A Hideous Beauty (27 page)

He bent down and picked it up. He examined it, then placed it on the table behind him. “Yes,” he said.

“And you expect me to believe that the events you described actually happened? That you are a veteran of a war in heaven?”

“I don't expect you to believe anything, nor am I here to convince you.”

Folding my arms, I remained standing. I felt looking down on him gave me an advantage. To put it in Washington terms, I was in the power position. “Then why are you here?” I asked. “Exactly what are your orders?”

“You have questions.”

“The understatement of the century. How long do you have?”

“An eternity.”

I laughed. He had a sense of humor after all, you had to give him that.

“All right,” I said. “Let's start with a simple one. Is the professor correct? Am I part angel?”

“Yes.”

The bluntness of his answer hit me harder than I wanted to admit, hard enough to knock me out of the power position. I sat on the bed.

They were all in agreement. The professor. My mother. Now Mr. Eternity here. The whole universe seemed to know that I was part angel. But I knew that wasn't true; some of the backwater planets hadn't gotten the news yet.

“All right . . .” I said. I nodded. Then nodded again. I was sucking air. “All right . . . all right . . .”

This was going to take a while to sink in.

“All right . . . um, next question . . .”

The door latch rattled. The door opened. “Housekeeping . . .” A maid entered, her arms full of bedding. She was barely five feet tall, with a face that had seen a hard life.

She hadn't expected anyone to be in the room because when she looked up and saw us . . .

Saw me.

Abdiel had disappeared.

“Sorry, señor,” she said. “I will . . .” She motioned to the hallway.

“Give us . . . um, me . . .” I glanced at the empty table. “. . . about an hour.”

Looking at the floor and backing out, she said, “I come back in hour.”

The door closed.

Abdiel was back in his chair as though he'd been there the entire time. His little disappearing trick was unnerving.

“Isn't that always the way?” I said. “Every time you're interviewing an angel, the maid interrupts.”

“Calynda is a good woman,” Abdiel said. “She works two jobs. Here and at a diner on Fifth Avenue. Did you notice her eyes? She's worried about her two-year-old daughter, Nuria, who woke up last night with a fever. Calynda didn't want to leave her, but she needs the money.”

I cut him off with an upraised hand. “I get it,” I said. “No need to flash your credentials.”

Abdiel looked at me with the expression of a disapproving schoolmaster. “Believe me, if I flashed anything, you'd know it.”

A dozen quips like puppies in a box wanted to escape past my lips. I regret it now, but I swallowed them and returned to the subject at hand. “Question,” I said. “My grandfather, Grandpa Tall. Was he an angel?”

“Yes and no.”

“That's it? Yes and no? Would you care to elaborate?”

“I don't care to do any of this. As I informed you, I am here only because—”

“I know . . . I know . . . you were ordered to talk to me. So talk. Tell me about my grandfather.”

“Yes, your grandfather is an angel. No, Ulysses William Austin was not an angel, nor was he your paternal grandfather. Reality is not what you think it is.”

“That's what everyone keeps telling me. So what is the reality of my birthright?”

“It was born of scandal.”

“Makes sense. Hollywood is the scandal capital of the world.”

“Not even close,” Abdiel said. He didn't elaborate. “You know about the fame of your grandmother.”

I nodded. “Gigi Beaumont. Real name, Denise Garrett. Movie star. Gorgeous, if her publicity photos are to be believed. Witty. Talented. Would have eclipsed Esther Williams had she not died tragically soon after giving birth to my father.”

“Do you know the details of her death?”

“She died in an . . .” The next words caught in my throat. “. . . in an automobile accident.”

“They like the convenience of car accidents to cover their tracks.”

I narrated the incident by rote just as it had been handed down to me. “She attended a Hollywood party. Got tipsy. On her way home, she lost control of the car and drove over a cliff into a Hollywood ravine.”

“That part is correct.”

Abdiel sounded like a schoolmaster evaluating an assigned lesson. Didn't he realize this was my life we were talking about?

I continued. “The way I heard it, Grandpa Tall took her death hard. He isolated himself in a cabin, got drunk, and blew his head off with a shotgun.”

“That part is only partially correct.”

“Enlighten me,” I snapped, irritated by his attitude.

“Ulysses Austin did indeed take his own life, but only after learning he was not the father of his wife's child. The father was Azazel.”

“Azazel. Sounds like an angel name.”

“It is. However, the world knew him as Jerry Thoms.”

“Never heard of him.”

“He was the insurance commissioner for the state of California.”

“Insurance commissioner? You're kidding, right? An angel was the state's insurance commissioner.”

“Powerful position, low profile. Perfect for their purposes.”

“OK. So how did he and my grandmother . . . you know, hook up?”

Was I mistaken, or did Abdiel pause and take a deep breath? “During the rebellion, Azazel sided with Lucifer and was driven from his place in the heavenlies. On earth, he became a Watcher and, like many of them did, developed a lust for human women. His lust, dormant for centuries, was rekindled when Lucifer's forces infiltrated California. Azazel rose to the position of insurance commissioner and, as such, mingled with California's elite. At a Hollywood party he seduced a rising young starlet named Gigi Beaumont. When that seduction produced a male child, the news was kept secret from all but a select few. For decades, not even Lucifer knew.”

“Lucifer's minions keep secrets from him? I didn't know that was possible.”

“You have much to learn of the angelic order.”

“I understand this much: You're saying that my father was the love child of an insurance commissioner and a starlet?”

