Camael and Aaron ran to their injured comrade.
“He bit me, Aaron,” Gabriel whined pathetically. “That wasn’t very nice. I didn’t even bite him first.”
“He’s got a pretty good bite here,” Aaron said as he examined the bloody puncture wounds near the dog’s hip. “What am I going to do?” Aaron asked, looking to Camael for help.
“That’s an excellent question,” the angel answered, folding his arms across his broad chest. “What are you going to do?”
“Nothing’s happening,” Aaron said as he laid his hands on the dog’s bleeding leg.
“Perhaps you’re not trying hard enough,” Camael responded in that condescending tone of voice that made Aaron want to tell him to stick it up his angelic butt.
He was still angry with the angel for putting their lives at risk just to test him—although part of him did understand why Camael had done it. After all, there was quite a bit riding on this whole angelic prophecy thing. If he was in fact the one the prophecy spoke of, and they were both pretty sure that he was, then he had a major responsibility to fulfill for the fallen angels living upon the planet.
“Yeah,” Gabriel added, interrupting his thoughts. “Try harder.”
“That’s enough out of you,” Aaron said, pressing his hands against the bite. If only he could remember what he did that awful morning in Lynn when Gabriel had been hit by the car. After all, if he could return him from the brink of death then, he could certainly heal a simple bite now.
“It hurts, Aaron.”
“I know, pal. I’m going to fix you up, just as soon as…”
Camael bent closer. “Let go your humanity and embrace the angelic,” he boomed. “To fear it is to fear yourself.”
Aaron was reminded of similar words spoken by Zeke that fateful Saturday—had it really only been two weeks ago? So much had changed in such a short time. He closed his eyes and willed the power forward.
He could sense it there, somewhere in the pitch black behind his eyes. He beckoned to it, but it ignored his call, perhaps perturbed at him for not allowing it to manifest during the battle with the Orishas. He concentrated all the more, his body trembling with exertion.
“That’s it, rein it in,” he heard Camael say quietly from beside him. “Take control and make it your own.”
Aaron commanded the power to come forward, and it slowly turned its attention to him. He pushed again with his mind, and suddenly, with the speed of thought, it moved, shifting its form—mammal, insect, reptile, all shapes of life, the menagerie of God. The force surged through him, and Aaron gasped with the rush of it. His eyes flew open, and he gazed up into the late afternoon sky, at the clouds above and the universe beyond his own. “It’s here,” he whispered, feeling his body throb with the ancient power.
“Excellent,” Camael hissed in his ear. “Now wrestle it, take control—show it you are master.”
And Aaron did as he was told. The power fought him, trying to overwhelm him with the sheer force of its might, but Aaron held on, corralling it, moving its strength to where it was needed. He felt the power flood into his upper body, moving down the length of his arms and into his hands.
“I … I feel something happening, Aaron,” Gabriel said, fear in his guttural voice.
“It’s going to be all right,” Aaron soothed as he felt the raw energy flow from the tips of his fingers into the dog’s injured leg. He willed the power to heal his best friend, and he stared at the gaping wound, waiting for it to close—but nothing happened. Again, he willed it, and the power danced about the injury—but it did nothing.
Aaron pulled away, exhausted, hands tingling painfully. “I don’t understand,” he said in a breathless whisper. He looked up at Camael looming above him. “I did what you said—I took control and I commanded it to heal Gabriel’s wound—but it didn’t do a thing.”
Camael stared thoughtfully at the Lab, absently reaching up to run his fingers through his goatee. “Interesting,” he observed. “Perhaps your animal has become more complex than even you understand.”
Aaron shook his head, confused. “I don’t…”
“When the animal was healed before—”
“This animal has a name,” Gabriel interrupted with annoyance.
“It’s okay, boy,” Aaron said, patting the dog’s head, comforting him.
“As I was saying,” Camael said, glaring at the dog, “when the animal was healed before, the power you wielded was raw, in its purest form—its most potent state. You commanded it to repair Gabriel, and it did just that—only I think it may have altered him as well.”
