Broken Wings (An Angel Eyes Novel)

32

Jake

When he exits the tattoo parlor, Jake finds Canaan leaning against his car door, his face hanging with emotion.

“I’m sorry, Jake.”

“You heard, then? Doctor Doom.”

“I heard,” Canaan says.

“Do you think that’s why Olivia’s come to Stratus? For some sort of generational revenge?”

“I’m not certain Olivia knows why she came to Stratus. I expect only time will tell.”

“And you haven’t seen her or Marco?”

“No,” Canaan says. “But I’ll keep an eye out for them.”

“And the halo?”

Canaan shrugs. Even on the phone he was strangely serene about the missing halo.

“We have no control over that now,” he says. “You’re more like him than I, Jake. If you stumbled upon it like he did, would you let it out of your sight?”

Jake thinks back. “No,” he says. “The security it brought me—the peace—it’s addicting. But, Canaan, I may not be as much like Marco as you think. First off, he’s with Olivia, whose intentions are already suspect. And you didn’t see Marco when he touched it. He lost it, completely freaked out. The halo didn’t bring him peace. Not even a measure of it.”

“We don’t get to choose how others respond to God or His gifts; we can only pray they’ll be open. And, Jake, we may serve the Prince of Peace, but He is also a warrior.”

They’ve had this discussion before, and Jake rehearses a phrase he’s heard Canaan say many times. “War may end with peace, but it rarely starts there.”

“So we exercise faith, Jake. Faith that God has a plan and that His will is perfect.”

With a pang that has him looking away, Jake considers the missing engagement ring and can’t stop himself from wondering, Is God’s will always perfect? Always?

He doesn’t want to talk about that now. Not with Canaan, whose faith can’t be shaken. Jake tips his head to the sky, willing the tears to stay put.

There’s not a cloud in sight, hardly any wind. The sun bounces off hundreds of city windows, turning the urban setting into a trove of gemstones. But Jake needs to get back to Stratus. To Brielle.

“Are you staying?” he asks.

“For a while. There’s been some activity at Henry’s place. Not demonic, but I’d like to see what’s going on.”

Jake opens his driver’s side door and drops into his seat. He shifts, feeling something beneath him: his phone.

Canaan lowers his face to the window. “Drive safely,” he says. “I’ll call soon.”

But Jake’s ill. His hands shake, and he can’t quite focus on the message before him.

Canaan yanks the phone from his hands and reads.

And then, without discussion, he crouches next to the car, and Jake watches the Terrestrial swallow his guardian. A blink later and Jake is lifted from his seat and secured against Canaan’s chest. If he were to open his eyes, he’d see the city of Portland passing below them in a conglomeration of light and color, but his eyes are closed in prayer.

He utters nothingness, pained fears, desperate pleas, terrified gibberish.

Is today the day?

The day he loses Brielle?