He tried to skip past the images, move forward. Her story. Not his to take. The images shifted. Another night. Recent. The frat party, he thought. Then pain, blistering. Her side.
A heavy darkness. Ominous. Watching.
Stalking.
A silhouette. Black as pitch against the night sky. A sound. The flap of huge wings. A groaning, like an ancient door opening.
Fear. Hers. Panic. No, terror. Heart thundering. Breath coming hard.
Hers. And now his heart thundering, in his head and chest. Breath rushing, heaving past parted lips.
Then a brilliant light, piercing the darkness. Like a shock, so beautiful it stung.
Zach released Angel’s hand. He sat back, working to compose himself. She stared at him, impossibly young and vulnerable. And lucky, he realized. So very lucky to be alive.
Chapter Forty-one
Wednesday, July 17
9:15 P.M.
Angel had fallen asleep in front of the television. Micki had gotten her set up in the back bedroom with clean sheets, toiletries, towels—the whole bit. The same as she’d done for Jacqui four years ago.
But those circumstances had been so very different.
“You have a way with lost teenage girls,” Zach murmured when she returned to the living room.
“Yeah, I guess I do.”
“Where’d that tender streak come from, Mick? Could’ve knocked me over with a feather.”
She plopped down onto the battered recliner. She ran her fingers over the worn fabric, remembering Hank’s big, calloused fingers doing the same thing. “Paying my debts, I guess.”
“I bet there’s a story in that.”
“There is.”
“And you’ll tell me someday?”
“Maybe.” She smiled slightly. “Do you think we’re doing the right thing, having her stay here with me?”
“She has nowhere else to go. Not any place I’d call safe, anyway.”
“Have you thought . . . it might not be safe for her here? Maybe we should call Parker?”
“No, not yet. I don’t know why, but I think she’s better off with us. For now anyway.”
Silence fell between them, broken by the rumble of a car passing in front of the house. “Well,” she asked.
“Well what?”
“What did you see? When you took her hand?”
“Our Angel hasn’t had an easy life.” He stopped a moment, as if lost in thought. “The energy, it wasn’t the same as what killed Brite. Or the energy from the Miller and Putnam scenes.”
“How so?”
“Not as angry. Not chaotic, not at all.”
“What does that mean?”
“Hell if I know.” He stood and stretched, then sat back down. “You know that painting you showed me earlier?”
“The Fuseli. What about it?”
“The thing, flying over her, it was more like that.”
She pursed her lips, studying on that a moment. “Zach?”
He looked at her.
“Something different happened when you held Angel’s hand. Different from when you held anyone else’s we talked to.”
He frowned. Waited. She went on. “Together, you made a light where your hands met.”
“C’mon, Mick, seriously?”
“Dead serious here, partner. Ever have that happen in training?”
“No.”
“Did it feel any different?”
He shook his head, opened his mouth as if to say something, then shut it again. “I should go, get some shuteye. You’ll be okay?”
“Sure.” She met his eyes. “Think I can take that thing down if I empty a magazine into it?”
“Truth?”
She nodded, though she already suspected what his answer would be.
“No. Sorry.”
“I’ll try anyway.”
A smile touched his mouth. “I know.” He stood, crossed to the door and stopped. “Call me if anything weird happens.”
“Will do. And Hollywood, tomorrow we try to locate Eli.”
“The University should be able to give us what we need. How many grad students named Elijah could they have?”
“More than one. We don’t even know his area of study.” She leaned her head against the recliner’s high back. “Institutions like schools and hospitals are really touchy about giving out information without a judge’s order.”
“They’ll give me what I want.”
Cocky. Overconfident from a lifetime of getting whatever he wanted. She wondered what that must be like, knowing with a glance or a touch your will would be done. Almost like being a god.
“Don’t be too sure, even with your superpowers.” She tilted her head to look at him. “I bet Parker could get us one in a snap.”
“I don’t want him involved, Mick. Not yet.”
“Why, Harris? Really, what’s your hesitation here?”
“I just have this feeling that once he has Gomez, we’ll lose access. And we need her.”
“In what way?”
“Don’t know that, either. Just this feeling. And—” He stopped, as if uncertain if he should voice the thought, then did. “—this feeling she needs us, too.”
They fell silent. She thought of their original plan to hit the French Quarter clubs in advance of the tomorrow’s team meeting and sighed.
“What?”
“Plan A shot to hell.”
“Not necessarily. I could head out, hit the clubs. See if I get a bead on the Dark Bearer’s energy.”