me.
I'm obsessed with an angel of darkness—Satan's soldier . . . .
Can this really be happening?
It is surreal.
My mind swiftly drifts back to the hazard facing us: several unanswered questions remain.
Where will I go from here?
How long will I be in danger?
What will happen to Sam for protecting me?
I dare not think about it.
My skin breaks out in goose bumps at the mere thought. My hands tremble like I drank an energy drink or something.
Sam picks up on my anxiety. He reaches across the stick shift and grabs my hand. I feel him give a gentle squeeze. Yet, it's only a matter of time before he'll need to shift into another gear. I grimace, knowing his reassuring touch will be soon taken away.
"Are you okay?" Sam asks, breaking my train of thought.
"I think my blood sugar could be getting low, I haven't eaten anything since this morning," I explain, as an excuse for the trembling.
Luckily, it works.
"With everything going on, I never thought about eating. Let's grab something before I take you home."
I stare at the clock on the dash. It's already 9:00 p.m., and if I'm not home by eleven o'clock I might as well hand over my Chicago plane ticket. It's either that or I'll be grounded for life. Maybe that is exactly what he wants.
We stop at the restaurant Bin 189, which I didn't know existed. Sam opens the restaurant's door, and we're greeted by a small, older woman who looks like she is at least seventy years old. This restaurant seems very high class. I look down at my Cal-Poly sweatshirt and cringe. I'm way underdressed for such a fancy place. Luckily, the restaurant has only one other couple inside.
I glare at the expensive menu and realize I'm starving.
"Hi, my name is Erica. What can I get you to drink?" A young, petite blonde asks as she approaches our table.
She is extremely thin—anorexic looking. I can't help but assume she is around our age, but her make-up is so thick it ages her.
"A water, please."
"Make it two waters. Will you please add lemon to both?" Sam says.
"Two waters with lemon, coming up," Erica repeats and then heads to the kitchen. She doesn't look back.
I watch her leave, her mini-skirt barely staying around her thin waistline. One tug of someone's hand and it would fall to her ankles. Sam seems more interested in my curiosity toward Erica than anything else.
I notice him watching me, and my cheeks blush to a deep rose.
"So tell me, what does an immortal monster eat—human blood?" I ask him once Erica is out of range. I can't stop myself from giggling.
"Like I've never thought of that one before." He reaches across the table and traces the top of my hand with his index finger. A chill moves down my back. Why does his touch electrify me so darn much?
"Believe it or not, I eat mostly fruits and vegetables."
"Only fruits and veggies? Are you being serious?" A smile washes over my face.
"Correct. Fruits and veggies, that's mainly it," he repeats without giving any further explanation.
He intertwines his fingers with mine. I look closer at his skin, acknowledging no one would ever question the human factor. Besides the pulse, and no injury part, his other characteristics are unmistakably human.
I turn my focus back to our conversation.
"Why?" I ask, looking for more clarification. Curiosity is getting the best of me. I want to know absolutely everything.
Sam frowns, bringing his eyebrows close together.
"Well, the antioxidants inside the fruits and vegetables help keep our bodies preserved. Without it, I'd lose a majority of my powers due to oxidation. I don't have any circulation from a heart."
I smile as a goofy thought enters my mind. Unable to help myself, I giggle then insist, "So, what your saying is that you're like Popeye the Sailor?"
Sam grins.
"Maybe," he says in a joking tone.
"I guess Mother was right, kids should eat their fruits and vegetables." I have to make light of the situation—I'm sitting at a restaurant with an immortal.
Sam rolls his eyes while shaking his head. He casually runs his fingers through his hair. I'm grateful he doesn't know what I'm thinking.
"You're unbelievable, Ava O'Brian."
Before I can respond, Erica returns with our waters and proceeds to take our order.
Sam lets go of my hand. I feel a wave disappointment wash over me.
"Hungarian Goulash," I request, trying not to let my discontentment show.
"Tomato salad and organic, baby greens, please."
After she walks away, Sam reaches for my left hand and pulls it to his lips. They feel warm against my chilled skin.
"You're amazing, you know that?" He kisses my hand ever so softly.
"Thank you, you're not so bad yourself," I answer, the words travel slowly out of my mouth. Yet I mean every word. It's like I'm in a trance. I have to admit I'm madly in love with Sam Perry, and if he is trying to tempt me, it is working without a doubt. I'm heading straight to hell on an express train.
I blush at the thought.
"We need to talk about Chicago," he whispers, reminding me of the danger up ahead .
Danger for both of us.
"I know," I grunt. "What do you suggest?"
I'd rather the danger part not be an element of this new reality for me.
I want Samuel Perry in my life, even if he is an angel for Satan. I wish death wasn't lurking around every corner.
"Would your friend Mallory lie for you and tell your mom you were in Chicago when you weren't?" he asks.
My eyes widen at that idea.
Is he serious?
"This may be hard for you to understand, being a dark angel and everything, but I am not going to ask Mallory to lie for me. It's one of the Ten Commandments, you know?"
Sam's eyes narrow at my remark. He obviously doesn't understand my unwillingness to have my friend lie for me.
