by C. L. Coffey
That wasn’t what I meant. “What does the blue mean?” I asked him, wearily. I figured it was easier to move on then attempt to explain myself.
“It’s not just blue,” Michael explained. “It’s a royal blue. A beautiful crisp, soothing shade that showed your life mapped out. It showed your highly spiritual nature, how you were on the right path and how, in the right circumstances, you were destined for greater things.”
It took everything in me to keep my face neutral and not snort at the highly spiritual nature comment.
“The thing that would have given it away was the bright white flashes – like lightning expelling from your body,” he continued. “By the time I found you, it was completely white.”
“What about Callie’s aura?” I asked slowly. “And the one before me? Lilah’s?”
“They would have been like yours,” he agreed.
I took a moment to consider what he had just said. “So that is what connects us? The color of our auras?”
“Almost,” Michael said, nodding. “Those who have the right shade of royal blue auras are the only ones with the potential to become angels, but there are certain elements which must also be in play when it happens.”
“Such as?” I pressed, subconsciously moving even closer to the edge of the seat, as though getting closer would yield more information from him.
“It glows. It glows like a beacon, or the light from a lighthouse. It glows so bright that a person looking out for it would be able to see it from a mile away – even with buildings in between – because it sends a beam of light into the heavens.”
“That’s the part that only last for a handful of minutes?” I asked, remembering what he had told me earlier.
Michael nodded. “That is the large part of the reason why we cannot create many more angels. The other part being that we have to have consent, of course.”
I scratched at my head, processing the information. I had been right about my theory on what had connected me with the other murder victims.
“As you can imagine,” Michael added, interrupting my thoughts. “With just one of me, it is hard to spot the potentials, especially as, with the duties I already have consuming so much of my time, it is incredibly hard to find them, much less at the right moment.”
My mouth fell open and I leapt to my feet, putting the couch between me and Michael. “It was you?” I accused. “You killed me on the off chance I would say yes to being an angel?”
There was a moment where I thought I was going to pass out, but my legs sprang into action and I leapt at the door. My hand had just curled around the handle when Michael was on me, one hand grabbing my waist, while the other slammed the door shut.
I jerked myself free, ducked under his arm and dashed for the other door in the room – his bedroom. I had covered the distance, gone into his room, and slammed the door shut, using my weight to keep it closed, faster than I thought was possible.
Behind me, Michael was hammering on the door, calling something to me, but I wasn’t paying much attention. I was scanning his bedroom for something that would help – a weapon, even a phone to call for help... but there was nothing. Maybe I could escape through the window?
“Angel, I’m coming in,” I heard Michael yell, just seconds before the door was thrust open, sending me flying across the room, just missing the soft landing on the bed.
I slid across the hardwood floors, coming to an abrupt halt against the wall. “You really are a lunatic!” I yelled at him, getting to my feet.
Michael’s hands were in the air in front of him in the universal ‘I’m unarmed and I’m not going to hurt you’ gesture’. “Angel, I’m not going to hurt you.”
“No, you’ve already done that,” I snapped at him. Then I swung at him. I don’t know who was more surprised at the fact I moved fast enough that he didn’t have time to duck, but my fist connected with his cheek with enough force to send him reeling backwards.
I didn’t hesitate in swinging for him again, but this time he was prepared for the blow, blocking it with his forearm. Still channeling the super speed he had been trying to get me to locate all week, I spun on the spot, swinging around to hit his side with my other arm.
“Angel, stop this,” he shouted at me.
For the first time, his words were powerless. All I could see in my mind’s eye was him hovering over me, asking me to make a choice. I swung again.
This time he caught my fist, then, with a loud cry, pushed me backwards. His enormous wooden sleigh bed went flying against the wall with a resounding smash as we fell against it, and then to the floor.
“Let me go, you monster!” I yelled at him, pinned to the floor beneath his weight, despite my struggling.
“Angel, stop!” he bellowed.
This time, although my mind was trying to persuade my limbs to listen, my body stopped moving, and I lay there, motionless beneath his weight.
“Angel, I was not the one who killed you,” he told me firmly. “Human life is sacred – under no circumstance are we allowed to take it.”
“Then why must you find the potentials?” I demanded, unable to keep the tears leaking from my eyes.
Michael sighed, looking sad. “For that one in a billion chance that their time is up while I am near. I do not hope for their death, and I would certainly never ensure it happens, but we need angels, Angel. The more our numbers grow, the more we can help others.”
“Really?” I whispered, unsure that my voice would hold out.
He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. When he opened them, he looked straight at me. “I swear to you that I would never have wished you dead, and if there was any way to undo it and the suffering it has caused you, I would.”
Gently he moved himself off me, sitting beside me, then pulled me upright, his warm, chocolaty eyes never leaving mine. His hand moved upwards to my face and gently wiped my tears away.
“I’m sorry,” I blurted out, feeling guilty and terrible for attacking him. I should have known that he wouldn’t do that – he was an archangel, for crying out loud! My hand reached up to his cheek and hovered by the bruise that was already forming.
“You’re forgiven,” he whispered.
