by Lori Adams
Michael is humming a vaguely familiar song that I can’t place. “Hey, Sophia,” he calls as he runs a comb through his wet hair. “Why don’t you come in here and shake it like a bad girl up in Harlem?”
Ah.
I giggle and say, “Hey, Michael, why don’t you come out here and shake it like a Polaroid picture?” He laughs and walks out of the bathroom. I am draped half naked on the white sheet and eating grapes; he stops laughing. His eyes darken and he tosses the comb aside. A sexy grin spreads across his face as he strides over. Without a word, he whips the sheet free and snaps it up to balloon over our heads. Then he crawls across the mattress as it gently floats down around us.
“I have no idea what that means,” he says, capturing my ankle and dragging me to the center of the bed. “But if you don’t put some clothes on, we’re never leaving this room.”
I hold the sheet up, making a tent over our heads. “I don’t mind if you don’t,” I tease. He laughs and kisses the inside of my foot.
“I’m serious,” he says, nibbling up my leg. I fall back and enjoy the feel of his soft, warm lips on my skin. “You know I only have a few days left before I’ll be called back. Don’t you want to do something?”
“I like what we’ve been doing.”
His lips travel across my belly and up between my breasts where he stops to fill his mouth. “Mmm,” he moans with his eyes closed. Then he shifts onto his side and takes my hand, toying with my fingers. He lays thoughtfully quiet for a moment and then whispers, “My hands love your hands.” He leans down, brushing his lips across mine. “My lips love your lips.” Softly, he kisses me. “My heart loves your heart.” He dips his head, kissing the top of my breast above my heart. “But we have been in here for three days. I want you to have a proper honeymoon. And I never gave you a birthday present.”
“Oh, yes you did.” I sigh, as he kisses the hollow of my neck. “About fifty times already.”
He lifts his head and grins. “Naughty girl.”
I giggle and roll away. Michael swats my behind, making me yelp. “Come on,” he says, pulling back the sheet. “Tell me where you’d like to go. Anywhere in the world.”
I sit up with renewed interest. I don’t even worry that my hair is a wild mess around my face. I have been thoroughly loved up, so who cares?
“Really? Anywhere?” I take a moment to consider. I hadn’t given a honeymoon much thought before now. “Well, what do you want to do?”
Michael slides off the bed and retrieves his comb from the floor. “I suppose we could do the usual, Paris, Rome. Touristy things.” He shrugs and I know he’s not into it. Actually, I’m not either. At least not right now. Something else comes to mind, so I walk out to the lanai and stand naked, gazing into the distance. It’s sunny and gorgeous. Light shimmers off the ocean, stirring up a pang of homesickness. I’m nostalgic for California, the laid-back beach towns, surfers with black wetsuits hanging around their hips, boards tucked under their arms, sharp eyes checking the swells and breaks. The smell of salt in the air. I’ve had snow up to my eyeballs; I’m ready for some sand.
“Let’s go surfing,” I call to Michael. “Want to?”
“Sure,” he says, meeting me out on the lanai. We look down at the infinity pool, its warm, inviting water trickling over the edge. In the three days that we’ve been here, we were too preoccupied to take a dip.
“How about California?” I ask, thinking I’d like to show Michael some places I used to hang out. “Is there time to go that far away?”
Michael laughs at my question but I don’t get it. “Yeah, babe, there’s time. We won’t be traveling in the conventional way.” He wiggles his eyebrows and then pulls me against him. We kiss long and deep until a knock at the door jolts me back.
“Who’s that?” I gasp. No one but Rama and Dad know we’re here. Rama wouldn’t intrude, and Dad’s temporary sight into this world vanished days ago.
“Don’t worry. It’s only Jarvis. I’ve asked him to make some breakfast. You haven’t had solid food in days.”
“Who’s Jarvis?” I look around for a towel or robe. There is nothing out here. Michael explains that Jarvis works for the Halos during the seven days of grace. He sees to all of Michael’s needs, and yes, he knows that I’m here and that we’ve been married.
I grab Michael’s arm. “Don’t let him in! I don’t have any clothes here!” He scoops me into his arms with cool confidence.
