Out of Reach

by Jocelyn Stover

  Glancing over at him perched on a stool by the bar, I reminisce about us. I’d met Kade in undergrad at the University of California, San Diego. Both of us were science majors, so naturally we ended up in a lot of the same classes. During our first quarter of chemistry, we were assigned as lab partners. His quiet, efficient nature went perfectly with my OCD, over-achieving, likes-to-work-alone personality. So naturally, when we ended up in the same classes together, I gravitated toward him rather than taking a chance on a new lab partner who might prove to be unreliable or overly chatty. This unspoken partnership lasted for four years, and somewhere along the line it turned into an actual friendship. I think it was Melanie who first invited Kade to go out with us one Friday night. Since that day, he’s always been part of our group, mostly as a partner in crime, but occasionally he’s had to play bouncer or designated driver. Despite our shenanigans Kade has always managed to keep Melanie and I from getting into any real trouble. I don’t know what we’d do without the guy.

  Kade’s family is from Boston and I knew he loved that area, so when I was looking at applying to BU, I suggested he do likewise. I knew we weren’t looking at the same program, since he wanted to pursue a PhD in chemistry, but selfishly I didn’t want to go that far away by myself. I honestly don’t know how much my request influenced his decision, but that fall we both ended up in Boston at BU. It was nice having a friend around, but it wasn’t the same as it had been during undergrad. Neither of us had much free time anymore, and as we both became busy with our individual programs, we didn’t see each other much. By the end of our second year, we were more like acquaintances than friends.

  After I’d accepted the job at Preston-Ward, I hadn’t even contacted him to let him know I was leaving Boston. Such a sad testament to how far apart we’d fallen over the years. What I didn’t know at the time was he had also taken a job at Preston-Ward. Apparently we started around the same time but it was three months before I ran into him. After the initial shock of bouncing off his chest one day as I rounded a corner too quickly faded, I hugged him fiercely and blubbered on about how it was so good to see him and I couldn’t believe how much I’d missed him and how bad a friend I had been. In his usual calm, controlled manner, he found me a tissue and took me out to lunch.

  “Goodnight, Gwen,” says Joe. Looking over at him I notice the rest of the gang are reaching for jackets and purses, getting ready to leave. I glance over at Melanie, who is happily chatting away with Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome. Based on my intel, I decide it looks like I’m going be here awhile longer.

  “Goodnight, Joe. I’ll see you in the morning.” I wave at the rest of the group and tell them, “Goodnight, all!” Looking down at my watch, I see it’s only 8 p.m. Sighing, I get up, grab my purse and my glass, and head over to join Kade at the bar.

  Chapter 6

  Kade

  McClaren’s is a noisy little sports bar and per usual it’s packed. Luckily management is nice enough to rope off a few tables for us each month. I head for the corner barstool as the rest of our group claims the reserved seating. Flagging down the bartender, I snag a beer and pretend to watch baseball, enjoying the anonymity the boisterous atmosphere affords me.

  The pitch of two loud, exuberant voices shouting behind me draws my attention.

  “To our designated driver!” the girls chant.

  Facing the music (so to speak) I turn around, my face stoically schooled. Two deliriously happy girls, drinks raised, stare back at me. Both are on the verge of giggles.

  “Behave!” I bark at them, quickly turning around to mask the deeply satisfied smile spreading across my face. I love these women. Taking a long swig off my bottle, I return to pretending to watch baseball.

  I fondly remember back to when I first started monitoring Gwen. I’d had to use Melanie to help me insinuate myself into Gwen’s personal life. I’d done a fairly good job developing a working friendship with Gwen by enrolling in most of her lab classes, but socially we didn’t hang out. Melanie, on the other hand, was much more interested in me. Once I discovered her physical attraction, I exploited the fact to secure invitations to group dates, parties, and the like. After the first few events, I became just one of the group, at which point I used a little power to implant the conviction in Melanie’s head that we were just friends.

