by E. Van Lowe
The most gracious smile appeared on Aunt Jaz’s lips. “I know someone else who’s considerate—you. You’re a good friend.”
#
When I got home, there were two messages from my mother on the answering machine. The last one sounded angry. I called her right back.
“Where were you?” She launched into an attack as soon as she heard my voice.
“I went to the library. I figured working in a more studious environment would get my juices flowing. And it worked. I plowed right through French and Chemistry.” It amazed me what a good liar I had become. I didn’t want to lie to her. But what choice did I have?
“That’s good.” I’m not sure she believed me, but she didn’t challenge it. “Next time call before you go out.” Her voice was flat. It was the voice of a mother who’d lost faith in her daughter.
“You got it. But I’ll be here the rest of the afternoon. Now that I’ve got my juices flowing, there’s a research project I want to jump on.” There was a hint of truth buried in what I’d just told her. I could hang up the phone feeling good about myself… Okay, maybe not good—I was still lying to her—but better.
“I’ll be home my regular time,” she said.
“I’ll start dinner.”
After I hung up, I did a quick search of the house, looking to see if the Ibwa or some other demon had made a return visit. Nothing seemed out of place. There was no demon sitting on the edge of my bed.
I went into the kitchen and made a cup of herbal tea. Suze loved tea. There were several kinds in the cupboard. The one I chose was called Morning Thunder. She drank it whenever she needed an extra boost to stay up late and do paperwork.
With the steeping cup of tea in hand, I moved to one of the high stools at the kitchen counter and opened the book. As I paged through, I realized how lucky I had been to find the spell that sent Satan back to hell so easily.
Now that I was home alone, away from Aunt Jaz’s words of encouragement, I could feel a sense of guilt beginning to settle over me like a rolling fog. Since Friday night when Guy hadn’t called or texted, anger had begun to grow inside me. At first it was a tiny ember of a seed, lodged deep in my soul. When he didn’t call on Saturday, the seed took root and began to grow.
I had convinced myself that if he really loved me, he would have put up a fight. I told myself he was a coward for not being honest with me in the first place. And who wants to spend the rest of their life with a coward?
By Sunday morning, the anger had spread throughout my soul like a weed, choking out all sense of reason. I told myself it wasn’t anger. And even if it was, I was justified in feeling the way I did. After all, he could have called or texted. And if he truly loved me, he would have come to my rescue when the demon showed up in my bedroom—wouldn’t he?
Alone in my kitchen, I allowed myself an honest look into my soul. It wasn’t a pleasant sight. I recognized that all the false anger was because, in truth, I felt I wasn’t good enough for him, and that I couldn’t possibly compete with a beautiful angel. This was the truth I finally allowed myself to see.
“I’m sorry, Guy,” I whispered as the guilt came spilling out of me. “I’m going to save you.” And finally I allowed myself to speak the most important truth of all. “I love you, Guy. And no matter what happens, I always will.”
It’s amazing what happens when a girl tells herself the truth. It was as if a weight had been lifted from my chest and sweet, fresh air was allowed to come rushing in. I suddenly felt free. I was no longer governed by fear. This is what Aunt Jaz was talking about. I was still ashamed of myself. That feeling would be with me for a long time. Yet the shame wasn’t overpowering. In fact, I felt empowered.
I took my time going through the book, no longer intimidated by the number of calls or the languages. I stopped fearing that I wouldn’t find what I was looking for. I was certain I would find the call to free Guy. I just needed to stay at it, one page at a time.
#
I knew I was dreaming. I had to be.
I was in a medieval village of thatched roof dwellings. The spires of a nearby castle could be seen towering in the distance. I was moving through the dusty streets. The village was teaming with people. I realized as I moved, that the crowd was surging towards the town square, and I had been swept up into the surge.
Men in colorful clothing, some wearing robes and others capes, pushed past shops and street vendors. The women all wore flowing dresses that hit them at the ankles. No minis here.
