Death's Angel: A Novel of the Lost Angels (19 page)

The vampires helped as well. There were more of them than Michael had been expecting. It made him wonder just how many of the creatures there were on Earth. At the moment, though he might not be entirely at ease with their presence, he was happy to have their assistance. Their mind-bending powers calmed family members and the injured enough that Michael and the archesses could do their jobs.

There were twenty-seven people with injuries, but only nine of those cases were serious. The truck driver that one of the vampires had pulled out of the bay was the first Michael healed. His barely living body had been laid flat on the tarmac of the bridge between two shielding, empty vehicles. Michael saved his life and a vampire promptly put him to sleep.

The pileup was so bad, the traffic so jammed, none of the ambulances dispatched to the location had yet been able to make it through. Helicopters whirred above them, their blades slicing through the sky like the wings of massive dragonflies.

Michael knew they were filming the bridge and he knew that the helicopters and their “live” hookups would be the first order of business for Max and his unique abilities.

As Max stood near the red-painted railing that divided the road from the pedestrian walkway and blanked out the minds and cameras of any who could bear witness to the event, Michael, Eleanore, and Juliette got to work healing the remaining wounded.

It was a draining endeavor. By the time ten minutes had passed, he’d sealed a ruptured spleen, mended two sets of pierced lungs, and re-formed more than a dozen broken bones. Eleanore had calmed a seizure, rebuilt an entire nervous system, and healed a concussed woman’s underlying case of breast cancer. Juliette had perhaps the hardest job of the three of them; her “patients” had been children for the most part. For some reason, she just seemed to be on the side of the road where there were more of them. And while their little bodies were more flexible and often received less injury because of this, they were also easier to throw through the windshield of a bus.

Michael was rising on unsteady legs and joining Gabriel and Juliette when he felt the familiar presence of Azrael on the bridge. He turned and scanned the wreckage around him until he saw Az and Uro come around the side of a flipped taxicab. He approached them, as did McFarlan and his companions.

“I think we’re wrapping up,” he told his brother. “Max looks wiped out and probably can’t hold off the press much longer.”

Az nodded and looked up at the helicopters overhead. His golden eyes began to glow yellow and then narrowed dangerously. The air around them started to stir and a wind picked up.

Michael shielded his eyes and watched as the choppers tipped to the side a little and then began flying off into the distance, leaving the area of the bridge.

“Nice,” Michael admitted. Sometimes it paid to have a brother who had the very wind at his fingertips.

“Damn,” said McFarlan. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.”

Chapter Nineteen

A
z waited until he was certain that the helicopters were both out of the way and safe and then he looked back down at Michael. His brother’s exhaustion was patently obvious. The blue of Michael’s eyes was lighter than normal, as if the color had been depleted from their irises. His body swayed ever so slightly and his fingers shook where his hands rested at his sides. The Warrior Archangel’s tall, strong form was bent under the burden of weariness.

The stench of disaster was all around them. Human blood and bodily fluids lent a tang to the air, and gasoline, antifreeze, and exhaust made it murky. Not far away, Eleanore, Juliette, Gabriel, and Uriel stood together, the women looking as tired as Michael.

“We need to talk,” Azrael said seriously. It was time his brothers knew about Sophie and about the phantom that had caused this horrendous mess. Someone out there had it in for one or both of them, and he stood a much better chance of figuring out who it was if his brothers and Max were helping him.

“I agree,” said Michael, something dark flashing in his blue eyes.

Az’s gaze narrowed thoughtfully. He brushed Michael’s mind and caught the floating thoughts there. Michael didn’t believe this was an “accident” any more than Az did. The coincidences were too strong—and Michael had been a cop for too long.

Azrael nodded, just once, and turned to Uro. “Sophie is alone. Please join her and keep an eye on her until I return.” He was fairly certain that no harm could come to the archess as long as she was sequestered in that hole underground, but there was more here than met the eye and something dank and creepy was riding his skin. He felt what a human would probably feel just before getting goose bumps. And there was always the possibility that she would wake up before he could return to her; she would be alone in the cave and under the full, mind-numbing influence of her retrieved memories. It wouldn’t be good. However, she knew Uro and had spent time around him, at the hockey game and on the boat. And since Azrael and Uro had fed on the way to the bridge, Az knew that Uro would be able to help her if she woke up and was overwhelmed.

Uro nodded, and in the next instant, he was gone in a fury of wind and shadow.

“Sophie Bryce?” Michael asked, his expression giving nothing away. But Az didn’t have to read his mind to know what he was thinking.

“Yes,” he said. “I’ll explain once everything is stable.”

Michael nodded. “Can you do anything to get the medics here faster? I can’t replace blood, and some of the kids have lost a lot.”

