The Broken Angel (5 page)

“That lady you
always
spar with?”

Samuel heard the way Ophelia had emphasized that. He didn’t think anyone, beside Alexander, had noticed he had more than a fleeting interest in Martina. “Yes, her.”

“Is she okay?”

“She has a concussion, but she’ll be fine.”

Ophelia paused for a few heartbeats. “I’m sorry, but you must come here to deal with this mess. The cub’s name was Leandro Denari. He was related to Quintilius.”

Samuel swore. Werewolves were a gregarious race. All-for-one-and-one-for-all kind of pack mentality. The clan headed by Lucius Seneca Quintilius was one of the oldest and most powerful shifter clans in Rome. “Give me half an hour and I’ll be there.”

He reached Martina’s room and found she was staring outside the window, lost in thought, a sullen expression on her face. As she heard his chair approaching, her head swung his way, and her eyes lit with a more joyous light. He wheeled to the side of the bed free of bars, ready to make his excuses, but not eager to leave her.

She tilted her head and clasped her hands on her lap. “You must go?”

He thought he heard the faintest hint of disappointment in her voice, and hope surged in him that she might feel something for him. Then he remembered the way he appeared to her. “It’s work related. I’ll come back here as soon as I’m done.”

She sat straighter, propping the pillow on her back so that it rested behind her shoulder blades. “Work related? At dinner time? What kind of job do you have?”

“Law enforcement.” He waited for her reaction, his hands tensing on the wheels as her eyes roamed over him, lingering a moment on his legs lying at an angle. Thin legs attached to a frail body she couldn’t be possibly interested in.

Her smile became bigger, then she laughed a genuine laugh. “Well, aren’t you full of surprises, sparring partner?”

“What can I say? Deep inside, I’m truly badass.” He made a show to stand on the wheelchair’s back wheels as he turned around in the confined space. “In truth, I don’t even need the walking stick.”

“I’m sure you use it only to get the ladies to buy you drinks.”

He nodded, a grin spreading on his face despite his previous feelings. “It has worked once or twice.”

She gave him an odd look, then her cheeks colored ever so slightly, and she averted her gaze for a moment. “Thank you for standing up…” She blushed even more and brought her hand over her eyes. “Sorry.” She grimaced, sighed, then looked back at him. “Thank you for defending me against Giulio.”

“You saved my life. It was the least I could do.” He grabbed her hand and squeezed it. “See you later.” Now that they had just shared a moment, he wanted to stay more than ever. Instead, he reminded himself why what he did for the paranormal community was important and wheeled out of the room, reached the elevator at the end of the hallway, exited at the first floor, and got rid of the chair.

Once outside the hospital, he called a cab. Not twenty minutes later, he was inside the morgue chamber three floors below the paranormal hospital, staring at a metal drawer. As soon as he had knocked at the window behind which a tired-looking janitor was busy playing crosswords, the man had informed him he could enter the morgue, but had to wait for the forensic anthropologist to come back to see the body.

He heard Ophelia coming before she rounded the corner. Her stilettos always announced her. The door opened and the most exotic werewolf he knew entered.

Ophelia, wearing a miniskirt that showed so much leg it shouldn’t be legal, hurried to his side. She handed him a small plastic cup. “Sorry, but I’ve been waiting for you for a while and I needed an espresso ASAP. I’ve been awake for the last three days and—”

Much to his chagrin, Samuel knew all about her nights. His friend was prone to overshare when it came to her busy sexual life. “What happened to the boy?” He accepted the espresso with a silent thanks.

“Death by decapitation.” Ophelia stretched her neck by moving her head first to the right, then the left. “Drink it first.” She waited for him to gulp the content of the cup, then made a sign to the janitor who had resumed his crosswords and forgot about them. “The most bizarre accident.”

The janitor fished the right key from the dangling ring attached to his utility belt and unlocked the drawer that opened with a hiss and a cloud of white smoke. The temperature in the room seemed to lower almost immediately. The janitor raised the white sheet covering the body, then left.

