Soul Crossed (8 page)

I’ve decided the best way to save him is to do a little family therapy. Surely his mother doesn’t recognize the pain he’s in. It must be difficult to see through her own heartbreak. I plan on forcing a meeting with her this weekend. After all, Thanksgiving is near. What better time to come together as a family?

On impulse I start to follow the boys. I wonder what they do together every day after rehearsal or homework. Cam never mentions Josh, and I’ve been making an effort not to be alone with the latter. No matter how I try, though, I can’t help laughing at his jokes at lunch or enjoying our debates on the meaning of Greek myths during Ancient History. He is so different from the player I assumed he was back on that first day. Which only makes me more miserable.

My phone rings, and I am forced to seek cover behind a tree as the two boys disappear in the distance. Ms. Alvarez has never called before. My hand shakes slightly as I lift it to my ear.

“Hello?”

The familiar squashing bubble of light surrounds me, and I am transported to the same dreary classroom as always. I often wonder why, if Ms. Alvarez can make it look any way she chooses, the walls are bare and the furniture so sparse. If it were up to me, we’d have a penthouse view of New York while training. Better still, if it were up to me, I’d be back in Bothell, living the life stolen from me far too soon.

“Sit down, please, Miss Howard.” Uh-oh. Miss Howard. Not Grace.

“Sure, Ms. Alvarez. What’s up?” I slip into my empty seat and interlace my fingers one way and then another. She doesn’t look happy.

“Mr. Griffith would like to speak to you in private,” she announces as though I’ve somehow usurped her authority.

“Oh. All right,” I say. I wonder what he could possibly have to say to me. He’s always been friendly, but he’s never given me more than a moment’s notice since that first visit.

“I want you to be polite.”

“Of course,” I say, a little offended she would assume otherwise. “But what does he want to talk to me about?” She studies me, and her small brown eyes narrow into slits.

“I don’t know. But I expect you to be accommodating. Mr. Griffith is a very busy Angel. He reports to The Man Himself directly, and very few Angels have that honor. So his time is precious, and I expect you not to waste it.” I am taken aback at this information and now more than a little nervous. I twirl a strand of hair and chew on the end.

“Don’t bore him with details of your assignment even if he’s polite enough to ask,” she says.

“I’ll do my best, Ms. Alvarez.” I can’t help clipping my words. She’s acting like I’m some delinquent child. She is in my face now, closer than she’s ever been. Her breath smells like caramel, sickeningly sweet. But her eyes are cold and hard, and I am afraid.

“Your fate is in my hands, Grace.” Her voice is even and lower than normal. “Work with me and you will ascend to great heights. Get sassy and you will find even I have limits. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” She searches my face for signs of hidden disrespect. Satisfied, she rises just as Mr. Griffith enters the room.

“Ah, Mr. Griffith! Grace is right here, just as you requested. Would you like some tea?”

“No thank you, Irma.” He waits patiently until she gets the hint. She fiddles with her robes, stealing one last warning glance at me, and bustles out of the room. I can’t help being reminded of a large hen.

Mr. Griffith looks at me kindly. He’s one of those guys who just seems ageless. His head is completely smooth, his ebony skin stretched taught so I can’t find a single wrinkle, even on his brow. His large obsidian eyes twinkle with a warmth that at once puts me at ease, erasing the panic I feel from Ms. Alvarez’s warning.

“Hello, Grace. How are you today?” his voice reminds me of the lullabies my father used to sing.

“Hi, Mr. Griffith,” I say in a small voice. “I’m fine. How are you?”

“Why, I’m well, thank you for asking.” He answers as though no one else has ever asked him this before, which is crazy—that’s just the proper response, right?

“You wanted to talk to me,” I say.

“How are you getting along with Irma? She can be a bit…rigid.” He glances at the tea cups on the desks before us, and they turn to steaming latte’s with cinnamon on top.

I grasp mine, soaking in the warmth. “She’s trying so hard to make me into a perfect Angel. I just hope I’m up to the task.”

“You know, Grace, Irma had a tough life on Earth. She lost her family to typhoid fever when they traveled to America. Then she went to an orphanage where she stayed on, pledging herself as a nun.”

I try to reign in my surprise. Then again, if my Mom’s Catholic school stories are true, Ms. A. would make a great nun. “She wasn’t happy there?” I ask.