Az turned to Randall, who nodded his immediate assent. The two together would work faster and more efficiently than Azrael alone. At once, they took to the skies. It didn’t take them long to find the ambulances, fire trucks, and police cruisers that had either been dispatched to the scene or were on the same route when the call went through. They were trapped in traffic, however, the cars in front of them completely boxed in. Their sirens wailed, their horns honked, but they could only stay where they were, in their useless cacophonies.

Azrael quickly studied the scene and then concentrated. On either side of the stalled vehicles waited a good two to three feet of empty space. Az utilized that space now, lifting the cars and trucks telekinetically and setting them to the side. Randall used the power of the wind to the same effect. The passengers inside the vehicles reacted as one would expect them to. They froze behind their steering wheels, certain that they were trapped in an earthquake or some kind of tornado, their senses of logic forcing them to wonder whether it had been a natural disaster that had caused the wreckage ahead.

Once the vehicles has been moved sufficiently to the side, the EMTs inside the ambulances stared in wonder at the empty space in front of them. But their initial awe lasted only seconds before their sense of duty kicked in. Gas pedals were floored and medic bags were grabbed as the ambulances shot forward through the gaps toward the wounded.

Azrael watched them go, his careful eye sliding anything that might slow them down out of the way. No doubt, the EMTs would think they were living a miracle and that nothing short of the hand of God had aided them on the bridge that night. If Max wasn’t able to clear their memories and erase the anomalies from their minds, they would retell the story of what happened, probably embellishing it to some degree.

It was a good thing and a bad thing to have faith in such miracles. On the one hand, it allowed humans to feel as if there were a higher purpose to life and that they were not alone—even when they felt more alone than ever. However, it also made people lazy. When they believed someone or something bigger than themselves would come to save them, would rescue them, would make things “better,” they were less inclined to do the work to make these things come to fruition themselves.

Azrael frowned slightly at the thought. Hopefully Max would be able to wipe their minds.

A few minutes later, three of the ambulances had made it to the scene and Azrael had sent the order for the others to get his brothers and their archesses and the guardian off of the bridge and to safety.

He met them on Pier 39, where people were gathering to watch the accident on the distant bridge despite the late hour.

“It’s going to get messy here before long,” McFarlan told them, his intelligent blue gaze scanning the building crowd.

“Everyone loves dirty laundry,” Monte said. And then he fidgeted a bit and smoothed his gray suit before he muttered, “Except me, that is.”

Max sighed heavily and adjusted his glasses. He looked as tired as Michael did.

“We’ve done all we’re capable of,” Az told his guardian gently.

“Agreed,” Max said. “Let’s go home. And then you can fill us in on what the hell is going on.” He gave Azrael a sharp look that said no wool had been pulled over his eyes, and then he turned and began making his way through the small crowd on the boardwalk.

Azrael nodded at Randall and the other vampires by way of farewell. A few minutes later, he and his brothers had opened a portal inside a deserted ferry building and were stepping through and into the foyer of the mansion. Gabriel headed immediately for the fridge and its waiting beers. He pulled two from its interior and then turned and handed one to his lovely bride. She smiled a grateful, tired smile, twisted the top off, and put it to her lips.

Michael turned the water heater on for tea. It wasn’t as if he actually needed the appliance to boil the water; he could have done so telekinetically. But the act of making tea was often more soothing than the drinking of the tea itself.

Uriel sat on the end of one of the stuffed leather couches in the living room and pulled Eleanore’s weary body onto his lap. She instantly curled up against him, ducking her head into his chest and closing her eyes.

Max moved farther into the living room, took off his glasses, rubbed his nose and eyes, and then gracefully took a seat in the large plush chair adjacent to Uriel. Az waited. And Max looked up, pinning him with his knowing, dark stare.

“Sophie is my archess,” began Azrael. Sometimes it was best to get right to the point.

* * *

Sophie came awake amid roiling nausea, deep, hard chills, and a terrible need for denial. She moaned low in her throat, overwhelmed by the sickness building inside her, and then rolled over to get off the bed so she could throw up.

A gentle hand touched her chest as she faced the edge of the bed and, a second later, the nausea was gone. Sophie looked up into a set of fathomless black eyes.

“Uro,” she said softly, not trusting herself to speak too loudly should the nausea hear her and return with a vengeance.

Uro smiled a tender, gentle smile, making Sophie’s breath catch despite herself. He knelt beside the bed, all grace and strength, and softly placed his hand over hers on the comforter. “Yes,” he said.

“Are you a vampire too?” she asked, knowing already what the answer would be. No human could take away pain the way he just had. No human was as beautiful as he was or could play the guitar the way he played or could even kneel as gracefully as he had just knelt. She knew he was a vampire. And that probably all of Valley of Shadow were as well.

“Yes,” he admitted readily. “And yes, the others are as well.”

“Can you wipe my memories from my mind?” Even as she asked it, she felt the sob rising from deep within her chest. And as she spoke the last word of the question, the sob pushed itself out and she gave in to it, curling in on herself as her eyes filled with tears.