  What I didn’t know at the time was how difficult being with those women could be. The dynamic duo and trouble seem to walk hand-in-hand. Both are too beautiful for their own good, and once you add alcohol, music, or red-blooded males to the mix, all hell can break loose. I don’t think even they are aware of how many fights I’ve broken up or perverts I’ve hauled outside and dumped in an alley over the years. Hell, the reason for my aloof behavior anytime we go out is to give myself space to case the joint looking for anything sinister. I’ve learned over the years I can’t see trouble before it gets to the girls when I’m in close vicinity to them. So I perch myself somewhere close when we go out bar-hopping until I can get a good read on the place. The hilarious part is how “just another assignment” grew into true affection.

  My gaze follows the waitress who passes close behind me until a movement in my peripheral vision catches my attention. Gwen is waving me over to join the group for dinner; I notice she’s even ordered me something.

  Relinquishing my stool I wander over, thanking Gwen who doesn’t appear to notice as I grab my plate and take the seat next to Christine. I half-heartedly listen to Mark and Dan regale the group with stories from their most recent conference while I eat. Finding a clean glass, I pour myself a fresh beer from the nearly empty pitcher on the table. Glancing down the length of the table I see Melanie with a familiar look on her face stand up. Rolling my eyes I pick up my glass and head over to claim the now vacant seat next to Gwen. I lean as close to her ear as I can and whisper, “Care to make a wager?”

  “You’re on,” Gwen responds as I settle into the chair. “Stakes?” she asks.

  Looking up at the ceiling I ponder her question a moment before meeting her gaze. “Loser pays for lunch, sometime in the foreseeable future.”

  “Deal. Do we need to shake on it?”

  Rolling my eyes I laugh. “No, now pick your mark.”

  I watch the graceful curve of her neck as Gwen scans the room, trying to guess Melanie’s intended victim. “There, across the bar, the blonde with the great smile in the blue shirt. Do you see him?”

  Taking a sip of my beer, I say, “I see him, and you couldn’t be more wrong. You’re making this too easy, Gwen.” I rest my elbows on the table and ask, “Are you sure you don’t want to try again?”

  Openly offended, Gwen glares at me. “No, and don’t insult me. I think I know my best friend a little better than you do. Who’s your bet?”

  I draw out my response to annoy her further. “You see the table just behind your blonde?”

  “Yes.”

  “She’s headed for Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome, on the left.” All I can do is grin under the frosty attitude being projected my direction.

  “We’ll see about that,” she says, her voice full of prideful assurance. Gripping my glass with both hands, we sit and silently watch the drama unfold before us. A few minutes later we see Melanie cozying up to Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome. A speechless Gwen turns to gape at me.

  Rising from my chair, I toss over my shoulder, “Better luck next time.” I stride over to the bar and I reclaim my favorite stool. I know better than to gloat with Gwen. Redheads in general have a very short fuse; push them too far and they go bat shit crazy on you. That’s a mess I’d prefer not to clean up tonight.

  * * *

  Around 8p.m. Gwen joins me at the bar. “So, any idea how much longer she might be?”

  Looking her over with genuine concern, I ask Gwen, “You ready to go already?”

  “Yes, it was a frustrating day and I was tired before we got here,” she admits. I glance in the direction of the lovebirds and insinuate into their heads the notion that they are tired a
nd wish to go home.

  Turning a smile on Gwen, I tell her, “Melanie won’t be much longer.” As if summoned, Melanie heads our direction a few minutes later and I gently tap Gwen on the shoulder to capture her attention.

  “Melanie’s on her way, let’s get you home.”

  Smiling, Gwen slides off the barstool to meet up with her friend and begin the interrogation. I lead the way as we negotiate a path to the exit. Holding the door I wait for the pair to catch up so the three of us can head out into the parking lot together.

  Chapter 7

  Melanie drops Gwen and I off in the parking lot at Preston-Ward, quickly waving as she heads home for the night. I dawdle in the parking lot under the false pretense of checking my bike. Really I’m waiting to be sure Gwen makes it out safely, but I do require a few moments to become reacquainted with my motorcycle after a week’s absence.

