Covenant (2 page)

The breath catches in my
chest, and I wonder if I’m hearing her right. “So what’s the catch,
Celia?”

“
No catch, Lev. You need to
get back on your feet. Both of us can see that.” Her fingers toy
with the clovers, and she stares at them instead of me. “Isn’t that
what you wanted?”

No,
I think.
What I want is the truth,
not a concession to get me to stop asking.
But even if I told her what I was thinking, it wouldn’t stop
her from hiding the truth. She’s already aware I’m not buying what
she is selling.

“
Sure it is. After all,
what else could I want?” I purposely keep my tone light and even,
figuring once I get to the Lower Realm, I can do some nosing around
and see if that turns up anything. “So when do I get to start?”
Once again, I figure I’ll play on Evan’s timetable. It’s going to
get me down there a whole lot quicker than annoying him.

“
We’ll go down this
afternoon.” She rises, heading toward ocean that shimmers in
darkness. Her wings splay outward, glowing white like pale ghostly
shadows.

“
We?” This time, my tone is
sharper than I intended, but this wasn’t really in my plan and
could definitely hamper my efforts to get answers.

“
Yes. Evan wants me to go
with you.”

Of course he does. There’s
no surprise in that.
Part of me wants to
explode, and it pretty much takes everything I have to manage
restraint. “I guess this way we will see if I taught you
anything.”

She nods and licks her
lips—yet another nervous gesture. Frustrating, really. I never used
to make Celia nervous, and I guess if I’m going to unnerve her, I
might as well take full advantage of it.

“
Celia? Who’s
Elizabeth?”

She inhales sharply, like
I’ve slapped her, and it takes a moment before she regains her
composure. In that span of time, I see a multitude of emotions
cross her face. “She was a human you were responsible for
sojourning.”

“
And did I?” I ask
softly.

She slowly looks at me. “No.
Something…came up. Not that it matters now. Her charge has been
given to someone else.” Her voice is soft, but beneath that is
something else, something that suggests the balance she is trying
to fake is nearly falling apart, and as I look at Celia’s
expression, I find a sadness there. Once again, more of the
emotions that humans are so riddled with it complicates their lives
and makes great messes of small ones.

“
Did you know her?” I ask,
pressing.

“
I said it doesn’t matter,
Lev. What’s done is done and can’t be undone. We both know that.”
She closes her eyes for a moment, appearing fatigued in a way that
angels never get.

She doesn’t wait for my
response but strides toward the ocean and dives in. Still, before
she slips away, I sense the disturbance within her. It’s buried
deeply, and I find it only because it matches my own.

Hours later, Celia and I fly
to the Lower Realm. Both of us run toward the water and dive in. At
first, we both feel the cool wetness but as we keep going, it thins
until it tapers completely, leaving the underside of heaven and
clouds to drift through. Although my body, especially my chest,
feels sore, I keep thinking about the conversation between Celia
and Evan, wondering what Evan meant by the wound not being
physical. Angels aren’t supposed to be able to be wounded. So what
he is saying makes no sense. Then again, it hurts deeply, and the
pain troubles me. Perhaps I should add it to the list.

The rushing air against my
body is soothing, and there is no other feeling like flying. I’m
not sure why it seems like it’s been so long since I did so last,
but that’s probably just another part of the story I don’t have. As
we descend, I feel the sun burst through the clouds, warming me.
Below, an ocean covers the world, and I suddenly sense a call. It’s
a tightening that wraps about my body, guiding me toward a soul is
just before the body and spirit separate. The feeling is
unmistakable, like a lighthouse beacon in a cloudless
night.

Nodding to show me where to
go, Celia must think I’ve forgotten the feeling of being drawn
toward the dying, but I know my job. Nothing can fool me there. And
it’s just a matter of time before everything else comes out. I
follow her lead, not that I need it, but the last thing I want to
do is give her any indication something is amiss. Otherwise, I’m
probably going to have my wings figuratively clipped yet again. Not
an appealing process.

Another burst through the
clouds and I see a blue motorboat below. Two people sit in it,
probably a father and his daughter, judging by the ages. We are
still a ways from them and a red motor boat veers this way. I close
my eyes and sense the chaos of a single mortal mind, but there is
also a faint beacon coming from this blue boat. Confused, I start
to ask Celia, but she is already diving in anticipation of the
wreck.

I know I’m not supposed to
be sojourning, but someone is calling me as surely as if they knew
my name. How can I not answer that call when it surges through me?
And perhaps Celia is mistaken about how many deaths there will be.
I frown at the boats, how the trajectory is so complete. While one
driver is completely in control of his boat, the other is anything
but. His mind is disorganized, rather like he has been chemically
impaired. I imagine the wreck, knowing that nothing can be done to
change it. Nothing. I feel the shimmering in the air as the
universe braces for an impact which can’t be avoided.

And that is the way it
should be, I tell myself. But there is something stirring within
me, something I do not understand behind that wall. Regret? Is that
it? I am an angel, and I do not regret. I fly lower turn my
attention back to what is about to occur as I fly lower.

The red boat accelerates,
and the other driver finally sees him and senses that something is
about to go terribly wrong. He, too, tries to speed up and swerve,
but it’s like the boats are two magnets of opposite
polarity—nothing can stop them from drawing together. I close my
eyes when the wreck happens and block the sound.

Yet, now I sense the two
beacons even more strongly. Celia is already almost to the water,
heading toward the lone boat driver. The impact has thrown his body
yards from where it was, which is probably why his beacon was so
strong. Yet there is another, and I can’t ignore it.