“Don’t worry, babe. I’ve had the closets stocked for you. Select anything you like.” Satisfied that he has saved the day, Michael calls out to Jarvis not to come in. Jarvis misunderstands and slowly opens the door.
“Breakfast, sir?” he greets us with his gray head and tray poking into the room. I am still naked in Michael’s arms! I yelp. Michael panics. Then he swings around and pitches me off the lanai, down into the pool below.
—
“Okay, so I panicked,” Michael says, grinning behind his coffee cup. We are sitting on the porch of my favorite coffee shop in San Juan Capistrano. The Hidden House Café is old and yellow, a charming turn-of-the-century cottage where I often escaped to read or watch locals peruse the quaint shops down Los Rios Street. San Juan is home to the train depot, and not a surf town. Our plans changed after Michael fished me out of the infinity pool. We spent an intense hour and a half in the shower, but then I was called away, twice, to help lost souls cross over. When I returned, breakfast was cold and I was famished. Michael transported us here, which means that he traveled in spirit form and I clung to his shirttail in a long, spiraling blue tube of spiritual energy. Basically the same way I accidentally tagged along back in October.
We bought a couple of surfboards, had lunch at Sarducci’s, and now we’re enjoying a spice latte at the café. Even though he has apologized profusely for tossing me into the pool, I’ve been toying with Michael, telling him retribution would be sure and painful.
“What was I supposed to do?” he asks, feigning innocence. “I couldn’t bear the thought of someone else seeing my wife naked.”
Michael likes to say “my wife.” A lot. I don’t mind, because it makes my stomach flutter every time he does.
“Just be on your guard, Mr. Patronus,” I tease with a severely arched eyebrow. “I owe you one.”
He leans forward, grinning. “And I am very much looking forward to it, Mrs. Patronus.” He cups my face, bringing us together for a deep kiss. People are beginning to stare because Michael and I haven’t kept our hands to ourselves since we got here.
When we reluctantly pull apart, we make plans to surf. There are prime choices in either direction: San Onofre, Lower Trestles, TC’s, Zeros, The Heavens. But I’m starting to question my choices. Michael is not an adrenaline junky, but considering his unique abilities as an angel, I hardly think surfing will excite him.
“Would you rather do something else?” I ask. “Something more…I don’t know…less boring?”
“But you said you wanted to surf,” he says, and I shrug. He quickly catches on. “Oh, you think I want a challenge. Okay, babe. We’ll do both. Surfing up north, on my playground.” He grins and hauls me to my feet. He says we need only one board, so we leave mine behind and make our way to a secluded area.
Michael takes my hand, throws a look around to ensure that nobody is watching, and then we go up north. Waaaay up north. As in up and up and up. Michael’s idea of “up north” is somewhere high in the atmosphere over Australia.
With his arm tight around my waist, we hover miles up in the air. Overhead, the sun is sizzling against a brilliant blue sky. Just below us is an amazing stretch of clouds that look like rolling waves.
“Raph and I call them Lord Kelvin’s,” Michael says. “They’re actually Kelvin-Helmholtz clouds. You feel that warm air rising over pockets of cool air? Yeah, now just wait for it.”
A hard gust of wind comes along and swirls the clouds into eddies. They look like waves breaking over the ocean, in the sky. It’s so unexpected that I laugh out
loud.
“Oh my God! That’s…I don’t even know what…Wait, you mean we can surf those?”
Michael laughs, happy to impress me. “Oh, yeah. We’re gonna surf those. Just do what I say. Okay, Sophia? Promise?” I nod as my adrenaline takes off. Michael clutches my hand and I float apart from him. I’m trembling. It’s freaking scary up here but I trust him.
With the next gust of wind, the clouds heave into great swells, and Michael throws down his board like it’s a skimmer. He brings us down onto the board and I feel marginally better with something solid beneath my feet. Then he grabs my waist and guides me in front. I assume the stance and we take off.
Michael works the board over the wind current, into the curve, and up on the rising cloud waves. It’s so amazing, this feeling of surfing clouds in the sky. Weightless with indescribable wonder. Humbling and powerful at the same time. It’s a lesson in gravity I don’t want to fail.
