The Undoer

by Melissa J. Cunningham

  “If you hurt her, I swear… I swear…”

  “Dude, I get it.” I gently shove his hands away and straighten my shirt. “I don’t even like her that way.”

  A determined scowl draws his eyebrows into a V, and I swear I hear him growl as he grinds his teeth. “And why not? Is she not good enough for you?” He looks ready to attack again, so I hurry to put my hands up in surrender. If I doubted his loyalty to my sister before, it’s no longer an issue.

  “It’s not that.” I can’t believe how this day is turning out. And it was so good just a half hour ago. I can’t seem to win in any direction. I tilt my face to the heavens, willing Raphael to ignore what a mess I’ve made of things.

  “She’s perfect. Or can’t you see that?” Dean sits back, deflated, and picks his sketchbook back up. “You’re such an idiot.”

  “That’s true.”

  With a snort, he starts drawing again, his pencil moving hastily, with angst. The slope of a jawline forms on the paper, and then the shading of dark hair around an oval face. Full lips and dimples materialize, and then dark eyes with long lashes, full of longing, with such depth of feeling… all done in black and white.

  Heidi.

  There’s no mistaking her. The rendering is filled with humor and ache all at the same time. He has caught her perfectly. It’s stunning. How did he do it so quickly?

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah,” he answers.

  “Well, if you see her…”

  “Yeah.”

  We sit in uncomfortable silence, probably hoping the other will leave first, and then when I am finally about to get up, the door behind us opens. Jag steps out, his eyes jerking to mine in unexpected surprise.

  His demeanor isn’t much different from Dean’s, his gaze drilling a hole through me. I brace myself for an attack because it doesn’t take a genius to figure out I’m not wanted here. I rise to my feet and dust off my pants.

  “Why are you here?” he barks, straightforward and right to the point as usual. “Your own place not exciting enough?”

  “Hey man, we’re on the same team.”

  “You’ll never be on my team.” He elbows past me, shoving his hands deep into his pockets, his shoulders hunched as he stomps to the sidewalk. Stopping suddenly, he turns around. “You can call yourself a Cazador, but do it on your own. I don’t want you with me. I don’t trust you.”

  I know his words came from a place that isn’t only jealousy, but also wounded pride. He thinks I’m a demon, and he’s not totally wrong. Do I still give off that vibe? I’m not perfect. I haven’t totally proven myself. I’m not redeemed yet, not an angel, or even heavenly material. I still make mistakes, am tempted to lie at times, and I have no compulsion about killing… bad guys anyway, but I am still employed by heavenly angels. That has to count for something. That has to show a little bit.

  I haven’t dwelled on my decision to defect from the demons in a while, but my heart clings to that choice. I don’t belong with them anymore. I want goodness in my life. I want to be good, but my choice didn’t change me overnight. I still have tendencies, urges, and habits. Habits that are hard to break. But Raphael believes in me. Alisa believes in me, and she’s waiting for me. I won’t disappoint her. So if Jag still sees or feels a demon inside of me, there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m doing my best.

  But the way he stares at me now… it’s as if he looks for reasons to hate me, and now he has found another. He doesn’t want to include Heidi in his gang, but he doesn’t want me to include her either.

  “That’s totally fine. Heidi and I will start our own group, and you’re more than welcome to join us whenever you’d like.” I say this mainly to Dean, but I doubt he’ll take me up on the offer. Not if he wants to stay in Jag’s good graces. But there’s a flicker of interest in Dean’s expression even as he shakes his head.

  “Well,” I say. “The offer is always open… to both of you.”

  Stepping down from the porch, I walk away, knowing they are both staring at my back. I don’t know what more I can do. Raphael and Michael want me to charm my way into the Cazadors. So far, I’ve made everyone hate me.

  I don’t really pay attention to where I’m going. I don’t need to get home, and nightfall is still a few hours away. The rumble in my stomach demands attention, so I cross the street and head toward a busier part of town.

