Malakh

  ~*~*~*~

  The sun was wrong when I next opened my eyes. At first I couldn't place why, and then I realized it hung in the sky more to the west than the east. I'd slept through the night and most of the day. My head was pillowed on a plastic shopping bag draped over a mound of sand. Russ sat motionless a few feet away, watching the surf crash onto the shore. Gulls wheeled overhead; the wind carried their shrieks away from the sea, making them sound deceptively distant. I wondered vaguely if they'd managed to crap on any part of my body as I lay here in the shade of a pile of driftwood.

  "No, the shielding protects you from bird crap too," Russ said distractedly.

  "How'd you know I was thinking that?"

  "You were talking in your sleep a while ago." He finally turned to look at me, offering a troubled smile. "We should get going. I had planned on going to Zanna's yesterday, but I guess I've been driving you too hard. You needed the sleep."

  "Is something wrong, Russ?"

  He shrugged. "I've been hunting him for so long, I can't believe I'm so close."

  I sat up and stretched. Midway through a jaw-cracking yawn, I realized what he'd said. "I thought you didn't know where he is."

  "Poor choice of words," he replied, frowning. He turned, scattering sand across my jeans. Frustration made his voice a tight growl. "I know where he's been. I just can't anticipate where he'll be next."

  "Why does this fall to you, anyway? If he knows you're hunting him, why isn't someone else—someone he doesn't suspect—sent after him?"

  "It's my purpose. All angels have responsibilities. Some are sent to watch over the humans. Others watch over the other angels. Yet others, like me, are fallen angel hunters—not a pleasant job—and there aren't that many of us."

  "He's fallen?"

  Russ made an impatient sound. "He's murdering people, Suzanne. Of course he's fallen, but not in the terms you're thinking of. He's not one of the original rebellion. I've been a watcher, over both humans and angels. Now I'm called to be a hunter. But he's just always one step ahead of me." His hand clenched into a tight fist, pressing into the flesh of his thigh.

  My stomach growled, ending his introspection. He rummaged in the grocery bag beside him and handed me the jar of cashews. I screwed off the top and dove in. His odd, distracted demeanor faded into the background as I chomped my way through a quarter of the nuts left in the jar. When the hunger pangs abated, he silently handed me a bottle of juice. The juice barely slaked my thirst.

  "Is there a bottle of water in there? I'm really thirsty."

  "No, but we can get some on our way to Zanna's."

  I bit my lip. "Explain again why we have to go there."

  "I'm hoping he left some sort of clue that will lead me to him."

  "He's been too smart to make a mistake like that."

  "If he left a clue, it wouldn't be by mistake. It would be a challenge to me to find him. I have to take the risk of him laying a trap for me. Are you ready? Have you rested enough?"

  I nodded, gathering my trash. We'd spent the night on a strip of beach with parking and other amenities. I was amazed we hadn't been rousted and run off during the night. As we passed a trash receptacle, I smiled hesitantly at the girl standing next to it. She stared at my left eyebrow and then turned away without a change in expression. I raised a brow at Russ, but he only tugged me toward the sidewalk.

  We walked with steadfast determination, mostly silent. Residential neighborhoods and business corridors flowed by in a steady stream, blending seamlessly into a blur of familiar haunts and unrecognized venues, the latter of which signaled more lost pieces of a past too painful to dwell on.

  Russ held my hand in a loose grip, feeding me strength to keep exhaustion at bay. We stopped to rest on the edge of Rizal Park, and he waited until we were lounging on the grassy edge of the park to let go of my hand. Weariness flooded through me in an instant. I was only vaguely aware of leaning heavily against his shoulder, and of him easing me down to pillow my head in his lap.

  The sun was nearly set when I woke, staining the clouds in a glorious display of crimson, orange, and gold. I stretched and sat up, my stomach gurgling.

  Russ glanced at me, amused. "Hungry already?"