“Do you recognize him?” Ophelia hugged herself and caressed her arms, her long ivory nail drumming on her mocha skin.

“Yes. That’s one of the boys I tried to restrain earlier today.” He would have recognized the boy just by the preppy clothes he wore.

“That was an accident?” Samuel pointed at the truncated neck and the head lying before it.

“His car was totaled on impact with a semi coming the opposite direction. It seems a portion of the roof came down and guillotined him.” Ophelia’s face paled, but she didn’t look away, her chocolate eyes barely blinking. “That’s what the human police report says. We’ll give the accident further consideration of course. Also, unknown drugs were found in his body. Our guess, vampire blood.”

He nodded, then turned to face Ophelia. He had seen enough of the boy. “He was already high when he confronted me.”

She gave the content of the drawer one last glance, then slowly pushed it close. “He must have consumed again right before driving.” She moved toward the center of the room, then stood silent for a moment, her legs crossed at her ankles, her arms under her chest. “The boy was Quintilius’s sister’s nephew. He called me to check the boy’s remains. I called you to give you the heads-up because Quintilius has formally asked for your expulsion from the Council. In his eyes, you failed your job.”

Samuel inwardly groaned, but didn’t dare speak ill of the werewolf every shifter in Rome, and especially Ophelia, who worshipped him as a father. Plus, he did feel responsible for not having stopped the three cubs when he had a chance.

Ophelia tilted her head to the side. “That a human was there doesn’t help matters.”

“No, it doesn’t, but Martina didn’t see anything she shouldn’t have. As far as she’s concerned, she saw three underage thugs high on drugs, ganging up against a defenseless cripple.” He watched as Ophelia tensed up. “Is there something else?”

She looked over her shoulders at the janitor sitting in the back of the room, then stepped closer to Samuel. “An infant was found inside the car. A were-puma who escaped the accident with just a few scratches.”

“A baby?” The image of a small, defenseless child popped in Samuel’s mind. “Why did he have a kid in his car?” His eyes went to the wall where the dead werewolf lay in his refrigerated drawer.

Ophelia’s gaze went to that wall as well. “That I don’t know.”

Samuel couldn’t help but think of how scared the were-baby must have been. His immediate thoughts went to a lifetime in the servitude of his creator as an angel of life. An existence he wanted to forget, but his fallen condition wouldn’t let him, gifting him from time to time with the odd memories haunting him at the least opportune moments. Yet, every time, he had to bear the onslaught of images and sounds until it ran its course. Like the tide of a vengeful sea, once it receded, his unwanted memories drifted back to the shore as if they were castaways, tarnished and broken.

“I name thee Samuel. The Asked of the Divinity. Your job ‘til the end of time is to serve humanity. You are an angel of life, and your task will be to ease newborns’ transition from the womb to the mortal realm.” Samuel opened his eyes to intense, white light. Later, he realized he had heard the voice in his mind, but at first he hadn’t known he was now one, singular. Not part of the multitude anymore. He had felt safe in the multitude, but the voice reassured him he was meant to be singular to carry on his creator’s vision on Earth. Samuel didn’t know what Earth was, but when the light dimmed and left him, he knew. His mind was full of knowledge that hadn’t been there before. He knew all. He knew he had a body and wings to fly with from the high ledge he was perched on. Full of wonder, he flew over Earth, taking in its beauty and wilderness. Before long, a pull impossible to refute made him turn and gave his flight a new purpose. In a blink, he was inside a warm, dimly lit cavernous space, before him the unborn soul of a scared boy. Samuel cradled the soul in his arms and spoke to the boy in soothing tones until he relaxed and cooed to him.

“You are ready to live.” Samuel gently pushed the young soul into the white tunnel and was rewarded by crystalline laughs, followed by the distant sound of joyous cries.

He wept at the sheer beauty of it.

Samuel’s work cell phone rang, interrupting his reveries, and Barnes’s name appeared on the screen. He gave Ophelia a raised eyebrow.

“I told you Quintilius wants your head.”

Samuel took the call, already knowing he was being summoned to Castel Sant’ Angelo.

