Ignoring this, I moved on to my next pressing question. “How did you guys find me after Belial kidnapped me?”
“That’s a bit more complicated. When you fell out of consciousness, you entered a state that can be tracked. Because you’re a Seer, your mind sends out certain kinds of energy that we angels can feel, and so we followed it to where you were.”
I considered his words. “Maybe that’s how Belial was able to find me in the first place. The first time I saw him was in a dream. I wish I had remembered it earlier.”
“Well, at least you know now.”
“Can I ask you something else about him?”
“If you must.”
“Why are his eyes like that? Like a snake’s? I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
“It’s the mark of an archdemon. There are only five of them, if you recall—Belial, Mulciber, Moloch, Mammon, and Beelzebub. They consider themselves to be the Princes of Hell, as they were Satan’s most loyal followers before the Fall. Only Seers and angels can see the mark. To the average person, his eyes look normal.”
Feeling sufficiently full from the chili I’d devoured, I reached out to place it on the nightstand, only to wince as another wave of pain spread through my upper torso. Michael stopped me in mid-motion, putting the bowl down for me. My lack of mobility annoyed me to no end.
“So what do you suppose we’re gonna do for the next ten days that I’m stuck in this bed?”
“I thought you’d ask me that,” he replied, reaching for the floor by the foot of the bed. He held up a plastic bag and dropped it next to me on the bedspread. The thing was nearly bursting with books of all sizes.
I lifted an eyebrow at him. “You sure know how to thrill a girl.”
Michael rolled his eyes. “It’s more enriching than T.V. Besides, there’s some good stuff in here that you might find…therapeutic.”
He glanced at the closed drawer of my nightstand, frowning a little. I couldn’t blame him. My alcohol dependence was unhealthy and I knew it, but so far I hadn’t found a better way to cope with the nightmares. Couldn’t afford the therapy, and the very thought of Alcoholics Anonymous intimidated me.
To distract myself from this notion, I picked up a thin green book with a familiar title, reciting the first stanza of “Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night” from memory.
“A Dylan Thomas fan, I see,” Michael said with a grin. “Maybe you’re not such a heathen after all.” I fought the urge to make a face at him and pointed to the bookcase on the left side of my bed that was piled high with books: poetry, classic literature, contemporary novels, and pretty much anything I’d been able to get my hands on.
Before he could respond in an undoubtedly smartass way, I spoke. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? You are an up-and-coming rock star, remember?”
I paused, considering my words. “Wait, are you still going to live the way you did when you thought you were human?”
“I thought it over and decided it would be the easiest way to coexist here on Earth. Hiding in plain sight, I suppose.”
He grabbed the remote and shut off the television before scooping the book out of my hands, which confused me.
“Relax. I’ll read it for you. I’ve been told I have a soothing voice.”
“Somebody lied to you.”
Michael sighed. “I’m beginning to regret our arrangement already.”
“Join the club. We have milk and cookies, and go on cookouts every Friday.”
“Jordan?”
“Yes?”
“Hush.”
After Michael read through most of Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass, I fell asleep. The nightmares came, but I only woke up once during the night. Michael had slipped out of the apartment by then. It was harder to fall asleep the second time, but I managed.
I woke when I heard movement in the kitchen. Groaning, I buried my head beneath the pillow until my body stopped throbbing with pain. I ventured to take a peek. Michael had kindly left the bedroom door open, and I could see him laying plastic bags full of groceries on the counter. Almost immediately, my mood perked up. He’d bought me food? Hell, maybe I could get used to this.
My dry throat begged for water so I obliged, draining the rest of the glass that had been sitting on the ever-crowded nightstand. I cleared my throat loud and calling out “Hey” to Michael.
He glanced over at me. “Morning.”
“Morning. Is it weird that I have a hard time picturing you in a grocery store?”
He gave me a cryptic smile. “There’s a lot you’re gonna have to get used to with me. Anyway, roll over. I have to make sure you didn’t bleed through the bandages during the night.”