  I stop at a hot dog stand and buy two, the tangy scent of pickles and onions making my stomach sing and my mouth salivate. There is no one at home to cook for tonight, so I take the easy way out. Loading up the buns with catsup and relish, I sit down on the curb to scarf my ultra-unhealthy meal… alone.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Heidi

  I hear their whole conversation as I hide inside the church, just on the other side of the door, and the fact that Bret came looking for me softens my resolve just a little. I’d vowed never to go back to his apartment, my humiliation too consuming. I don’t know if I can possibly face him again.

  I saw the look in his eyes when I kissed him, felt the stiffness of his arms and lips. He’d been stunned and mortified, and when that realization had finally sunk in, so had I.

  I’ve never been so embarrassed in my life. I’ve also never been so forward either. Not ever. It wasn’t my first kiss, but was it so awful? Does my breath smell bad? Does he find me repulsive? Does he think I’m loose? A slut? Or worse?

  How will I face him? But I have to. All my stuff is at his apartment.

  Bret gave nothing away as he visited with Dean on the front stoop. He didn’t confide in him or ask for advice. He kept my humiliation secret, and for that, I could kiss him again.

  Jag had come upstairs and saw me crouched there, hiding like a coward. He’d stood there, watching me, waiting for me to look into his castigating eyes. If there is one thing he can’t tolerate, it’s a chicken. Groaning inwardly, I’d looked away, but he didn’t say anything. When I did chance to glance up at his face, his expression wasn’t one of condemnation, but pity, which is worse. His lips parted as though he might speak. I was sure he was going to gloat because I’d come here in tears, hours after moving in with Bret. He could tell me, I told you so.

  “I’m sorry,” he said instead, his eyes filled with sympathy… for about one second. He didn’t ask why I hid there, what I was doing at his church, or when I was going to leave. He’d just opened the front door and left me in peace.

  And here I sit in utter disbelief. Jag skipping an opportunity to embarrass me? That is a surprisingly kind act. I’d heard it was possible, and I know he’s kind to Dean, brotherly even, but I’ve never seen him in an act of benevolence myself. I slump against the wall, letting these thoughts percolate in my mind.

  After a moment, I peek out of the long, thin window by the door. It’s mostly obscured by dirt and dust, but I can see that Bret is no longer out there. Standing, I dust off my pants and open the door. Jag is nowhere to be seen either, so it’s just Dean and me.

  I like Dean. He’s the little brother I never had. Kind, patient, caring, and would give you the shirt off his back, even if it’s ratty and see-through. I trust him, which is more than I can say about any other males of the species.

  Plopping down, I take Bret’s vacated spot with a sigh. Dean glances up, but he goes right back to drawing. He keeps the pad turned away, so I can’t see what he’s working on, but I’m not curious anyway. I’m too consumed with my own problems at the moment.

  “So, you want to tell me what that was about?” he asks.

  “No.” The last thing I want to do is admit my stupidity, even if Dean is the only person who probably won’t judge my poor decision-making skills.

  “Oh, come on. It can’t be that bad. What could make the Mighty Heidi fall?” He laughs and then says, “What did Bret the Brave do now?” I love Dean’s penchant for doling out nicknames, and I’ve always enjoyed the one he gave me. It makes me smile.

  The crook of his lips tells me he’s watching me from hooded l
ids. I roll my eyes, glancing away.

  “Come on. Tell me.”

  Taking a deep breath, I debate what to do. It wouldn’t hurt to have someone to confide in, and Dean is as close to a girlfriend as I have at the moment. Maybe he can give me some sound advice.

  “Fine. I kissed Bret, and he acted like I had the plague.” I chance a furtive glance to gauge his reaction, which is one I don’t expect. I’d expected a chuckle or good-natured ribbing, like I was one of the guys. What I get is completely different.

  “Wha… what?” He stares at me, his forehead creased in dismay.

  “Dean, is it that surprising? It’s not like I don’t like boys. Geez.”

  “No, uh… it’s not that. I just can’t believe—uh… he’s an idiot,” he says finally, a blush creeping up his neck like mercury in a thermometer.

  “Yeah. I guess.” He isn’t helping me feel any better.