“Do you need a ride?” Ophelia asked when he hung up with his boss.

Samuel nodded. “It’s going to be a long night.”

****

Martina kept looking at the door of her hospital room, dreading Giulio would reappear. Earlier, Samuel’s presence had helped her withstand the unwanted visit from her ex-husband. Samuel, a man whose condition elicited her protective instincts, had given her the strength to not cower before Giulio.

“Is your friend gone?” The nurse had come to check her reflexes. She was now passing a flashlight before her eyes.

Martina blinked. Her headache hadn’t lessened with the painkillers the nurse had given her a few hours earlier. “He had to go.”

“Is he your significant other?” The nurse gently grabbed Martina’s wrist and pressed her thumb on the most visible vein.

Martina chuckled as she pulled her knees up. “We barely know each other.”

The nurse’s eyebrow shot up. “Really?”

“Yes, why?” For a moment, she thought back to the moment Samuel had made a joke, and she had discovered he had dimples when he smiled. She had never noticed that before.

The nurse shrugged. “I don’t know. Just a feeling. The way you looked at each other. I mean, you’re here because you fought three strangers to save him.” She released Martina’s hand, and took her temperature next. “He’s kind of cute. And even in a wheelchair, I’d bet he’s more man than your ex-husband.”

Martina blushed at the woman’s explicit allusion to Samuel’s prowess in a field she shouldn’t be thinking about. But the suggestion had been made and her mind traveled that path, only to feel suddenly too warm. A few scattered images from their sparring sessions came back to her. She had to admit she liked the way he moved around her. He was competent in the art of fighting and he was an attentive partner. Maybe those qualities of his extended to… “I really don’t know him.”

The nurse, oblivious to Martina’s reaction, wrote a few lines on the notepad she had taken from one of her pockets. “All your vitals are normal. I’ll come check on you in an hour and try not to fall asleep. Anyway, I think he’s nice.” With a wink, the nurse moved to the other patients, leaving Martina with a few wild thoughts and too much night ahead of her. The woman came back as promised sixty minutes later on the dot, and every hour after that until the next morning.

Martina looked out the window all night. She looked at the parade of people who went to the terrace in the adjacent wing to smoke. She could see them from her room, and once or twice she made to leave, only to stop at the door and walk back to her bed, worried the moment she left, Samuel would arrive. She wouldn’t smoke. In fact, she hated the mere smell of cigarettes. Giulio used to smoke soon after having sex. Nicotine smelled like humiliation mixed with pain. No, she would definitely never smoke, but she could use a breath of fresh air and the terrace was the only outdoor space she could access from her floor. She tried to relax her mind, but with so many thoughts crowding it, she wouldn’t have slept in any case. The artificial light from the streetlamps had been replaced by the pink of dawn, then by the first sunrays breaking through the clouds hanging low, and finally by a blue sky cleared by the spring winds. Samuel hadn’t come back.

“How do you feel about eating something?” The nurse had brought her a breakfast tray.

Martina’s eyes went once again outside. “I’m famished, but I need to leave before my ex arrives.”

The nurse nodded. “I’ll fetch the papers for you.” She put the tray on the over-bed table and pushed it closer to Martina. “Meanwhile, eat something.”

Martina drank the tea and devoured the toasted bread, her stomach growling. She was about to push the button to call the nurse and ask if she could have another piece of bread, when the woman entered the room with a worried face and forms in her hand.

“I just saw your husband talking to the doctor.” She pushed the papers and a pen at Martina. “Sign here, here, and there.” She pointed the places as Martina scribbled her name in haste. “Come.”

Martina, not having anyone to call to bring her a change of clothing—another reminder of how Giulio had destroyed her life piece by piece—she still only had her dirty clothes to wear. She slipped on her outfit and followed the nurse out of the room.

As she exited, she heard Giulio’s voice around the corner. The nurse opened a door with the sign “personnel only” for her, and she stepped into the small landing of an emergency stairwell.

“Good luck.” The woman gave her a smile, then closed the door behind her. Giulio’s angry voice resonated from the hallway.

