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PROLOGUE
“YOU’RE BROODING.” Samael stretched his snowy wings, frowning down at his associate. He couldn’t remember the last time—if ever—he’d seen Agon so pensive.
“Am I?” The dark-haired angel was slumped in an overstuffed recliner with his chin in his hand. He swiveled back and forth, the tips of his wings displacing wisps of fog as they trailed against the wall of mist.
Agon’s gloomy countenance was a sharp contrast to the bright area rug spread across the floor. Heedless of Samael’s grumbled protests, Agon had taken a keen interest in decorating the Chamber of Judgment, evidenced not only by the rug and recliner, but also his newest acquisition: a pair of ridiculous, lumpy seats Agon called “bags of beans,” or some such nonsense. The place was beginning to look less like an ethereal portal between worlds and more like an odd clubhouse in the sky.
Samael plucked a fluffy bit of down clinging to his blond hair. “You’re shedding feathers, too. This is not like you.”
Agon tried to give him a reassuring smile. The failed attempt was even more alarming than his uncharacteristic melancholy. In the centuries Samael had known him, Agon always had a sunny disposition. He remained ever the optimist about human nature, full of lighthearted hope and the infinite conviction that mankind was redeemable, and love would prevail.
“It seems I’ve become quite attached to our wayward rogue,” Agon said with a sigh. “Liam’s heartache is beginning to take its toll on me.” He twitched a wing, sending several more feathers sifting to the floor.
“The rogue’s journey has always been a gamble,” Samael reminded him as he paced the chamber. “You knew it from the moment he sailed through the fog and landed at our feet. Liam O’Connor’s propensity to fall back into old patterns and resort to selfish behavior should come as no surprise. It’s nothing we haven’t seen before.”
“I know,” Agon said glumly. “It’s just hard to watch him fail.”
Samael suddenly felt an odd tingle along the curve of his upper wing and watched in consternation as one of his own feathers floated to the floor. Now him, too? This wouldn’t do at all. For hundreds of years Samael had worked at the Department of Destiny, and he’d always prided himself on his unaffected, steadfast disposition, and his ability to pass judgment with somber, dignified grace. Emotions were tricky things, and not at all useful in his line of work.
“Enough of this.” Samael slapped his hands together and drew a clipboard from a pocket of mist. “We shall seek solace in the bracing rigor of a good day’s work. Now, it says here—”
A small hatch in the mist swung open, and a white cat sauntered in from the fog.
Samael gave Agon a stern look of disapproval. “Must you invite that thing here?”
“He only visits on occasion.” Agon grinned as the cat, Angel, jumped into his lap. “They think he’s prowling the neighborhood, so he won’t be missed.”
“The celestial Department of Destiny is no place for such creatures.”
“Nonsense. Cats have always straddled the line between this world and that.” Agon’s face regained some of his usual cheer as he smoothed the purring cat’s fur. “It’s common knowledge. Even humans suspect it.”
Samael opened his mouth to argue, but the cat seemed to lift Agon’s spirits, so he refrained. Muttering to himself that he was going soft, he waved a hand as a window to Liam’s current life appeared in the wall of mist.
Liam was lounging in the passenger seat of Cora McLeod’s car, a soft smile playing about his lips. Cora spoke with animated hand gestures as she drove, her blond curls blowing in the breeze. It was impossible not to notice the soul-deep admiration Liam held for her, and the pure masculine desire brewing in his dark eyes. He was drinking her in—the gentle curve of her mouth, the delicate line of her slender neck, the feathery crescents of her eyelashes—like he was a man dying of thirst, and she was a shimmering oasis just out of reach.
“Even a blind person could see how much he loves her,” Agon said wistfully. “If only he could learn what it is to be utterly selfless to atone for his past. I wish there was more we could do to help him restore the balance. Perhaps—”
“We’ve already done too much,” Samael interrupted. “You saw the orders from on high this morning. We weren’t supposed to show him the future, and now we can no longer interfere. There’s nothing left to do but watch and wait. This could be the end of the line for him...and countless others.”
“But humans are wonderfully unpredictable.” Agon snuggled the cat closer, resting his chin atop its furry head. “He may surprise us yet. If Liam truly loves her, then he will not fail.”
“From your lips to the boss’s ears,” Samael said, ignoring the twinge in his wing as another feather floated to the floor. “Godspeed, Liam O’Connor.”
1
LOVE WAS PATIENT. Love was kind. It was a great many things, Liam knew. But he wasn’t convinced the heart-shaped, vibrating bed with the coin slot on the motel nightstand that read Love Machine: 25 Cents for Three Minutes fell into any of those categories. Still, he found the concept intriguing enough to search his pockets for a quarter, just to be sure.
“Liam,” Cora said in exasperation. “A little help over here?” She was crouched on the motel floor, kneeling on a hefty man who was flailing under her knee like a beached octopus. The man was almost twice her size, but the stench of whiskey and marijuana wafting through the dingy room, not to mention the lines of white powder on a hand mirror beside the bed, explained why he was such a mess. Wally Jensen was good and bolloxed.
“We need to get him over there so I can question him.” Cora pointed to a red velvet chair with cigarette burns on the armrests. Like everything else in the place, it had seen better days.
The Fantasy Palace, a seedy establishment just north of downtown Providence Falls, was little more than a roadside motel. It had been there since the early seventies, and from the looks of the shag carpet, geometric wallpaper, and stained popcorn ceiling, it hadn’t changed much. From the outside, it looked like a cartoon castle, complete with two turrets and a faded banner waving in the wind.
Each “luxury” motel room was designed in a different theme, like Kingdom of Camelot, Space Odyssey, Tropical Escape, and Wild West. But according to the brochure on the TV stand, this honeymoon suite, the Lover’s Dream, was the ultimate upgrade. It was steeped in shades of crimson, from the lacquered headboard and ruffled pillows to the sparkly curtains and feather boa lampshades. The overkill of blood reds on every surface gave the room an almost sinister vibe, and while it did seem like someplace from a dream, Liam wasn’t sure it was a very good one.
“You ruined my vacation,” Wally grumbled. He was somewhere in his early forties, but the sagging jowls, nicotine-stained teeth, and bloodshot eyes made him appear much older. “Scared off my girlfriend, and now she’s gone.”
“Come, man. We’re not that scary.” Liam gripped Wally under the arms and hauled him off the floor. “I’m sure any woman of yours would have to be made of far sterner stuff than that.” He tried to sound encouraging, but he’d seen Wally’s girlfriend peeking through the window when they’d first arrived. She’d bolted from the room, jumped into a Camaro with a dented fender, and peeled off down the street without looking back. They’d called in her license plate, so she wouldn’t get far, but it was clear Wally’s vacation was officially over.
