Conquer the Dark (17 page)

Dawn kissed the horizon
at the same time he kissed her awake.

“I want to show you something,” he murmured, drawing her out of bed. He led her to the window and stood behind her, pulling her back against his chest as he enfolded her in his arms and kissed the crown of her head. “The start of a new day in the motherland.”

A spectacular pageant unfolded before her eyes against the vast horizon of golden sand. Heat waves shimmered up from the ground, making the large, gold-orange orb that seemed to be lifting out of the sand itself appear to
be a mirage. Rose-orange splashes of color mixed with dark-blue streaks crisscrossed the sky as though a frenzied angel hand had unleashed a pastel paint palette against it. As the sun rose to take over the sky, it burned away the pinks and blues to dominate the heavens.

Azrael hugged her tighter and sighed into her hair. She covered his arms with hers and leaned into his warm embrace and closed her eyes.

“It’s so beautiful.”

He nodded. “Worth protecting for a thousand more millennia.” He kissed her neck, nuzzling it. “I love you, Celeste. I only want to see this world or the sun rise in it with you here.”

“I love you, too.” She hugged his arms against her more tightly. She couldn’t address the rest of what he’d said. It was a dangerous concept for an angel to consider, not wanting to be immortal just because she was mortal. She would age and die. She knew that was troubling him as she turned in his hold and stared up into his sad, contemplative eyes.

“One day at a time … the Serenity Prayer.”

He nodded and kissed her gently. “I know why the ancient mortals built in stone here after encountering us,” he murmured. “It was to leave themselves behind for us.” He traced her cheek and her eyebrows and the bridge of her nose with trembling fingers as though memorizing her face with every cell in his touch. “If all I had left of you was a temple, Celeste, one with your beauty enshrined on the walls, I would bring incense and fruit and flowers there on a regular pilgrimage, too.”

She hugged him, not wanting to even think so far
into the future. The concept that one day she’d have to leave him brought tears to her eyes and she quickly banished it. She and her sisters had quietly ruminated about aging and dying while their lovers remained unchanged, had wept together about it, stressed about it in their private female vent sessions, but she didn’t want to go there now.

“I’ll always be with you, no matter what. I promise.”

“I’m supposed to tell you that,” he said with a sad smile, pushing her backward to look at her. “I’m your angel, but somehow you seem to be mine.”

He was getting stronger here, better able to quickly manifest the things they needed, better able to make instant assessments the more he absorbed information from the very land itself, and the deeper they traveled into the heart of Egypt, she could tell, that seemed to also be making him more introspective, and somehow sadder.

“But I can’t fix the sink,” she said, smiling up at him and trying desperately to make him focus on the here and now.

“Ahhh, there is that.” He turned on the water behind them without even moving or looking at the faucet. “There is that.”

This time when the
porter knocked on the door, they were calmly seated on a single seat. The beds were put up, the ladder stowed, old, soiled clothing was packed away, and they were washed up and refreshed. But they again declined the meal offering, which was little more than a sugary Danish, bad juice, and awful coffee. The
only thing they accepted was the water, which of course had a surcharge.

But it was amazing what a little stress relief and rest could do. When they all met in the hall to debark at Qena, even Isda seemed much improved. Word passed down the row quickly that between Isda and Bath Kol, they’d secured another van. The advance ground team of angels from Bath Kol’s old barracks and from Isda’s old safe house in Brooklyn had boarded the train in the bar, played a few rounds of cards, had a few drinks, and went scouting for resources.

“Some of us got work done, mon,” Isda said with a sly smile as Azrael passed him when he jumped down to the train platform.

“I’d say the man got work done. Let’s not quibble over semantics,” Bath Kol muttered to Isda under his breath, making Isda laugh.

Although the ribald comment made Celeste’s face flush, she was glad to see Isda laughing, even at her expense. His dazzling white smile flashed within his dark, handsome face, and his eyes no longer seemed as haunted. That change appeared to boost the morale of the entire group as they trudged toward a beat-up, sky-blue jitney bus.