Martina flew down the stairs two at a time until she reached the exit. She pushed it open and ran outside.

Samuel had spent two weeks without sleeping. Sahadeva had accepted the bride his father had chosen for him. Samuel couldn’t bear the idea of his beloved kissing someone else, making love to anyone else. As an angel of life, he should have dealt with his assigned newborns-to-be, helping them transitioning from the soul-state to the physical realm—a task he had always loved—but he couldn’t. He wished he could take enough opium to slip into a blessed slumber, full of colorful dreams of a life he could never have with Sahadeva. But Samuel was made of divine matter and no drugs nor ailments could alter his perfected state. How he wished, for once, he were human and imperfect, able to do with his life what he most desired.

Today, his dark prince would marry. His wings closed behind him, and Samuel launched himself from the perch high above the clouds he had called home until he had met Sahadeva. The first time Samuel had tasted Sahadeva’s lips, he had realized that was home. In his lover’s arms was home. His eyes, as black as Samuel’s wings, were home. Lying together was home. He spiraled down, not feeling the wind ruffling his feathers. There was no living without Sahadeva by his side.

Samuel blinked the images away. He hadn’t revisited
that
day in a while. Outside Castel Sant’ Angelo, leaning by the ancient brick wall, he was waiting for his taxi to arrive. He had spent the whole night talking to Barnes. His boss had wanted him to explain in great details what had happened the night before. Samuel was used to those kind of third-degree sessions. Even as an employee of the Immortal Council, his status of fallen granted him different treatment. Sometimes, he wondered about his decision to remain an angel. Maybe he should have opted to become a demon.

In fact, the Holy Nation had been forced by the Peace Pact Alliance to accept demons in their ranks, but they still didn’t acknowledge him. Hundreds of years after the Holy Nation had refused Samuel access to their premises, he had been offered Caronte’s job, but the archangel Arariel, the Holy Nation’s haughty leader, had let Barnes know through a letter written and delivered by one of his servants that they would never deal with the fallen angel. The immortal had informed Samuel of the archangel’s decision while trying to lessen the blow by saying it was probably for the better since no one wanted to have anything to do with the Holy Nation.

But the truth was that if demons were barely tolerated, he was despised by the Holy Nation and, as a result, by the rest of the paranormal world. Because if your own race didn’t want you, who would? Samuel devoted all of his time to making the integration between species possible, yet he was still treated as the outsider. His word was never good enough for those people. He had never been good enough. He hadn’t been good enough for Sahadeva.

He knew he was being more morose than usual, but was starting to have enough of being constantly disrespected, and he was in a foul mood. He had promised Martina he would come back and hated eating his own promises. With more strength than necessary, he kicked a beer can that had escaped the garbage bin nearby and sent it in the middle of the street as his ride arrived.

The cab driver assessed him, took in his cane, his slim legs, and decided he was innocuous enough. “Where to?”

“Umberto I.” He entered the car and closed his eyes for a power nap that eluded him. By the time he had reached the hospital, he was in such poor spirits he handed the driver his fare and exited the cab without saying a word.

Sudden movement caught his interest, and he turned to see Martina furtively looking right and left before sprinting into a run. He walked to intercept her, but she didn’t see him and hit him squarely in his chest. Instinctively, he took her in his arms.

She screamed and tried to escape his hold.

Still grabbing her elbow, he stepped back to look at her. “Martina, are you okay?”

She raised her face in confusion, but as she saw him, her eyes misted. “It’s you.” She looked over his shoulders. “I thought you were my ex-husband.”

Anger flared up through him at the mere mention of the man. “Did he come back?”

Her eyes on the hospital’s entrance, she nodded. “He’s upstairs.”

She looked tense, as if ready to spring into action, and she felt cold to the touch. Samuel immediately waved at a passing taxi. “Let’s go.” He would have rather gone back upstairs and teach Giulio a valuable lesson about not looking at her ever again. At the moment, though, she didn’t need him on a rampage. Martina needed a friendly shoulder. As painful as it was to just be that, he would be a true friend to her. Once the cab came to halt before them, he opened the passenger door for her and gently pushed her inside, then gave the driver his address.