A little over a decade ago, she’d killed a man. She’d shot him with his own gun.

She’d killed a man.

Everything else paled in comparison to that realization. It was as if she’d been watching a movie about murderers and all this time she’d been sitting back and thinking, “Wow, that sucks. I’m glad I’m not one of them.” And then she’d awakened to find that the movie was a dream and she was “one of them” after all. All of life had become a horror movie, a bad dream, a waking nightmare.

“Oh God,” she whispered amid the sobs that wracked her frame and drenched the satin comforter beneath her with salty pain.

“I cannot, dearest Sophie,” said Uro gently, his voice wrapping around her like a blanket. It slid along her skin, silk on her flesh, and massaged her emotional nerves. “Or I would.”

“I want to die,” Sophie told him, meaning it with all her heart. She didn’t want to live with the knowledge of what she’d done. “I thought you vampires had magic powers!” She felt angry, desperate, like she wanted to crawl out of the skin that housed the brain and bones that had caused that death on that hill eleven years ago. She couldn’t stand herself, didn’t want to be her, didn’t want to take another breath that would fuel the person she now realized she was.

Beside her, in that distant sort of way people notice things when they’re in the throes of any kind of madness, Sophie felt Uro move. She felt his hands on her arms as he drew her to a sitting position.

“Sophie,” he said softly, and his voice curled over her, washed through her, and stifled her next sob. “Look at me,” he instructed gently.

Sophie wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and looked up. She would have expected her vision to be blurry through the film she’d left on them, but Uro’s handsome face was in clear, perfect view. His bottomless black eyes pulled her in, made her want to search for constellations.

She stilled, feeling a sense of calm come over her as she fell into those eyes. Was there a star there? A comet?

“That’s it, Sophie,” he said with a pleased smile. His fingers gently brushed a lock of hair from her wet cheek. “Here,” he said, reaching into the inside pocket of his sport coat. When he produced a genuine woven handkerchief, Sophie was just surprised enough to give him a baffled expression.

“Old habit,” he told her. “Where I’m originally from, we carried these with us everywhere we went so we could wipe the sweat from our brows.” He paused and the darkness in his black eyes became so deep, so dense with the passage of time that Sophie was struck with a feeling of nostalgia. “It was long ago.”

Sophie slowly took the cotton cloth from his hand and said, “Thank you.”

“It is my pleasure.”

“I . . .” She paused, both relieved and bewildered that she felt calm enough to form normal, coherent sentences and that she no longer wanted to kill herself. The pain of her memory seemed distant now, as if it were residing in a room separate from herself and she’d simply closed the door. It was still there—but she couldn’t hear it screaming any longer. “I think I need to blow my nose. It might be gross.”

Uro’s dark eyes flashed with something like stardust and he threw back his head and laughed. It was an amazing sound, much like Azrael’s laugh—but not quite.

“I challenge you to do worse than what I have seen and heard,” he told her, his smile jovial and light. “In fact, I used to wake up my brothers by blowing my nose in their ears every morning.” He paused again and straightened. “Again, long ago.”

Then he stood and moved to the fireplace, turning his back to her. “If it makes you more comfortable, I will cover my ears.”

Sophie wanted to laugh then. She really did. She didn’t know why; it wasn’t
that
funny. But he was taking her pain away, and for that, she just about loved him. With a smile of relief, Sophie put the handkerchief to her nose and blew. She was sort of glad, actually, that he was holding his ears.

When she was finished, she folded the handkerchief up tight and shoved it into her jacket pocket. As she did, she realized that she was missing something.

Her leather messenger bag had gone down with the
Calliope
.

“Was the driver okay?” she asked Uro as he turned back around to face her.

He didn’t seem surprised by her question, and Sophie wondered whether he was capable of reading her mind like Az could.

“Yes,” he told her. “He is safe, as are the others who were involved in the accident.”

Sophie frowned. “How? Did you guys save them? Can vampires heal people?”

Uro looked sad for a moment. “Unfortunately, no. However, Lord Azrael’s brother can heal, as can your friend Juliette and Uriel’s wife, Eleanore. They came to the bridge to help.”

Sophie’s eyes widened. “Jules is there?” she asked. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. On the one hand, she felt a little homesick for her best friend and a little left out that she and Eleanore were working together without her. On the other hand, there was a nasty taste budding on her tongue and a strange chill riding up her spine at the thought of the accident. She didn’t want Juliette anywhere near it.

And then there was a third issue, a new and unfamiliar sensation. Sophie felt the dawning need, deep down inside, to be there on the bridge with them—
not
as a friend but as an
archess
.

She was just starting to wonder whether it would feel the same and work the same for her as it did for Juliette when Uro straightened. The air in the cavern shifted, becoming abrasive. Sophie stiffened and Uro turned toward the shadows on one side of the room.