Total pages in book: 163
Estimated words: 154735 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 619(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154735 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 619(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
As she looked around at the vacant tables, empty chairs, and lonely couch, she thought about the last time she had been down here in the Brotherhood’s clinic. Not unlike this evening, things had started out on an unexceptional note… and proceeded into territories of fraught emotion and danger.
As with tonight, it had been a male of worth who had been injured. Unlike tonight, it had been a mortal, and Nate had died of a gunshot wound directly before her. The mourning of his parents, and the pleading of her cousin, Sahvage, had been a call to action that she had ultimately heeded, though she had known what she was doing was against the laws of the Creator’s universe: She had used powers she could marshal, but had never understood, and pulled the young male out of the continuum of life and death, setting him aside on a protected shelf that insulated him from the grasp of the grave, fore’ermore.
An unholy outcome for a righteous reason.
The short-term effect had been positive, with only her—and perhaps Sahvage, the first and only other she had saved thusly—knowing the grim reality that eternal life was merely the cessation of physical mortality. All other aspects of the soul, the heart, the mind, remained subject to the battering and erosion of experience.
Such endurance was a curse. Especially when you were going to watch others around you, those whom you valued, whom you loved and relied upon… leave you behind.
Closing her eyes, she covered her face with her hands, as if she could shield herself from the assault of her conscience. But it was too late for that, and what was worse? She had deserted Nate to his fate. Saving the Book and securing it in her mental netherworld had been an excuse to remove herself from the departure of Lassiter and the ramifications of her being a savior when she should not have been. It had not been the right thing to do with regard to the young male.
“I think you saved him.”
She dropped her hands. The fallen angel with the braid down his back nearly had to duck his head as he came through the doorway, and he paused to look around at the vending and soda machines, as well as the hot buffet which was currently closed down except for bowls of apples, oranges, and bananas.
Rahvyn was not fooled. He had come for her, not sustenance.
“He would have recovered,” she said roughly. “I merely endeavored to ease his pain.”
The angel went over to the machine where bags of chips and pretzels were lined up in rows and separated by corkscrews. “Hey, these are free? The dollar bill slot is blocked.”
She recalled sitting here with Nate, at this very table, conversating with him about weighty matters—but also lighter ones, which had included him explaining the names of the dispensing facilities and their operations.
“Yes, they are free.”
“Sweet.”
The angel began pushing all kinds of buttons, little parcels dropping down into the well, his selection as he punched into the number pad seemingly random. And when he bent to retrieve what he’d chosen, he had a quiet joy on his face, as if the fact that this was not costing him a dime was a lottery win.
Proof that even immortals could be enchanted by simple pleasures.
Yet she was not fooled by the surface gloss upon his mood. Darkness abounded within him.
“Mind if I join you?” he asked on the way over.
He set his parcels of calories down on the table without waiting for her reply, and then paused and looked at her with eyes the color of red wine viewed through candlelight.
“Please do,” she said remotely.
“Not feeling company, huh.”
Dropping into a seat, the heft of him dwarfed the table that had seemed quite appropriately sized with her upon it, and she watched his large hands rifle through the colorful bags. He chose Cheetos, a snack she remembered the staff at Luchas House eating from time to time.
“I don’t blame you,” he said in a casual fashion. “For taking a breather. I needed a break, too. Lot of Brothers in your boy’s room.”
“He is not mine.”
“Oh, right.” He tilted the open neck of the bag to her. “Want some?”
“Ah, no. Thank you.”
She looked away, her eyes going over the other tables with their empty chairs. So many alternate places he could have been sitting—and she began to construct excuses for her departure as she turned in her seat and focused on the TV that was mounted up on the far wall.
The local news was doing a story on the damage to the “travel agency” building next to where Lassiter had been attacked by the demon, a reporter standing as close as he could to a police barricade, the flashing lights strobing him as well as the uniformed officers who milled around.