“She did it for the wrong reasons, Grace. She was rejecting the possibility of love and family. It hurt too much to let it back into her life.” Mr. Griffith stares into his cup like he’s reading the future, or maybe the past.

“That’s so sad,” I say, slipping a bit of hair in my mouth to chew.

“It makes me very sad indeed when someone chooses to avoid love out of fear.”

I nod, feeling pity for Ms. Alvarez and guilt over being annoyed by her.

“Humans are beautiful creatures, Grace. They have the capacity for wonderful things. Sky’s the limit. But life is built on choices. Those choices have consequences, sometimes for ourselves, sometimes for others.”

“Well, I think I’m making real progress with Cam.” Then I remember Ms. Alvarez’s warning and bite my lip.

“Really?” he sounds surprised. “That’s why I’m here, actually. I’ve noticed some new signs.”

“Signs?” I ask.

“He’s moving toward the darkness.”

“Oh,” my shoulders fall. I thought I’d made progress. Thought I’d gotten through.

“Don’t get me wrong, Grace. I simply wanted to be sure you were feeling up to the challenge. You’ve been through a lot, and your death was so recent. But I believe you are more than up to this task,” he puts a hand on my head, and I feel a new lightness, like I could move the world if I wanted to.

“Really?” I ask, looking into his eyes.

“Absolutely. I have faith in you, Grace. Just be careful. It can be hard for a new Angel to see evil even when it is right under her nose. You want to believe the best in people, and that is your greatest strength. But it can also be your downfall.”

I drink in every word he says, but one thought buzzes in my head long after he’s said good-bye.

He believes in me.

I pat the ground with the shovel, then wipe my hands on my jeans. I’ve just buried a brown and white beagle. I turn and almost bump into Keira. She’s leaning against a tree and shaking her head at me. But I see the amused smile play on her lips.

“Aw, did you kill another puppy?”

“No. Camden killed it. I missed.” I throw the shovel to the ground and feel my eyes burn.

“On purpose,” she chides.

“So what? This wasn’t in the job description.” I slide down the trunk of another tree and sit on the earth. It’s cold, but I don’t care. I watch the steam puff from my mouth and disappear into the air.

“You can always change your mind and choose eternal torment,” she says, leaning over, and the scent of cinnamon fills my nostrils.

“Leave me alone.”

“Saying things like that only makes me want you more,” she says, kneeling before me. “I’ve decided to forgive you, you know.”

“You have?” I ask, suspicion buzzing like an alarm in the back of my head. She smiles.

“Maybe.”

I let my head drop and continue to sulk. “Keira, when is this over? I mean, how do I know when his soul is corrupt enough? And then what happens?”

“Then you move onto your next assignment. It never really ends. He’ll see to that.” Her misery makes her sound almost human.

“But when? I mean, it doesn’t get freakier than this kid. He’s messed up. Sick in the head. Where do you draw the line and say his soul is damned?” I want to move on. I need to get away from this place.

“He has to kill someone,” she says. She looks me in the eye to see how I handle the news. Inside I’m screaming. I want to vomit. But I keep it all locked up tight because I don’t trust her. “Murder is the ultimate sin because the victim can never offer forgiveness.”

“I’m no murderer. So how come I ended up in Hell?” I ask.

“Aren’t you?” she asks, sounding mildly interested. She’s picking the few bits of grass from under the tree and throwing them to the side.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She shrugs. “It depends on when you die, too. If Cam lives a long life and repents before he dies, he can still end up in Heaven.”

“That’s not fair!” I’m on my feet now. My eyes hurt so bad I’m tempted to pluck them from their sockets.

“Who said anything about fair?” She leaps to her feet like a cat and puts an arm around my waist. “But how’s he ever going to meet his destiny if he doesn’t commit ultimate sin?” She points to the mounds of freshly dug graves all around. I swallow.

“You mean Cam really is…” I can’t say it. It’s insane. I’d convinced myself Lucifer had just been exaggerating before, trying to convince me how important the job was.

“He’s the Antichrist,” she says, and she looks crazed with excitement. “Demons have been searching the Earth for millennia. I’m serious, Josh, I really think this is The One.” She’s looking at me like I ought to be jumping for joy when she’s just told me I’m bringing about the end of the world.

