He let the snowball fly, and as it fell, Gabriel leaped up into the air to capture it in his mouth. “Good catch, boy,” Aaron said, clapping his hands and praising the animal for his skills.
Gabriel proceeded to eat the snowball, crunching upon the firmly packed snow, pieces falling from the sides of his mouth as he chewed. “Make another one,” the Labrador urged between chews.
It was so easy to get caught up in the flow of it, to become the ultimate leader, the weight of the world upon his shoulders. He needed moments like this to remind himself that there was more to life than being the leader of the Nephilim.
Gabriel had finished his icy snack and was waiting for the next, tail wagging happily. “C’mon, Aaron,” the dog urged. “Throw another one.”
He squatted down and grabbed some more of the wet white stuff. “You’ll never be able to catch this one,” he said in mock warning, making his best friend all the more excited.
Aaron knew that his was a great responsibility, that the protection of the world had been placed in his hands and the hands of others like him. It was up to him to make sure that they were ready for this chore, a daunting task, yes, but one that he was more than capable of performing.
“Here it comes,” he warned the animal, and tossed the ball of snow as hard as he could up into the air in an arc, watching as it began its descent. Gabriel bounded across the snow in pursuit, his eyes upon the plummeting prize.
Was it the life that he would have chosen for himself? No, not a chance, but he no longer resented the fate that had been unceremoniously thrust upon him. It was his destiny, and he had learned to accept it as that.
Gabriel returned to him, snowball clutched in his mouth, and dropped it at his feet.
“What, that one didn’t taste so good?” he asked the dog.
“I’m full,” Gabriel said, deciding to lie down in the snow and roll upon his back. Aaron laughed at his dog’s antics, kicking snow onto the animal’s pink exposed belly.
They both felt it in the air, a familiar disruption that foretold of a Nephilim’s arrival, and recognized it as someone special.
“She’s coming,” Gabriel said excitedly as he shot to his feet, shaking snow from his fur as Aaron scanned the open space before him for signs of her arrival.
No more than five feet away the air began to shimmer and ripple, a darker patch beginning to form at its center. Gabriel began to bark happily, tail wagging like mad. Aaron sometimes wondered who loved her more.
Vilma Santiago emerged from the ether, her downy white wings the color of freshly fallen snow parting the substance of space around her. It was amazing how far she’d advanced in such a short period of time. She, too, had come to accept her heritage, embracing the angelic nature inside her.
Gabriel could barely contain himself, galloping through the snow to see her. “Vilma’s here!” he said over and over again, and she knelt down to accept his excited affections. She seemed just as happy to see him.
It had been a few days since they’d last seen each other, what with getting ready to start classes at a nearby college in spring and gradually getting her aunt and uncle to accept the fact that she was going away to school. Vilma Santiago was taking control of her life, and of that Aaron was very proud.
Not long after Aerie’s fallen had been forgiven, she had returned to Lynn, to her aunt and uncle. He guessed that it had been difficult, their relationship now strained by her abrupt departure from their home, but they had come to begrudgingly accept her explanation of needing some time away to find herself. Aaron chuckled with the thought. She’d certainly done that.
Vilma finished showering the excited Labrador with affection and proceeded toward Aaron, a sly smile upon her face. He watched as her beautiful wings receded on her back, only the slightest expression of discomfort on her features.
“I missed you,” she said, leaning forward to plant a big kiss upon his lips.
He met her halfway, his own lips eagerly pressing against hers. The two embraced, and he was positive that there wasn’t anything that felt better than having her in his arms. If there was, he didn’t remember it.
Upon returning to Lynn, she had contacted the superintendent of schools and had worked with him and her teachers to make up the finals and projects that she had missed with her sudden absence. In no time she had completed the necessary requirements and had received her high school diploma with honors, albeit without the pomp and circumstance of a graduation ceremony, but Vilma had what she needed to continue her dream of a college degree.
