BROKEN ANGELS (Angels and Demons Book 1) (3 page)

Harry snorted. There was anger in his stance that Dylan didn’t quite understand. She had thought they worked out their issues years ago. But, perhaps she was wrong.

“Your mother loved him.”

Harry nodded. “I know. He was all she talked about when I was a kid. How he was a great leader, how he did everything he could to ensure the safety of the Survivorville group. How he’d died trying to save Uncle Philip and those other people stolen away by the gargoyles.”

Dylan had heard the stories over the years, mostly from Rebecca. Stiles didn’t talk about his past. He had regrets, things that he bottled up for reasons Dylan could only guess at. But she knew about Tyler and Philip, Mark’s brother and his lover. They lived further south now, in a small community of farmers. Rebecca went to see them a few times over the years and even offered to take Dylan once. But she hadn’t been able to go for reasons she couldn’t remember now.

“It must have been a shock to learn the truth.”

Harry shrugged. “That was a long time ago.”

“But you’re still angry.”

“I am…I don’t know what I am.” Harry dragged his fingers through his hair. “I keep thinking, he was with her when she died. He could have—”

“Don’t do that, Harry.”

“But it’s true. I’ve seen him do it. He can heal.”

“So can I. But we can’t heal everyone.”

“She wasn’t just anyone.”

Dylan nodded. “Then he had his reasons.”

Harry swallowed half the glass of beer she had given him, swallowing the rest after taking in a gulp of air. Then he dropped the glass on the ground and brushed past Dylan.

“If he loved her,” he said, pausing before stepping back into the house through the porch door, “then his reasons wouldn’t have mattered. He would have saved her anyway.”

Stiles could feel Dylan.

She wanted him to come home. But he couldn’t.

He drifted for a while, not really aware of where he was. His thoughts were too full of the past, of the things he had done and the things he regretted. Somehow he found himself in Hoboken—or what used to be Hoboken. There wasn’t much of it left now. Most of the buildings had crumbled from a combination of damage from the war and simple disuse. He hadn’t come here in years, not since he’d gone to live in Genero to watch over Dylan. But there was once a time when this place was important to him.

He walked among the ruins, touching a rock here or a piece of pipe there. The world was filled with these relics of the past, places that were once thriving metropolises, but were now nothing more than a bad memory. London, New York, Paris, Milan, Los Angeles…they were all nothing more than rubble.

Sometimes he thought it was good that the survivors were razing these sites and rebuilding. But sometimes he thought it might be better to leave them. They were cemeteries, a memorial to the darkness that had changed the human spirit and the selfishness of a group of angels who thought their time had finally come. Stiles sometimes feared that he was the only one left who truly remembered just how dark it had really gotten.

He thought of how this city looked the first time he saw it. He was injured and left for dead by his soul mate when a friend brought him to the home of Dr. Hatton. He’d awoken briefly after he’d received the wound and had moved in and out of consciousness for another week before he was able to sit up for any amount of time. It was then that he first saw the city from the upstairs bedroom of Dr. Hatton’s house. There was so much life there, then. And then the attack…

He approached the rubble of what had once been Dr. Hatton’s house. The doctor and his wife, and Margaret, they escaped this place. They lived the life they were meant to have. But Stiles brought another here, and it was that memory that brought him back.

He hadn’t thought of his friend in a long time. Maybe he’d become complacent in his role as Rebecca’s lover, as Dylan’s friend, and as a normal person with concerns no greater than whether he would be able to attend the council meeting on the same day his grandson was celebrating his twentieth birthday. Or maybe it was because he had learned the human skill of burying his regrets until they festered, until they demanded to be dealt with.

Stiles had made mistakes when he first fell to Earth.

He’d failed to get Joanna back home.

He’d failed to be the man Rhonda had expected him to be.

He’d failed to protect Dillon from the angels.

He’d failed to realize that Dillon’s death would crush his wife.

He’d failed Rebecca so many times he couldn’t even begin to count them all.

