An Angel's Touch Read online

  Jen sat stiffly next to her. “You mustn’t make fun of me.”

  Randa crushed her cigarette in the glass ashtray on the coffee table. “So, you are a Shen creature.”

  Jen glanced around as if trying to find a way to prove her supernaturalism to Randa. “Wait here.” She rose and waddled hurriedly into the kitchen with the weight of Randa’s gaze upon her. She returned with a paring knife and handed it to Randa. “Cut me.”

  Randa’s jaw dropped. “I’m not going to cut you!”

  “Do it Randa. I need to show you something.”

  Randa scoffed. “Cut yourself then.”

  “I can’t do it to myself. You know how I feel about blood.”

  “Then why do you want to bleed!”

  “Please, Randa.”

  Randa sighed and rose, mumbling between her teeth, “Well for God Sake, let me at least get a razor blade.” She headed toward the kitchen. Her voice trailed, “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

  She returned with a stack of folded paper towels, a wet blue dishcloth, and a razor blade. Jen stood up, and held out the back of her hand where I’d once cut her to milk blood for a spell.

  “Cut,” Jen said.

  Randa positioned the paper towels on the glass coffee table and steadied Jen’s hand over them. Randa went to her knees and rolled her long lashed eyes up at Jen. “Are you sure you want me to do this?”

  “Absolutely,” Jen said.

  Randa sliced her.

  Jen winced. “Ouch.” Blood seeped over the back of her hand.

  “Well, you told me to do it!” She dropped the blade on the paper towels. “I didn’t want to.”

  “You see the wound, right? You see the blood, right?”

  ‘I’ saw it. Wanted it. The blood started dripping around the corners of her hand. I licked my lips.

  “Yes. Now what?” Randa asked.

  I knew what I’d do.

  Jen hovered her other hand over the wound. She sent a thick, white light beam over the slit, undetectable to Randa. Humans could only see such light in altered states of awareness. Randa was far too mundane for that, though the alcohol helped a bit.

  In moments, the split skin melded together before Randa’s eyes. Only the blood that had washed around her knuckles and the sides of her hands was left.

  Randa stepped back and gulped. “What exactly is a Shen?”

  Jen’s face reddened. “Kind of like . . . an Angel.”

  “Oh Jen, I knew you were an angel, but not like this.”

  “I flew to you,” Jen said, reaching for the wet cloth.

  “Of course you did, how else would you get from Chile or from where ever you have been, to here?”

  “No, I mean, I flew to you . . . from India.” Jen wiped the blood off her hand.

  “India? You hopped a plane from there to JFK, right?”

  “No. I flew to you without a plane.” She set the cloth on the paper towels.

  Randa’s face paled. She rubbed her temples with red-nailed fingers. “I need a drink.” With a sigh, she turned and grabbed her near empty glass of scotch and swigged down the brown elixir. Then she walked in a daze toward the bar, just missing me in my invisible state. She poured herself a double scotch, no rocks. She took a long sip, exhaled heavily, then turned to Jen. “Why are you spilling your guts now, I mean, right now?”

  Jen sank into the sofa, and dropped her head into her hands.

  Randa went to her, drink in hand, and sat on the sofa. “What? What’s wrong?”

  Jen lifted her head and slid her eyes sideways to Randa, “The babies are johnny’s kind.”

  “So? What’s so bad about johnny?”

  Jen’s head snapped toward Randa. “I told you, he’s part Dragon, and he kills people!”

  “Oh, back to that again.”

  “He is, and he does!”

  “Okay.” Randa nodded to placate Jen, but I knew she wasn’t convinced.

  Jen drew one knee up on the sofa and angled her body toward Randa. “I’m in big trouble, Randa. I can’t believe this is happening to me.”

  “Ever hear of birth control?”

  Jen glared. “It was an accident!” Then her voice softened, “Kind of—sort of.”

  Well, at least she wasn’t badmouthing me—yet.

  Randa asked, “Well, what does johnny think about it?”

  “He’s . . . for it. Kind of.”

  “Why are you hedging?”

  “Tazmarks have poor parental instinct.”

  Randa repressed her sardonic humor and managed to speak with false seriousness. “Just what exactly are the characteristics of a Tazmark?” Then she scoffed a little, “I mean, aside from breathing fire and flying and—killing people.”