"Well, then I guess you're going to have to be the person to break the commandment, thou shall not lie, because I'm intrigued to see you tell your mom you need to stay local, so you can be protected from the devil by a boy who's a demon."
"True," I agree halfheartedly. Then I smile wickedly and add, "At least I wouldn't be making Mallory sin."
The corner of his lips curve upward in a playful grin. I wonder if he feels the same chemistry I do.
Then, without warning, his face goes blank. His eyes give him away. He's deep in thought. I wonder if he's coming up with our game plan, yet I fear something else.
What if he's changed his mind and thinks I'm not worth all this?
We sit in silence for a few minutes while I pray he's coming up with a plan versus my other theory.
I don't dare speak.
"I have an idea," he says, breaking the awkward silence.
"You're not going to like it, but I think it will work."
"What?"
"We fake you getting in an accident," he blurts out.
"Fake an accident?"
Is he expecting me to jump off the mountain or something?
I stare at him in disbelief. How will faking an accident help this situation? I study his expression. His cheekbones look defined in the amber light of the restaurant. I know he's being serious about this accident plan by the look in his eyes.
Asking Mallory to lie doesn't seem so bad after all.
He continues his explanation, going into more detail.
"Here's my idea. We . . . well, actually, I crash your Jeep into a tree. The seatbelt will fit perfectly to explain why you have some bruising on your neck. Plus, you already have a small cut on the back of your he
ad," he adds, smirking.
"So, if you've been in an accident and act like you're extremely sore—really pretending to feel miserable—your mom will never expect you to get on that plane."
He gives a confident nod and smiles.
I unconsciously roll my eyes in disapproval.
"True, but there's one problem with your great plan," I reveal, unsure of how I should explain my family history.
"Okay, don't get me wrong, it may work, but I'd also be stuck in lockdown until I turn forty."
Sam stares, completely dumbfounded by my lockdown remark. He watches me closely from across the table with his eyes squinting tightly then raises one brow. He is either puzzled or has concluded I'm insane.
I elaborate further, "You see, I was involved a car accident with my dad and twin brother back in Chicago last October. Both of them died. If I got in another car accident, my mom would flip out and not let me drive ever again, much less ever leave the house.
"I see," He sighs then frowns. "Is that why you moved here, because of the accident?"
"Sort of." I pause for a moment. I hate talking about their deaths, but I need to tell him.
"After the accident, my mom struggled. She couldn't cope with living in the same house . . . . Well, even the same town for that matter. We moved out here to be closer by my grandparents. She is finally acting more like herself. I'm afraid my involvement in another accident may cause her to regress; if you know what I mean."
He nods as he considers my explanation.
"I get it. In that case, let's not 'rock the boat'. I have an alternative idea." He forces a smile, which makes me wonder what he really thinks of my situation.
Just as his mouth opens to reveal his second plan, Erica returns to the table with our orders.
"These plates may be hot," she says in a tone that makes the line sound rehearsed.
"Can I get you both anything else?" she asks, looking toward the kitchen instead of at us.
"No, thank you. That will be all for now." He doesn't say anything else, but doesn't take his eyes off her.
Erica nods and heads back to the kitchen.
"So, what is your other idea?" I ask impatiently.
He leans forward. A lock of his hair falls covering his eye. I try to remember to just breathe.
God! He is so cute.
"Well, you don't want Mallory to lie for you. So, what if you tell your mom something came up for Mallory?"
I swirl my fork on my plate, pondering his idea for what seems like eternity. I'm not comfortable with the plan, but I also know this may be the only choice. Then my eyes widen in excitement. It isn't his idea causing my sudden happiness.
"What?" He knows I'm up to something.
"I got it!" I squeal.
You'd think by my enthusiasm, I'd just discovered electricity.
Is it possible to have the best of both worlds?
"Were you going to share?"
I had been so deep in thought picturing my plan, I was oblivious to Sam waiting for me to elaborate.
"Absolutely . . . . Sorry."
My voice turns squeaky from excitement.
"You can come to Chicago with me!"
Before he can interject, I add in an insistent tone, "I'm sure we can get you a ticket, or worst case scenario if we can't, I change flights."
Sam stares in admiration as he processes the new information for a moment.
Then his demeanor changes. He shakes his head.
"That won't work. You're only sixteen. Mallory's family is not going to let your boyfriend stay with you."
Boyfriend?
Did he call himself my boyfriend?
I'm obviously, madly, uncontrollably head over heels with him.
How can I not be?
Is it possible someone so perfect thinks of me as his girlfriend?
I need to stop thinking about that and figure out our plan.
"You're right. They'd be highly opposed to my boyfriend coming with me. I guess you're my cousin from California . . . . My cousin who has always wanted to see Chicago," I suggest. I have an impious grin on my face.
"That may work," he says, as he reaches his hand across the table and strokes my hand with his finger.
I picture his touch in other, intimate ways, like bringing his lips to meet mine.
An exhilarating thought crosses my mind.
Maybe Sam is unintentionally influencing me with temptation after all . . . .
