Concrete Savior (34 page)

And Earth. Ah . . . It was a strange conglomeration of both Heaven and Hell, a twisted melding of the best and worst of both. Beauty and ugliness, charity and greed, simplicity and decadence. Here were the brightest and most gentle of humans and the worst that human existence ever had to offer, both often enduring punishment they did and didn’t deserve. It was here that Brynna searched for her path to redemption. How long or what it would take to accomplish it was as much an unanswerable question as if she could even do so. Earth was a round rock created by God’s own hand and teeming with lives caught between the realms, a battleground for those who would claim its inhabitants for their own. Brynna felt a sort of reluctant empathy for the fragile humans, an impossible desire to somehow save them before the inevitable Apocalypse. The sights and sounds of it had changed so much throughout her visits over the ages. Science, technology, medicine—on the surface it all seemed so good, but each beget its own evil. Each increased the greed and the lust for power in those most apt to be corrupted in such ways. Communication made the impossible possible. Four thousand years ago a greedy man who wanted another’s tent might be able to take it. Now a greedy man who wanted what belonged to others could sometimes take a country without so much as a second thought. Their progress was full of terrifying and deadly implications. She might or might not find her own redemption . . . but what of the human race?

Eran shifted by her side and she slid away before they could touch, because that would lead to other things instead of the sleep they both needed. “You know,” he said in a quiet voice, “standing there and doing
nothing
this morning while I knew that woman was going to die was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in my life.”

She exhaled. “I understand. And now both you and I can empathize with what Casey Anlon went through with Tate Wernick. He didn’t know what Wernick would do, or what he was capable of, any more than you knew what Karen Volk might do.”

“But that’s just it—I
didn’t
know.”

“But I did,” Brynna reminded him.

She felt the bed shake as he jerked slightly. “That’s right—you said that. But you never had a chance to tell me.”

Brynna sighed and looked down at where her hands were folded on top of the sheet that she had pulled up and tucked below her arms. For some reason, talking about what was going to happen but now never would seemed a little like dishonoring the dead. But if she didn’t tell him, she knew Eran would never be able to accept that doing nothing to save Karen Volk had been the right thing. “I don’t know for certain, of course, but I think Karen Volk was probably no worse of a person than any other average young man or woman,” she finally said. “But she liked to party, and when she partied, she liked to drink. And being young, she hadn’t yet learned that taking a cab when you’ve had too much—in her case at the upcoming Oktoberfest street fair,
way
too much—is a much better choice.” When Eran said nothing, Brynna knew she had to continue, to complete the picture so that he could close the door on a sense of guilt he shouldn’t be carrying. “She was going to lose control of her car. I don’t know the details of why or how, but the car would’ve ended up in the middle of a packed food tent at the Oktoberfest celebration in Lincoln Square at the end of this month. A lot of people, maybe some who had bigger and more important things mapped out for them in the future, would have died.”

“Oh,” was all he said. Finally he added, “I guess I can see why now. But it’s never easy, is it?”

“No,” she answered softly. “It never is.” He didn’t say anything for a long time, then a question that had been working at her now and then finally made its way out. She glanced over at him. “Have ou heard from your brother?”

He blinked at the ceiling, then frowned slightly. “Yeah, actually I did. He called and left a message on my cell. Said his wife was in town, but they’d decided to head back to Ohio.” He gave her a sidelong look. “He said he was sorry for everything. That he’d . . .” His frown deepened. “ ‘Lost his way’ or something like that.”

Brynna nodded. “Good. I’m so glad.”

Eran’s head turned toward her. “And you? Him?”

She knew what he meant. “Probably shouldn’t meet again,” she said. “I’m betting that inside he’s a good man.” She hesitated, then decided to just go on and finish it. “But he’s weak inside. And around someone like me, that’s a very dangerous fault.”

Eran nodded, then settled back and closed his eyes. “It’s okay,” he said. “I kind of feel that whole long-lost brother thing is a lot like Karen Volk and the others.”

Brynna tilted her head. “I don’t follow.”

“It just wasn’t meant to be.”