  “Oh,” Jen’s voice quivered, “I don’t think we need to get into that. You know what johnny’s like.”

  “Like Dracula, right?”

  “Randa!”

  “Well, you wanted to confide in me. Confide!”

  Jen moaned, “Yes, he is like a vampire.”

  “Like how?”

  Jen mumbled, “He’s in their league.”

  I was offended. I was far more diabolical than a vampire. Far more. Hell, if she was going to tell Randa the truth, why not grant me the credit I deserved? At least, before I made Randa forget.

  Jen added, “But he would never harm you or me, or any innocent person. I mean, he goes after those who, kind of . . . call for going after . . . I think. I mean, adversity creates change. And change is good, and he’s adverse, which actually kind of makes him good . . . in a way.” She started trembling violently.

  Randa set her glass of scotch on the coffee table with a clink and rested her hand on Jen’s knee. Now she was serious, for real. “You don’t seem too sure about him.”

  Jen cocked her head, and opened her mouth as if to speak, but her words were stifled.

  Randa asked, “What Jenséa? I know you well. What aren’t you telling me?”

  Jen leaned her head toward Randa, “He’s Mephistopheles, I think, you know—” she whispered, “the Devil. He claims that he isn’t because according to him, Mephistopheles doesn’t exist.” She gulped. “But even so, he does all the things the Devil would do.”

  Well, the Devil had a religious connotation—I hated that, but at least she was giving me more credit than a simple vampire. Of course, Randa wouldn’t buy it. At least Jen did.

  “Jenséa,” Randa leaned into Jen and embraced her with mothering arms, rocking her gently. “This religious stuff has gone to your head. johnny is not the Devil, or a Tazmark. He doesn’t kill people.” She drew back, but held Jen’s arms securely. “You know this, right?”

  Jen pushed her arms away. “Don’t look at me like I am some two year old in la la land! Please believe me. I’m less religious than ever. I don’t even wear my crucifix anymore. I mean, johnny wears it—”

  “johnny wears your crucifix?” A smile emerged. She started laughing, climbing back into her favorite comfort zone. “Speaking of the Devil, where is he?”

  “Randa, don’t joke! This is real.”

  Randa pushed back her smile, trying once more to be serious for Jen. “Tell me more.”

  Jen glared. “I need to be believed.”

  Randa touched her knee again. “All right. You were saying something like, you are less religious than ever.”

  “Yes, I know now that goodness alone can become a bad thing and that the dark side has value, but . . .”

  I was so surprised to hear her say those words that I almost lost my concentration and became visible.

  She continued, “Bearing it is the problem. It goes against my nature. I can’t live with his ways, his wants, his needs, even though I know he has purpose.”

  “Oh come on, Jenséa, stop worrying so much. You two are a match made in heaven.”

  “Or hell.” Jen rose in a huff. “I can’t believe you are being so insensitive!”

  Randa rose, facing her. “Oh come on, Jenséa! I believ
e you are that Shen creature, only because it all fits, you're perpetually forgiving attitude, how you survived your illness last year, and even the fact that most of your life you painted angels, not to mention the fact that I saw you heal yourself and appear before my eyes in thin air. But johnny . . . the Devil?”

  Jen drew her fists up to the sides of her head, and pounded them down to her lap. “He is!”

  “Okay, okay. He is mystical, intensely street tough, telepathic, and I’ll give you magical—and remember, a lot of people practice magic, like Wiccans—but he also loves you, protects you, and he’s a psychological whiz at healing people’s troubles.”

  “Oh,” Jen gasped, “that’s a mask he wears. Beneath that mask he breeds trouble. He plays games making you believe what he wants you to believe, and that makes him more dangerous than your outright troublemaker. Remember the movie Gremlins?”

  Randa nodded, “Yeah, but—”

  “johnny is the gremlin of the earth.”

  I was insulted again. A gremlin was a little impish for my image.

  “Look Jenséa, even if what you are saying is true, you love him right?”

  Jen’s eyes widened. “Randa! How can you accept johnny as the gremlin of the earth! How can you accept him as a—” She threw her face in her hands and cried.