I flicked my eyes back to his and was surprised to see he was still staring at me. I was also about to question if I had hit my head at some point during our tussle, because I swear something in his eyes had me convinced he was no longer looking at me like I was just another angel.
Great. I wasn’t allowed to have sex, and I was seeing it everywhere, in every form – when it wasn’t even there!
Then he kissed me.
The Archangel Michael kissed me.
It was by no means like the hot, steamy kiss I had shared with Joshua (albeit in a dream), but it was enough for me to know that there was no way it could be considered a chaste kiss between relatives.
Before I could work out what to do, he was on his feet at the opposite end of the room, looking completely mortified and at a loss for words. Then he disappeared from the room in a blink of an eye, leaving me sitting in the middle of his bedroom floor, my mouth hanging open, still in shock.
I sat there, frozen in that position, for a very long time. At some point my fingers had moved to my lips, and at some point after that, I had convinced myself I had imagined it all. The dream kiss with Joshua seemed more real than that had.
Finally, I felt myself coming out of the trance. I rose to my feet, straightened my skirt and ran a hand through my hair. I didn’t have a clue what the time was, but I did know I was late. Pushing the incident from my mind, I hurried from the room, and outside past the empty reception desk.
The grounds had become quiet and I guessed all the other angels were getting ready for bed. That didn’t bother me – I didn’t particularly want to see any of them anyway, and I was fairly certain Cupid would be able to tell something had happened.
I hurried through the gardens to the pedestrian entrance, my heels clicking on the brick path
beneath me. As I passed the statues of the nuns, glowing in the moonlight, I noticed the lights coming from St Mary’s Church. No doubt Michael was in there praying for forgiveness for kissing me. It wasn’t like I wanted to spend the rest of my life with the guy, but that thought hurt. I sped up, eager to put some distance between me and the convent and followed Chartes Street before cutting over to Bourbon Street.
The Dead Donkey was midway down Bourbon Street.; down past the usual busy bars near Canal Street, but still close enough to get plenty of foot traffic, and ultimately customers.
Joshua was waiting for me outside, busy playing away at something on his phone. It wasn’t until I was in front of him, holding my hand over the screen that he realized I had arrived. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Just checking for updates on Tabitha.”
“Anything?” I asked him, peering past him into the bar. There were a fair amount of people in there, but it wasn’t busy enough that if we wanted to get served that we would have to wait for long.
He slowly shook his head, slipping the phone into his pocket. “Just the same as...” he trailed off. “Angel, are you alright?”
“Yeah, why?” I asked him carefully.
“You look like...” he frowned. “Are you sure something hasn’t happened?”
I scratched my head, giving him a small smile. “Nothing important.”
He took a step closer, peering at my face. “Have you been crying?” he asked me quietly.
I sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to drop it. “I might have accused the Archangel Michael of killing me. Then I might have punched him for it. And that fight might have ended up as a full-on attack, which might have ended when he threw me across a room to pin me to the floor. So yes, there may have been crying involved.”
Joshua gaped at me, and finally he burst out laughing. “Oh, I would have paid to see that,” he told me.
I was not in the mood for this. “Can we just drop this and get on with it?” I asked him, shortly.
The laughter quickly stopped and Joshua frowned, studying me. “Are you sure you’re alright? You don’t have to do this, you know? If you want to head home, you can.”
Part of me wanted to. That part of me wanted to bury my head in a pillow, but it was also the same part of me that would have the past hour on constant replay in my head, and I really wasn’t in the mood for repeating that again. Then again, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to spend any more time with Joshua today.
But, this wasn’t about me, Joshua, or Michael. This was about a serial killer and trying to stop him before he killed anyone else. “I’m fine,” I found myself muttering. “We have work to do.”
Joshua nodded, then as though seeing me for the first time, cocked his head. “What are you wearing?”
My attention was dragged away from my thoughts and quickly to my outfit. Maybe, I figured, it was a little too much, but as I looked around, it wasn’t as bad as some of the things the women out tonight were wearing. “I thought it was appropriate,” I sighed in frustration. “I can go home and put on something less,” I frowned. “Slutty?”
“Angel, you look... hot,” he told me.
I looked up at him, rolling my eyes, expecting to find that smirk of his there. Only I didn’t. I saw surprise.
For a brief moment, our eyes met, and it was suddenly like we were the only ones there. The passersby, the smells, the noises leaking from each bar... they all melted away into a dull blur, and judging from the lusty expression in Joshua’s eyes, all he wanted to do was drag me away and have his wicked way with me.
I broke the gaze by punching his arm. “What have I told you about that flirty crap, mister?” I demanded. “It’s strictly professional.”
The motion brought Joshua out of his daze too. “It’s all in your head, darlin’,” he told me smoothly, turning and pointing up at the sign hanging over the entrance to the bar. “The Dead Donkey,” he said, looking back at me. “Is this ringing any bells?”
I stood in front of the bar, my back to the door, and glanced to my left. That direction took us back to Canal Street and was decidedly busier. I had been working my way in the opposite direction, so I was sure I hadn’t double backed on myself. Also, we weren’t far from where we had found Emily. “That way,” I said, pointing to my right.