“Where do you find these vehicles, brother?” Gavreel said, shaking his head and helping to stow luggage in the back.

“It’s that or a camel, okay?” Isda said with a shrug. “Count your blessings.”

“I hear you,” Celeste said, climbing on the bus with Aziza, Melissa, and Maggie. “I’ll take a diesel-fuel van any day over a camel funk.”

Aziza slapped her five over a seat and laughed. “Want an orange?”

“I do,” Melissa said. “I’m starving.” She caught it and tore into it as though she hadn’t eaten in three days.

“You’re supposed to feed your woman, man,” Gavreel said under his breath to Paschar as he climbed on.

“Yeah, mon, just can’t abuse a mortal and—”

“Oh, my God, Isda!” Melissa said, then looked out the window. “I’m fine.”

“My bad, my bad … not trying to say anyt’ing untoward, just stating facts as I see dem,” Isda said, laughing, starting up the loud, smoking engine. “We’ll get some grub on the way to Dendera. I know
all
the brothers are hungry dis morning, too.”

T
his mission to grab
some grub was to be quick—in and out. No dawdling. They had things to do and places to be, and travel was a process in itself. They covered their heads with the wide scarves that had been provided for them on the bus, as Isda suggested, when they pulled up at a roadside rest stop. Everyone cast concerned glances at each other, but Isda had already jumped out and was walking in.

“You sure about this, man?” Bath Kol called behind Isda as he stared through the dusty windows. “Looks like something out of a spaghetti western, only with camels.”

This time Celeste couldn’t disagree with Bath Kol’s assessment. Camels were tied to posts in front of an adobestyle mud-brick building that had the dome roof blown off it. Buzzards circled above the posts. Flies were everywhere, enjoying camel dung. Men sat in palm-tree shade at scattered wrought-iron and enamel-top tables smoking
hookahs and sipping what looked like strong coffee or tea, regarding them with both disdain and suspicion. Again, women were totally absent from the landscape.

Azrael stood and held up a hand, signaling for the others to wait. “Let me double-check with Isda.”

“Yeah, you do that, fearless leader, because I really don’t think this is a joint where the ladies fit in, you feel me?” Bath Kol stooped down, leaning on seat backs with both forearms.

“Absolutely,” Azrael said, moving down the center aisle of the bus.

“But I have to pee,” Melissa whispered over the seat to Celeste.

“Aw … maaaan,” Bath Kol said, then stood. “You ready to do this, brothers?”

Gavreel and Paschar stood.

“I’m sorry,” Melissa said, and hugged herself.

“It’s all right, baby,” Paschar said, and held out his hand to her.

Bath Kol looked at Gavreel with a wide grin and flipped an unlit Camel cigarette into his mouth.

“Whew, what a difference a day makes,” Bath Kol said, then began singing the old tune. “‘Twenty-four little hours …’ “

Paschar shoved him in the back hard as Azrael climbed down.

“Would you guys cut it out,” Azrael said, keeping his gaze moving. “Double-escort the ladies to the bathroom, and Isda and I will go in for food … one of you stay with the bus.”

“Nooo problemmo,” Bath Kol said in a merry tone.
He looked at Aziza. “Now, baby, listen to me—when you go back there, don’t freak out.”

“I’m not gonna freak out,” she replied, lifting her chin and frowning.

“Oh,
yes
, you are.”

Bath Kol and Paschar moved the group of women forward in what could only be described as a safety huddle toward the bathrooms that were undoubtedly inside, while Gavreel hung back and leaned against the bus, returning wary glares to the men that were eyeing him.

“Do you all know what you want to eat?” Azrael asked as they passed him and Isda.

“No time for democracy,” Isda said, walking toward the counter. “Dey got falafel, pita—white and wheat, hummus, grape leaves, dates, olives, figs, lamb, and—”

“No meat,” Azrael said.

“In here? Oh, hell, no,” Bath Kol muttered.