“I don’t feel altered,” the dog said. “My leg just hurts.”
“Are you saying that Gabriel is too complicated a life-form for me to fix now?”
The angel nodded.
“But how could I have done that?” Aaron asked as he gently stroked his dog’s side.
“You didn’t,” Camael corrected. “You just gave the command, and the presence within you took it from there.”
If he hadn’t been afraid of the power that lived within him before, he certainly would be now, but that didn’t change the fact that Gabriel was still hurt. “Gabriel needs medical attention,” Aaron said, staring down at his best friend. “He may be a complex life-form, but he still needs to have that bite cleaned up.”
“Then I suggest we continue on with our journey,” the angel said, “and hopefully we’ll be able to find medical help for him in Blithe.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Aaron said after a moment’s thought. He reached out and hefted the eighty-pound canine over his shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he said sarcastically to the angel, grunting with exertion, “I got him.”
“Yes, you do,” Camael said as he strode into the woods toward the direction of the car.
“Sometimes he bugs the crap out of me,” Aaron muttered, following the angel, careful not to stumble with his burden.
“That’s just how they are,” Gabriel said matter-of-factly.
“How who are?”
“Angels.”
“What, you’re an expert on angels now?”
“Well, I am a complex being,” the dog replied haughtily.
Chapter Four
I AM the shaman. They should have listened to me, Shokad of the Orishas thought as he feverishly wove his ancient elemental magicks and tunneled deep beneath the earth. They never should have tried to capture the Nephilim—the bones and stones had told him as much. But did they listen? No. They let their fear counsel them, the fear that spoke to their chief during the night, promising sweet victory. They should have listened to me, he thought bitterly.
His throat as dry as dust from spell casting, Shokad stopped speaking, and the earth stilled around him. He leaned close to the curved tunnel wall, looking for signs of life. Careful not to break it, he pulled a thick, squirming earthworm from the dirt and popped it into his maw. He chewed vigorously, the juice from the worm’s muscular body filling his mouth and coating his throat. He ate his fill, then squatted in the tunnel to rest.
Where do I go from here? the shaman pondered. He closed his eyes, and his mind immediately was filled with blissful images of what could only have been the Safe Place
. He saw his people, the ones who had abandoned the Deheboryn many seasons ago, living in harmony with nature, no longer fearing the wrath of the Powers. “They were not killed,” he muttered, completely enthralled with the vision. They had managed to evade the wrath of Verchiel and his soldiers, and had found Paradise.
Shokad blessed himself repeatedly, basking in the glory that was the vision of his people thriving within the confines of the Safe Place
. It filled him with such joy—and a newfound purpose.
The shaman opened his eyes to the cool darkness of the tunnel and climbed to his feet. He could feel it calling to him now. He could hear it whispering in his ears, drawing him to its secret location. The Safe Place
was calling, and all he need do was follow.
He faced the solid wall of dirt before him and recited the ancient words taught by his angelic creators. With these words he could commune with the elements, making them bend to his requests. Shokad asked the dirt wall to allow him passage, and it did as it was asked, flowing around the shaman as he moved toward the promise of Paradise. The wings upon his back flapped eagerly as he trudged through the earth, the Safe Place
whispering in his ear, closer—and closer still.
Again he saw them in his mind, those that had left the tribe long ago. So happy, he thought. If only Mufgar had had the courage to abandon the old ways, he and Zawar and Tehom could all have experienced the joy that was soon to be his.
The Safe Place
was singing now, urging him forward with even greater speed. You are so close, it said in a voice filled with promise. So close to realizing your dream.
Shokad spoke the words of the spell faster, and the earth in front of him melted away like water. Partly running, partly flying, he burrowed his way toward Paradise, images of those who had come before him in his mind. Suria, Tutrechial, Adririon, Tandal, Savlial: They were all there—some he could have sworn were slain in service to the Powers. It was curious indeed, but he was not about to argue with Paradise.
