by L. Penelope
“Mmm,” she says.
“Don’t you have the very best granddaughter in the world?” Desi teases.
“That I do. Now tell me how your studies are going.”
Desi launches into a tale about a professor in one of her classes who seems to have it out for her. Clara nods along at the story, hanging on every word.
“And when is your next show? I want to see your work in the gallery.”
“Oh, Gran.” Desi’s eyes lower. “My stuff probably won’t be chosen for the student gallery any time soon. It’s not really that great.”
“You’re talented, Desi-girl. Don’t let any stuck up professor convince you of anything else.”
This elicits a smile from Desi, which quickly turns into a frown when Clara begins wheezing. Her struggles for breath quickly become a raspy, dry cough, which racks her small frame and doesn’t abate for several minutes. Desi hops into action, pulling out tissues and pouring water, but there’s nothing she can really do until her grandmother’s coughs subside.
“Has the doctor checked out that cough?” Desi asks.
“Don’t you worry about that, sweetness. I’m an old woman, I can’t go running to a doctor for every cough and sniffle. You just worry about your studying and going out into the world to become a famous photographer.”
Desi’s smile is brittle. She turns on the television and locates a channel playing black-and-white movies from a bygone era. While the program engrosses them, I float around the room, stopping to peer at the photographs on the dresser. In one, a handsome man in an army uniform stands next to a pretty brunette. The last name on the uniform is ‘Pilgrim,’ the surname Lyrix chose for us when we came here. Seeing my son Micah for the first time in this image squeezes my heart.
Another photo shows Micah and the same woman, who must be his wife, with a young girl—Clara. She stares directly into the camera, unsmiling. An older Clara peers at me from yet another frame, with her own children next to her: a boy and a girl, both sullen, with dark eyes. There are also photos of Desiree as a child, snarling at the camera.
What happened to them? Was it just their angel blood and the powers it bestowed upon them that made their lives so difficult? Did Lyrix and I begin a family that was only doomed to fail?
When I look back, Clara appears to have dozed off. Desi raises the blanket around her, fussing over her grandmother, stroking her hair. Clara yawns. “Is it time for my medicine?”
Desi blinks and sits down stiffly in the chair next to the bed. “No, I don’t think so.”
“I need to take my medicine. You nurses never bring it to me at the right time.”
Pain cracks Desi’s face open. “Gran, it’s me. Desiree.”
Clara’s frown deepens and she becomes agitated. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Who’d you say you are again?”
Desi takes Clara’s hands in hers, but in an odd way, pressing their open palms together. “Gran, look at me. Look into my eyes.” The older woman complies and within seconds, her anxious gaze softens and her breathing deepens.
“Desi-girl. You came to see me. How are your studies going?”
Desi releases their hands and slumps back in her chair appearing weary. “Fine, everything is fine, Gran.”
“And when is your next show?”
Their conversation repeats, with Desi answering less enthusiastically than before. This must be the power that Lyrix spoke of—the manipulation of memory. Humanborn powers can be wild and unpredictable, but it certainly seems as though Desi did something to restore Clara’s memory, for a short while at least.
They chat a bit longer and Desi’s pose grows more relaxed, until another wheezing and coughing fit overtakes Clara. After she’s quieted, she squints up at Desi, tilting her head. “Nurse? I think I’d like some ice cream, if it isn’t too much trouble.”
Desi’s mouth quivers. She scrubs at the tears flowing down her cheeks.
“You know, you look something like my Felicia, only she’s not Colored.” Clara’s hand reaches out for Desi’s shaking one. “You’re a pretty thing, you know. My Felicia has the devil in her, but she’s a pretty little thing too. Always so moody, though. She’s got a bit of the family curse in her, that’s for sure.”
Desi nods, then stands. “I’ll go see if I can find some ice cream.”
She sniffs as she races from the room. In the hallway, she lets the tears flow freely. The back of her head bangs against the wall as she cries silently. Still invisible, I watch her suffer, struggling with my desire to help. Soothing has no effect, and this is definitely not the right time to reveal my presence.
She pushes off the wall and walks down the hall, peering into rooms. Suddenly, she ducks into one. I follow to find the bed empty and bare. Desi heads into the bathroom. She doesn’t close the door all the way, and I hover outside, trying to give her a modicum of privacy, until I see her legs spread out on the floor. I peek in, not wanting to startle her by making the door appear to open by itself, only to find her sitting, her back propped against the cabinet below the sink.
A bit of tinfoil rests in her hands. She picks up several pills and drops them in her mouth, swallowing them dry. Her head falls back against the cabinet, and her eyes flutter closed. My heart tears itself to pieces as she slides down into oblivion.
Chapter Twenty-Four
My thighs burn as I walk up Powell. The distinct hum of the cables constantly running under the street is my soundtrack. A bell rings behind me as a cable car approaches. A group of German tourists mills around on the corner. Half of them peer at the world through cameras attached to their eyes. A tiny woman wearing a microphone headset calls for everyone’s attention. The cameras veer towards the trolley.