A town crier could be heard nearby.
“Here-ye, here-ye. By order of the powerful one, the angel, Guy Matson, will be sentenced at noon for crimes against the state.”
Fear tickled my belly. “I have to rescue him,” I said out loud.
“Who, Deary?” It was the voice of Aunt Jaz. She was here in the crowd, right behind me. I tried to turn, but the flow of the crowd wouldn’t let me. They kept pushing me forward.
“Guy Matson,” I called over my shoulder as I stumbled forward.
“Sorry, Deary, but no one can rescue him. Not even you. The angel is going to die.”
“No!” I barked.
The crowd spilled into the square, and now there was room for me to turn. Aunt Jaz stood behind me wearing a hideous green medieval gown. Her head was covered by a fancy green headpiece.
“I’m afraid it’s too late,” she said. “You should have heeded the warning. The powerful one cannot be denied.” With these words, Aunt Jaz was gobbled up by the surging crowd.
A church bell began to sound. Everyone stopped where they were and listened. We all knew when the tolling ended, it would be noon, time for Guy’s sentencing.
With everyone standing still, I was able to push through the crowd, my feet sliding along the slick, uneven cobblestones, as I made my way to the center of the square. There was a dais mounted at the center. On the dais, like a circus attraction, was Guy, lashed to a giant, twelve-spoke wagon wheel. His clothing had been ripped to shreds, revealing patches of pale skin. He stared back at the gaping crowd, his eyes flashing defiance. My heart went out to him.
There were two large sentries standing guard, keeping the crowd from getting too close. I inched as close as I could. “I’m here, Guy,” I whispered. Miraculously he heard me. His eyes searched the crowd until he found me. When he did, he displayed the most beautiful, forgiving smile.
“I’m sorry,” he mouthed. “I failed you.”
Tears formed in my eyes. “I’m the one who’s sorry,” I called as my tears began to fall. “If only I hadn’t sent you away.”
“Enough!” a disembodied voice bellowed. “Guy Matson, I find you guilty of crimes against the state. That is, unless, Megan Barnett, wishes to reverse your sentence.” The voice saturated the air. It was like the voice of God, but it was filled with evil.
“She does not,” rasped Guy.
“Yes! I do!” I cried.
“Then bring to me The Book of Calls,” the voice boomed. You have until midnight, tonight. If you do not deliver the book in that time, the termination of the angel will begin.”
Just then the crowd again began to surge, pushing in on the dais. I looked into Guy’s eyes just before he was blocked from view. In them I saw disappointment.
I awoke. My head was resting on my arm on the kitchen counter. I had fallen asleep going through the book in search of a spell. So much for Morning Thunder.
I sat up, certain what I had experienced wasn’t just a dream. Beelzebub had come to me in my sleep. I glanced at the clock on the microwave. It was two p.m. So, now I knew how much time I had to find a spell to free Guy. Ten hours, ten precious hours before the boy I loved was no more.
Chapter Eighteen
For the next hour, I went through the book deciphering the calls as best I could. There was a destruction call and an enslavement call. There was a call to turn the oceans of the world to desert sand. The book was filled with spells created to heap great misery upon man. But I could not find one that was
anywhere near what I was looking for.
The doorbell rang.
I juggled thoughts of who it might be. One thing I knew for sure, demons do not come to the front door. Still, as a precaution, I hid the book back inside the grandfather clock.
I moved to the door expecting to find Maudrina. I was sure she’d been trying to reach me all day. When I opened the door, Harrison stood on my doorstep.
“I have some bad news,” he said. His hazel eyes were bleary, his clothes a rumpled mess, as if he’d slept in them all night. Even the blood red jeans seemed dingier. “The demon has captured Guy.” His eyes dove for his boots as he spoke, a little boy uncomfortable delivering bad news.
“I know.” He once again established eye contact. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. Instead he nodded gently, and I ushered him into the living room.