“Oh, Shokad, you are almost here.”
The Orisha began to giggle and angled his tunnel toward the surface. The earth grew thick with rock, making it harder to push forward—but it did not stop him.
“So close, Shokad. So, very very close.”
The shaman broke through to the surface. His hands were cracked and bleeding, and the air upon them was cold and damp. Where is the warm sunshine? he at first wondered.
Shokad squirmed from the hole in the ground and peered through the eerie greenish light. He found himself in a vast, underground cavern. Somewhere in the distance, beyond the walls of rock, he could hear the rush of water.
“I am here,” he said aloud, expecting his people to come forward and welcome him. They did not—but something else moved amongst the rocks at the far end of the cave.
“Greetings,” Shokad said as he scrambled toward the noise. It was an odd sound, like something large and heavy being dragged across the rocks. “I am Shokad.”
Perhaps they are afraid, he thought as he climbed over the rocky ground, deeper into the cavern. “I mean you no harm,” he said aloud. “I, too, have come seeking Paradise.”
As he drew closer, he could just barely discern objects in the shadows—fleshy, egglike sacks that hung upon a large, muscular mass, blacker than the cave’s deepest shadows. It writhed and pulsed, a thing alive.
“What are you?” Shokad whispered. Cautiously, he stepped forward. “Where are my people?” He stood on tiptoe to peer inside some of the opaque, membranous growths—and his questions were answered.
The Orisha shaman wanted to scream, to ask the divine power that had brought him here why it had shown him this horror, but he didn’t have a chance. Something slithered with lightning speed from the shadows behind him and grasped him it its heavy, wet embrace.
Yes, Shokad wanted to scream—for neither he nor his people had found Paradise.
••••
So this is Blithe, Aaron thought as he drove into the center of town. He expected more, but it was much like every other small town they’d driven through in the last two weeks. Quaint old shops, their windows displaying dusty souvenirs, surrounded a grassy common with a fancy white bandstand in its center. It was a beautiful, sunny afternoon, and people strolled in and out of the shops while children played ball in the common.
“How you doing, Gabe?” Aaron asked the dog lying quietly in the backseat.
“I’m okay,” Gabriel answered, but Aaron could tell that the dog wasn’t feeling all that great.
The Orisha’s bite was bad, and it already looked infected. They needed to find a veterinarian soon.
“Hang in there, pal,” Aaron said, drawing closer to the town’s center. “See any sign of a veterinarian’s office?” he asked the angel sitting in the passenger seat beside him.
Camael remained silent, staring out the window with furious intensity, as he had the entire ride to Blithe.
“Hello?” Aaron asked. “What’s the story? You see something?”
The angel glanced at him, scowling. “It’s nothing,” he said, but Aaron knew that something was ruffling his feathers—pardon the pun.
“Well, I’m going to ask one of the locals, then,” Aaron said as he pulled over in front of a small hardware store.
An older man wearing a soiled Red Sox cap, plaid shirt, and overalls came out of the store with a paper bag and stopped to put his change inside a rubber coin purse.
Aaron reached across Camael, rolled down the passenger window, and called out, “Excuse me!”
The man, his face deeply tanned and crisscrossed with the mileage of age, slipped the change purse into the back pocket of his overalls and stooped slightly to look through the window. His eyes quickly passed suspiciously over everyone in the car.
“Hi,” Aaron said in his most friendly voice. He even waved. “I’m hoping you can help us.”
The man said nothing, continuing to watch him stoically. Aaron had heard that people in Maine were cautious of strangers, but this was really taking things a bit too far.
Camael meanwhile remained perfectly still, and Aaron wondered if he was willing himself invisible again. Aaron had discovered that he did this from time to time, when he didn’t feel like dealing with humans. The last time was two days ago, when they had stopped to walk the dog and were accosted by four elderly sisters who wanted to know everything about Gabriel and Labrador retrievers. Afterward, Aaron told Camael that he was being rude, and the angel responded by saying that it was only because Aaron couldn’t yet do it himself.