She inhaled but said nothing, relaxing and letting the night move in and fill the spaces around them with quiet. She had a few—too few—minutes to enjoy it, then for some reason her belly started itching insistently. There was no ignoring it, so she slipped her hand under the sheet, trying to find the spot. An instant later she felt her fingers slide into that space in her central core, that secret area that only she could access and where she kept her precious duo of angel feathers, the one she had brought with her when she’d escaped Hell and the one she had earned by helping Mireva at the beginning of August.

But something was different. There was soft resistance, barely a tug, but definitely tangible. There was something else in there, and the idea that someone, or something, could do that—put something
inside her
without her knowledge—was outright terrifying.

Her fingers curled around the object and, trying to keep her breathing even so that Eran wouldn’t notice how petrified she suddenly was, Brynna carefully pulled her hand free and eased it out of the covers.

“Oh,” she gasped.

“Mmmm?” Eran murmured sleepily beside her. “What?”

“Eran,
look
.”

He turned his head toward her again and opened his eyes, smiling. His smile melted into an expression of amazement. “Wow—look at that!” They both stared at the handful of radiant feathers clinging to her palm. For a moment he looked like he was going to reach for one, then he changed his mind. Instead, he asked, “Where did those come from?”

“Where do they ever come from?” she countered.

He pulled himself to a sitting position and bunched the pillow behind him. “Well, the last one fell out of an open sky,” he reminded her. He gestured at the bedroom ceiling. “A little different this time, I think.”

“They were just . . . there,” she said. She sat up next to him and held the sheet around her chest with one hand. “With the other two, although I can’t tell the difference anymore.” She peered at the glowing white pile on her hand. “The one I brought with me from Hell had a singed area on one side, but that’s gone now.”

Eran blinked. “All those were
inside
you somehow? In . . . what? Like a pouch or something?”

Brynna had to laugh. “I’m not a kangaroo, Eran. Honestly, I can’t explain it. It’s just a kind of secret
space
, somewhere no one else can get to.” She smiled. “That’s why I was so surprised to find these.”

“Ah,” Eran said. He was smart enough not to question her further. “Well, this is good, right? Like you said the last time, it shows you’re doing something right.”

She cupped her hands on her stomach, staring at the glowing pile of whiteness in the center. “I guess.”

“You don’t sound very happy.”

" colorIt doesn’t feel like I really deserve these,” she said after a moment. “Although I tried to help, look how many people died this time. It’s not supposed to be like that.”

Eran looked at her, then touched her arm. “In some respects, you weren’t any different than Casey Anlon,” he reminded her. “There were things that were out of your control, and you had to adapt to them. That situation in front of the State of Illinois Building—the Thompson Center—I don’t think you realize how big that was, Brynna. Hundreds, no,
thousands
, of people could have died that afternoon, if you hadn’t stopped that truck from exploding.” When she said nothing, he added, “Plus don’t forget that you were the one who first picked up on the connection between Casey as a nephilim and the rescues.” When she still stayed silent, he continued, “Do you really think anyone would have picked up on this but you?”

“Sure,” she said. “Maybe not as quickly, but by the time he tried to save the Myers girl, he had to give his name.”

“Yes, he did. But that would have been the first time. No one would have realized he was the same guy involved in Klinger’s rescue, or Gaynor’s. And Tate Wernick . . . man,
there
would have been a disaster.” He shook his head, then slid his hand down and squeezed her wrist. “It would have gone on for as long as Jashire could have managed it. Who knows what she would have done to Gina Whitfield to keep her cooperating. I’m convinced the only reason she didn’t just grab Gina like she had Vance was because of you. Jashire knew you’d find Gina, that she’d never be able to hide.”

Brynna looked at him and saw his expression soften. “Don’t give up, Brynna. You’re on your way to redemption. You’re holding the proof in your hands. Remember how the newspaper called Casey the ‘Concrete Savior’?” He let go of her wrist and touched her on the cheek, the tips of his fingers almost as light as the brush of the feathers in her hands.

“They had it all wrong. The real Concrete Savior is you.”