“He’s a whack-job,” I say, finally. “Maybe a future serial-killer. But the Antichrist? I don’t think so.”

“He must have known you wouldn’t have the guts,” she says.

“Would you stop being so cryptic?”

“Lucifer. He didn’t tell you because he didn’t know if you’d have the balls for this. No wonder he told me to baby-sit you, newbie. I’m here to make sure you fulfill your destiny and push him over the edge.”

I remember with vivid detail writhing in agony on Cam’s bathroom floor and can’t imagine even Keira doing much worse. Still, I don’t intend to test her.

“Actually, he did mention the possibility of the End Times. And I’m doing pretty well so far,” I tell her, indicating all the graves. She smiles in agreement.

“Let’s celebrate!” she says, and I don’t think I have much of a choice. In any of it.

Ms. Alvarez is ecstatic that Mr. Griffith believes I can do it. It’s like our chat never even happened, and to show how much faith she has in me, she lets me go back at night—because I have a plan. I’m going to be at Cam’s house at three in the morning because that’s when his mother gets home from work.

I’m six hours early, and I don’t intend to wait in the bushes. I’ve always been a night owl. I may have had good grades and been a teacher’s pet, but I still used to love to go out late at night with Emily and my other friends. Of course, for us, it was never about drugs or beer. It was all about hanging out together and dancing to our music.

I want to dance tonight. I’m still high on confidence from Mr. Griffith, and I want to enjoy every minute of it, so I hop in my little Bug and head for the nearest place, according to my phone. I have no reason to fear the club scene, not when I’m an Angel.

The bouncer sees me coming, but I cheat.

“You want to let me by,” I whisper.

The people waiting in line behind the ropes are upset. But when I turn and smile at them they relax, content to wait their turn. They look so happy, and I made them that way. This is just the fun I need. It’s time I enjoyed my powers for once.

Inside, the music blares through the speakers, and I let the beat pulse through me, moving my body in time to the rhythm. I slide onto the dance floor and watch the specks of rainbow-colored light float across my arms and the faces all around me. I am free.

I ignore the overwhelming scent of alcohol and sweat. Instead I will the room to smell like a garden, and the aroma of lavender and roses drifts through the club. No one seems to notice, but I see people smiling all around.

A man comes to dance with me, and we move together to the song. He reaches for me and pulls me against him, holding me tight around the waist. My hands pulse with light, and I am about to repel him across the room when I catch sight of Josh across the sea of people. He is at the bar, drink in hand, and his electric blue eyes pierce through me even from that distance. If I’m honest with myself, I would admit that I came here hoping to find him. It’s the type of place he wanted to take me on our first date.

Breaking Josh’s gaze, I realize my dancing partner is moving his mouth toward my own. I turn my head to the side and shove him away. I withhold some of my strength, but it is enough for him to get the message, and he doesn’t look happy. Too bad.

I make my way to Josh who waits for me by the bar. He downs a glass of whisky, and I wonder how many he’s had. Then I remember the clarity of his gaze and chide myself for worrying.

“Hi,” I say and hop up on a barstool next to him.

“Hi,” he doesn’t sound happy to see me, and I remember the last time we were together I wouldn’t let him kiss me.

“I’m sorry about rehearsal,” I say.

“No worries,” he says and motions for another drink.

“One for my friend,” he says, looking the bartender in the eye. I’m sure he’s going to card us, but he smiles back and pours two glasses.

“On the house,” he says and moves on.

“Wow, that’s weird,” I say.

“He knows Keira,” Josh tells me, nodding toward a spot on the dance floor where his sister is dancing with two men at once. She’s moving in a way that makes me look down, embarrassed. I wonder how well the bartender knows her.

“Drink up,” he says and downs another glass.

“Um, no thanks. I don’t drink.” To this he laughs.

“Of course you don’t.”

“Listen, Josh, I think we need to talk.”

“No.” The response startles me. I feel like my chest has been pierced by an arrow, but this is for the best I suppose. “No, we shouldn’t waste tonight talking. Lets dance.”

My heart flutters. I’m frozen in place. I’m afraid to touch him, but I want to so much. He leans forward as though he somehow understands and puts his palms up in the air, waiting for my hands. He’s so near to me. I can smell the whisky on his breath, but it isn’t disturbing. In fact, it’s temptation calling to me.