He walked through rubble, and he saw a fully equipped lab—the room where he’d spent weeks watching as Dillon created the illness that would ravage the angels that no longer had the blessing of heaven. Lily had suffered from its effects, as had Joanna’s lover, Mammon, and countless others. Joanna died of it after Dylan had taken it from Lily and had given it to her. It was here that they’d made it, and it was here where Dillon had been taken by an angel’s sword…

“Take it,” Dillon said even as blood began to flow from his mouth. “Take it. You have to dilute it a little to make it last—
”

“Stop,” Stiles said. “We’ll worry about this later.”

“This is what we’ve been working for, my friend.” Dillon coughed, choking on the blood flooding his lungs from the odd angle of the angel’s sword. “You have to take it. My notes…”

“Okay.” Stiles took the vial and slid it into his pocket. “Okay. Now let me heal you.”

“Too late,” Dillon whispered. And then he smiled. “I don’t know how you could’ve ever left such a beautiful place…”

The memory was so burned in his mind that he could almost feel Dillon’s last breaths and could almost see his soul slip from his body.

“Why are you on my mind so much lately, brother?” Stiles asked the rubble. “Why was I drawn here?”

He started to turn, convinced it was only his grief over Rebecca that had brought him here, but then he saw the corner of a book, a notebook, sticking out from under some concrete. He picked it up, flipping through the pages. And then he paused.

He knew this handwriting.

My notes…

How was it even possible? How had this survived in this mess all these years?

But, again, did it matter.

Something was brewing.

Wyatt reached up to take off his shirt, but then he grunted as pain flared in his shoulder. Dylan moved up behind him and touched it, healing the pain.

“Thanks,” he said, twisting to kiss her cheek lightly.

“That’s been happening a lot lately.”

“Arthritis. Harry says it’s inevitable for a man my age.”

“You’re fifty-five. That isn’t so old.”

“Not to you.”

She started to argue, but Wyatt wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her, carrying her with very little ceremony to the bed. She laughed as they fell in a heap against the mattress. And then he swallowed her laughter with a kiss that melted her bones and left her unable to argue with anything else that he had planned for her that night.

And later he fell asleep, leaving her to watch him without interruption. She still loved to study the angles of his face, the way his jaw seemed so bold that it revealed his entire personality with just one glance. She ran her fingernail over the scruff of hair that covered his cheeks and his chin, noticing for the first time that there were as many white hairs as there were dark. And those lines along the outer edge of his eyes were deeper than they had been before.

He was just as handsome as ever. Just as virile. But these little changes only served as reminders that their time together was growing short.

She ran her hand over his bare chest before curling up against his side, her head pillowed on his shoulder. She was asleep in minutes, and her mind soared into that dream that had so haunted her recently. Little snippets of conversations—little pieces of the past flooded her mind—each one centered on Jimmy. She remembered the first time they’d met at that little house outside Viti that the resistance had turned into their headquarters. Then the day the Redcoats attacked their camp and Davida had used her powers to hide Jimmy and the others from them. And the day she’d arrived at his home in Lubbock and had to tell him that Wyatt was dead…

And then her dream took her to the past, to moments that never should have happened. To the day that she’d met Jimmy in the fields near his coalmine settlement and the day he met Joanna. The day the angels attacked and she’d saved a young woman’s life. And finally to the day she’d realized that Jimmy was not as human as she had always assumed; but, rather, the son of an archangel that had been a major component of Luc’s army.

There was more. She’d traveled around in time a great deal in the days before Josephine’s birth, and the year or two after. She had always been drawn to Jimmy, and all of their meetings had taken place in the same short span of time. They’d had long discussions, often focused on literature or on things that were quickly becoming relics in his time; but sometimes he would talk to her about the angels that had killed his family, the war that raged on around him, and the people he was working so hard to protect. Those discussions were difficult. Dylan so wanted to help him not become the angry man she’d first met nearly twenty years later, but she didn’t want to do anything that would change his timeline. The thought that she could do something to alter Wyatt’s future scared her more than her compassion for that broken sixteen-year-old boy.