Maybe I’ll complete my own high school requirements someday, he thought as he held the young woman that he loved and respected so much. But if he didn’t, that would be okay as well, for he was certain that life had other things in store for him.
Gabriel attempted to squeeze his blocky head in between their embrace. “Hi, remember me?” the dog asked, often as ravenously hungry for affection as he was for food.
Vilma laughed, a light airy sound that Aaron had learned to adore, and bent down to hug the animal as well. “How could we ever forget you, Gabriel?” she asked in mock horror.
“I know,” the Labrador responded, accepting her additional attentions. “I am pretty special.”
“That you are, my friend,” Aaron said as he took Vilma’s hand in his and began to lead her toward their new home within the old orphanage.
“And how is everything here?” she asked, walking by his side through the snow.
“Fine,” he answered her, “especially now that you’re here.” And he gave her hand a gentle squeeze to stress how glad he was to be with her.
Vilma responded in kind with a smile that was pure magick. He doubted that Lorelei could summon anything quite as powerful.
Aaron needed moments like this, for it helped him to put it all in perspective.
“When are you two going to have babies?” Gabriel suddenly chimed in, a look of seriousness upon his canine features.
They were completely taken aback by the question, and Aaron felt a flush of embarrassment blossom upon his cheeks. Vilma fared a little better than he, covering her mouth to stifle a laugh. Gabriel did not care to be laughed at. The dog waited for his answer. She had no idea what to make of the question, but Aaron suspected that it had something to do with what the last of the Malakim had said to him before he had been taken by Verchiel.
“May I be the first to say that your children will be absolutely magnificent,” the angel sorcerer had said in that strange place between worlds.
Lehash had said that the Malakim had the ability to look into the future, and had seen that he and Vilma had children—magnificent children. Aaron had never bothered to share this information, not wanting to pressure her in their relationship in any way.
“Where did that come from?” Vilma asked the dog.
“Just curious,” Gabriel answered. “I’m certain that they would be magnificent.”
Aaron felt her gaze upon him as they reached the entrance that would take them inside the building.
“And what do you think, Mr. Corbet?” she asked as he reached out to pull open the door. “Would they?”
He held the door against his back, allowing them to enter before him. Vilma waited just inside, arms crossed, as he let the door slam shut behind him.
“Well?” she chided.
“Yes,” he told her, a smile upon his face that he couldn’t control. When they decided to take that next step, to marry and eventually have children, he knew that it would be the most amazing thing in his life. To have a family with her was something to look forward to.
Something for the future.
“Yes, they will most certainly be magnificent,” he told her.
Until then, there was still so very much that needed to be done.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
THOMAS E. SNIEGOSKI is the author of more than two dozen novels for adults, teens, and children. His books for teens include Legacy, Sleeper Code, Sleeper Agenda, and Force Majeure, as well
as the series The Brimstone Network.
As a comic book writer, Sniegoski’s work includes Stupid, Stupid Rat-Tails, a prequel miniseries to the international hit Bone. Sniegoski collaborated with Bone creator Jeff Smith on the project, making him the only writer Smith has ever asked to work on those characters.
Sniegoski was born and raised in Massachusetts, where he still lives with his wife, LeeAnne, and their Labrador retriever, Mulder. Visit him on the Web at www.sniegoski.com.
HER DEATH WILL NOT GO UNPUNISHED.…
REMEMBER ME
Christopher Pike
#1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR OF THIRST
MOST PEOPLE WOULD probably call me a ghost. I am, after all, dead. But I don’t think of myself that way. It wasn’t so long ago that I was alive, you see. I was only eighteen. I had my whole life in front of me. Now I suppose you could say I have all of eternity before me. I’m not sure exactly what that means yet. I’m told everything’s going to be fine. But I have to wonder what I would have done with my life, who I might have been. That’s what saddens me most about dying—that I’ll never know.