Only then did Martina stir from her daze and looked at him. “Where are we going?”

He raised his hand for the driver to wait. “To my apartment, unless you want me to take you somewhere else.”

She seemed to think about it, then shook her head, a bleak expression clouding her eyes, her body sagging against the seat. Samuel gave the driver the okay and they finally left the Umberto I Hospital behind. Knowing she had accepted his offer to go to his place only because he seemed safe pained him, but he sat beside her and was careful not to invade her space. Martina had reacted quite strongly to his embrace and he feared he had overstepped his boundaries.

By the time they reached his apartment, Martina had barely relaxed, but she tried to smile when he climbed out of the cab and rushed to open the door for her. He remembered only at the last moment he wasn’t supposed to walk that fast without the cane he had forgotten to materialize when he had seen her outside the hospital. Fortunately, she didn’t seem to notice, her eyes glancing at their surroundings.

He fought the urge to take her hand in his and pull her up to his chest, but stopped before her so that she had to look at him. “He won’t find you here.”

She blinked. “Where are we?”

“Not far from the hospital.” He led her to his building’s glass door.

“Is that San Pietro in Vincoli?” Martina pointed at the building opposite them that housed the faculty of engineering. “I used to live only a few blocks from here when I was a student at La Sapienza University.” She turned on her heels until she was facing the other side of the road. “And The Eagle bar is still here. They made the best tramezzini in Rome.”

“They still do, but the owner died a few years ago. Now the son manages the place, and I guess he inherited all his father’s recipes because nothing has changed.” Samuel walked toward his building and Martina followed him.

Only when she was safely inside the foyer smelling of polished wood and floor cleaners did he relax. Despite his reassurance that she would be fine, her frayed mood had somehow affected his nerves as well. “Come.” Although he disliked being confined in small spaces, he couldn’t let her see him running six flights of stairs to reach his attic, so he resigned himself to ride the slow and noisy Art Nouveau elevator.

As they entered the cubicle, Martina sat on the brocade cushion upholstering the narrow bench framing the rear wall. “Love older buildings.” She caressed the gleaming brass accents that created an intricate décor of leaves and flowers covering the walls. “Whoever is in charge of managing your building is doing a great job.” Her eyes seemed to take in every detail. “The end of the nineteenth century was such an incredible time for art and architecture. You’re lucky to live here.”

For Samuel, it was as if he were looking at the place for the first time, and discovered the elevator was indeed a piece of art. They reached the attic floor, and he waited for her reaction at the small foyer outside his apartment. Fresh-cut white freesias were displayed on the mantelpiece by the left wall under a big, gilded mirror. The sweet and fresh scent of the flowers bathed them as soon as he opened the glass door covered with a wrought iron frame. He stepped toward the center of the mosaic floor and she left the elevator to join him, then he moved toward the only door opening into the foyer.

A step behind him, she abruptly stopped. “You own the whole floor?”

Without turning, Samuel nodded, then unlocked his door. One hand holding the polished knob, he stepped sideways. “Come in.” Having fantasized about having her at his place for the last six months, he was nervous.

Martina’s eyes widened as she entered his apartment, but didn’t say anything at first. Then she walked to the center of the large open-space living room and looked around. Finally, she faced him and smiled. “Your place is magnificent.”

He was relieved by her reaction. Only his closest friends came to visit him and he wasn’t used to entertaining much besides his poker nights with the guys and Ophelia, and he wasn’t sure on how to proceed. “Please.” He gestured for her to sit on the couch under the window and was about to join her when he remembered his manners. “Would you like anything to drink or eat?”

She shook her head, but at the same time her stomach growled and she blushed. “I did eat something, but it seems I’m still hungry.” Samuel walked to the kitchen that opened into the living room. He couldn’t help but keep looking at her as he reached for the fridge’s door.

She turned to face the window that occupied the entire wall. “That’s the Coliseum.” She sighed, then stood and opened one of the glass panes. “You have the most beautiful view in Rome.”