  “Hello, old friend,” I say, running my hand along the seat up to the handle bars. Lifting the helmet I find Zafir has neatly tucked the keys inside. Strapping on the protective apparatus, I mount her and fire up the engine, reveling in the throaty sound as she comes to life. Checking the mirrors, I see Gwen safely ensconced in her vehicle and I give the bike a little gas, floating toward the exit. With a firm grip I keep my girl reined in until Gwen’s Mini has backed out of its space and pulled up behind me. After checking for traffic, I lead the bike onto the deserted street. A block later I give the girl her head and we race off into the night, seeking the highway and the sweet release of speed.

  My head feels clearer with the wind on my face and the smell of fresh air all around me. Phoenix doesn’t hold a candle to an evening in San Diego. Exiting the freeway I smile with pride—the engine hasn’t even broken a sweat, and the bike ... she feels good in my hands. I take a second leisurely lap around the block before descending into the underground parking garage of my apartment building. Stabling the motorcycle in my reserved slot, I take a few minutes to lovingly clean off the dust she’s accumulated in my absence. I stow my helmet and follow the dim lighting of the garage to the elevator. Punching the “Up” button I wait for the lift, contemplating the future.

  A low-pitched ding rouses me from my thoughts long enough to enter the elevator, make my floor selection, and hold on until I reach the top. At some point during the slow ascent, my energy flags, exhaustion accumulated over the last few days finally overtaking me.

  I sluggishly enter the apartment—its open layout, high ceilings, and wrap around windows greet me. Everything from the furniture to the amenities have that simple, modern flair, and I hate it. Some, I suppose, would consider it stylishly chic. On the whole, it just feels cold and sterile to me, too orderly and efficient to feel at home in. I vastly prefer old world comfort; I own several other homes which are filled with warm woodwork and vibrant colors, the furniture so soft and plush you’d swear you were sitting on a cloud.

  Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, I head toward the only piece of furniture at odds with the decor around it. The recliner has been the only contribution I’ve made to the apartment over the last three years. It’d been easier when I first moved to San Diego to purchase a furnished penthouse. Three years later I still haven’t gotten around to redoing the place. Setting the water down on an end table, I ease my aching body into the black leather Lazy Boy. I flip the leg-rest up, lean back, and sigh; I’m finally able to relax.

  My cell phone goes off in my pocket and I fish it out as quickly as possible.

  “Hello.”

  “Kade, I’m afraid the trip to London was futile. Makeen and Rashid didn’t find anyone that can help us,” Adil tells me, an air of defeat in his voice.

  Sitting up, I lean forward in my chair and rest my elbows on my knees. I run a hand through my hair and ask, “What are we going to do? There’s only a few weeks left before the deadline.”

  “This time I’m not sure how it’s going to turn out, my friend.” Adil’s admission of the cold, hard truth we’ve all been fighting against the last few years sends a chill down my spine. “In the end we’re going to have to try and do it by ourselves. It’ll take everyone; we need to prepare. I expect you and Z here within two weeks.”

  I sit dumbfounded for a moment while the essence of what he’s saying sinks in. Then I see red.

  “You can’t be serious!” I yell at him. “It can’t be done without angel blood.”

  “We can’t just sit back and do nothing, Kade—we’re out of options and out of time,” he replies, his temper rising to meet mine.

  “Out of options!” I scream, completely stunned. “We have Gwen! She’s untried, yes, but she’s our best option!” I shift in my chair, uncomfortable.

  “Kade, I won’t risk the life of an innocent. It’s safer for us to try this on our own.”

  Jumping to my feet I begin to pace in front of the windows overlooking the city. “She’s Nephilim, and powerful. I’ve seen—”

  Adil cuts me off before I can finish. “What, Kade? What have you seen? A long time ago she might have telekinetically moved an object. But what’s she done lately?”

  I hold my tongue, refusing to answer the rhetorical question.

