“What?” I asked, fear taking hold. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he said, giving me a tight squeeze before circling the sofa to Uriel’s side. “All is well, actually. I believe Jude will be all right. When he awakens.”
Uriel had his hands on his thighs as he knelt on the floor, his head bowed, shoulders rising and falling with the deep breaths he sucked into his lungs. The arch of his wings drooped, the edges sagging.
“Uriel? Are you okay?”
I’d never seen the mighty angel appear so exhausted, so weak. Finally, he lifted his head. I hitched in a breath at the sight of the intense brilliance of his crystal-blue eyes, sparking with a fire all their own.
“Your eyes.”
“A side effect of using the fire of making,” said George.
Uriel lifted to his feet. Without a word, he planted his hand on Jude’s shoulder and sifted out with him.
“No! Where’d they go? Where’d he take him?” My pulse pounded in utter terror to have Jude taken from me again, even by someone I knew.
“In here,” said Uriel, walking out of the bedroom to rejoin us. “I wasn’t about to carry him after I spent all that energy.”
“He’s okay, then. How long will he be out?”
“Hard to say. That’ll be up to him, I’m afraid. Let him rest. Hopefully, when he wakes, he’ll have more of his memory. It still may come back in stages, but he didn’t fear us. He knew us right away, though he wasn’t quite sure how. His trust was a good sign.”
I walked them to the door. George gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. “Alert us when he wakes again.”
“I will. And George?”
“Yes?”
“How’s Dommiel doing?”
His brow bunched into a frown. “Quite well. He’ll recover.”
“Thank you. I know it’s not exactly protocol to help a demon, but I appreciate it.”
“Of course.”
“And”—I bit my lip in hesitation—“how is Kat?”
When I’d left her at his flat, she was standing on the balcony, staring at the Thames with a look so distant and full of regret, I’d slipped away with a sad heart. There was nothing I could say to take away what Damas had done to her. And though it had happened long ago, the scars had never healed.
Grim-faced, George said, “She’s fine…now. But we will have to have a conversation about the repercussions of your interaction with Damas.”
To clarify, my mistake of accepting the power to sift from a demon might bring me to harm in some way we hadn’t yet determined. I’d been told long ago that only angels held and could share the power to sift. Of course, I kept forgetting that high demons were once angels—the fallen. If it wasn’t so grave a mistake, I’d laugh at my stupidity.
“Not now,” I said to George. “Please.” I could handle only so much anxiety in one day.
“Not now,” he said with a smile, giving my shoulder a squeeze before slipping out into the cold night.
The archangel stepped forward, weariness in his slumping shoulders and drooping head. He appeared so frail and brittle. Jude had once told me that angels rarely shared their power because it depleted their own strength. I wasn’t exactly sure what had transpired in this rekindling of the fire within Jude, but it held the essence of Uriel. The event had cost him on some level.
“Uriel?” I stopped him as he passed through the doorway. “Why do your eyes change color? I thought they were green the first time we met in Jackson Square. But they change to all manner of shades of blue too.”
He chuckled. “When my mood changes, so do my eyes.”
“Wow. Cool, but…unusual.”
“Windows to the soul, Vessel.” He looked out at the night, the moon smudged behind a wispy sweep of clouds. “Angels are more akin to the spiritual realm than the human. It shows in such ways.” He turned to face me, his smile slipping to a grave expression, all levity drained from him. “You’ve done a fine job. With Jude.”
“Have I? He still has no clue who I am.” I tried to keep the bitterness from my words, but it was impossible.
Uriel cupped my cheek. The tactile sensation of his hand on my skin sent my VS into orbit, energy pulsing from him to me at an alarming speed.
“Do not doubt his love for you, Genevieve.” His deep voice had dropped to a sonorous melody, the hypnotic tones of an angel. “He will remember. And he owes everything—his body, his heart, his soul—entirely to your courage and faith.”
“Not entirely,” I whispered. “I couldn’t restore his power as you did.”