  "Unlike you," I replied tartly, "I have to eat every few hours."

  "I forget sometimes." He rummaged in the plastic grocery sack and tossed me a bag of teriyaki jerky. "That should tide you over."

  "Much more walking, Russ, and I'm going to need new jeans." In just the three days since I'd met him, my jeans had started to fit loosely. I was going to need a real meal soon. Saliva flooded my mouth at the thought of a hearty dinner of roasted chicken and baby reds and—

  "We're almost done, I think."

  I paused midway through biting a thick piece of jerky in half. "Done? Is he close?"

  "Closer," he stressed. "I think we're right to go to Zanna's. He feels stronger." He trailed into silence for a long time.

  "He feels stronger? What do you mean?"

  "We leave behind a trace of our presence everywhere we go. That trace gets stronger the closer we get to each other. I can feel him now; I just can't pinpoint him." The edge of frustration in his steely voice made me glad he wasn't hunting me.

  "And then what? You're going to confront him after he's murdered God knows how many people? Are you crazy?"

  He quirked a funny little smile in my direction. "Insanity is an affliction of your species but never mine."

  "You can't call what he's doing the actions of a sane being," I argued.

  "Not sane as you define it." In human terms, in other words, with our limited understanding and penchant for filing everyone away in tidy little boxes with definitive labels.

  "But—"

  "Suzanne," he broke in with a trace of impatience. "We're good or we're bad. It's as simple as that. Acts of depravity amongst the fallen don't indicate a lack of sanity, just a lack of regard for morality."

  "I still think—"

  "You want some comfort in the face of what he's done, and I can understand that. But you can't let that desire blind you to reality. He's completely aware of what he's doing, and he made a deliberate decision to do it."

  I subsided into silence, stung by his sharpness. Was I wrong to hope against all hope that we were wrong, that it was some other angel murdering humans and framing Raum for it?

  "I'm sorry," he said finally, his tone conciliatory. "I didn't mean to be so harsh. I'm just afraid that if you get your hopes too high that I'm wrong about him, you're going to be hurt exponentially when I'm proven right."

  "Maybe you won't be."

  He favored me with a pitying look. "I have it on the highest authority. He's the angel responsible. Finish your jerky. We still have another hour or so of walking."

  I needed no further encouragement. I fell to my meal with gusto, and in short order had polished off the jerky, leaving nothing to show for my meal but slightly sticky fingers. He handed me another bottle of juice, and I was relieved to see that this time it was grape. I had developed a distaste for cran-raspberry juice over the last two days.

  "Feeling better?"

  "Much."

  "Onward, then."

  We started out again, and as we rounded the corner onto Rainier Avenue, I slipped my hand into his. He looked down with a surprised smile but made no comment. His fingers squeezed mine, and we walked in comfortable stride.

  Our route was a long, a straight walk down Rainier Avenue to South Genesee. Zanna lived—had lived—at the south end of the park on a quiet, pleasant street. I paused at the end of the back walk, unable to look away from the blaring yellow crime scene tape that barred our way. Russ ducked under it.

  "We can't go in there. It's still a crime scene."

  He arched a brow. "Sure we can."

  "Someone's going to see us and call the police. How will you explain that?"

  "No one will see us."

  Still I hesitated, skeptical, and he retraced his steps. His hands came to r
est on my shoulders, and his eyes shifted from cool blue to almost copper, as though he knew it was my favorite and sought to comfort me.

  "Suzanne, haven't you wondered why no one stopped while we were sitting for so long at the side of Dearborn Street? Or why no one bothered you on the beach when I went to get you food? No one can see us."

  "Really?" I wasn't so sure I liked that idea. What if something happened to him? Would the shielding break, and I'd become visible again? Or would I be condemned to wander through a world where no one could see me?

  "The marriage bond and the shielding will break if anything happens to me," Russ said; his fingers tightened a fraction. "Don't worry. Now, do you want to stay out here while I look around inside?"

