The Watcher

Chapter Eighteen



The next few days were almost normal.

At school, I marveled at how Michael passed for perfectly human. Nobody else could see the intermittent flashing of his halo or the vague outline of his wings. The fact that I knew what he really looked like was an intimate secret between us, almost like seeing him naked would be. Okay, nowhere near as good as that. But I was beginning to enjoy it.

Elaine published an article on her blog saying I broke Damiel’s heart and rejected him for Michael and that’s what made him go away. The article upset me a lot more than it did Michael, who just ignored it, but he wasn’t the one being called the next whore of Babylon—something I had to look up the meaning of online. The girls who liked Damiel gave me dirty looks in the hallway. It made me almost wish Damiel would come back, as long as he left me alone.

At night, Michael watched out for me, but kept his distance like I was some kind of VIP and he was my angelic security service. Though they’d cleaned up the hellhound problem, something was worrying him. Something he didn’t want me to know.

Fiona came back to school on Wednesday, and Heather and I stayed close. We wanted things to be as normal as possible and she didn’t need people gossiping or staring at her. At least Elaine didn’t print anything in the school paper, which, for Elaine, was actually decent.

I was on my way to lunch with Michael when I noticed Fiona alone at her locker fumbling with her books. She dropped one, and as soon as she went to pick it up another one fell. She didn’t seem depressed this time, but a few people were chuckling at her while they gossiped amongst themselves. I could tell it made her uncomfortable.

“We should go talk to her,” I said to him. “Take her to lunch.”

“Wait a sec,” he said. When I gave him a questioning look, he added, “You’ll see.”

“Are you going to wave a magic wand or something and make it all better?”

He whispered in my ear, “I’m an angel, not a fairy godmother.” The heat of his breath traveled all the way down my neck, and I had to fight the urge to press myself against him.

Arielle appeared in the hallway. At first I thought she might say something to us, but other than giving Michael a nod, she walked right past. “Hey,” I said, lifting my hand to wave at her.

Michael caught my hand. “Shhh,” he said, his voice barely a whisper in the noisy hallway. “Don’t draw attention to her; she’s working. It’s going to help.”

“We’re the only ones who can see her right now?” I felt utterly foolish. Of course she was working. She doesn’t go to school.

If anybody else had seen me, they’d already moved on. Arielle approached Fiona and touched her arm. Fiona didn’t seem to notice, but this was how it worked. Arielle would whisper words of kindness, unseen, and Fiona would start feeling better. She’d already brightened. A smile crossed her lips.

Michael squeezed my hand and led me down the hall to the cafeteria. It was amazing how much it meant to me, this simple touch, showing that he cared.

We arrived at Heather and Jesse’s table and he let my hand go. If they saw us holding hands, they didn’t say anything. Michael and I acted like friends but they must have noticed the way I behaved around him, the way my breath would catch whenever our eyes met, or the way my skin would burn if he stood or sat too close.

“May I join you?” It was Farouk. He had a girl with him. Her dark brown eyes were so intense they seemed to look right through me.

“Is this Fatima?” I asked.

“Hello, Mia,” she said. Although Farouk hadn’t mentioned it, she was a junior, the same year as him—which meant they must be twins. Her accent was less pronounced than her brother’s, but she had the same curly black hair—only hers was long and wild, giving her an exotic beauty.

“Your hair is gorgeous,” I said.

“Thanks.” She tugged at one of her curls, examining it. “It needs a trim.”

“I’m glad to have a chance to finally thank you for the necklace,” I said.

“You’re most welcome.” She grinned at me, then leaned forward to ask, “Did it help?”

I recalled having Damiel at my door, the hellhounds around my house, and the way the necklace had vibrated each time, some kind of warning. It must have been letting me know when I was in danger. “Yes, it did.”

“You might not need it so much now.” She glanced knowingly at Michael, who was chatting with Jesse. “But you never know.”

Could she see Michael, too? The way I did? I didn’t know how to ask without giving away his secret, so I kept quiet, almost awkwardly so, and looked out the window at the rain that wasn’t letting up.