The last time she’d visited Jimmy in that timeline—it was thirty-three years ago in her timeline—was the one scene that came to her the most often in her dreams. It was maybe a month after her first visit—in his timeline—and they’d grown quite comfortable with one another. It was the middle of the night, and she’d woken him when she arrived. He seemed to know she was there, and right where she was, even though the tiny crevice that he called his room was pitch dark. He took her hand and drew her to the small cot where he lay.

“I knew you would come tonight,” he’d said.

“How?”

She felt his shrug, and then felt the tension slowly leaving his body. “I don’t know. I just always kind of know.”

“What happened today?”

“The gargoyles came. They told us that the angels were fighting in the east and we shouldn’t worry about any new attacks, not for a while.”

“How do they know?”

“They said the angels were busy trying to find someone, a Nephilim that was important to them for some reason. They said this search would likely keep them busy for a while.”

“That’s good news.”

“I hope so. We could use a little good news around here.”

Jimmy sat up behind her and slid his arm around her waist. At first, Dylan didn’t think anything of it. This was Jimmy…her husband’s father. He was family. But then he leaned close and kissed her neck lightly. Dylan immediately stood, putting a few feet of distance between them.

“You can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re supposed to marry someone else in a couple of weeks.”

The air seemed to be sucked out of the room. She heard his gasp, and felt her own as she realized what she had just done. She’d been so careful all this time, too careful. And now…

“What do you mean? How could you possibly know…?”

His words trailed off into the silence of the room, and then he was there, standing in front of her, grabbing her upper arms as if he was afraid she would run before she answered his questions.

“You aren’t human, are you?” he asked softly, his breath washing over her face.

“Jimmy…”

“Are you an angel? Are you trying to find out what I know? Are you using me to get some sort of advantage against the resistance?”

“No, Jimmy, I—”

“You’re one of them! I told you how they killed my parents, how that angel ran his sword through my father’s body, and how he destroyed my mother with a fireball! How could you lie to me all this time?”

“You have to listen to me. It’s not like that. The angels—”

“I don’t want to hear it. Get the hell out of here and don’t come back.”

“Jimmy…”

But she was already fading.

She’d never gone back to him after that.

In her dream, the scene played itself over and over again, like someone or something was trying to get her to see something she had missed until now. It finally woke her up—caused her to sit up—crying Jimmy’s name as she did. Wyatt grunted in his sleep and rolled away from her, the length of his back was reassuring in the dim light of their bedroom.

The pounding of her heart slowly returned to something close to normal, and her breathing stopped coming in quick, rough pants. But her hands still shook, and her eyes were still filled with tears.

She climbed out of bed and pulled on a shirt and a pair of shorts, careful not to wake Wyatt as she slipped through the door. The house was too quiet in the absence of the mourners who had filled it earlier in the day. She needed to get out of there; she needed to be out in the open and not feel so closed in.

She stepped out onto the back porch and lifted her face to the moonlight. Her mind automatically sought out Stiles as the feel of him there—somewhere—was always reassuring. And he was there; he was just not quite ready to respond to her.

It’s okay. Take all the time you need.

“Nightmare? Or are you communing with that angel?”

Dylan nearly jumped at the closeness of his voice. She should have known better. He often sat out on his back porch in the early hours of the morning, his old bones too sore to lie still for long. At least, that’s what he told her whenever she asked.

Dylan crossed the dew-moistened grass to Jimmy’s back porch. There was no barrier between their houses—the city planners had seen no reason for fences, so most of the buildings shared a common area in the front and back, space often utilized for long conversations and frequent get-togethers.

“How long did you sleep tonight?”

Jimmy shrugged. “Old people don’t need a lot of sleep.”

“Yeah?” Dylan took a seat in a chair set close to his. “Since when?”

“I don’t know. My mother used to say that to me when I was little.”

Dylan took his hand, healing the pain she could feel in his back, his shoulders, and along the outside of his legs. He closed his eyes and sighed even as he pulled his hand away.