“I could never have done so had you not gone into the pit of hell and dragged him out again. Never forget that, Vessel of Light. You braved the darkest reaches of the world with faith and hope that could buoy a legion of sinking ships. You could’ve certainly doomed yourself—and the precious one you carry—to bring him back again.” A tear slid down my cheek. Uriel brushed it away with his thumb, still holding his palm against my skin. “It is the kind of love that moves mountains. The kind that wages war against evil…and wins.”
As he slipped back into the night, crunching across the snow and crossing the wards to sift away with George, the heavy boulder I’d been carrying from the moment Lethe stole my love from me chipped away into dust, until finally I could breathe again. Hope. Faith. Yes, I’d clasped them and held on tight, never allowing despair to convince me Jude was lost for good. Once I was past the grief, I needed these two companions to keep me going. And they’d not let me down. Not then. Not now. Not ever.
Chapter Nineteen
He didn’t wake the next morning, nor did he have any more nightmares. Silent. Still. Nothing. I left Mira at his bedside and sifted into Brodick to pick up dinner. I wanted food that I didn’t have to cook. Funny the little things you miss when secluded on an isolated island. A McDonald’s quarter pounder with cheese and salty fries would’ve been perfect right about now, but I refused to go anywhere too public, where I might be discovered.
I stepped into The Brodick Bar and Brasserie. Jude and I had dined here a few weeks ago, before my world had gone to shit. Their food was delicious. The sound of Christmas music greeted me. A string of lights lined the bar. In the corner of the room sat a short, fat Christmas tree, its multicolored lights blinking cheerily. The place was near empty but for a little old man hunched over the bar with his brown wool coat and flat cap still on. He was here the last time I’d been here, sitting on the same corner stool.
I scanned the chalkboard menu, finding what I wanted right away.
“Are you okay there?”
It was the rosy-cheeked waitress with strawberry-blonde hair who’d waited on us last time. She peered over my shoulder before settling a disappointed smile on me. She was looking for Jude. He’d made quite the impression on her last time, apparently. He’d done nothing more than smile and place our orders, but Jude had that effect on women. The kind of effect that sent their fantasies into overdrive.
“Table for one, or are you expecting someone else?” she asked.
“I’d like to order something to go, please.”
“Sure, then. What will you have?”
“The grilled sirloin steak with parsley butter and chips. Oh, and a piece of the chocolate torte, please.”
“How’d you like your steak?”
“Medium rare.”
I craved red meat and chocolate. My stomach growled just thinking about it.
“It won’t be long. You can have a seat in the bar while you wait.”
“Thank you.”
Hands tucked in my jacket pockets, I ambled into the bar and sat on a stool, my only company the old gentleman two stools down, who nursed a pint of dark beer.
“What can I get you?” asked the bartender, a rough-looking guy with kind eyes.
“Um, just a cup of coffee please. Waiting on takeout.”
With a nod, he disappeared for two minutes and returned with the coffee, placing it on the bar along with packets of sugar and a tiny jug
of milk. “Here you are.”
“Thank you.”
He went back to stacking the rack of clean bar glasses. I stirred the milk and sugar in the coffee, then took a sip. Not the same as café au lait but still nice and warm.
“You closing up early?” I asked.
“We sure are. For Christmas and all.”
Christmas? I frowned and pulled out the phone I’d tucked in my jacket before leaving the cottage. Wow. It was December 25th, and it had never dawned on me. I had two missed calls. I listened to the messages from Mindy and Dad, wishing me a merry Christmas. How had it never even dawned on me what day it was?
A year ago, I would’ve been curled up by our big tree in the living room, listening to Bing Crosby with Dad and making s’mores by the fire—carefree, happy and oblivious to the angel/demon world. That was also before Jude—the love of my life who didn’t even know me anymore. I shook my head at my sad state.
“Not keeping Christmas with your family?” asked the old guy next to me with a thick Scottish accent.
Shocked out of my self-pity, I glanced over with a small smile. “Afraid not.”