“That is correct.”

“Did he know?”

“Yes. Azazel revealed himself to your father.”

“He didn't take it well, did he?”

“No. Your mother took the news even worse. She did not know she had married a Nephilim, nor did she know—”

“Nephilim?”

“The offspring of a son of God and a daughter of man.”

“So I'm a Nephilim?”

“You're unique. The first of your kind. You are only one-quarter angel. There has never been a being like you.”

My head was spinning. I wanted to walk out the door, take a
flight to Washington, D.C., do a book signing, take Christina to dinner, and revel in my Pulitzer Prize achievement. I wanted a normal, everyday, boy-makes-good ending to the story of my life. All this was giving me a headache.

“Your father didn't tell your mother the truth until after you were born,” Abdiel said.

“And then he killed himself. Seems to be the standard reaction to the news, doesn't it?”

“Are you going to kill yourself, Grant Austin?”

“Would you miss me?”

Abdiel didn't answer.

“No wonder my mother hated me,” I mused. “Explains why she acts like she does. And it certainly explains why my whole family is whacko.”

“The circumstances behind your family's life are only a partial explanation as to why your family is whacko,” Abdiel said.

I grabbed my head to try to stop the spinning. “How do I know any of this is true?”

“You know. You can feel it.”

“You mean like back at the library when you threw a tantrum and disappeared. Neither the professor nor Sue Ling felt the force of your leaving. I did.”

“And you felt it with Semyaza.”

The sudden mention of that name stunned me for a moment. “You mean Myles Shepherd.”

“His name is Semyaza.”

For a moment I was there, back in Myles Shepherd's office, reliving the experience. “But with you in the library, it was just a ripple. It wasn't like . . .”

Abdiel stood to imposing height. A ray of light erupted from the center of his chest.

“Oh no,” I heard myself saying, “here we go again.”

Abdiel's clothing transformed to folds of pure color that
curled, then swirled around him, until he became a dazzling white hurricane of radiance.

I heard the sound of a thousand wind chimes, with harmony so clear it brought tears to my eyes. My entire body vibrated in harmony with the sound while ripples of pleasure swept through me repeatedly of such magnitude that I giggled and laughed like a fool. So overwhelmed was I by the sensation that I dropped to my knees.

“No,” Abdiel said. “Do not bow.”

That was the difference between them. Abdiel reflected the glory. Semyaza sparked it, only to feed off it.

Abdiel returned to normal . . . or to human . . . or to . . . I don't know. I was beginning to think I didn't know anything anymore.

“Do not bow,” Abdiel said.

“Sorry to disappoint you,” I said, “but I wasn't bowing. I thought I dropped a penny.”

Abdiel laughed. I finally got a laugh out of him.

It took me a few moments to catch my breath. Even then, when I opened my eyes a riot of color assaulted me. Whenever I inhaled, I inhaled an explosion of odors. The tips of my fingers tingled with everything I touched.

“Question,” I said.

Abdiel took his seat.

“Do Semyaza and . . . well, the forces of Lucifer. Do they intend to kill the president?”

“It appears so.”

I nodded. “All right . . . now for the million-dollar question. Will I be the one to do it?”

Abdiel studied me for a long moment. “Only you know the answer to that question, Grant Austin.”

“What do you mean?”

“You are a creature of free will. You choose what you do.”

“Part of my human side.”

Abdiel started, surprised by the comment. He said, “Like humans, angels have been created by the Father with free will. How else would you explain the rebellion?”

I was thinking out loud now. “So they can't force me to kill the president.”

“But they can persuade you, or trick you. Do not underestimate their powers of deception.”

He spoke as someone who was speaking from experience.

“Can I stop them?”

“You can try. You will fail. In fact, I would estimate your chances of success as infinitesimal. After all, they have been doing this sort of thing—”

“Yeah, I know. For millennia.”

“That is correct.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You and your side. The good guys. You could stop them, couldn't you?”

“Why would we want to?”

Today had been a day of being stunned, but this comment was the capper. “What do you mean, ‘Why would we want to?' We're talking about the president of the United States!”

“A weak and feeble man who has given in to his lusts and sold his soul to Lucifer.”

“What about the fate of America? We're talking about changing history, altering the course of America!”

Abdiel's lack of concern was infuriating. He looked like he was about to yawn. I wanted to grab him and shake him until he came to his senses. “The events of the next few days will unfold as they are meant to unfold. They will not alter
the outcome of the larger conflict. All is in the Father's hands.”

I was on my feet again. “Well, excuse me if I don't share your optimism! This is my president and my nation and I don't take kindly to the fact that a bunch of rogue angels are messing with it! I'm going to stop them!”

“As you should. Each of us must fight our own battles.”

Behind me, the door latch rattled. The door opened. The maid walked in, surprised again that we were still . . .

That I was still here.

Abdiel was gone.

“I come back?” she asked.

“No. We're . . . I'm on my way out.”

Her gaze fixed on the floor, she stepped back to allow me to exit.

As I passed her, I said, “I hope Nuria's fever breaks soon. The best medicine for a sick child is a mother who loves her.”

“Señor?” the maid said, astonished.

The maid's arrival was a blessing. I needed to get out, to walk. With nowhere in particular to go, I stepped out the hotel's front door onto Broadway. Horton Plaza, an open-air shopping center with colorful and interesting multilevel passageways, lay directly across the street. Some people can get lost in a crowd. I prefer open space and plenty of it.