“My dog was bitten by something in the woods, and I need to get him to a vet.”
The old man looked at the dog, his gaze zeroing in on the bite. “What got ‘im?” he asked in raspy voice with a distinctly Maine accent.
“Raccoon,” Aaron said quickly. “Sure hope it wasn’t rabid.”
“Don’t look like any ‘coon bite I ever seen,” the old-timer growled, studying the wound through the open window. “Too wide.”
“Well, I only saw it from the back as it ran away. I guess it could have been something else.”
The old man glared at Aaron, adjusting the rim of his Red Sox cap. “It wasn’t a raccoon—so I guess it had to be somethin’ else.”
Aaron smiled tightly, feeling his patience begin to slip. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” He paused and counted to ten. “So I was wondering if there’s a vet around here?”
The man seemed to think about it for a minute or two, then slowly nodded his head. “Yep, there is.” He fell silent, continuing to stare.
Feeling his blood begin to boil, Aaron wondered how long it would be before Camael summoned a sword and dispatched the annoying old man. “Do you think you could give me directions?” he asked, the strained smile on his face beginning to ache.
Again, the old man thought for a minute, nodded his head slowly, and gave them complex directions to an office just a few miles away.
“That was a rather odd fellow,” Camael said as Aaron pulled away from the curb, reviewing the convoluted directions in his mind.
“First meeting with a Mainiac?” Aaron asked, taking a left onto Portland Street
, just before a large white church. “You go beyond that and you’ve gone too far,” the old man had stressed.
“I’ve encountered many madmen in my long years on this planet.”
“No, not maniac—Mainiac,” Aaron explained as he slowly drove down Portland. “People from Maine, that’s what they’re called.”
“Whatever the case, he certainly was odd.”
“And you didn’t even have to talk to him,” Aaron said, on the lookout for a dirt road on the right. “Did you will yourself invisible again?”
“I have no
idea what you’re talking about,” the angel replied, refusing to look at him.
“I’m sure you don’t,” Aaron said with sarcasm, taking the turn onto a rutted stretch of winding road.
After half a mile, the dirt road opened up into a large, unpaved parking lot. A building to left of the lot looked as if it had once been a country store with an apartment above. The apartment seemed to still serve that function, but the storefront had been converted into a veterinarian’s office. Two sports utility vehicles were parked in the lot, one with Maine plates, the other from Illinois.
“This is it,” Aaron said. He parked as close to the building as he could. “Let’s get you fixed up, Gabriel.”
The dog lifted his head and looked around, his nose twitched and dribbled moisture as he scented the air. “Where are we?” he asked.
“The vet,” Aaron answered as he got out of the car and opened the back passenger door.
“No we’re not,” Gabriel said, continuing to sniff at the air. “We’re not in Lynn.”
“This is another office,” Aaron explained, leaning into the backseat to check out the wound.
“There’s more than one?” Gabriel asked incredulously.
“Lots more than one,” Aaron answered as he helped his friend to the ground.
“I never knew that,” the dog muttered. He leaned against Aaron for support, holding up his injured leg.
Aaron looked over the top of the car at Camael, who had gotten out and was also sniffing the air. “Are you coming with me?” he asked, squatting down and lifting up the dog.
“No,” the angel said succinctly, and turned back toward the dirt road.
“Well, I’m going to be in here for a while if you need me,” Aaron said to the angel’s back. Camael continued on without responding. “All right then, Aaron,” he muttered to himself as he carefully made his way up the four steps to the front door. A metal placard announced KEVIN WESSELL, DVM. “You take care of Gabriel, and I’ll be out here looking around.”
Aaron struggled to shift his burden so he could grab the doorknob and turn it. “Thanks for the help, Camael,” he said with mock cheeriness. “You certainly are one considerate angelic being.”