“You’re American. Traveling the world on your own, are you?”
“Yeah. Sort of.”
“A bit young to be doing such a thing, in my opinion.”
If he only knew the places I’d traveled already. Sure, I was a bit young. But I’d grown decades in the past few months. My happy little life of college and clubbing had come to an abrupt halt on my twentieth birthday. With the Great War pressing ever closer, I’d been slapped into a reality that required mature focus and a very adult outlook.
“I suppose I am,” I agreed.
“Don’t look happy about it.”
Was I that transparent? Even to a stranger? Probably.
“Just a little homesick, I guess.”
“Aye. I’d say it’s more than that.”
He angled his body to get a better look at me, then reached out his hand for a shake. I took it in mine—well-worn but strong.
“My name’s Murdoch.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Genevieve.”
“Genevieve. Lovely name for a lovely girl. And a lonely girl, I’d say.”
I smiled at the way girl was drawn out with rolling r’s like “gurrel”.
“Yes, I suppose I am. I’m missing someone. Terribly.”
“Aye. Your man, I’d bet.”
“Are you a psychic or something?”
He chuckled. “No. Just old. I’ve seen enough heartbroken women to know what one looks like.”
“Break a few hearts yourself?” I asked, teasing.
“I did. Quite a few. In my time,” he said with a wink, draining the last of his beer. He knocked his knuckles on the bar. “One more, Hamish. For the road.”
The bartender turned from his cleaning and nodded.
“I hope you’re not driving,” I said, suddenly worried about the old guy. “The weather seems to be getting worse.” And no telling how many beers he’d had.
The bartender set another pint glass in front of him. “Don’t worry about him, miss. He lives about a mile away. Always walks.”
“Convenient too,” said Murdoch. “The wife can’t complain when I get my exercise. Two miles a day for an old man’s good for the lungs and heart.”
He took a deep gulp. Hamish turned back to his duties, disappearing into the kitchen.
“Won’t your wife be wanting you home? On Christmas?”
“Oh aye. She’ll be nipping my head by the time I make my way home. But that’s nothing new. The family comes tomorrow from the mainland, and I’d rather be out of her way with the cleaning and all.”
I finished my coffee and pushed the cup away. I was happy for him, imagining him celebrating with his family on Christmas, the normal joys of life.
“There goes that sad look again. You’re too young, Genevieve, for such distress. Has this man broken your heart for good? Or is he smart enough to return to ye?”
My stomach flip-flopped at his question. “I’m hoping he’ll return.”
“I’m sure you don’t want advice from an old man, but I’d like to give it to ye all the same.”
“I’d like to hear it.”
For the majority of the conversation, he’d stared ahead or at his ale, glancing at me here and there. Now, he swiveled on his stool to face me properly.
“There are few things in this world that truly make us content. There’s a difference between happy and content, did ya know?”
I shook my head, having never given the idea much thought.
“Happy is what you are when you buy yourself a new hat, when you look on something grand for the first time, when a lad surprises his girl with roses. But content is different entirely. A content person feels that all is right with the world even when tragedy strikes, even when loss weighs the spirit down. They’re still at ease within themselves, no matter what calamity breaks their heart. Do you see?”
I did. I nodded, though I wasn’t quite sure where all this was going.
He gulped down two swallows of beer. “Just so, a person can be depressed or sad. The depressed person feels the blow of some misfortune—loss of a job, a pet dies, a car accident. With time, depression goes away. But the sad one…” He shakes his head, leveling his gaze on me. “The sad one allows misfortune to darken the spirit, to smother any hope left inside. The sad one doesn’t live long.”
“What do you mean? You can’t die from sadness.”
“Even if the body’s breathin’, that don’t mean you’re livin’, lass.”
He swallowed the last of his beer and stood back from the bar, tossing a ten-pound note on the bar. “Good night, Hamish,” he said. The bartender waved with his back to us, still tending to closing duties.
“Night, Murdoch.”