We rise on the crest of a long wave, the air at this altitude sweet on my tongue. When we slide into the tube, the waves don’t crash over my head but dissipate as cold fog that tickles my nose and whispers across the shell of my ears. I giggle as Michael guides us out to catch the next gust of wind swirling up more eddies.
For an hour or more, we catch wave after wave. Then Michael claps me around the waist and lifts me onto his shoulders. I curl my legs around his torso and gaze across the vast sky. It’s breathtaking. The wind plays with my hair as we glide along. I lift my face to the sun, so close I could take a bite and happily let the juice run down my chin. I stretch out my arms. I am a hood ornament zooming down an invisible highway. The quiet up here goes on forever.
After a while, I lean forward and Michael lowers me into a handstand. I gain my balance and then ease down and sit lotus style on the board. Michael sits across from me. We float effortlessly as the wind pushes us like a soft current.
I sit very still. Breathe evenly. My twin heartbeats fall in rhythm as though the body knows what’s best. I listen to the quiet, to the peace that hides up here. The clouds have no sound as they whisper by, but I am sensitive to the gentle rise and fall of Michael’s breathing. His energy hums through me, taking up residence as the shelter of my love so that I am never alone again.
Michael is calm, mirroring my quietness. His spiritual energy, powered by our love, rests peacefully within him, and I am intoxicated by it. A rush of overwhelming desire moves through me as we gaze at each other. There is a profound sense of unspoken faith and understanding between us.
I will never be the same.
There is a beauty in the way Michael loves and makes love. Tender and powerful with a pureness so deep that it fills every part of me. That feeling of knowing for sure that we would do anything for each other.
With Michael’s love, I find strength in the things I fear.
I crawl over and slide into his open arms. He reclines onto the board and I lay my head on his chest, sighing happily. I close my eyes and trail my hand over the board, letting the breeze tickle through my fingers like cool water. I think back to the first time Michael took me flying. How it altered the course of my life.
“Michael?”
“Yes, Sophia?”
“You changed me.”
“Yes, Sophia.”
We fall silent, and after a while, Michael says, “Sophia?”
“Yes, Michael?”
“You changed me, too.”
“Yes, Michael.”
He toys with my hair and starts humming and then singing under his breath. I smile because it’s totally appropriate, “Out of the Blue” by John Lennon. Michael has a great voice, deep and smooth. Sexy as hell.
He’s nearly at the end of the song when I hear a soft cry and open my eyes. I lift my head and look at him.
“What?” he asks.
“I don’t know. I thought I heard a bird cry but maybe—” There it is again, and I know for sure. My dreads begin to glow and my Chelsea Light pulsates. Michael hears it, too, and we climb to our feet. The transformation tingles along my skin like soft electrical currents. My clothes and weapons begin to materialize well before I’m sure where to go. I’m gripped with sudden panic. Miles up in the air, how do I get to the soul I hear?
Michael steps back, giving me room like I know what to do. “I’ll meet you back at the barn…I mean, at home.” He smiles bashfully at the idea of calling any place our home. As sweet as it is, I can’t think about it now.
“But what do I do?” I cry, and Michael’s face drops.
Something registers and he mutters, “You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re not going to believe this but…I really am sorry, babe.” He cups my face, kisses me quick and hard, and then gently pushes me off the board. I wheel my arms and wail. It’s a long, mournful sound all the way down until my spiritual energy ignites and I’m flying through a blue tunnel. It’s the same sensation as traveling with Michael, except that he’s not here and it’s me in spirit form. When I eventually spiral out the end, I am just where I need to be. Lucky for Mr. Patronus.
—
That night, I dream of Dante.
Chapter 18
Desperate Measures = Dumbass Plans
It’s not the first time I’ve dreamed of Dante since he took Ka to Hell. Actually, nightmare is the correct term. Lots of nightmares. I’ve been haunted with strange visions and twisted feelings that something horrific is happening to Ka. The nosebleeds have tapered off, which I assume is due to her no longer traveling to Hell but living there.
