An Angel's Touch Read online

  I’d placed her in an interesting dilemma: to nourish me, she had to sacrifice a life. I should have thought of this long ago. But I was honest with her then. I couldn’t keep that up. Not if I wanted to retain my identity.

  She returned half an hour later holding the handle of a small white carton that jiggled from the furry critter jumping around inside. She approached me in the bedroom with all the vigor of a funeral march. She handed the carton to me, and swept her head to the side. “Bless you little one.”

  You’d think I was going to consume her fucking baby.

  “Jen?”

  “What?” she said, eyes still averted.

  “It would mean a lot to me . . . if you—watched.”

  She whimpered, “Oh johnny, must I? Why, why must I do that, why!”

  I didn’t answer.

  She looked up at me slowly, water welling in her eyes. “It’s about unconditional love, isn’t it?”

  I nodded.

  “Okay.” A brave face shadowed her terror.

  I opened the carton and picked up the grey and white mouse by the tail. “His life will go into me. He will be a part of me.” Yeah, like I cared. However, she did. It sounded good.

  Her pained expression held back tears. “Oh Blessed Saints.”

  I’d get her for that. Nothing enraged me more than religious figures and a mythical God getting all the glory. I had intended to swallow the mouse whole, but instead I opened my mouth, dropped the furry, squiggling body inside, and bit down. The mouse squeaked slightly. Blood seeped out the corners of my mouth. I was enjoying this.

  Her hands flew up and cupped her mouth. “Oh God, oh God, oh God.” Her upper body rocked as she heaved moans and slit her eyes to blur the picture. “Oh johnny, I beg you! I cannot bear this!”

  I kept chewing. I felt the horror mount in her, but she fought hard to suppress it, and that is what counted. Not once did she look away. There was hope.

  I swallowed and wiped the blood off my mouth with the bed sheet. “I feel better.”

  “Good,” she said, tears escaping after all. She held her stomach. “I feel sick.”

  “If I were unable to hunt, would you bring me live food on a regular basis?”

  She nodded.

  “Would you?”

  “If it came to that . . . yes.”

  “I’m still hungry,” I said.

  She slapped her hands over her face. “Oh no!”

  I’d put her through enough, for now. “But, since I’ve had the mouse, I can get by with what the butcher has to offer.” What I really wanted was Angel Boy’s pumper. My mouth watered.

  She sighed with relief. “I’ll get you meat. With joy, I’ll get you meat.”

  “That is well, Jen, but the day you bring me a feline,” I said, with a diabolical glint in my eye, “will be the day I will believe you accept me completely.”

  “You expect too much of me johnny. I cannot make peace with your bestial nature.”

  “You will. You must.”

  She gave me a skeptical look. “I’ll go to the mar—”

  “With some food in me now, let’s see if I can manifest what I want.” I concentrated on the butcher store I’d seen down the road, scouring it psychically. I saw a bloody cow pumper, liver, and brains in the back room. My psychic vision seemed to be operating with objects, just not her—yet. I manifested the organs on a silver platter on the black wood table. Next to the platter, appeared a bottle of scotch from the liquor store next door.

  I sat up stiffly, using my mind to ease the dizziness. I thought myself clean, sanitized, and magically dressed in black: boots, jeans, tee shirt, and fingerless gloves. I magically made my hair clean and combed neatly down my back.

  “Oh my,” she said.

  She liked my looks, very much, though she had never once admitted it.

  I got off the bed, and almost fell, my muscles stiff.

  Jen slipped her arm around my back and helped me hobble to the table, and into the chair. Then she pushed the platter of blood-drenched organs in front of me. She sat on the adjacent chair, hugging her stomach.

  “Oh johnny, must you eat that?”

  “You’d prefer me to eat my . . . usual?”

  She looked to the ceiling, kind of prayerful.

  I lifted the pumper and took a huge bite. Blood gobbed around my lips and dribbled down my chin.