“It is a pretty view. Especially at night.” He opened the fridge and grimaced. “I apologize, but I don’t have anything to offer you.” He didn’t need sustenance per se—he only had to step outside and let his skin soak light and dew and he was good for a full day—but he enjoyed eating, and preferred to have his meals cooked by professionals. Or by Alexander. The man had lots of vices but he could put to good use that professional kitchen of his.

She waved a hand in the air, her face illuminated by the morning light and her hair tousled by a playful breeze. “That’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. I can’t have you starve. I’ll fetch something at the bar. Just get comfortable.” Samuel was already at the door.

****

Martina felt lightheaded. She could barely believe she was out of Giulio’s reach and in Samuel’s heavenly apartment. From Samuel’s demeanor, she would have never guessed he could be so well off that he owned a prime piece of real estate as this. Besides her rumbling stomach, her body had other necessities she had to attend to and she wandered through his apartment looking for a bathroom.

The whole place was decorated in black and white with the odd detail in shades of gray. Wherever she looked, elegant furniture both linear in their forms and sturdy in their appearances dotted the spaces. Samuel hadn’t crowded the rooms; instead, only a few big pieces dominated the white marble floors. On the walls, huge frames in dark, polished woods contained pictures of Rome. The overall theme seemed to be
then
and
now
. For every image of the old cityscape, there was the counterpart of the modern one.

As she passed through the hallway leading out from the living room, she noticed a sliver of light coming from under a door. She pushed the door open and stepped inside a square room with another of those wall-to-wall windows that seemed to be the signature of his apartment. The room contained a Persian rug on which sat a wooden-and-steel armchair large enough she and Samuel could have sat side by side on it and still be comfortable—she wondered for a second where that thought had come from—and a telescope. The telescope looked high quality, the armchair was probably a designer piece, and the rug was certainly authentic. Giulio had a penchant for antique Persian rugs, and she had learned how to discern between a modern copy and the real deal. The real deal oftentimes could cost as much as a small apartment. Samuel’s was a splendid example of a real deal.

Dazed by the realization that there was more to her sparring partner than met the eye, she resumed her search for the bathroom, which she found a door later. Even the pieces in the lavatory were black and white, the materials used for the tub and the counters ranging from stainless steel to chrome to white ceramic, giving the place a look straight from a science fiction movie. Barely repressing a chuckle, she refreshed her face at a sink that worked by swiping her hands before the faucet.

Exiting the bathroom, she peeked at what must have been Samuel’s bedroom. She knew she shouldn’t have pried but couldn’t help stepping closer to the partially opened door. In accordance with the rest of his apartment, this room was black and white, spacious and sparsely furnished. The only difference was that its walls were bare of any pictures. At the sight of the humongous bed though, she did a double take and walked closer to it. She knew things like California king beds existed and were widely used in the States. During the honeymoon she and Giulio had spent in New York, she had even slept in one of them, but the bed she was looking at was bigger than a California king and was raised on a platform.

Impulsively, she jumped on it and sat on the firm mattress, curious to know how the black silk sheet felt under her touch. She caressed the smooth fabric as she wondered why Samuel, so frail and small, needed a bed so big. Her mind soon traveled toward explanations that made her blush. Samuel was Alexander’s friend after all, and it was public knowledge that before meeting his partner, Drako had indulged in all sorts of bed sports. She didn’t like the idea that Samuel was involved in casual sex. Somehow, maybe because of his handicap, she had put him on a pedestal.

A strange mix of emotions stirred her heartbeats into a frenzy. She lowered herself on her elbows and looked up at the ceiling, where, inside a recessed area framed in a way that was visible only from the bed, a big painting of outstretched black wings was displayed.

“Feeling a bit tired?” Samuel’s voice startled her. He looked at her from the archway with an expression on his face she couldn’t read.

“I apologize. I didn’t mean to—”She tried to stand too quickly and felt dizzy, but Samuel’s arms kept her from falling. “Thanks.” She hadn’t seen him moving, testimony of how out of sorts she was.