“And good night to ye, Genevieve. Shake that sadness off, lass. Every day is precious.” He tipped his flat cap to me and ambled out into the evening.
When I returned to the cottage, I settled before the fire with my steak dinner and chocolate torte. Jude lay on his back, his head tilted to the side in peaceful repose. Mira hopped off the bedpost to the arm of my chair.
“I know. I’m going to share with you.”
I cut a few pieces of the pinkest part and set it on the hearthstone. She chirped brightly and set to gobbling her meal. I pondered Murdoch’s words of wisdom. The snow fell softly outside the window. The firelight illumined the room with a soft glow.
With my plate balanced on my lap, I pulled my phone from my pocket and scrolled through my music, finding an old playlist I’d made for Dad and me, then pressed Play.
Bing Crosby crooned “Silent Night” as I forked the first tender bite into my mouth. I was warm. I was safe. The man I loved was warm and safe with me. Murdoch was right. Every day was precious. Even with an apocalypse closing in on me, I believed this to the heart.
Mira finished her meal and peered up at me, orange eyes bright and pleading. I placed a few more bites in front of her. She chirped again, a sound of thanksgiving.
I laid my hand over my belly and whispered, “Merry Christmas,” to all three of my loved ones in the room.
Chapter Twenty
Close to noon a few days later and after eating a late breakfast of homemade biscuits, sausage and eggs—as my appetite increased daily—I spent the rest of the afternoon going through routines with my katana, watching Mira soar gracefully in the clouds over the sea, and finishing my romance novel. I did not read it aloud. I mooned over the super-cheesy happily-ever-after ending, dreaming of my own. If only life could be more like books.
I glanced at Jude on the bed, flat on his back, before finally deciding to take a long, hot shower. The steaming water streamed over my back while I mulled over what Kat had texted me today about violent protests breaking out in all parts of the US. Tension was rising, just as the demons had wanted. War was drawing closer. What she hadn’t mentioned was our encounter with Damas. And I sure as
hell wasn’t going to bring it up. The entire experience, and the revelation of my horrific mistake in ever trusting him, had me on edge every time I thought of it. The alternative was to ignore the issue as long as possible, which I planned to do.
I was scrubbing my shoulder with the shower scrunchie I’d brought from my own apartment—one of the many amenities I’d stockpiled before I’d gone after Jude—when a whoosh of cold air sucked the steam into a whirl over the shower rack. Someone had opened the door.
Through the transparent curtain, I could tell Jude stood there in the bathroom, facing me. The scrunchie fell from my hand as I whipped the curtain back with a jerk, just enough for my head. My heart slammed in my chest. His eyes. Sparking fiery gold with an unnatural luster, no darkness whatsoever, they held a myriad of emotions all at once—desperation, fear, adoration, longing and something so deep, my pulse tripped and fluttered. His bare chest heaved like a man who’d run the most desperate race of his life.
“Genevieve.”
He said my name.
I froze, my head and shoulders poking out of the shower, steam drifting from the opening. “You…you know me?”
He took the two long strides needed to cross the bathroom, yanked the curtain aside and pulled me into his arms.
“You know me?” I asked again in disbelief.
His voice grated with heartbreak and need. “My love, my heart, my wife.” His lips brushed my ear. “I know you. Yes, I know you.”
I sobbed as I linked my arms around his neck and pulled him closer. “Jude.” I could manage nothing else.
He pulled back and stared at me, raking greedy eyes over every line before he lowered and sealed his mouth to mine, pouring all the loss and loneliness and love into a searing kiss. His tongue stroked deep, a groan rumbled in his chest and throat, his hands slid over my wet skin, caressing the curve of my waist, rounding over my hips. He kissed a trail over every inch of my face—cheeks, nose, brow, back to lips. The water streaming from the showerhead washed away my tears as quickly as they fell.
I said his name over and over, a yearning plea for more, more, everything. Our jubilant reunion transformed from intense joy to intense longing as soon as I skated my lips across his throat and bit down, his name leaving my lips in breathy supplication.
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