“Only three lines remain of the twenty-three that were originally established in San Francisco. Around the turn of the century, electric streetcars began replacing the cable cars. But the massive earthquake of 1906 and the fires after it destroyed eighty percent of the city, including one hundred seventeen cable cars.”
A fanny-pack toting family gets off the car. The German tourists click away. I hop from foot to foot, waiting for the light to change, ignoring the rest of the tour guide’s spiel. Finally, the cross traffic stops. As I step around the group, a middle-aged man peering through his lens backs up, bumping in to me.
“Entschuldigen Sie,” I say, angling out of the way, apologizing though it was entirely his fault.
“Es tut mir sehr leid,” he says, his apology sincere. I go to step off the curb when a bicyclist speeds past, running his red light. I teeter where I stand, my entire body vibrating with a barely controlled mix of rage and pain. My hands fist at my sides. Tears sting my eyes. The tour guide drones on and on, talking about the death and destruction that engulfed the city one hundred years ago. I can’t escape her voice, but I’m locked in place by the concern from the tourist. He peers at me, seeing my distress, though I don’t meet his eyes.
“What is wrong? Are you all right?” he asks.
I want to say that I’m fine, casually reassuring the stranger that he has no cause for worry, but I can’t speak the lie. Instead, I take a deep breath and unfurl my fingers one by one.
“Thank you so much for your concern,” I tell him in German.
“Are you German? Your accent is perfect.” He squints at me—my features are far more at home here in Chinatown than in Bavaria. Others from his group now stare at me. I could tell him that I speak all languages and dialects perfectly with no accent, but I just want to get away. I thank him again and charm him to refocus his attention back on the tour guide.
He turns away, and I continue towards the coffee shop with my head in a fog. I stand outside for a few minutes, forcing the pain away, settling the images which the tour guide’s words brought back. Those days after the earthquake were horrifying. I did what I could, helped whom I could, healed and soothed and charmed until I was raw. And then I was called to Euphoria and could do no more.
There’s noth
ing my guilt will change now. The past is gone. The city has been rebuilt. Other earthquakes and disasters have battered the people, and they go on, moving forward. The only thing I can change now is Wren’s fate. Once I’ve collected myself, I enter the cafe. I wait near the window until I see a familiar face heading down the sidewalk towards the front doors, then I get in line.
A few moments later, a soft voice comes from behind me. “Hi. It’s Lyrix, right?” I turn around and affect a surprised expression.
“Jessye?” She nods and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. Her shoulders slouch, as if she’s trying to shrink into herself. I give her my most brilliant smile and weave a thread of soothing energy toward her, to put her at ease. I can’t use any more power on her though, or this crazy scheme will never work.
We stand at the counter waiting for our drinks. I’ve watched Desi accompany Jessye here on many occasions, so finding my granddaughter’s roommate wasn’t difficult.
“Are you staying? Do you want to grab a table?” I ask. She’s hesitant, scanning the room shyly, but eventually nods.
We sit in the corner. I take the chair with my back to the shop so that she can have a view of everything. This helps her feel more comfortable. I’ve watched Desi since the day she was born and so I’ve seen quite a lot of Jessye as well. I don’t know the cause of her near-constant agitation. Perhaps she’s just one of those people who isn’t comfortable in her own skin. One of the reasons I think the friendship between her and Desi works is because they’re so opposite. Where Desi is brash and confident, Jessye is quiet and kind. She does her best to provide a safe place for Desi to land. Her nurturing nature is why I’m here.
We chat a bit about the weather, the coffee, the music playing in the shop. We ignore the elephant in the room, the circumstances leading to the first time we met—I’m not prepared to talk about Desi right now, and I sense she isn’t either.
“Do you remember my friend Wren?”
Her eyes widen slowly and a slow blush reddens her freckled cheeks. “Yes.”
“What do you think of him?”
She freezes and her gaze darts away, then back to me. “Isn’t he…? I mean, aren’t you two together?”
I’m stymied for a moment since I’m not sure what the truth is. Are we together? We cannot be. I have no soul to share with him. I cannot give him what he needs. Apparently, that is enough truth to allow the next words to escape my lips. “No. We’re just very good friends. But he did ask about you.” Not in the way I’m implying, but not a lie. He wanted to know more about Desi’s protector, as he called her.
She dips her head. It’s invasive and not at all fair, but I take that moment to sink into her thoughts. Doubt, confusion, wonder, and hope swirl in her brain. Her insecurities batter at her, but there is no question that she would like to believe Wren is interested. I exit her mind quickly, unprepared for the stabbing blade of jealousy ripping through me.
Jessye is the perfect candidate. She’s sweet and kind, and if I set them up properly, and he gives her some encouragement, there is a good chance she will bind with Wren. It would cause her no harm and save him from a bleak eternity.
Now that I’ve planted the seed with her, all I need to do is work on Wren to accept her. That, I fear, will be the much greater challenge.
Chapter Twenty-Five
“Absolutely not.” His voice is like iron. He shakes his head back and forth so hard, I hear his neck crack. We stand in the vacant apartment directly below Desi and Jessye’s, where we’ve decided to stay for the rest of my time here.
“Just think about it.” My voice wavers with the plea.