My name is Shari. They don’t go in much for last names over here. I used to be Shari Cooper. I’d tell you what I look like, but since the living can see right through me now, it would be a waste of time. I’m the color of wind. I can dance on moonbeams and sometimes cause a star to twinkle. But when I was alive, I looked all right. Maybe better than all right.
I suppose there’s no harm in telling what I used to look like.
I had dark blond hair, which I wore to my shoulders in layered waves. I also had bangs, which my mom said I wore too long because they were always getting in my eyes. My clear green eyes. My brother always said they were only brown, but they were green, definitely green. I can see them now. I can brush my bangs from my eyes and feel my immaterial hair slide between my invisible fingers. I can even laugh at myself and remember the smile that won “Best Smile” my junior year in high school. Teenage girls are always complaining about the way they look, but now that no one is looking at me, I see something else—I should never have complained.
It is a wonderful thing to be alive.
I hadn’t planned on dying.
But that is the story I have to tell: how it happened, why it happened, why it shouldn’t have happened, and why it was meant to be. I won’t start at the beginning, however. That would take too long, even for someone like me who isn’t getting any older. I’ll start near the end, the night of the party. The night I died. I’ll start with a dream.
It wasn’t my dream. My brother Jimmy had it. I was the only one who called him Jimmy. I wonder if I would have called him Jim like everyone else if he would have said I had green eyes like everyone else. It doesn’t matter. I loved Jimmy more than the sun. He was my big brother, nineteen going on twenty, almost two years older than me and ten times nicer. I used to fight with him all the time, but the funny thing is, he never fought with me. He was an angel, and I know what I’m talking about.
It was a warm, humid evening. I remember what day I was born, naturally, but I don’t recall the date I died, not exactly. It was a Friday near the end of May. Summer was coming. Graduation and lying in the sand at the beach with my boyfriend were all I had on my mind. Let me make one point clear at the start—I was pretty superficial. Not that other people thought so. My friends and teachers all thought I was a sophisticated young lady. But I say it now, and I’ve discovered that once you’re dead, the only opinion that matters is your own.
Anyway, Jimmy had this dream, and whenever Jimmy dreamed, he went for a walk. He was always sleepwalking, usually to the bathroom. He had diabetes. He had to take insulin shots, and he peed all the time. But he wasn’t sickly looking or anything like that. In fact, I was the one who used to catch all the colds. Jimmy never got sick—ever. But, boy, did he have to watch what he ate. Once when I baked a batch of Christmas cookies, he gave in to temptation, and we spent Christmas Day at the hospital waiting for him to wake up. Sugar just killed him.
The evening I died, I was in my bedroom in front of my mirror, and Jimmy was in his room next door snoring peacefully on top of his bed. Suddenly the handle of my brush snapped off. I was forever breaking brushes. You’d think I had steel wool for hair rather than fine California surfer-girl silk. I used to take a lot of my frustrations out on my hair.
I was mildly stressed that evening as I was getting ready for Beth Palmone’s birthday party. Beth was sort of a friend of mine, sort of an accidental associate, and the latest in a seemingly endless string of bitches who were trying to steal my boyfriend away. But she was the kind of girl I hated to hate because she was so nice. She was always smiling and complimenting me. I never really trusted people like that, but they could still make me feel guilty. Her nickname was Big Beth. My best friend, Joanne Foulton, had given it to her. Beth had big breasts.
The instant my brush broke, I cursed. My parents were extremely well-off, but it was the only brush I had, and my layered waves of dark blond hair were lumpy knots of dirty wool from the shower I’d just taken. I didn’t want to disturb Jimmy, but I figured I could get in and borrow his brush without waking him. It was still early—about eight o’clock—but I knew he was zonked out from working all day. To my parent’s dismay, Jimmy had decided to get a real job rather than go to college after graduating from high school. Although he enjoyed fiddling with computers, he’d never been academically inclined. He loved to work outdoors. He had gotten a job with the telephone company taking telephone poles out of the ground. He once told me that taking down a nice old telephone pole was almost as distressing as chopping down an old tree. He was kind of sensitive that way, but he liked the work.
