Death's Angel: A Novel of the Lost Angels (7 page)

Chapter Five

S
ophie sat back in the metal folding chair at her desk in her apartment and popped open her laptop. In a way, it felt good to get back to a sense of normalcy after traveling. Though she had to admit that this time it was easier than it usually was, since she’d been granted the use of the archangels’ mansion to get back to Pittsburgh. Talk about taking a few hours off of your travel time. Still, there were some things she needed to take care of, and the sooner the better.

She soon had the computer up and running and had established a connection. The first thing she did was open her e-mail account and look to see who was logged in. When she saw who she was looking for, she opened a chat box and began typing.

S: Angel! I’m so glad you’re on. You won’t believe where I just got back from! Scotland!

There was a brief pause as Angel, a long-distance friend whom both she and Juliette chatted with a lot online, was no doubt noticing the message and getting ready to write back.

A: Hey girl! What’s up? Do tell! What the heck were you doing in Scotland?

S: Okay, drumroll . . . Juliette got married!

There was another brief pause.

A: *shaking head* You’ve got to be kidding me! Everyone I know is getting married! And you’re saying she got married in Scotland? To who? Connor MacLeod?

Sophie’s brows rose and her lips pursed. As a matter of fact, Angel wasn’t all that far off. Gabriel was, after all, immortal. He just didn’t have to go around taking people’s heads off in order to stay that way.

S: The wedding was a few days ago. His name is Gabriel Black and he’s gorgeous. What’s more is that he has the most beautiful brothers. One of them—

She broke off, suddenly not certain what she’d been going to say about Azrael. She was covering for Gabriel well enough, using the name he went by among humans. But she needed to be just as careful on Az’s behalf. Surely she hadn’t been about to give away any of his secrets. He had so many of them. He was the Masked One. He was an archangel. He had been on Earth for two thousand years, searching for his destined mate—his archess.

But she desperately wanted to talk about him. Even now, thousands of miles away from him, his gold eyes haunted her and her fingers tingled with the need to shove them through the sable silk of his hair.

A: Yeah? His brother?

S: Sorry. LOL.

S: His brother is drop-dead perfect, girl. You have no idea. I want him bad.

She decided to be honest at least as far as that much was concerned. There was a pause before Angel replied this time. It seemed longer than normal. But then her words at last appeared on the screen and captured Sophie’s attention.

A: So, go for him, Soph. You’re an incredible catch—smart as a whip, imaginative, talented. And don’t forget that I’ve seen your picture. You could have any man you wanted, and you deserve the best.

Not this one
, Sophie thought.
He’s out of my league.

S: He’s back in Scotland and I’m here in Pitt again. But speaking of travel—guess what?

A: You’re getting married?

S: LOL, no.

She chuckled softly and shook her head.

S: I’m starting classes at Berkeley in September. I applied and got a scholarship. I can’t believe I’m headed to San Francisco!

She stopped typing and slowly sat back in her chair. Her fingers and toes tingled and her chest grew tight at the same time. It was happening again. She was happy-scared. It was hitting her that she would be packing up the few things she owned and traveling across the country within the week.

She’d met Juliette here in Pittsburgh. But now Jules was in Scotland, and Berkeley was thousands of miles away. There was nothing left for her here in Pittsburgh. She needed to get her feet under her in San Fran—get the lay of the land, get an apartment, and get a job. She might have a scholarship that paid for classes, books, and housing, but she would still need money to live on.

A: Holy shit. I bet you’re freaking out right about now, aren’t you, College?

Sophie smiled, breathing a laugh despite herself. Angel always knew what was really going down. The woman must be psychic. She seemed to be able to read Soph and Jules from the inside out, and they’d never even met in person. They’d come across each other when Sophie and Juliette were commenting on a romance author’s blog a few years ago. Angel had commented on the same blog and the three began meeting in chat rooms. Angel was a wonderful friend—never demanding, yet always there. Her advice was never unsolicited, and when it came it was never bossy and always brilliant.

S: You know me too well.

A: Don’t freak, girl. This is what you want—it’s what you need. I’m SO not surprised you got the scholarship. And it’s about time this happened, too. Jules and I have been trying to get you to apply forever. When do you leave? And speaking of leaving, does this marriage thing mean that Juliette is staying in Scotland?