  “johnny, use a napkin.” She swept her head to the side, embarrassed by my manners, I guess. She was looking way up where God is supposed to live.

  “I’m hungry,” I said, still chewing. “I haven’t eaten in ten days.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said, glancing at me briefly before staring at her lap, truly ashamed of her prissy attitude. “Eat away.”

  So for that, I manifested a napkin, and wiped my mouth. I swallowed the hunk of pumper and ripped my teeth into the bloody organ once more, filling my mouth, chomping hard, making my lips red again.

  Her head was down still. Well, I didn’t ask her to watch.

  “Now,” she said, staring at her hands, “tell me the details of your ordeal.”

  I swallowed my wad of food. “My father locked me in a Black Box for fifty-six hours in the sixth realm.”

  Her head snapped toward me as her hand flew to her heart. “Oh johnny!”

  I tried to wipe my bloody lips before she raised her head but I was a second too late.

  Her eyes flared shock, but she tried to hide it. “Why didn’t you tell me how awful it was for you?”

  I wiped my mouth clean. “I wasn’t proud.”

  Her face drooped with compassion, sad sack, puppy style.

  I reached for the scotch, and twisted off the lid.

  Her face still held its I feel sorry for you expression.

  “Stop,” I said with a hard glare. “I disdain sympathy. It’s insulting.” I took a swig of scotch.

  “But—” she protested.

  “Enough!” I said. I devoured the rest of the pumper, wiping my mouth in-between bites, while watching her pout. Behind the pout, I smelled fear hiding like a secret behind her guilt. What was it she didn’t want to tell me?

  I looked at her out the corner of my eye, acting casual, feeling tense. “What have you been doing?”

  Her mouth hung open as if it were stuck.

  I poured half the scotch down my throat, never taking my eyes off her.

  She answered, “I . . . I have been watching over you.”

  I set the bottle down and grabbed the liver. “And—”

  “And the manager of the hotel wanted more money. So I had to wire my bank.”

  “I’m sorry you had to do that,” I said, biting into the liver.

  “I applied for a credit card so that these situations will be easier to handle.”

  Still chewing, I said, “Go on.”

  “That’s about it. I was worried sick about you.”

  I dipped my head down, staring into her. Words weren’t necessary. My eyes said, stop with the evasive.

  “I needed emotional comfort. Thinking of my great Grandmother, I tried unsuccessfully to find her name in the phone book. And I—. This feels weird johnny. I’ve never had to tell you about my days before. You always knew. What’s happened to you?”

  I stuffed the rest of the liver into my mouth, not in the mood to tell her I’d temporarily lost telepathy. She might get cocky and act against our best interest. Besides, the focus wasn’t on me and my ordeal. It was on her and what she wasn’t saying. I wasn’t sure which focus was worse. I swallowed the wad of raw liver in my mouth. “You haven’t seen the Shen?”

  She kneaded her hands, trembling.

  This was it, the source of her fear. My stomach tightened, condensing the rage I withheld, at least long enough to get answers.

  “Well,” I asked, “speechless are you?”

  “He came by once. I took him down to the lobby. We talked. That’s all.”

  “About?” I had to fight not to make a fist, which was harder than ma
king one even in my weakened condition.

  “We talked about the drive that we organized to aid the victims of the explosion in Russia. But we want to go there personally, johnny,” she gulped nervously, “to see if we can comfort some of the families.” I heard her heart pounding.

  I hardened my face. “You have been up to a lot more than worrying about me.”

  She fidgeted with her hair. “I’m worried about them too. I’ve been sending Divine Light to them from here. Do you think it worked?”

  “No,” I said, although I knew it probably had, at least in a minor way, which accounted for my much too long recovery. Her success in healing this crowd would be my loss. I carried the grief of the living, the fear of the dying, and the anger of those who neither grieved nor feared. I fed off the negative emotions that I’d caused. Every time she helped heal one my victims, even emotionally, something was snatched from me.

  “Your light won’t work on radiation victims.” I lied.