After I left my room, I heard someone come in the front door. I knew who it was without looking: Mrs. Mary Parish and her daughter Amanda. My parents had gone out for the night, but earlier that evening they had thrown a cocktail party for a big-wig real estate developer from back east who was thinking of joining forces with my dad to exploit Southern California’s few remaining square feet of beachfront property. Mrs. Parish worked as a part-time housekeeper for my mom. She had called before I’d gone in for my shower to ask if everyone had left so she could get started cleaning up. She had also asked if Amanda could ride with me to Beth’s party. I had answered yes to both these questions and told her I’d be upstairs getting dressed when they arrived and to just come in. Mrs. Parish had a key to the house.
I called to them from the upstairs hall—which overlooks a large portion of the downstairs—before stealing into Jimmy’s room.
“I’ll be down in a minute! Just make yourself at home—and get to work!”
I heard Mrs. Parish chuckle and caught a faint glimpse of her gray head as she entered the living room carrying a yellow bucket filled with cleaning supplies. I loved Mrs. Parish. She always seemed so happy, in spite of the hard life she’d had. Her husband had suddenly left her years earlier broke and unskilled.
I didn’t see Amanda at first, nor did I hear her. I guess I thought she’d changed her mind and decided not to go to the party. I’m not sure I would have entered Jimmy’s room and then let him slip past me in a semiconscious state if I’d known that his girlfriend was in the house.
Girlfriend and boyfriend—I use the words loosely.
Jimmy had been going with Amanda Parish for three months when I died. I was the one who introduced them to each other, at my eighteenth birthday party. They hadn’t met before, largely because Jimmy had gone to a different high school. Amanda was another one of those friends who wasn’t a real friend—just someone I sort of knew because of her mother. But I liked Amanda a lot better than I liked Beth. She was some kind of beauty. My best friend, Jo, once remarked—in a poetic mood—that Amanda had eyes as gray as a frosty overcast day and a smile as warm as early spring. That fit Amanda. She had a mystery about her, but it was always right there in front of you—in her grave but wonderful face. She also had this incredibly long dark hair.
I think it was a fantasy of my brother’s to bury his face in that hair and let everyone else in the world disappear except him and Amanda.
I have to admit that I was a bit jealous of her.
Amanda’s presence at my birthday party had had me slightly off balance. Her birthday had been only the day before mine, and the whole evening I remember feeling as if I had to give her one of my presents or something. What I ended up giving her was my brother, I brought Jimmy over to meet her, and that was the last I saw of him that night. It was love at first sight. And that evening, and for the next few weeks, I thought Amanda loved him, too. They were inseparable. But then, for no obvious reason, Amanda started to put up a wall, and Jimmy started to get an ulcer. I’ve never been a big believer in moderation, but I honestly believe that the intensity of his feelings for her was unhealthy. He was obsessed.
But I’m digressing. After calling out to Mrs. Parish, I crept into Jimmy’s room. Except for the green glow from his computer screen, which he was in the habit of leaving on, it was dark. Jimmy’s got a weird physiology. When I started for his desk and his brush, he was lying dead to the world with a sheet twisted around his muscular torso. But only seconds later, as I picked up the brush, he was up and heading for the door. I knew he wasn’t awake, or even half-awake. Sleepwalkers walk differently—kind of like zombies in horror films, only maybe a little faster. All he had on were his boxers, and they were kind of hanging. I smiled to myself seeing him go. We were upstairs, and there was a balcony he could theoretically flip over, but I wasn’t worried about him hurting himself. I had discovered from years of observation that God watches over sleepwalkers better than he does drunks. Or upset teenage girls…
I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t mean it.
Then I thought of Amanda, possibly downstairs with her mom, and how awful Jimmy would feel if he suddenly woke up scratching himself in the hall in plain sight of her. Taking the brush, I ran after him.