  “Any normal guy would give his right arm to have a chance to—uh… to kiss you.” His pink cheeks grow a deeper shade of red, and his ears join in the traitorous reaction. I doubt he’s ever even kissed a girl, and it doesn’t surprise me that it embarrasses him to say the word kiss out loud. He blushes as easily as taking a breath. It makes him sweet. It makes me protective.

  “Guess he’s not normal,” I say with a chuckle, wishing it were true. “He’s probably gay.”

  “Yeah,” Dean says, a little more animated.

  He looks a little too satisfied and I shrug, not wanting to get attached to this explanation in case, somehow, it isn’t true. Because if Bret turns out to be straight, then it is just me he can’t stomach.

  “So, if you’re uncomfortable going back to your place right away, you can totally stay here with me. We can hang.” His words come out in a drawl, his arms out, and his fingers in hang loose signs. His smile stretches, radiating, his front, crooked tooth endearing rather than distracting. I can’t say no to his offer. Since the Rift, my life has been isolated and lonely. I can’t bring myself to leave him, sitting here alone like a waif on this dilapidated porch.

  “I’d love to spend the day with you.” I reach over to hug him around the neck as I would a lost puppy. “What should we do?” There are a million things I can think of. Most of them I’d rather do alone… like go to the used book store and browse for a new book, take a long, relaxing bath in Bret’s new bathtub, find some new clothes to hunt in, maybe some new weapons.

  Dean isn’t really into shopping, which is obvious from the outfit he wears—ratty jeans with holes in both knees, a plaid, button-down shirt that is so thin it’s see through, and shoes that are wrapped in duct tape to keep them together. I make a mental note to anonymously buy him a new outfit. He won’t take it otherwise.

  “Hmm. Well, I’m supposed to go to the park and draw. It’s my job now, you know.” He winks and I smile, knowing how much money he is bound to make doing that. “Or… we could go to the park and get a hot dog, and then go to the river and soak our feet in polluted water. Nothing is too good for my girl.” He flashes me an ardent grin. “Or maybe we could go down to Main Street and listen to music, but there’s music in the park too.”

  “How about we go back to my place?” The one I’d vowed never to return to. “And then I can show you our new workout machine. It’s totally cool. You’ll love it! I could show you some exercises, and then you could spot me or something.” Even though it’s still cool outside, it will quickly warm up and tar will soon be oozing on the asphalt. The thought of being outside when the heat wave hits is less than exciting. My idea is sounding better and better. Plus, Dean needs to build muscle and put on a few pounds.

  “Do you think Bret will mind?”

  “It’s my place too, and he likes you.” I wink at him, and he throws his pencil at me. I catch it in the air. Yeah. I’m that cool. “It’s a good thing this has a dull point or I’d have to kill you. Nobody stabs me without punishment.”

  “Well, at least I can go to my death saying I tried.” He stuffs the notebook into the backpack at his feet.

  Growling in mock rage, I jump at him, but he’s quick and already sprinting down the sidewalk. I chase after him, but the only thing I catch is the sound of his bubbling laughter as he

  leaves me in his wake.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Dean

  A change is coming. I can feel it deep in my bones—like the way my grandad’s arthritis acts up when a storm is on the horizon—or used to… when he was alive.

  I don’t know if I should be scared or excited.

  The Cazadors are splitting into two groups, and I don’t like it. I want to include Bret and Heidi in ours. Owen and Doug do too. Will they drift over to Bret’s group, leaving Jag and me on our own? Jag would probably like that better, but we need to stick together. That’s also a feeling I have. I need to somehow convince our dark leader to let Bret and Heidi stay with us. I am probably the only one who can do it. He doesn’t listen to anyone else.

  But I don’t want to think about Jag now. I want to think about Heidi. She’s a soft breeze over a calm, summer ocean, the crispness of a warm, spring morning. I jump at the chance to spend time with her.

  But the thought of her kissing Bret… there just aren’t words to describe the stab of jealousy that goes through my chest when I hear those words. That, too, is a bone-deep ache, so I plaster on a smile to prove it doesn’t matter.