  “Oh,” her face dropped, “well, I’d like to at least give moral support. And maybe if I tried hard enough, I could find a way to heal some of them.”

  “Forget it. It’s a waste of time.” I stuffed the cow brains into my mouth.

  “I can’t forget it. It’s like they are calling for me. I’m compelled to answer.”

  I nodded. I understood. How could I not? I better than anyone understood ‘the call.’ I swallowed the hunk of brains. “Yes, that is how it is for me. They call me when they need to suffer. They call you when they have suffered enough.”

  “Oh.” She paused. Her eyes deepened, analyzing my words. She was quite intelligent, but her feelings usually overrode what her head told her. So, she seldom used her keen mind, as if thinking too much would lead her to realities she didn’t want to face. “Ohhhh,” she said again, seeming to understand. And for the first time, I thought she did.

  I took another long swig of scotch. Before Jen met me, she used to cloister herself, fearing the world’s violence. Since puberty, she’d been molested, pursued by predators, and twice raped. Her aura was a beacon for all things dark. She’d equated going out in the world with being attacked. When she realized I’d protect her, she’d emerged, tasting different experiences, casting magical smiles, and healing many. Little Shen, my Jen. Butterfly flitting naively about the Dragon’s breath of fire.

  “I suppose,” she said, “you are kind of just doing your job.”

  “Yes,” I replied, astonished that she’d held on to the truth for more than ten seconds before rationalizing it away. My rage diminished. Maybe there was hope.

  I finished off the bottle and set it down. The rest of the cow brain would have to wait. My stomach was out of sorts after being empty for so long. I made the mess disappear into the garbage dumpster outside. I manifested a clean napkin, wiped my mouth, pushed back my chair, and stood. “Come on.” I held my hand out to her. “I am feeling better. Let’s walk around town. I need physical exercise.”

  She took my hand and rose. “We could visit my great Grandmother.”

  “Another time. This day is for us.” I magically gave my mouth a peppermint scent to mask the odor of blood. “I require diversion.”

  She nodded with a smile and hugged my arm. “I’m glad you survived johnny. Accepting you is hard, but I’ll try, even if I go to hell for it.”

  I glanced down at her. “Hell will only get you if you abandon me, Jen.”

  She peered up innocently at me. “I’ll never abandon you, unless you want me to—unless you need me too.”

  I met her little girl expression with one almost as childish. “I crave your affection, my Shen, no matter how much it’s changing me. I will fight the change. But I won’t fight you.” I kissed the top of her head. “Let’s go.”

  She smiled. “All right, my love.”

  Weren’t we the fairy tale lovers? That ought to last about two minutes.

  I led her to the door, out into the gold hall. As we walked, I felt her presence willingly within me. I had her love . . . for now, her conditional love. But how long would it last, and how easily would it vanish?

  We descended the stairs, holding hands like lovers straight out of the movies.

  When we reached the lobby, she said, “About Russia . . .”

  I squeezed her hand tightly. Too tightly.

  “Ouch!” She stopped walking, pulling her arm back without it actually going anywhere.

  I stopped and glared at her. “Let’s not talk of Russia—.”

  “You’re hurting my hand.”

  I released her.

  She kneaded her injured hand. “I was just going to ask you to go with us. You needn't have hurt me.”

  “I didn’t mean to,” I said, though I suppose I did. “I forget my strength when I’m annoyed.” That part was true. Restraining my strength was new to me. Before Jen, there was no need. “Talk of Russia irritates me.”

  She became very still. Her mind searched for the roots of my distress, a place I did not want her. Like I said, she could be smart when she chose.

  I declared, “Let us not speak of Russia today. Today is for us—remember?”

  Her face softened with a light nod. “I am sorry. You have been through much, and you need time to regenerate.”

  Her hand blossomed over mine, and with a lighter grip, I took it. We’d been granted another two minutes of fairy tale love.

  “Is your hand better?” I said.

  “Yes,” she replied, “and you, are you better?”