“Den, like I said. Order for the group and get it quick. We got water on da bus—they got soda and juice in here, and chips and junk. Period. Take it or leave it.” Isda folded his arms over his chest.

“I’m good, whatever you decide is fine,” Celeste said, trying to not make a face as the odor from the bathrooms drifted on a hot air current to blend with roasting meats.

When they saw the “bathroom,” Aziza just turned on her heels and walked back toward the bus, not even waiting for Bath Kol to escort her.

A hole was in the floor and a suspicious-looking, yellowed roll of toilet paper was on a stick poking out of the wall. It looked as if it had rolled across the dirt a few times. A plume of flies took to the air upon the invasion of
would-be visitors. This was definitely one of those instant-stress situations that triggered Celeste’s old desire for a cigarette. A Newport would have been excellent right now, but she had to quickly jettison the thought before it set in as a real jones for a butt.

“This was obviously contrived by a man!” Maggie announced, folding her arms.

Paschar tried not to laugh as Bath Kol walked back to the bus behind Aziza, calling for her to wait up.

“I knew she was gonna freak—I knew it,” Bath Kol fussed, shaking his head.

“I don’t have to pee that badly,” Melissa said. “I can hold it.”

“Only a man,” Maggie argued in the center of the group, beginning to lapse into a thickening of her Latina mother tongue as she spoke with her hands, thoroughly indignant. “A woman has to pull down her pants, open her legs over
that
hole? Are they mad! With camel flies diving at your snatch?
Really?
After those flies have walked over camel poop and been down in that human-refuse hole?”

“I can keep the flies back, ladies,” Paschar said in a sheepish tone, then looked at Melissa with a pleading expression. “I don’t know when the next time will be that we can stop. I really think it’s a bad idea to try to hold it … as much water as we have to consume out here to stay hydrated.”

“Promise you’ll keep the flies back?” Melissa asked in a quiet rush.

“Oh, for the love of Pete!” Bath Kol said, pacing back to the group huddle by the bathroom without Aziza. “We’ll keep the flies off your butts if you just hurry up.”

“See, this is exactly what I’m talking about—no respect for the goddess,” Azrael said with a wide grin, coming up to Bath Kol with two hefty bags of food. “What shall we do with this Roman?”

“Hey, hey—we Romans were very respectful of the goddess, I’ll have you know,” Bath Kol fussed. “But some fancy things we didn’t worry about.”

“Like flies,” Isda said, chuckling as he came up to the group with his bags, chewing a dental stick.

“In the Colosseum, yes, there were flies
and
ladies—and grilled meats, all right,” Bath Kol said in a peevish tone. “And what?”

“Work with Paschar, will ya, so they can go?” Isda laughed.

“So, what, I’m now lord of the flies? Gimme a break.” Bath Kol pulled out a pack of smokes and tapped the back of it.

“I don’t even know why you bother. You know Aziza hates the odor of that nasty habit, and that will not endear you to her after this pit stop,” Paschar said with a wide grin.

“Stay in your lane, Paschar, and keep the flies off your lovely lady’s rump. Us old heads know how to sling a little ambrosia and desmoke a frickin’ T-shirt.”

Celeste just laughed as Bath Kol lit a cigarette right in the rest stop while each woman took her turn doing the inevitable.

“You know,” Bath Kol said as they filed back to the bus, “groups are a pain in my ass.”

Azrael made no comment; his laughter said it all. As each person got settled, he held up two bags. “Pita and
hummus or falafel sandwiches on pita. Pass them back.”

Celeste watched him navigate down the aisle as Isda pulled out of the parking space, careful to clear the lounging camels that had plopped down beside the bus. That’s when she noticed that Azrael had a small, white plastic bag that he’d extracted from the top of one of the larger food bags. He slid into the seat next to her with a smile and handed her the bag.

“What’s this?”

“Open it,” he said like an excited teenager.

“Chips?”

“Special spicy ones,” he said triumphantly. “I knew that you liked them, from before when we first met and you showed me food. When I saw that they had them here …”