This is the first nightmare I’ve had since I’ve been married. I wake to Michael shaking me, his voice urgent with concern.
“Babe! Wake up! Wake up! You’re only dreaming.”
My eyes fly open. I’m panting and soaked with sweat. Michael pries my fingers from the sheets while I force myself to calm down. My heart is a jackhammer.
“You were crying out,” he says, brushing back the hair clinging to my wet forehead. “You were…yelling Dante’s name.”
“Oh. I’m sorry, Michael. I—”
“Don’t apologize. You can’t control what you dream. But you know you’re safe now, don’t you? You know Dante can’t ever hurt you again?”
Can’t hurt me again. That’s all he’s ever done, isn’t it?
I stare at the white net canopy, trying to recapture control of my mind. Everything is scattered as though a whirlwind has moved through me, stirring up things that were meant to stay dormant. So many thoughts that aren’t mine are vying for power and control. I drape my arm over my eyes as though darkness could smother the nightmare. This only gives rise to the images in my dream, so crisp and clear that they jolt me to attention and play on a looped tape in my mind: Dante’s angry green eyes; dark, moist stone walls; bloody blocks where slaves are displayed and sold to the highest bidder. With this comes the bone-chilling feelings of suffering and pain. And then the scenery changes to a swirling mess of colors. I feel myself falling from a dark sky into the arms of an ancient town. Home, where a mixture of grief and love gives way to desperation. A bridge leads to a sloping countryside with red and yellow flowers. A mill where Dante waits. And love. So much love for him that it takes my breath away.
I bolt upright, sucking in air.
Lovaria.
The name rings in my head, and I remember. Everything.
“Sophia?” Michael wraps his arms around me, cradling me against his chest. I blink wildly, afraid to let my eyes close for too long. Afraid to feel too much. I’m trembling, not from fear but from the sudden release of pent-up emotions for Dante. We were in love. It was me that he lost. I begged him to find me again. I begged him not to let me go.
Oh, God. What have I done?
—
It’s hours later when I wake again. Once Michael calmed me down, I fell into a restless sleep. Thankfully no more nightmares, but I feel heavy and drugged now. Michael’s side of the bed is empty, so I push myself up and look around. He’s nowhere to be seen or heard. Judging by the slant
of sun cutting across the bamboo floor, it’s late morning. I pull my knees up and wrap my arms around them, taking a moment to consider things.
Last night comes back with a vengeance. I feel awful that Michael had to hear me calling to Dante. Thankfully my cries for help and for love sounded the same. I couldn’t bear it if Michael knew what arousing feelings I’d had. Common sense tells me they were channeled through Ka and not really my own, although that doesn’t make them any less disturbing.
What’s worse is knowing that Dante was right all along; I am Lovaria. Or at least I was in another life. Who does that make me now?
Stupid question. I know who I am. Sophia St. James. Oops. Sophia Patronus, spirit walker. But something Dante once said comes back to haunt me: It is more than flesh and bone we want but something altogether less tangible. We crave light in darkness the way silence craves music. Don’t we, Sophia? In the deepest part of you, don’t you sense you are missing something important? You are meant for something more. Something is waiting for you.
This takes on a new meaning now. At the time I thought perhaps I was meant for something special. I just didn’t know what it was. When I discovered that I was to become a spirit walker, I thought I’d found my answer. Obviously. Now that I remember being Lovaria and the life I lost with Dante, I can see clearly what he meant. The less tangible thing I wanted was my memory. I was in the dark, craving the light. In the deepest part of me I was missing another life, a past life. I was meant to be with Dante. He was the something waiting for me. That’s what he was trying to tell me.
His long, suffering torment makes sense now. I know how desperate we were to be together. I know Dante felt trapped by his father, and our families’ hate for one another. I understand how he was betrayed in the end. How we were betrayed. He must be euphoric with Ka in Hell, thinking now that she is Lovaria. Dante has finally gotten what he’s wanted most. But it’s a lie. And sooner or later, he’ll discover that the lie leads back to me. Ka and I must be made whole again. I won’t risk losing myself to her or to Lovaria. Or to Dante.