“You shouldn’t waste that on me.”

“Why not?”

He looked at her for a long minute. “Because I’ve lived long enough.”

Dylan’s eyes flooded with tears. She turned away, coughing to cover up the ache in her throat that threatened to garble her words.

“I think I’ve had enough of that sort of talk recently.”

“We’re all human again. Dying is an inevitable part of that.” He reached over and patted her shoulder lightly. “It’s not a bad thing, kid. I’ve had a good life.”

She chuckled. “A good life? I don’t know if I would describe what happened to you during the war as such a good thing.”

“But I’ve loved four women…had good kids and wonderful grandchildren. What more could a man ask for?”

Dylan nodded as she chewed on her fingernail. “That’s pretty good, I suppose.” She glanced at him. “But I think your math is a little off. There were only three women in your life, unless you have a secret you’ve kept all these years.” She counted off on her fingers, “Joanna, Davida, and Martha.”

“You forgot my first love.”

Dylan’s eyebrows rose. “And who was that?”

“You, of course.”

Dylan choked a little as she straightened in the chair and twisted to see him better. “Me?”

“You.”

She shook her head even as her dream came rushing back to her. She could still feel his lips against her neck…she shook her head even more vigorously.

“You asked me once what made me so jaded. But that was before all those visits, before the last visit you made to me at the coalmine settlement.”

“Before you accused me of being an angel.”

“Yes.”

“You told me not to come back.”

“And you didn’t. I never saw you again until you walked into that house outside Viti.” He smiled at the memory. “I thought I was hallucinating when I saw you there. You looked…your face was thinner and your hair longer, but you looked the same as you did in my memories.”

“You never said anything.”

“Never had the chance. Besides, Davida was convinced that you were special, that you had powers no one understood. I figured my past was still in your future.”

“It was.” She sat back again, running her fingers through her short, messy hair. “But you could have told me I’d screw up and tell you too much.”

“But that would have changed everything. I might have kept calling you to me, might not have married Joanna. And then Wyatt…”

Dylan nodded, tears again threatening to spill from her eyes. She was so emotional these days.

“I’m sorry,” she said, reaching for his hand again. “I never meant to hurt you.”

“I survived.”

She bit down on that fingernail again, her thoughts swirling. It was her fault. All of his anger and his distrust of the angels, she’d only made what had already existed that much worse. Then Joanna died at the hands of what he thought was a gargoyle, and he stopped trusting everyone but the humans closest to him. All that anger and all that hurt…it was her fault. And all the times he took his anger out on Wyatt? That was her fault, too.

“If I hadn’t gone back, if I hadn’t changed things—”

“You don’t know what might have happened, Dylan. Things might have turned out very different if you hadn’t.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.”

“Let me tell you something,” Jimmy said, leaning closer to her, “I didn’t know back then that I had angel blood, or that I had a few of those abilities that you and that…” He waved his hand vaguely at the sky, referring to Stiles. Jimmy disliked Stiles. He rarely ever said his name. “But now, with the benefit of hindsight, I can see things a little clearer. And I know that I pulled you to me. I don’t know why, I don’t even know how, but I know it like I know my name.” He squeezed her hand and sat back again. “It’s like the way you pulled Rachel out of the past without realizing you had. It was just meant to be.”

“Maybe.”

“There’s no maybe about it. What happened then was my doing. All of it. And there was some purpose to it. We just don’t know what it was, yet.”

Dylan sat back in her chair and stared out at the moon. It was edging toward the horizon, about ready to set and allow the sun to take its place. Another day was about to begin…another step toward the unknown future.

Dylan had often wondered if she could go into the future. She was pretty sure she had once, and that she saw her still-unborn daughter running the rebellion in a dark future that never came to pass. But she was afraid to consciously seek out the future. She was afraid of what she might see there, afraid that everything they had built, everything they had achieved, would prove to have been in vain.

Or that her future might include a world without the people she loved.

That was the true nightmare.