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don’t succeed.
“And then he’ll leave?” I ask. “Without you?”
Cal nods eventually, though it looks forced.
“Then you get the rest of them inside,” I tell him. “I’ll go talk to the big, bad
Michael and see what the hell he wants.”
“I’m not leaving you alone with him,” he snaps. “You can forget that right now.” I can’t help the grin that follows. I stand on my tiptoes and brush his lips with
mine. “I can take care of myself,” I say, as if I’m not talking about an angel of God.
“Please. Just do as I ask.”
Cal rolls his eyes, an action I think again is so unbefitting an angel, so human,
and my breath catches in my chest. Something warm lights itself at the base of my
spine and roars up me until all I can hear is a deep-pitched buzz in my ears. I feel
alive and powerful. Even more, I feel awake, truly and completely awake, for the
first time in years. I will do anything for this man (for that is what he is becoming, I
think) in front of me. I will do anything to save him.
I walk away from him before he can see this in my eyes.
Michael hasn’t moved, and I come to stand beside him, leaving enough distance
between us so we are not touching. If he wants to do his weird hand chest zap mojo
thing, he can reach out easily, but I don’t think his request to speak to me is about
that. I glance behind me to see Cal ushering everyone inside, over the protests of my
mother. The others go inside Big House, but she refuses, sitting herself down on the
patio defiantly, watching Michael and me with a guarded expression. Cal does what I
thought he would and sits in the wicker chair beside her. They do not speak. “What do you want from me?” I ask the angel.
“Walk with me,” he says and turns toward Little House. I think to hesitate, to say
we need to stay in the light, but then I think better of it. I glance back at Big House
and see Cal standing again near the porch steps, his big arms crossed over his chest. I
shake my head once at him, and he nods but doesn’t move to sit. I can feel his gaze
on me as I turn to follow Michael.
My steps are slow, the pace set by Michael. He seems to enjoy looking around in
the dark, staring up at the stars, reaching out to brush his fingers along the trunk of a
large tree, his fingers coming away with sap that oozes like black oil. He brings his