  I nodded and led us to the lobby. We passed the hotel flower shop with its glass windows lined in gold. “Why talk of worries and fears,” I manifested a gardenia and gave it to her, “—when we can talk romance.”

  She smiled and smelled the white petals. Then realizing I’d copped the flower from the shop, she said, “Just a minute.” She ran back, extracting money from her purse and left it on the counter.

  The lady said, “What’s this for?” but Jen ran off without an answer.

  She reached my side. “I’m sorry. Did you mind that I did that?”

  I made a lei of gardenia’s appear around her neck. “I’m sorry,” I said, “Did you mind that I did that?”

  She looked back at the shop.

  “I didn’t get it from there. I got it from Bali. Want me to wait here while you hop a plane to the Balinese lei maker?”

  She scowled and only the next moment would tell if our fairy tale love would fade, or last two minutes more.

  She gave me a motherly look and took my hand. Two minutes more. It was a record.

  I led her out the large glass doors to the streets. Seemed to be late morning. I know I should have been contemplating Diego’s next move, and Aruka’s master plan to destroy earth, but I needed a break. I wanted to play, and play we would.

  We strolled past designer shops, none of which seemed to interest Jen.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “I’m going to show you Paris. Of course, not the usual sights.”

  “Oh johnny. I don’t want to see torture chambers, gallows, and guillotines.”

  “You think that is where I’d take you?”

  She nodded. “I think that is where you’d take me.”

  “I’ve something sweeter in mind.”

  Her suspicious eyes were hot on me.

  “But first,” I pointed to the corner where a male artist waited for a subject to sit in the chair across from him and his easel. A dozen colored chalk portraits hung on a corkboard. “I want your portrait.”

  She cocked her head right, then left, as if saying, What are you up to?

  I took her hand and led her to the artist, a thin young man with short, curly black hair, wearing blue jeans and a blue denim shirt.

  “Combien?” I asked

  He raised his brows. “Quarante euros.”

  I nodded, manifesting the money from the bank across the street into my pocket. I reached in and pulled out the correct amount. I gave it to him. “Quarante eur
os, exactament.”

  “Sit Jen,” I said.

  “I’m not comfortable with this.”

  I gave her a do it for me look.

  She rolled her eyes and sat in the chair.

  What would the artist see when he looked at her? Would he catch her essence? If so, what would it do to him? Yes. I was playing a game. Even in love, I was, as they say, ‘full of the devil.’

  I watched him study her. Every time he tried to put her image on paper, he stopped. Finally he put down his chalk, closed his eyes, and scrunched his face in concentration. He let out a sigh and stilled for a long moment. Tears streaked his cheeks.

  He opened his eyes, picked up the chalk, and without looking at her, he painted her face with more depth and light than she appeared to possess. Her eyes held the stars—and her smile, the heavens. He had painted her as a full powered Shen, though I doubt he’d ever heard of a Shen. He handed the money back. “I would like to keep the portrait.”

  I shook my head. “The portrait is for me.”

  “Then let me draw another.”

  “You can draw her from memory. She won’t mind,” I looked at Jen, “will you?”

  She shook her head, looking bewildered.

  The artist reluctantly gave me the portrait. Then he bowed to Jen. “Merci, Mademoiselle.”

  I took Jen’s hand and led her down the sidewalk.

  “What was that about?” she asked.

  “You are an embodied Angel, Jen. You figure it out.”

  She knew, but she no more wanted to understand her Angelic power than she did my malevolence. Both frightened her.

  I made the portrait disappear.

  “What did you do with it?”

  “I sent it to New York to be with mine.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m magically reinforcing our connection.”

  “Because you foresee tragedy?”

  “I am tragedy.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  In front of me, a hologram of Diego’s head hung. Only I could see it. His foreboding eyes drilled warning, teach her. Then he disappeared. He didn’t even seem surprised that I’d escaped his Black Box, leading me to believe that if I hadn’t, he’d have released me before it was too late.