Broken Wings (An Angel Eyes Novel)

31

Brielle

Redial.

Pick up, pick up, pick up.

Voice mail.

Again.

“So he’s invisible? This demon?”

“Kind of, yes,” I say. “Invisible to you.”

She picks at her eyelashes. I redial again. “Why can you see him, Elle?”

I don’t have time to consider the consequences of telling her. I don’t even have time to weigh my options. It’s not ideal, not as I imagined it would be: sipping coffee and eating cookies, poring over Scripture. But what about my life is ideal these days?

I’ll answer her questions. Truthfully. There’s no other way to explain this morning anyway. No other way to explain my crazy response to Damien and Helene.

“The halo. It’s not just a halo in the figurative sense. It’s an actual, literal halo. An angel’s halo.”

Her jaw drops open, making a sucking, popping sound, but she doesn’t question my claim.

“Where is it?” she asks, searching my wrists.

“Marco has it,” I say. The phone at my ear rings again and again.

“Marco’s an—”

“No, no, no. It was in Jake’s bag—the halo—and Marco grabbed the wrong bag when he left,” I say quickly. “Pick up!”

“Marco left?”

“Pick up!”

But Jake doesn’t pick up. I jam my finger on End and hand the phone back to Kaylee.

“I might kill that boyfriend of yours,” she says.

“Not if I kill him first.”

I search the sky, but there’s nothing to see. Not even a cloud.

“So he flies, then,” Kaylee says, shooting darting glances upward.

“Yeah,” I say. “Yeah. Big black wings and all.”

“So, if there are demons . . .” Her voice has gotten all gulpy.

“Then there are also angels,” I say, placing my hands on her shoulders. “Good guys.”

“Jake?”

I shake my head. “Canaan.”

“Oh.” She’s computing. I see it—her brain working, her eyes twitching as this new information slides into place.

“So Jake, then. He’s the son of an angel?”

I shake my head. “Jake’s parents abandoned him when he was young. Canaan raised him.”

More info. More computing.

“You have way too many secrets. Okay, then what about this demon-guy? What does he want?”

“That’s a very, very good question.”

“You don’t know?” Shrill. Gulpy.

“Well, the idea of the Palatine being here freaked him out.”

“Have we decided what the Palatine is?”

“No,” I say, “but just before Damien—”

“Damien? That’s his name? The demon’s name is Damien? You’re kidding, right?”

“Not kidding. Before he asked me about the Palatine, Helene fell through my roof and told me that the Palatine are coming.”

“Helene too?”

“Yes.”

“And she fell through your roof?” Kaylee stumbles back a step and slides down the door of her Honda. Her Tazmanian Devil slippers kick up dust as they slip out from under her, and she plops down in the gravel. I squat beside her.

“She’ll be okay. She heals.”

“She heals?”

“Look,” I say, tugging on the brim of her hat. “I know this isn’t a good time to dump more info on you, but you need to know something, okay? Damien—this demon—he was the author of the whole warehouse thing. It wasn’t that Juan guy or Eddie.”

Her face puckers at my reference to Eddie. Dimples. The guy who kidnapped her last December; he tied her up and hauled her to Damien’s warehouse intending to sell her. I hate bringing him up, but she wanted the truth and I don’t have time for a soft version of it.

“They were just a couple goons he worked with. Damien is the real nightmare.”

She just stares. I hope—hope—that she’s getting this. That she’s understanding, because I have no idea where Damien is or whether he’s coming back, and I want her to be prepared.

“He has the ability to cloak people, Kay. Make us invisible like him. He can pick us up—fly us around—do bad things to us, but you need to know this. Are you listening? Because if you don’t hear anything else I’m telling you, you need to hear this: there are more fighting for us than there are fighting against us.”

I give it a second to sink in, but she just blinks back at me.

“Listen, I’m going to do my best to talk to him. To understand what he wants and why he’s here.”

“Why is he here?” And now tears pour down her face. They’re pink, her mascara running, dripping from her chin onto her pajamas.

“He shouldn’t be. He messed up big at the warehouse, and my understanding is that his punishment should have lasted longer than this.”

Her eyes widen.

“We’ll talk, okay?” I tell her. “Later. All about demon punishment and . . . stuff. But promise me you won’t freak out. Promise me you’ll stay calm if he comes back.”

“If he’s invisible, how will I know?”

“If I can see him, I’ll tell you.”

“If?”

“Without the halo my sight is . . . inconsistent. I don’t know why. You don’t have Canaan’s number, do you?”

She shakes her head. It was a long shot anyway.

“I have Helene’s.”

I think of Helene’s mangled body. I think of her disappearing from sight. She needs time to heal, but how long will that take? I think back to the warehouse. To the extent of her wounds there.

“Okay,” I say. “Here’s the plan. You keep calling. Jake and Helene. Just call until one of them answers. Leave a message on their voice mail too. And text your heart out, Kay.”

She clenches her phone to her chest. “I can do that.”

I laugh. It’s too loud, out of place here with a demon circling, but I do it anyway.

“Yes, I believe you can.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to pray.”

Her face is already pale, but now it looks all green and sickly.

“That’s it. That’s all? I’m going to text and you’re going to pray?”

I nod, her fear grabbing hold of me as well.

“No offense, Elle, but that’s a crappy plan.”

She may be right.

“Yeah, but it’s all I’ve got right now,” I say, pulling her to her feet. “You with me?”

“Okay,” she says. “I’m in, but what are we going to tell your dad?”

I twist around, and there, walking up the road back toward the house, is Dad.

“Holy heck. What is he doing back here?”

“I don’t know, but he doesn’t look happy to see you outside. You’re supposed to be in bed, remember? We’re going to have to tell him something.”

“Sitting Dad down and telling him we had a little visit from a demon this morning might not be the best way to handle this.”

“It’s what you did with me.”

“Yeah, well, you’re not as crazy as my dad. Or as hungover.”

“That’s saying something at least.”

Dad crunches through the gravel toward us, his ice chest swinging against his leg, his eyes squinting in the morning light. I hold my arms out, questioning.

“Truck broke down,” he says.

Of course it did.

“They’re towing it to the Auto Body.”

“So, no work for you today,” I say, glancing at the sky once more.

“I’m expecting an angry call from Cliff anytime now. What are you girls doing out here? Thought you were going back to bed, Elle.”

“I was. I am. Kaylee needed something from her car.”

“My phone,” she says. “Forgot it out here.”

“And you needed an escort?”

“You know girls,” she says. “Gotta do it all together. In fact, I think, yup, I have to pee. You wanna come, Elle?”

“Yes!” I say. “The bathroom. Yes.”

Dad narrows his eyes at us, but we’re around her car in a flash. We run up the porch stairs and back inside, through the kitchen and into the bathroom. I slam the door, and she falls onto the closed toilet.

“Okay, what now?”

I stare at my reflection in the mirror. Holy golden haloes, Batman. I’m hideous.

“You start dialing,” I say. “I’m going to brush my teeth and pray at the same time.”

“Does that work?”

“Sure. Why not?”

“You don’t, like, need to be on your knees or holding beads or something?”

“I’ll be talking to an invisible God,” I tell her. “He’s all right with me brushing up while I do it.”

I pull my toothpaste from the drawer. “But, Kay?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m new at this whole praying thing, so I’m going to do it silent-like, okay? In my head.”

“Whatever sharpens your pencil, girl. I’m pretending this is all in your head.”