  I glanced at the door. "Is it … do you think it's really bad?"

  His eyes darkened. "Yes, I think it's very bad."

  "I'll stay out here, then. I don't think I can … "

  His hands fell away, and without another word he pivoted and strode away from me. The locked doorknob was no match for otherworldly abilities. He gained easy access, and he didn't look back as he stepped across the threshold. The house swallowed him.

  I sat in the grass beside the patio, ignoring the comfortable deck chairs under the shade of the awning. Zanna had not welcomed me here when she had been alive; I wasn't going to make myself at home just because she wasn't here to object. The lawn needed to be mowed; my fingers cropped all that was within reach in an effort to distract my mind from what was in the house.

  The sun warmed my shoulders. I stared at my arms so I wouldn't have to look at the streak of crimson on the door trim. My skin had turned a lovely shade of brown. I hadn't been this tan in years, since I'd had the time—and the inclination—to sunbathe. It generally took several weeks of dedicated sun worshipping to achieve this shade.

  I frowned, thinking back over the time since I'd met Russ. Had it only been three days? It felt like much longer. With my weight loss and tanned skin, it was almost easy to believe it had been longer. And there were stretches of time that I couldn't remember passing, one moment being aware of the sun burning down from one angle, and the next it shone from a direction it should have passed hours before.

  I wondered if my jumbled memory had something to do with Russ feeding me his strength; I slept so deeply that upon waking I had several moments of complete amnesia. Angels, I grumbled silently. Damn angels.

  I glanced up, checking the back door to see if he was coming out yet. The door, open just a crack, beckoned to me, enticing me. Come see what he did to her, the girl you learned to drive with; the girl you first drank whiskey with—and puked with; the girl who followed you from California to Seattle to go to a college she hated just to be near you; the girl whose man you stole and whose heart you broke. Come see the end of the heartbreak, splattered across the white walls Zanna so favored. Come see what waits ahead for you when Raum finally gets around to you.

  I blinked the thought away, surprised to find myself on the back porch, pushing the door open.

  He had caught her in the kitchen. The Mexican floor tiles were stained with a large, sticky puddle of blood that had been left to dry. The walls were not white, but a warm butter yellow with crimson splatters that might have been artful had they been paint rather than blood. They were darker than I'd expected, more russet than red. The scent hung thick and bitter in the air, closed up as the house had been. Zanna had no family, and separated from Ian and me, there was no one to call for a crime scene clean-up. Her house, paid for long ago through an insurance settlement, would remain empty until unpaid property taxes forced the county to sell the parcel at auction or a will transferred the deed to someone she'd found deserving.

  I dragged my eyes away from the bloody floor. A newspaper lay open on the table, sprinkled with scarlet drops. I could just make out part of a headline: Police call off search for missing—

  "Suzanne," Russ said with concern.

  I hadn't realized I was headed toward the floor until he caught me. He pressed my face to his chest and carried me outside, where I lay with my cheek against the cool blades of grass for a long time.

  An ant crawled up a long, broad blade, wavered at the tip, and lumbered back down. I watched it zigzag across the dead thatch under the green lawn until it disappeared. Still I stared until I realized something else was in the thatch. A tarnished circle of cheap metal with a die-cut heart, mashed into the dirt. Ian had worn one like it when we were living together; we'd bought a matching pair at some little stand at the fair after indulging in too many funnel cakes. The heart on his had been cut funny, a little lopsided.

  I pushed my fingers through the thatch and pried the ring from the ground, brushing the soil out of a lopsided heart.

  My heart hammered against my ribs so hard I thought it might burst from my chest. I sat up slowly, a scream of anguish building in my throat, my heart plummeting into a bottomless chasm of shock and misery. No. Oh no no no, not this, anything but this!

  "Suzanne?" Russ queried sharply.

  I raised my face to the sun and screamed, and screamed again.

  Russ pressed his hand to my forehead, and I knew no more.