Fatima and Farouk finished lunch early because they had to study for a biology exam. They left as the topic changed to our weekend plans.

“Hey, this weekend Kevin Foster’s parents are out of town and he’s throwing a big party,” Jesse said.

“How big?” Heather asked.

“Everyone’s invited. He’s got a huge place,” he said, looking at all of us. “You guys should come.”

I was eating a chicken salad that seemed oilier than usual. It slid down my throat and sat in my stomach like a lump.

“Who’s Kevin Foster?” I asked, not sure I wanted to go to a stranger’s party.

“He’s in his junior year at Sealth,” Jesse answered, then turned to Michael. “You remember his brother Dave? His parties?”

“Yes,” Michael said, gazing out over the cafeteria, absently keeping watch.

“Dude, you should come. It’ll be awesome.”

“Don’t think so.”

“Chloe will be disappointed.” Jesse gave him a suggestive smile.

Michael shot Jesse a look that silenced him. Jesse’s gaze darted quickly in my direction and then fixed on the table in front of him.

Who was Chloe?

Michael shifted in his seat and squeezed a packet of ketchup onto his plate. He had hardly touched his burger. I was going to ask right then and there who Chloe was, since everyone at the table seemed to know something about her. But Fiona and Dean joined us, holding hands, and Heather took the opportunity to break the awkward silence by chatting with them. Michael excused himself quietly and left.

For the rest of lunch, I listened to Heather and Jesse chat about the upcoming party with Fiona and Dean. I felt more out of place than ever. While Heather managed to look mystified—she didn’t know anything about Chloe—Jesse ignored me. It was as though the space I occupied no longer existed. As soon as lunch was over, he took off.

I asked Heather, “Who’s Chloe?”

“I’ve never heard of her, but I can ask Jesse if you want,” she offered.

“No. Let me try Michael first. I think I need to hear it from him.”

In English class, Michael sneaked in a few minutes late. We were still reading Hamlet, and Mr. Bidwell called on me to read Ophelia’s lines in Act III Scene II. In the scene, Ophelia was upset over the way Hamlet had been treating her. I could relate. After all, who was this Chloe, and why did Michael walk away after her name was mentioned? Jesse was reading Hamlet. Ophelia’s lines were short, but I read them right at Michael, hoping for a reaction of some sort. I got none.

After class, Michael caught up with me. “I’m on duty after school today,” he said, “but I can drive you home.”

“Who’s Chloe?”

He scanned the crowded halls to see if anyone was listening and sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “Dave and Kevin’s older sister.”

“You know what I mean! Why did the conversation— How much older?”

“She’s in her third year of college now, I think.”

Third year of college—that meant she was Bill’s age. Michael had dated older women. I could never compete with that. “Were you seeing her?”

Grabbing my arm, he guided me into the nearest empty room, the chemistry lab. All the tables were clear, and someone had lined beakers and bottles in neat rows along the shelves. He closed the door before he spoke. “I haven’t seen her since before the accident.”

“Were you…?”

“I was drunk. We both were.”

“And?”

He leaned against the desk at the front of the room, his hands gripping the wooden desktop so tightly that the veins popped at his wrists. Tilting his chin, Michael looked up at me, and I knew without a doubt that something had happened between them.

My stomach lurched, and the chemical smell in the air hit the back of my throat like I was going to be sick. I leaned against one of the tables to steady myself.

“I was much different then,” he said. “She was a friend… It was before everything.”

“How could it be before everything?”

“You know what I mean. Mia, please…” He reached for my hand, but stopped. I wished he hadn’t.

“Look. I know we have this ancient history and all, but—”

“Nine thousand years,” he said plainly.

If he planned to distract me, it worked. My mind reeled with the thought. “Is that how long—?”

“Do you really think that one night at a party could compare to that? I was very drunk… We both were. I hardly remember it.” He looked maddeningly far away. Was he thinking about her?

Hot, furious tears filled my eyes. I wiped them away with my sleeve, aching to be close to him and knowing my words and actions were pushing him away. I hated myself for it, but I couldn’t help but think about her and how she would know him, be close to him, in a way I never could.