S: I leave this weekend. A friend is taking me to a go-away Pens game. They’re playing Tampa Bay. I have to see Geno on the ice one last time before I head out. And yes—Juliette’s staying there. So . . . this is it.

There was a pause and Sophie could imagine Angel smiling and nodding sagely. She had no idea what Angel looked like, though Jules and Soph had sent
her
a drunk Halloween costume picture once just for fun. However, she couldn’t imagine Angel as being anything but gorgeous. It was just the way she seemed.

A: Very good, my friend. Very, very good. Throw a hat for me if anyone gets a trick. See you on the flip side. xoxo

S: Bye sweetie. xoxo

Sophie closed the chat box and then shut down her computer without checking her e-mail. The truth was, she’d been up all night at Juliette’s reception and she was going on nearly forty hours with no sleep now. It was time for a shower and a nap.

As she closed the door to the bathroom and slipped into the shower, she didn’t notice the man in the apartment across the street close his own laptop and dial his cell phone. It rang once, was picked up, and the man glanced at the windows from which he had been watching the young woman with golden hair.

“I have some information for Lord Azrael,” he said.

* * *

Sophie had a hard time wiping the grin off her face as her friends Taylor and Emily led her through the massive crowd at the entrance to the Consol Energy Center. It was seven thirty on Thursday night, and as it was on most Thursday nights during hockey season, the downtown Pittsburgh area was wall to wall with fans.

The Consol Energy Center was a new building, and when Taylor handed over their tickets and they all stepped inside, Sophie was met with the brightly shining, vast, sweeping architecture of the new home of the Pittsburgh Penguins.

“Wow,” she whispered. She’d been to a few games at the old Mellon Arena and she’d always loved them, but this was already topping them. “They did a wonderful job,” she said as she took in the hockey jerseys behind glass, the sculptures and plaques, the gift shop and the multi-tiered walkways. “It’s gorgeous.”

“Wait until you actually see the ice,” Taylor said, gesturing down one of the halls that bustled with people in jerseys and Penguins sweaters. “Our section is down that way. Section one-oh-two, row H.”

Sophie’s eyes opened wide and her jaw dropped. “Holy shit,” she muttered, taking the tickets from Taylor’s fingers. “Seriously? You have that much clout?”

Taylor worked for Consol Energy and it was through work that she’d come by the tickets. These were prime seats. Sophie had never been up so close at a hockey game before.

Emily gave her a baby-faced smile and shrugged. “What can I say? I got people. Now let’s go before we miss the puck drop!”

After the three of them took their seats, Sophie immediately began taking pictures with her cell phone. The boys were already out on the ice practicing. She couldn’t believe how close she was. Number Seventy-one skated by and Sophie felt as if she could jump up, reach out, and grab the back of his jersey. She wondered what Evgeni Malkin, lovingly known as “Geno” to his fans, would do if she ran down there, slip-slided on the ice, and placed a big wet one on his cheek. She smiled at the thought and clicked a few more pics.

Emily got up and bought them refreshments, returning with a drink and a bag of peanut M&M’s for Sophie.

The players took the ice and the lights dimmed. Sophie’s heart began to hammer as the three of them jumped to their feet and cheered like madwomen. This was the part of the game she loved the most: the streaming lights of red, white, and blue, the national anthem, the sudden and strong camaraderie that thrummed through fifteen thousand people. She loved how the massive cube-shaped screen that hovered above the ice like a digital god sported a slide show of billowing flags, soldiers, and hockey players of yesteryear. She loved glancing at her fellow fans and catching sight of unshed tears in grown men’s eyes. This was the magic spark that lit the flame for the rest of a fiery game.

The anthem began and Sophie placed her hand over her heart. Taylor had been right. The ice glowed in red, white, and blue, and the wall of fans lit up with projected stars. It was stunning.

A few minutes later, the puck dropped and Sidney Crosby slammed it into the Lightning’s zone. Sophie didn’t have a jersey like the others did; all of her extra cash went toward savings. But she cheered just as loudly and she’d brought a cap with her just in case a single Penguins player scored three goals for a hat trick.