“No. That girl is fragile. Even if she does take pity on me, a bond wouldn’t be fair to her.”
I clench my jaw at his stubbornness. “It wouldn’t take anything away from her future happiness. If you’re worried about her heart, she could still fall in love with another.”
“But we would be linked throughout the rest of her lifetimes. That is a lot of responsibility. She will likely remember me in the next life—I’ll certainly remember her. My memories will be restored if I live again.” His eyes soften. “I don’t want to use her.”
Humans who fall in love deeply enough to link their souls together find one another again and again throughout their lifetimes, but those angelborn and humans who actually share a soul are bonded even more closely. They will share memories of former lives and sometimes an even more profound connection since angelborn powers can seep through the bond. It is a lot to ask of Jessye—perhaps too much—but what other choice is there?
I reach out to stroke his hand. My head tells me I need to stay back, but forcing myself away from him is so hard. I clamp down on the desire that washes over me from contact with him. “Do you have a better plan?”
He turns away from me to face the window. We’re on the street level and thin, gauzy curtains hide us from view. He pushes one to the side to watch the passersby. “Let me worry about that after you’re…gone. For now, we need to focus on Desi and Clara.”
I hang my head and take a deep breath.
“How long has she been taking drugs?” he asks.
“She started smoking marijuana at thirteen. By the end of high school she’d started trying harder drugs. But it’s gotten worse in the past few months as Clara has deteriorated.”
I recall the pain of those lured by the promise of human vices from when we were here before. Wren and I lived on the fringes of “respectable” society. Opium, heroin, cocaine, liquor—along with prostitution, all were easily found on the very street on which we lived. I observed its damage then, and have watched Desi’s struggles in this time.
Wren comes to sit next to me on the stained parquet flooring. When he reaches for me, I pull away. I won’t have the strength to let him go if he continues to touch me. His expression gives away the hurt my rejection causes, but I close my eyes against his pain, ignoring the pangs flowing down the bond.
“How can we help her?” he asks.
“I wish I knew. She’s twenty years old, she makes her own decisions. This is how she’s chosen to run her life.” Our powers have no effect on her emotions, and even if they did, it would only be temporary. Her pain runs much deeper than a quick soothing could ease.
“Why is she like this? I need to understand.”
I sigh as my shoulders slump. “Her mother suffered a great deal. Felicia saw things, heard things. She would speak of visions of other worlds and other realms. She could not manage her powers or hide them very well. When she took her life, it was almost a blessing.” Pain from the bond rages between us. This time, when he tries to take my hand, I don’t resist.
“I’m sorry you had to watch all that. I know it must have killed you not to be able to help.”
I shrug. “It was what I deserved. I wanted to know what it was like to give life—this is the consequence. This is why the angelborn and humanborn are so looked down on.” I stop short, realizing what I’ve said. Wren looks as if I’d slapped him in the face. “You know I didn’t mean…”
He drops my hand and stares at the floor. My words are coming out wrong. I need to touch him, feel his arms around me, but I don’t have that right anymore. I have to learn to be without him again in order to save him.
My fingers curl into fists and we sit that way, side by side, close but far away, for a long time.
Chapter Twenty-Six
I spend the next few days following Desi. I’ve seen her in her classes, spending time in her apartment with Jessye, and visiting Clara several times a week. Each time she restores Clara's memories it seems to take something out of her, both physically and emotionally. The pills she takes appear to calm her, but the unnatural tranquility is marred with episodes of rage and self-destruction. Alcohol does not mix well with the drugs, though she drinks to excess at every opportunity. Each day she spirals just a little bit more out of control.
Today she rides her bike through the lanes of traffic with reckless abandon. She
flips off drivers who honk at her and weaves around cars, laughing the whole time. I fly invisibly behind her, ready at a moment’s notice to step in and give aid, but, thankfully, she narrowly avoids calamity.
Her destination is Delores Park. Clusters of mothers with children pepper the grass. Laughter bubbles from all around as people enjoy the beautiful late-summer day. A cool breeze whips through the trees as Desi settles onto the ground, pulling her camera out of its bag. I hover close-by, watching her adjust the lens, when a man appears next to her. He’s dressed impeccably in a dark tailored suit. I didn’t notice his arrival and assume he’s human until he speaks.
“Wren, may I have a word?”
Desi looks up sharply, her eyes squinting. She doesn’t appear to see him, but obviously can hear him. So as not to alarm her further with the presence of this newcomer, I rise and lead him to a nearby rooftop. He floats up beside me and lands with grace.
Eerily perceptive blue eyes bore into me. His dirty-blond hair curls roguishly, and laugh lines mark him as a little older in appearance than my human form.
“Who are you?”
“I am Helix.” His eyes glitter as they appraise me.
“Are you here to turn me in?” I force the words out through the tightness in my throat.
He tilts his head to the side—the gesture is somehow predatory. “No, I am not here to ‘turn you in’.”
“Then what do you want?”
Though he is decidedly angelic, he wears human well. There is a certain naturalness to him that others lack when taking human form. He paces to the edge of the roof and looks at the park below. His mannerisms are smooth and graceful, but all the same, they set me on edge.