He dropped, tired-eyed, onto the sofa, and I told him the entire story. For the first time since I’d known him, Harrison didn’t seem arrogant or self-possessed. He seemed vulnerable.
“So, ya lied to me about the whereabouts of the book?” he said when I finished.
“I had to. I didn’t know what else to do. I hardly know you. And when I discovered you weren’t even an angel, I was really thrown.”
“Do ya still have it?” There was a flicker of life in his once tired eyes.
“Yes. It’s in a much better hiding place than my old CPU.”
His shoulders relaxed in obvious relief. “Thank, God.” He looked at me with an odd twinkle in his eye. “You’re a wicked smart one, Megan Barnett.”
I didn’t know how to respond, so I gave him a slight shrug and a small smile.
“My father was a powerful angel. He resided among the upper echelon of angels.” Harrison started to speak, his words coming from a fond memory. “In heaven, he commanded a great deal of respect. He had one of the highest stations given to angels. He was here on earth monitoring an exorcism when he first saw my mother. The way he tells it: When I looked upon her, the earth moved, and then it stood still. And all that I had known before, all I had been taught my entire life, I no longer believed. That’s powerful stuff, love at first sight—the kind of love that can change one’s entire belief system.”
I wasn’t sure where he was going with talk of his father. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I understand the sacrifice your angel was willing to make when he fell in love with a mortal. He gave up paradise for you.”
The way he said it made me feel even more ashamed of my actions. “It’s taken all this time for me to realize how big a sacrifice it was,” I said, the shame in my voice apparent. “It’s a really touching thing he did.”
Harrison’s eyes clouded over. “It was foolish.” The words came off his tongue like a bad taste in his mouth. “My father should never have abandoned heaven.”
“What are you talking about? It sounds like your parents found a special love.”
He let out a derisive laugh. “And love conquers all, doesn’t it?”
I suddenly found myself in the position of defending love. “Yes, it does! You of all people should know that. You’re the product of love—a great love. I’m sure your parents must love you dearly.”
“They do. But what about the rest of the world? We live in a world that is incredibly unkind to those who are perceived as different. Doesn’t matter how much their parents love them.” He stroked his chin as he considered his next words. “Ah, but if my kind were in possession of The Book of Calls, we could use it to correct the imbalance. With that kind of power, angels would have to respect us.”
“You want to use the book to get respect?” I was incredulous.
“You have no idea what it’s like livin’ between two worlds, and not being accepted in either of them.” His words were laced with contempt.
“The book is dangerous,” I said darkly.
“But not too dangerous for you, a mortal, to have it.”
All of a sudden I got the feeling I wasn’t safe around him. There was a fury growing in his eyes. I regretted letting him in.
“You’re already powerful,” I blurted, searching for words that would make him see reason.
“I am the son of a high and mighty angel, so I have retained some of his special gifts. A child born between you and Guy would be weak, like a mortal.” He said the word mortal with such disgust. He rose from the sofa, glowering at me. I had forgotten how tall and imposing he was.
“So what? If Guy and I ever got married, we wouldn’t care about how much heavenly power our children retained.”
“Of course ya wouldn’t. That’s my point! Love is selfish. It would be the child who would suffer.”
He was getting angrier by the moment. Everything I said only added fuel to his fire. I had to get him out of the house. “Thank you for delivering the news about Guy. I think it’s time for you to go.” I took a step towards the door.
“I guess I’m not makin’ myself clear,” he said, taking a menacing step towards me. I’m not leavin’ without the book.” His eyes turned deadly.
Chapter Nineteen
He stormed over to me, grasping both my hands. He began bending them backwards at the wrist. Hands aren’t made to bend that way. Pain crackled through my wrists and up my arms, bringing tears to my eyes. “Stop!” I pleaded. My knees buckled as the pressure on my wrists forced me down.
“Where are ya hiding The Book of Calls?” he demanded.