  Randa grabbed Jen’s wrist gently and sat on the couch, guiding Jen to sit next to her. Randa scooted close and snaked her arm around Jen’s back. “Go ahead, sob your little heart out. I’m here for you.”

  Jen lifted her scarlet-soaked face to Randa. “I’m tired of being the only person who knows his true identity. It’s too great a weight to bear alone.” Her chest heaved, pumping fresh tears that washed over her cheeks. An unceremonious yawn interrupted her tears. Her body drooped with fatigue.

  “Come on.” Randa rose and guided Jen down to lie on her side upon the couch. She stuffed a red leather sofa pillow under her head. “Now, now, there, there, Auntie Randa will be here for you and your wee ones, okay? Even if they do breathe fire.”

  “Randa,” she murmured with eyes closed, “if you’d seen what I have, you couldn’t take it either.”

  “We’ll talk about it later, all right? You get some rest now.”

  Jen fell asleep with a heavy sigh that seemed to expel the world’s woe. She did that a lot these days, short deep catnaps, then up with spunk and vigor. Not exactly Sleeping Beauty any more. More like Raving Beauty. I loved her pregnant. She was more life-filled, or some such thing. Or, maybe I did have an inkling of fathering in me. Hmm. No. I didn’t.

  I followed Randa invisibly into her queen-sized bedroom. The woman was too excessively industrious to be trusted. I had a sudden explicable never before felt urge to make Randa the object of my cruel play. My limbs were hot with some Dragon-like thing. I wondered briefly if Diego was responsible. Of course he was, of course. But, then, just as quickly, I couldn’t seem to care. Fun and games. Randa’s turn.

  Randa’s royal blue bedspread, dotted with silver stars, set the scene for a gallery of Jen’s Angel paintings ceremoniously hung on her white walls. Randa needed Jen, just as I did, despite our satirically salted receptions of Jen’s ideas and emotions. She seemed to bring out mystical magnificence in us both.

  Randa went to the white oak nightstand and reached for her little, red address book next to her royal blue, cordless phone. She flipped through the pages of the book. The cover was sparkly enough to hurt the eyes. Knowing Randa, the contents would prove most interesting.

  “Hah,” she exclaimed, having secured her target. She picked up the receiver and punched numbers with her long red fingernail. Then she slid the phone receiver under her shiny black hair, hugging it to her ear, almost touching it with her ruby lips.

  Her thoughts arched outward, and I read them. An arrow was ready to spring an inquiry to Marla Darsey, a Wiccan, to glean her knowledge, if any, about Tazmarks. Most Wiccans are want-to-be witches, believing outcomes from a little mind power some large deal. But there are some who slip beneath the cracks of formality and tap true magic in the spirit of Merlin. Marla Darsey was one such witch. Not that she could ever be a true threat to me, but I preferred no more interference. There was already interference enough.

  I made the phone inoperable.

  Randa shrugged her shoulders and hung up. “That’s odd,” she murmured to herself.

  I made myself visible. “Greetings Randa.”

  She jolted with a startle and spun around. “johnny! How did you get in here?” Then she cracked a joke, “Fly, did you?” But part of her wasn’t joking.

  “Do you . . . believe?”

  “Believe what? That you can fly?” she said, humor cloaking her uneasiness.

  I made my eyes turn red. “Do you believe I am the Devil?”

  “Why would I—” she swallowed hard, stepping back into the nightstand, upsetting her balance, “think that?” She doubled over sideways, catching herself on the nightstand to break the fall.

  She stood erect and faced me while gathering a cool, Capricorn demeanor around her Sagittarian daring. “There is no Devil, johnny. You and I are two of a kind, scotch, cigarettes, and lots of heat. You know.”

  “Oh, I know.” My eyes glowed redder.

  She gulped. “If you’re a devil, I’m a devil. Speaking of drinks,” she cleared her throat, “I need one, a cigarette too.” She cleared her throat again. “You?”

  In truth, Randa and I did have chords that rang together. Thus our attraction to Jen, but Randa was like the cream of, as they say, ‘the crop.’ I was the crop. I stepped toward her, manifesting an opened bottle of scotch in one hand and two lit cigarettes in the other.

  She gasped, but her calm demeanor remained intact. She was basically one cool cookie. Unnerving her would be most entertaining.