Five minutes into the game, one of the group of boys seated behind Sophie and her friends began attempting to flirt with her. She had to admit that it was flattering, and the guy was nice enough. But she’d never been good at flirting. Guys made her nervous. She felt like she could never tell what they were really thinking—what they really wanted. Were they lying to her? Could they be trusted? She knew she was paranoid in the worst way, but she couldn’t help it. Her past came back to haunt her over and over again.

To make matters worse, like a horribly obsessive fan, Sophie still couldn’t get the Masked One out of her head. Especially now that she’d seen him in person—without the mask. Every time she tried to smile back at Mr. Flirt, she saw Az’s gold eyes and heard his otherworldly voice and the wind was knocked out of her sails. The smile slipped from her lips at the thought and she quickly looked back to the game.

Once she realized that she wasn’t going to be able to carry through with any kind of meaningful conversation with Mr. Flirt, Sophie gave up and pretended to be really involved with the game. She loved hockey and it would have been easy if it hadn’t been for her preoccupation with a certain archangel who she knew was touring the country with his band, Valley of Shadow, right now. The former Angel of Death was turning Sophie inside out. For the last three nights, which was every night since she’d met him, she’d done nothing but toss and turn in bed and fantasize about him.

She’d tried reading and she’d tried watching television.
Monk
was her favorite. It was supposed to take place in San Francisco, and though she knew it was actually mostly filmed in Toronto, she loved the ambience of the thing. And San Fran had been her mother’s favorite city. Genevieve Bryce may have lived and worked in New York, but it was a city on the opposite coast that held her heart captive. Sophie had been so young at the time—only five—but she’d gone to San Francisco on vacation with her parents the year before they’d died. She remembered so much of it so clearly, it was as if no time had passed.

The water had been Genevieve’s favorite. She’d enrolled in sailing lessons while there. Sophie remembered her mother smiling coyly and telling her it was her reward to herself. Together, they’d also taken a cruise under the Golden Gate Bridge. . . . And every time Sophie saw that bridge featured on
Monk
, she half smiled—and half cried.

It usually did the trick. It usually took her mind off everything else.

But not this time. The archangel Azrael had all but consumed Sophie, and she hated herself for it. She must be a nut job. She was so embarrassed about her new obsession, she’d stopped listening to his music. Whatever it was going to take to get over him, she was going to do.

Now, as she gradually ignored Mr. Flirt more and more, Taylor gladly took up the slack and Mr. Flirt didn’t seem to mind. Taylor was cute with her shoulder-length black hair, hazel eyes, and generous breasts. Her perky disposition didn’t hurt.

By the end of the first period, Emily had taken to flirting as well and was having a lively discussion with Mr. Flirt’s friend. Sophie had begun to feel like a third wheel—or, rather, a
fifth
wheel. Despite the wonder of the arena and the thrill of the game, she felt distinctly uncomfortable with the semi-romantic chitchat going on around her and was toying with the idea of leaving.

Jordan Staal had scored two goals and there were still two periods to go, so there was that looming chance of a third. If it happened, she really wanted to see it. She owed it to Angel to throw her cap down on the ice. But now that Sophie was surrounded by people flirting, she not only wanted to be by herself and give the couples around her privacy; she frankly also wanted to be by herself in her
bed
so she could masturbate to thoughts of the Masked One.

At that thought, Sophie squeezed her eyes shut and covered her face with her hand.

“What’s wrong?” Taylor asked, gently placing her hand on Sophie’s arm. Sophie looked up and met her gaze, truly not knowing what to say.

“Sophie?”

Sophie froze at the sound of the deep voice. It seemed
everyone
froze at the sound of the voice. It had that kind of power. Taylor went still beside her, her hazel eyes transfixed by something over Sophie’s head. Emily and the boy she’d been chatting with stopped talking. The guys behind them straightened in their seats and turned toward the voice.

The air around Sophie felt strange. It buzzed—or maybe that was just a ringing in her ears as the blood began to rush through them and her stomach leapt into her throat and her heart began hammering painfully against the inside of her rib cage. It actually hurt.