  We reach her apartment, and I follow her up four flights of stairs. I can’t imagine hauling groceries that far. I had that job for a while, and now, wherever I go, I think about it out of habit. It makes me grateful for where I live now, even though it’s a total dive. I like our church. It’s conveniently located and feels safe. It’s God’s house and I feel Him there, like He’s watching over us or something. Maybe it’s just a habit. My parents were deeply religious. I’d like to believe they went somewhere better when they died, and that I’ll join them someday.

  I am also grateful for my new job of drawing pictures for people in the park. I charge a couple of bucks per picture, and that keeps us in food without having to steal. I’m tired of stealing.

  Jag wasn’t thrilled with the idea, but then, he never is thrilled with my ideas. He acts as if he has to protect me at all times, like I’m a child or something. I’m done relying on him to pay my way through life.

  Heidi’s apartment door is locked, and it takes a full minute to unlock it with all the extra deadbolts Bret installed. Talk about paranoid.

  With a flourish, she throws open the door and steps inside, inviting me to follow. It’s wide-open space, with huge, wooden beams and metal girders crossing the ceiling. The borders are wood paneling, painted white, and one wall is floor-to-ceiling windows.

  I love it immediately, and another stab of jealousy twists through me. This is way better than the church, but there isn’t enough room for a third person, not that I’d ever leave Jag anyway. The corner, across from the front door—that could easily be considered part of the living room—has to be Heidi’s. I doubt Bret would place hot-pink scarves over his lamp or a Robin’s-egg blue—my favorite shade—comforter over his bed.

  A black-and-white, four-paneled shoji screen leans against the wall, and I exhale a breath I didn’t know I was holding. At least she’ll have a modicum of privacy when that’s up.

  It’s one thing to share an apartment with a guy, and another to share one with no walls. All sorts of thoughts run rampant through my mind, and I pray that Bret really is gay. Can he see through that screen if the lights are just right? I hold in a groan and make my way over to her corner.

  “Heidi, this is awesome! I love your… your room?” I raise my eyebrows in question, gesturing playfully to the eight-by-eight corner.

  A furry rug lies beside the bed, and a cheap copy of Monet’s Water Lilies hangs on the wall above the head. A scuffed armoire that has seen better days stands against the wall at the foot of the bed, and the whole thing screams Heidi. Where did she find the money to do this? As far as I know
, she’s as poor as I am, which is dirt poor. Maybe Bret paid for it.

  She stands at the foot of her bed, the windows illuminating her skin with natural sunlight. The look on her face catches my breath as her lips curl into a smile. With her thick, mahogany hair tumbling over her shoulders and her eyes crinkling in happiness, I have to capture her. Just. Like. This.

  Immediately, I pull out my pad of paper and plop down on her bed. Her laughter bubbles when she realizes what I’m doing. “No! Stay there, just like that,” I command. “This’ll be quick. I promise.”

  She moves into a supermodel pose, and then lifts the back of her hand to her forehead as though faint. Letting herself fall, she sprawls on top of the bed. Seeing her there, so beautiful, so comfortable, smiling up at me… I would give anything to be able to throw my pencil down and press my lips to hers… a kiss that would last all afternoon. I can picture the taste of her mouth. Raspberry lemonade, like the Chapstick she always wears. My mouth waters at the thought, and I hide my face so she can’t see.

  The moment stretches until my heart is near bursting, my hand racing to catch the light… and then our reverie is shattered the moment the door bursts open. Heidi and I jump, as though caught doing something clandestine, our eyes riveted to Bret’s, whose are wide with surprise and relief.

  “You’re back?” He’s out of breath and panting. In three long strides, he is at the foot of her bed. He grabs her arm and pulls her up, wrapping his arms tightly around her. “I’m so glad you came back. You have no idea.”

  Heidi’s arms come up and wrap around Bret’s back. He doesn’t let go and for a moment, they just breathe, frozen in that scene of tenderness. I’ve stopped breathing completely and all I can do is stare, wishing I were the guy who held her, who felt the softness of her cheek pressed to mine.