  I stretched the cigarettes toward her, sandwiched between my fingers.

  She took one, hand trembling, and put it to her lips, sucking hard.

  I smiled faintly, my best evil smile. “So you don’t believe Jen’s portrayal of me?”

  She exhaled smoke forcefully, her nerves showing. “Should I?”

  I took a swig of scotch, reveling in the tantalizing tune of her accelerating heartbeat. Fear was my mistress, seducing me to conquer. Be more afraid, Randa. More.

  I answered her. “Yes. I am a soul sucking, heart fucking, pumper eating, blood thirsting, vein bursting—destroyer.” I smiled wickedly. “And that’s less than the half of it.”

  She smashed her cigarette into my cheek and tried to get past me.

  I put my arm out to block her.

  Her brown eyes rolled up to me. “You’re not even burned.” She glanced at the dead cigarette scrunched by my feet.

  What other amusing acts would Randa partake in her attempt to flee me. She was a hearty little adversary, Tweety Bird style. But I was no Puddy Cat.

  She slipped her hand behind her back in a supposedly secret fashion and slid open the nightstand drawer. She whipped her hand out and sprayed my face with pepper spray. Sparkles of deep red landed in my eyes. Nice eyewash, cleansing, cathartic. Couldn’t feel the blast, though. But, I did enjoy the subtle warming of my skin, pitifully faint, not enough to truly relish. The smell fueled my head with dreams of fire. I licked my lips to taste the sumptuous substance. “Hmm.” I said, “I wish it was hotter, though the flavor is improving.”

  Randa stood with drumming heart and gaping jaw. “Uhh, uhh, uhh. Jenséa . . . I should have believed her.”

  Give me more fear, Randa. More. I burst into Randa’s mind and leapt inside, depositing rich pictures of my mutilated victims. Randa’s face turned pastier. Her ‘in shock’ stare deepened. True horror melted her Cleopatra face, all coolness lost, all Capricorn dead. She cursed herself for all the times that she’d insisted her best friend be my paramour. Yes. Self-hatred—a call I yearned to answer.

  I chanted:

  “They call us the destroyers,

  they blame us for their woe.

  They n
ever understand,

  we reap the seeds they sow.”

  “No!” Randa cried, staring at me outwardly, while staring inwardly at Jen’s image in her mind. Her mind flashed on Jen, only Jen, like an atomic earthworm blasting through miles of solid fear; a serendipitous event, unexpected, unprecedented. So pure a thing Randa feels, for one even more pure—here, in the realm of nightmares. How can it be? Even with her life in peril, her obsession is Jen, a mothering fixation for the safety of her babe. It is that L word again, that sugar coated poisonous L word that is far worse than apathy. Randa loved Jen.

  Randa’s face vibrated with intensity. If the face weren’t such a malleable thing, the intensity would have cracked hers. “You will not harm her! You will not.”

  Jen. I revisited my senses. If Diego was behind my assault on Randa, why did I allow it? She’d strangely enough always been my ally. Not that I ever wanted or needed one, but I had pleasured in Randa endorsing Jen and I as a couple, much to Jen’s chagrin. If I turned on Randa, Jen would turn on me, and perhaps seek my father and fall under his spell to execute his plans.

  I must exercise more caution. Diego was slippery enough to take temporary control of me—and for one Tazmark to do that to another, well, that was something only I had been rendered capable. For the first time, I had true competition in Diego. If only Jen were out of the picture, I’d revel in this time. The fun with Randa had barely begun. Guess it was over. Now for the game.

  I made the scotch and cigarettes disappear, and the phone operable again.

  I locked Randa’s stare into mine, my eyes whirling whirling. I pushed my way through the last of her barriers. I felt her resistance yield. I had her. I propelled thoughts into her brain. Your thoughts of me and Jenséa being supernatural are erased. We are normal humans. We flew on a plane from India to New York. You let Jenséa through your door an hour ago, and had a pleasant conversation regarding she and I becoming the parents of twins. The pregnancy has stressed her, so you bade her sleep. You thought a nice dinner would cheer her up. You came into your room so you could make restaurant reservations at Carlitos without awakening her. I sent a suggestion to the host at Carlito’s to reserve a table under Randa’s name.