“I’ll never tell!” Despite the pain in my wrists I remained defiant. The book was my only chance of freeing Guy. I wasn’t going to give it up.
“Yer right handed, aren’t ya?”
I didn’t respond. I could tell from his tone he was considering something horrible.
“Okay,” he said. “I’m going to assume ya are right handed.” The pressure on my left wrist slowly increased. “I am going to break yer left hand. And if ya still won’t tell me, I’m going to break yer right.”
“Don’t do me any favors!” I squeaked. I was now on my left knee, contorting my body to lessen the pressure on my wrist. “Big man! Can’t even catch a demon, but you’re willing to beat up a helpless girl.” I could hear my wrist making crackling sounds, as tissue and tendons were stretched to their limit and about to snap.
“I’m doin’ what must be done.” There was something about his tone that led me to believe he wasn’t proud of his actions.
“Your mother must be so proud of you,” I squawked, zeroing in on his pride.
“Leave me mum out of this!” I don’t think he meant it to happen, but the pressure on both my wrists lessened.
“I love Guy, just as powerfully as your mother must have loved your father. You are going to have to kill me to get the book.” My words were filled with defiance, and pain, and love. He looked down on me, his eyes raging. Then, all of a sudden, he released me.
“Yer a fool for love,” he said. Tears of shame were now flooding into his eyes.
“Yes, I am,” I replied as I began massaging my left wrist.
He considered me for a moment that felt like an eternity. The entire time he was looking at me I could see the fury draining out of him. “So be it,” he said softly. And with those words he clomped over to the front door and left.
#
I raced over and locked the door behind him. I leaned heavily against it. My breaths were coming in ragged bursts as I realized how lucky I was. He had been angry enough to carry out his threat of breaking both my hands. I wondered if I would have eventually crumbled under the pain and given him the book.
After a few minutes, I noticed my left wrist was throbbing. The right didn’t feel too good either, but the left was in some serious pain. I went into the kitchen and filled a baggie with ice cubes. I strapped the baggie to my wrist with an old Ace bandage. The ice cubes offered a tiny bit of relief. At least it will slow the swelling, I thought.
I came back out to the entryway and opened the door to the grandfather clock, removing The Book of C
alls from its hiding place. Then I reclined on the sofa, where I picked up where I had left off, going through the spells.
By six p.m., I was beginning to have my doubts that I would ever find what I was looking for. The hope I had been filled with all day was fading as fast as the setting sun. Soon my mother would be home, and I couldn’t risk going through the book while she was around. Hours would be lost. I consoled myself with the fact I still had six hours to find the right call. Plenty of time. Right.
I went into the kitchen and started dinner.
When Suze got home from work, she was in a good mood. The big show they had coming up had gotten a write-up in the papers. The gallery was getting lots of good press.
I was glad she was in such high spirits. It kept her from asking to see the schoolwork I supposedly worked on all day. And obviously, I wasn’t in the mood for talking.
My left wrist continued to throb, yet I decided against keeping the ice pack on it. No sense in arousing any suspicion in her.
At seven-thirty, I told her I wanted to do some work on my English paper.
“Wow. You’re really knuckling down,” she said with a smile.
“I want to make sure I don’t fall behind, Mom.”
“Glad to hear it.” Her tone shifted. “Did you happen to start the list?”
My blood ran cold. “No,” I said, a hint of anger in my voice.
“It’s okay. I understand.” I looked into her eyes and they seemed sympathetic, like maybe she did understand.
“Thanks,” I said, and went upstairs.
I’d left The Book of Calls under my pillow, knowing I couldn’t retrieve it from my hiding place with her around.
When I entered my room, I was stunned to find the angel, Rocky, seated on the edge of my bed, looking smug in an expensive blue dress that hit her mid-thigh, highlighting her gorgeous legs. Her beauty angered me.
“It’s as if I live in Grand Central Station!” I snapped, as I eased shut the door.