“I wasn’t the same person then.” He leaned closer to me and the presence of his halo, warm and tingly, soothed my skin—even through my clothes.

“No,” I said, shaking the feeling off. “From what you tell me, you were exactly the same person; it was just your spirit that was different.”

“A person is both,” he said firmly. His halo still hovered around me, even though I refused the sensation. I wanted to feel cold. Alone. He sighed. “I told you, Mia. My sin was lust. If you think this is bad—”

“You just said you were a different person then.”

Slouching, he shoved his hands in his pockets and crossed to the side of the room, moving even farther away. “Please, you’re making too much out of it. This, this was nothing compared to—”

“How can you even say that to me?” I cut him off, more loudly than I expected. I was going too far but couldn’t stop myself. “Are you really that unfeeling?”

His halo flickered and dimmed. The effect made the glass bottles on the shelves behind him appear to shake. What I’d said had hurt. He ran his hands down his face and drew in a deep breath.

“I can’t argue with you about this,” he said and walked out of the room.

My insides jumped and stung like I’d swallowed a hornet’s nest. I stood in the classroom and cried. Outside, the rain had stopped but the sky was covered in a blanket of clouds, and though I was indoors, wind rushing through the trees chilled right through my bones. It seemed to take forever for the halls to empty so nobody would see me leave.

Since Labor Day, I’d been avoiding the park. But now the hellhounds had been caught. The muddy trails were slick and covered in wet leaves, so I had to watch my step. Above me hung a thick canopy of evergreens that made it seem more evening than afternoon.

Our argument played over and over in my head. No matter how I looked at it, I’d overreacted. It happened before he even met me, and yet I was insanely jealous of this girl I’d never met, all because she knew him in a way that I never could. It had nothing to do with us. It was his past. But so much of us was the past, too. I’d clung to what little I knew of it, hoping that if he felt something for me back then, he might feel something for me now.

But it was too late. I’d hurt him. I may have even lost him—as a friend, or whatever we were to each other.

In the middle of the park, one of the trails veered off toward an empty playground. Swings blew sideways in the wind, their chains rasping like metallic ghosts. I sat on one and ran my heels along the wet grooves made by other people’s feet in the dirt. I didn't feel like swinging, but it was better than going home. Mom would know something was wrong and I didn’t want to talk about it, not yet.

Over the sound of creaking chains and whispering leaves, I didn’t notice anyone approach until I saw movement and light out of the corner of my eye. A mixture of emotions flooded me as Michael sat himself on the swing beside me: relief, shame, and even jealousy. His mouth was set in a straight line and a river of anger and sadness flowed off of him, both of which I was pretty sure I’d put there. He’d held my hand today. Had he decided I wasn’t worth the trouble and come to tell me to get lost? Was this it? Was I going to lose him?

His voice was surprisingly gentle when he spoke. “If you can’t accept this, I don’t know how you can ever accept the past.”

“It’s different,” I said.

“It is. We’d both been drinking, but it was her choice.” He turned his swing toward mine and the metal hinges creaked. The wind caught his hair. “That night. You deserve so much better.”

Hearing him talk about it only made me feel worse. I started to cry. “It’s not that.”

“What is it, then?”

“It’s that I’ll never…” The tears choked out of me in embarrassing sobs. How could I tell him that I’d always want more? And the fact that he’d been with someone when I couldn’t be with him at all was almost unbearable for me?

And then he got it. Somehow, intuitively, he understood. Standing, he lifted me to my feet and took me in his arms. He kissed my hair, my forehead, making me shiver inside. When he whispered my ancient name, “Sajani,” his voice came out in deep, low tones like a cello, and the force of it echoed through me. “You were with me that way.”

I sobbed, heated by his arms, as a blissful thrum of energy flowed between us. His hands shook as he stroked my hair, gently rocked me until I cried myself out. When I was done, he took me by the hand and walked me home as the shock of a blood-orange sunset broke through the clouds.