  “Nothing and you’ve been tracking her for what, a decade? She can’t help us, Kade, and I won’t put her life in danger needlessly.”

  Hanging up on Adil I shake my phone in frustration, as if through the inanimate object I might be able to shake some sense into my brother. Too amped up to sit still, I toss the thing onto the couch across from me and step outside onto the balcony to clear my head. Full of anger and humiliation in equal parts, I grip the rails of the balcony with both hands and bellow my rage to the stars.

  After all these years, the bitter sting of my brother’s disbelief still cuts me deeply. I let loose a bark of laughter so tinged with contempt the sound scares even me. Apparently I’m not as immune to it as I thought.

  “Gwen.” I whisper her name into the night. Squeezing my eyes shut I remember my jubilation at her discovery. It had been over a hundred years since anyone had seen a Nephilim perform a feat like she had. It took us years to track down when exactly the angel bloodlines became so diluted that Nephlim no longer possessed any of the old powers. It was not a contingency any of us had planned for, but in a mere three weeks this unforeseen complication could very well be the doom of us all.

  Damn the angels, and damn the Sylph, too.

  The current crisis is their doing and stems all the way back to the Creation. In the void, before time even began, there were angels, there were demons, and there were the Sylph. We Sylph chose to reside mostly in our incorporeal essences during this period in order to distance ourselves from the glory of the angels and the whining of the demons.

  The focus of everything changed, however, when He came down and created Earth. We were eager to explore this new playground, and mankind was a novelty we all wanted to experience.

  Now, the angels and the demons were the first to grow bored and return to the heavenly realms and whatever it is that occupies their time there. But the Sylph, who enjoy chaos and delight in destruction, were enamored with the humans. They were beings we could so easily manipulate and pollute. We wrought famines, plagues, and wars across the earth. Through whispered suggestion, we turned brother against brother. Vast empires were created and destroyed upon our whim.

  Our influence over His creation was not viewed favorably, though, and, after a time, the angels returned to deliver His justice. Even the mightiest among us were no match for their righteous anger.

  Overrun we were rounded up and shackled together, like beasts of the field. Desperate to escape our fate, many tried to shift from corporal form back into our essence of flameless fire. Such attempts proved futile. So we waited, helpless, as the angels wielded their mighty power to enact our punishment. Straight from the earth they pulled every kind of precious element to spin spherical prisons as delicate and beautiful as blown glass, but as hard as iron and impossible to break. A sphere was cast for e
ach Sylph and his essence was trapped within.

  When the task was nearly complete, twelve Sylph were separated from the others. We all thought they would be put to death, an everlasting example to the rest. We were wrong.

  The twelve were offered a pardon, their eternal freedom in return for one commitment: They must swear to be caretakers of the Sylph spheres, ensuring they stayed hidden away from human hands. For should a human lay hands upon a sphere, the Sylph essence inside would be released, becoming bound to the human until the Sylph had wrought three acts of power.

  Faced with eternal servitude and imprisonment, no price seemed too great, and every one of the twelve agreed.

  I was one of the twelve.

  Huddled together we waited for the angels to keep their word and release our bonds. When the last of the Sylph had been imprisoned, the spheres were divided among four angels and, before our very eyes, they were flown off, scattered to the four corners of the earth. Only then did they release us.

  With a single mighty sword stroke, our chains were abolished, but in the same instant I felt myself being ripped apart.

  Screaming and writhing on the ground I glared at the angels, eyes filled with vile hatred as my very nature was stripped away.

  We were imbued with a human-like compassion, a sense of decency and morality none of us had ever known before. My essence became charged with a different kind of power, lighter, stronger somehow. It felt completely foreign and, truth be told, it would take us decades to fully grasp the nature of it.

  When convulsions no longer wracked my body and pain receded from my limbs, I stood. The angels all around us were chanting. Outwardly I looked no different, but at my very core I no longer resembled my Sylph brethren. Nor did I resemble the angels ... or the humans.