I fly lower, staring at the
two fragmented boats bobbing amid a wash of debris like broken bath
toys. Yet my concern seems to be the girl floating there. It’s a
small miracle she’s still floating on the surface on her back with
her long hair drifting in the water like seaweed. Her arms are bent
at her sides, and she looks more like a mermaid than a
girl.

I’m about twenty feet away
when I see her face, so plain that it stops me in mid-flight. Her
dark skin glistens, and a silver bracelet adorns one wrist,
glimmering in the light. I don’t know what it is about this girl,
the one from my dreams, but the sight of her leaves me hovering
there, trying to make sense of things that should not be muddled. I
am an angel. I carry souls. Hers is calling to me.

That’s when I force myself
to start flying again. There is no one around as I slowly dip into
the water beside her. My body is shaking despite the fact that the
water is warm. I shouldn’t feel the temperature at all which is
strange. It’s like the nearer our bodies get, the more this human
radiates warmth.

A gash across her forehead
oozes blood that seeps into the water, the red diffusing in the
murk.

For a moment, I just float
there because it’s like my mind has gone completely blank beneath
the weight of staring at her. The act of sojourning, something I
have been doing for so many years, now seems beyond me, even though
I feel her soul calling to me. I’m at a loss as to how to act.
Didn’t Celia say Elizabeth had been relegated to someone else? That
doesn’t make sense. Why do I feel her beacon so strongly? Usually,
we only feel those in our circle of care.

It doesn’t
matter
, I think. It has to be done one way
or another, and I’m already here. I reach for the hand that drifts
in the water, and the silver bracelet wrapping her wrist catches my
eye. It has a single word inscribed on it. Hesed.

My hand drops away. The
world turns to details: the brown of her skin under the bright
sunlight. The gleam of black hair. Her full lips open as she
struggles to breathe. Her body drifting in the water. This is
Elizabeth. She is silent, her body broken, but I would know her
anywhere. The questions are how and why it matters? And why, deep
down, do I feel as though I’m going to cry.

The mystery of what has
happened is tied up in these images which trouble me more than the
broken boat and driftwood.

Her long, dark eyelashes
flutter, and I realize she is coming around. Her eyes slowly blink
and open, allowing me to float in mocha brown eyes with flecks of
honey. For just a second, there is a moment of confusion on her
face, which isn’t really so unusual, considering what we are and
what we do. It’s when that confusion slowly shifts to a smile that
I really get nervous because I don’t know what is going
on.

“
Lev?” Her voice is the
same as in the dream—freighted with hope. It wraps around my name
like there is no other way to say it, and without her voice, it
would be so common and useless.

“
There’s no need to be
frightened,” I tell her. Yet somehow I am beginning to think I am
the frightened one. I should sense a swirl of conflicting emotions
in her, but instead, I only feel peace radiating from within her,
which does not make sense.

“
Is it really you?” she
whispers, her hand reaching for my face. Blood trickles from her
forehead into her eyes, and just the sight of it turns my stomach,
another clue that something is completely wrong. Blood has never
affected me. Never. Yet seeing her like this causes a racing
feeling inside.

Lev? Where are you?
Celia’s voice. While she isn’t panicking
externally, I can feel an urgency within her as though I am a child
she has lost track of.

I’m with the other
one
, I think.

The girl, Elizabeth, reaches
out and touches my face. Yes, I could shimmer away into water and
air, but for some reason I don’t want to do that. I sense that it’s
important she see me. I know it would frighten her, and that’s the
last thing I want to do. So I remain solid and let her fingers
gently touch my skin.

What other?
Celia asks.

In the other boat. There is
a girl here who also needs to be sojourned.
I clench my jaw, wondering why she believes I have become an
imbecile. It’s one thing to think that I need watching over,
galling as that is. It’s quite another to have people
second-guessing my every move.

Do nothing. I am
coming.

I can handle this,
Cee.
My body bristles with anger and
frustration. I’m so tired of being labeled an invalid.

Yet as the girl strokes my
face and tears pool in her eyes, I start to realize I can handle
everything but this. With her, I feel a great rush of emotions
swirling through me, emotions with no place and no reason. Or none
that I remember.

I gently grab her hand. “You
must stop.”

“
No,” she says, her voice
thick with desperation and tears. “I have been waiting for you, Lev
Walker—waiting, and you didn’t come. You just left me.”

Her body is shaking. I can’t
address her words. I don’t know what she means or why she thinks
she knows me. I can only do my task, the one Celia seems to think I
can’t manage. I stare at her head, evaluating the wound. It’s
bleeding, but I don’t sense the beacon radiating from it. I search
deeper, trying to find the wound that acts like a glowing light in
my mind, but while I sense a few smaller wounds, there is no place
within her that should radiate within my attention
except….

I take a deep breath and
raise my hand. I expect she will fight me, but she just stares, her
gaze not quite focused, probably due to the bump to the head.
Although I know I should listen to Celia, I gently lower my hand to
the area just below her throat because that is where the distress
comes from. The moment my hand touches her, I feel it—so hot, it
burns my hand with her pain. Even as the waves roll over me, I
realize it’s not physical. There is no wound to the body. That
isn’t what is broken. Feeling what is broken, her spirit, cuts
through me, and it’s all I can do to break contact.

The feel of her emotional
turmoil leaves me drained, and her pain radiates through me as if
it were my own.
What is going on?
I slump forward, feeling my body
weakening.

“
Is that why you’ve come,
to carry my soul?” she whispers, the tears now flowing down her
face. She tries to take my hand, but I back away, still
reeling.

In that moment, Celia
touches into the water.
Her soul isn’t
ready to be carried, Lev.

But the beacon!
I insist.