Chapter Eighteen - Matthew
Matthew steps onto the elevator of the immaculate Manhattan skyscraper after hanging up his cell. He pushes the top floor button, fearful of what will happen next.
The thought of admitting failure to Lucifer makes him shiver down to his immortal core. Surely Lucifer will be enraged at the knowledge the Mahatma wasn't destroyed as he had strictly ordered. Matthew feels the tension building in his neck as he imagines Lucifer's response. His head throbs. The elevator stops, and the door opens, exposing a suite up ahead.
He prays, as ironic praying is to a demon angel , Lucifer will show mercy and not destroy him. His immortality is now out of his hands.
Crystal chandeliers light the hallway leading to the suite. Expensive furnishings shout luxury. Even as nervous as he is at this moment, he can't help but grin at mankind's perception of hell—underground with fire and darkness.
If they only knew.
For the hell mankind envisions does not exist. There is no dark or fire-filled dungeon deep within the earth where demons rise up to take souls for eternity. Instead, this is hell— living on earth for eternity without the slightest possibility of ever going to heaven. The real hell is working for the evilest being of all time without any chance of escape.
It is equivalent to how humans perceive being locked in a jail for eternity.
Who would want to be immortal like that?
Life is about living.
The door to the suite opens before Matthew has a chance to knock. Another large man, almost the same height as Matthew, stands in the doorway. He motions for Matthew to enter but doesn't make made eye contact.
"Good day to you too, Edwin," Matthew growls. He walks past the guard.
Edwin only looks ahead, resembling a British palace guard.
Matthew walks toward the balcony, knowing this is where he will find Lucifer.
Just mentioning the name Lucifer to humans immediately conjures up an image of evil. The Scriptures teach that when God first created angels, Lucifer was the most beautiful, the most powerful, and the wisest of them all.
Lucifer had been superior to all the other angels in knowledge and wisdom, and in power and authority. God had given him beauty and intelligence beyond measure.
But, Lucifer wasn't grateful. Not only did he rebel, one third of the angels in heaven made the decision to follow him. Matthew and Edwin were among those angels.
Now, as Matthew watches Lucifer leaning over the balcony, his thoughts drift to what has bugged him for several centuries—he made a mistake leaving God.
Lucifer talks on the phone as if Matthew isn't there. Although Matthew can't hear the entire conversation, occasionally "yes" and "certainly" come out of Lucifer's mouth.
His beauty is immaculate. So beautiful, he has to disguise himself to go out in public. Mankind would quickly take notice of such a perfect being. Lucifer would certainly be considered People Magazine's sexist man for eternity.
Matthew's thoughts are interrupted by Lucifer's voice.
"Perfect . . . darling." He says, "Bye-bye," and puts down the phone.
Fear once again fills Matthews's thoughts. This is it . . . .
Time to beg.
Matthew drops to his knees, and pleads for his life.
"Master, I have failed you. I assumed I set the perfect trap, and the predator Samuel Perry created would destroy her. I was wrong. She is alive, but only because Samuel jumped in and saved her. He betrayed you." He swallows the lump sitting at the back of his throat. The one causing his voice to
crack as he speaks.
"I know. Don't fret my dear friend . . . I just spoke with a wonderful, young lady I've been diligently working to convert. Things will work out nicely. Don't worry,"
Lucifer exclaims.
Mathew's eyes widen. A look of terror and confusion wash over his face like a tsunami hitting shore.
Lucifer continues, "My dearest Matthew. You underestimate me. It has already been determined and is being put into action."
"What is?" Matthew asks, still puzzled.
"Plan B," Lucifer says in an arrogant, reassuring tone.
Chapter Nineteen - Chicago
My plan is working perfectly. Mom, Grandma, and Grandpa take me to the airport as planned. They were completely unaware I'd called Mallory last night and informed her that my cousin Sam would be coming with me. I explained to Mallory's parents he would be happy to stay at a hotel, although I knew with certainty that would never fly with Mal's mom. Just as predicted, her parents told her Sam is welcome to stay at their home.
Everything is set in place. It has been pretty easy to keep my covert travel companion a secret from my mom and grandparents. They have no idea Sam even exists, much less that he is traveling to Chicago with me. I have never mentioned Sam to anyone other than Sara. Of course Mallory knows I was rejected by a gorgeous guy at my new school, but, fortunately, I never told her his name, just the nickname—Mr.
Mysterious.
I say goodbye, and once my family is out of sight I hug Sam like I haven't seen him in months. I plant a peck on his perfect lips. It will be difficult to pretend he's my cousin all week, but it's worth it to have him in Chicago.
"You are definitely more mischievous than I gave you credit for," Sam says as he pulls me closer for another kiss.
"So, are we technically kissing cousins?" I giggle, unable to act serious. At least joking helps keep my focus off the danger we're in. Plus, I really love his sense of humor.
"I should be repulsed by the idea of our being related," he snickers.
"Maybe I should be concerned that you're not repulsed!" I add, unable to stop laughing. "You know cousins can marry in Kentucky?"
"Again, you are utterly absurd," he says.
I'm instantly reminded of our inside joke. I let another giggle slip past my throat and then kiss him one last time before we board.