“Ladies first,” Joshua said, gesturing for me to take the lead. He fell into step beside me as we walked slowly down the street. It was Bourbon Street – I had been out along it countless times, so everything looked familiar – but nothing was ringing any bells of recognition from the night I had died. I had no clue, and the further we walked, the more I realized I was going to be no help.
“I think I’m just wasting your time,” I told Joshua as the bars began to fade away.
“I think you’re thinking about it too hard,” Joshua responded.
I shook my head, coming to a stop in the middle of the street. The crowds had stopped coming this far down, and I was certain I wouldn’t have come down this far by myself. I turned, looking back in the direction we had come in. I could just make out the Dead Donkey from where we were. “Maybe we should...” I trailed off, noticing a steady stream of people who were veering off down one of the streets leading off Bourbon Street. “We should follow them,” I said, firmly.
Without any objections, Joshua followed me back to Dumaine Street. About three buildings along was a two storey, yellow building. I had passed it on a couple of occasions but I had been certain it was a residential building. Now, there was a neon sign which read Bee’s. There were couples on the balcony upstairs, whereas, downstairs, the music was spilling onto the street, accompanied by people and artificial smoke.
“Here,” I said to Joshua, watching as the two bouncers on the door kept an eye on who was coming and going – wearing shades, even though it was late.
“Then I guess we’re going in,” Joshua told me, leading me into the building.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Bee’s
Bee’s was not what I expected. It eluded more class than a lot of the bars along the street, and gave the impression that the drinks prices alone would be enough to keep the riff raff out, without a cover charge. The music was... I think the only word I can use is, dirty. A mixture of dance, drum and bass, dubstep and hip hop, with the blood red walls, it gave the impression the club was performing some form of sexual act – like it was breathing heavily and sweating from the effort. I had a feeling that later, when there were more people in there, I would be questioning if I had done something that was breaking one of Michael’s rules.
“How have I never noticed this place before?” I asked myself.
“It opened just before Mardi Gras,” Joshua told me.
I was so caught up in the interior of the bar, I hadn’t realized he had been standing close enough to hear me. “What are we looking for?” I asked him, loudly, over the music, scanning the marginally quieter bar area. In the far corner, the female DJ was bobbing her head, her thick black hair moving in time with the music. I couldn’t see below her waist, but she was wearing a beautiful red silk bodice, with lace detailing and something that looked like a rose embroidered down the side.
Joshua shook his head and moved over to the bar. I stuck close behind him and waited for the barmaid to head over to us. She, like the three other girls behind the bar were wearing similar versions of the bodice the DJ was wearing, although theirs were black. The one guy who was serving at the far end of the bar was wearing only a very tight pair of black shorts and he looked like he had been oiled up.
Finally, one of the barmaids realized we were waiting and hurried over. Joshua had to call over our order three times before she heard him. “Is it always this loud?” I yelled at her.
“This is hell,” the woman yelled back at me.
I nodded my agreement. “I don’t know how you can work in here!”
The woman laughed and shook her head. “No, this is Hell. Lots of bass and not much chance to talk, if you know what I mean? If you two wa
nt to get to know each other, you want to head upstairs to Heaven.”
At my blank look, she pointed over in the direction of a wrought iron, spiral staircase. I glanced over at Joshua, who shrugged, handed me my drink and headed over to the stairs. I blinked, and followed after him, surprised he hadn’t bothered to mention to her that it wasn’t like that between us.
The stairs were a bit of a pain to navigate in my stiletto heels, and I was more focused on making sure the heels didn’t get stuck in the intricate design so that I wouldn’t fall and make a fool of myself. Upstairs the floor was tiled – that was the first thing I noticed, considering that had been what my attention had been focused on. When I looked up, my mouth nearly fell open.
Heaven was... heavenly. Although the lights were dim, it was brighter upstairs. There were clean lines, pale blue walls, and dozens of couches that looked as comfortable as clouds. Somehow, the music from downstairs wasn’t filtering up and drowning out the much softer love songs upstairs. “Wow,” I muttered.
There were more people up here, sitting cozily on the couches, and not all couples. The atmosphere was much more relaxed, and there were people sitting at the bar. In a similar position as it was downstairs was the DJ’s booth, behind which was a girl who had to be a twin of the one downstairs – they were identical, with the exception of the bright blue streaks this girl had in her hair, compared to the ‘devil’ equivalent whose had been red. The other members of staff upstairs were wearing white prom dresses, or white shorts.
I followed Joshua over to one of the tall tables that lined the back wall, and pushed myself up onto the stool. “This is actually quite nice,” I told him, scanning the room. “But you still need to tell me what we’re looking for.”
Joshua pulled a face. “I was hoping you could be the one to supply me with that answer. You were the one who picked out all the victims, after all.”
“You can’t put that on me,” I yelped at him, banging my knee against the table as I remembered what Michael had told me earlier. “I don’t know how I did it, and I don’t want to be the person responsible for someone else dying because I couldn’t tell they were a potential victim!”