Fallen Angel (11 page)

She packed everything carefully away in the box again, and set it on the shelf in the closet. Maybe she didn't have to do this anymore. Maybe it could stay there permanently. Well, she guessed she'd find out next year, or sooner, but for right now, she thought it could stay there. She felt . . . lighter. Happier.

As she turned back to the room from the closet, she saw that she had forgotten the wine glass. Well, it was just a glass after all. She had hoarded it because she didn't want to break the last one, but even if it
did
break, that didn't affect her memories. They were fading a little, it was true, but she suddenly felt like she didn't need
things
to make the memories real. She had worried when she couldn't remember things as clearly as she once did--James' face or the touch of his hand--but that was okay now. Life went on. Had Zach done that? Had meeting him helped her turn the corner back into a life in which she continued actually living, rather than just going through the motions?

She carried the wine glass into the kitchen, drank the remaining wine, then carefully washed and dried it and placed it in the cupboard with the other glasses. It was just a thing. She still had her memories. No one could take those away, but she wouldn't let them rule her life any longer.

17.

Sarah's dreams were filled with the smoky angels again, with the smells of candle wax and dusty feathers and burning leaves. In her dream, she was hiding behind a pillar watching the winged men discussing something--they were angry, and one of them stood and paced around the table, gathering his wings around him like a cloak. They were frightening, and she cowered behind the pillar, hoping that none of them would notice her, or hear her breathing.

She suddenly felt like she
couldn't
breathe, and woke, gasping, to find Dinah sleeping on top of her. "Dinah!" she said. "You can't sleep on top of me, I can't breathe!" She rolled over and resettled the cat on the other pillow, then tried to get back to sleep.

The dreams were unsettling, to say the least. When she remembered her dreams at all, they were usually inconsequential. She seldom had bad dreams, and she was very grateful for that. If she had had a tendency toward nightmares, she didn't think she could stand it. These weren't nightmares, exactly, but they were strange, different from her usual type of dreams, and she wondered what they meant. Maybe she was channeling
Zach's
dreams. Now
there
was an idea! Or maybe it was just because of all the talk about angels. It was probably to be expected that she would dream about them since they, or Zach, specifically, were in her thoughts, but where had these unusual images come from?

And the
smells
! She couldn't remember ever experiencing scent in a dream before, or certainly not to this extent. She remembered the night she had thought there was a fire in the house--the smoky smell had been so real that night that she had brought it with her out of her dream and into her real life. She finally fell back asleep near dawn, and this time, she didn't dream.

* * *

"Sarah!" As she turned the corner, Elizabeth Graham, the female half of the couple that lived above the shop, called to her. They were both tall, elegant, and white-haired, and at the moment they were both hurrying down the sidewalk toward her. She sped up so they wouldn't have so far to come, and they met in front of the shop door.

"Sarah!" she said again. "How are you, dear? Did that young man find you?"

Sarah opened the door of the shop and ushered them in. "Um, what young man?" Her thoughts immediately turned to Zach, and her heart gave a little lurch. Cate looked up as they came in--she was sitting behind the counter working on the red scarf--and raised her eyebrows at Sarah as she shrugged.
I have no idea what they're talking about
, the shrug said.

Elizabeth continued, "We got in last night, late, and we didn't have any coffee in the house, and you know how Donald loves his coffee in the morning, so we went out early to get some, and there was a young man standing in front of the door." Her husband chimed in, "We told him the shop wasn't open yet."

"He insisted we tell him where you lived," said Elizabeth, "but we didn't, of course."

"I wonder who he was?" said Sarah. "What did he look like?"

"Tall," said Elizabeth.

"Blonde," Donald said.

That ruled out Zach, although of course he already knew where she lived.

"Well, who knows," Sarah said. "If it's someone who needs to talk to me, I'm sure he'll come back sooner or later."

The Grahams turned to leave. "Be sure to let us know!" Elizabeth called on the way out the door. "It's all quite mysterious!"

Once they were gone, Sarah turned to Cate. "I wonder what that was all about?"

"Who knows. Bill collector? Old boyfriend? Salesman? Secret admirer?"

"I guess we'll find out sooner or later."

Sarah made a cup of tea and took it back into the office with her, where she pulled the angel book down off the shelf. Feeling silly, she turned to the index in the back of the book and looked under "Z." She was slightly relieved not to find his name; rather than confirming his claim, it would have made her feel even more like he was mad, like he'd picked a name out of the dictionary to use. If he
was
an angel--and he must be, given the wings--would he be an important enough angel to show up in a book? And that brought up another question, of course--angel? Demon? It was certainly possible that he was something other than an angel, although she had no idea what possible purpose his courting her could have.

She closed the book and put it back on the shelf.
Zach,
she thought.
Help me out here. Tell me what to do.

Something was blocking the light, and she looked up to see a tall blond man filling the doorway.

"Where is Zachriel?" he asked.

"What?" she asked, not because she didn't understand the question, but to stall for time.

"Zachriel," he said again. "Where is he?"

"I don't know," she said. "I--" She suddenly felt as if she couldn't breathe, but this time there wasn't a cat sitting on her chest. She felt as if a cold, hard hand had suddenly clamped itself over her mouth and nose, and she couldn't catch her breath. She struggled to breathe, hand to her throat, then, as suddenly as it had come, it was gone. She gasped.

"I ask you again," the man demanded, "Where is Zachriel?"

"Sarah?" Cate appeared in the doorway, standing on her tiptoes to peer over the stranger's shoulder. "You okay?"

"Fine," Sarah said, massaging her throat. "Fine."

She looked into the stranger's eyes. "I don't know where Zach is. If I see him, I'll tell him you're looking for him."

He looked at her with something like pity. "Tell him Cadmiel wishes to speak with him." He turned and left, brushing Cate aside.

18.

Cate stood and stared at the man's broad back as he strode out of the store, then turned to Sarah, who was still massaging her throat. She felt stunned; she couldn't remember ever being threatened before; no one had ever physically abused her or hurt her in any way. Even to have someone speak harshly to her was shocking--she knew she'd led a somewhat sheltered life in that regard.

"Who was
that
?" Cate demanded. "I don't know," Sarah said. "He said he was looking for Zach."

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him I didn't know where Zach was. And I don't. Come on, let's not worry about it. Let's go back to work." She didn't want to talk about it any more, at least not with Cate. She needed to tell Zach, but she really
didn't
have any idea how to find him. The only times she'd seen him, he'd seemed to have been looking for
her
; she didn't know how to reverse the process.

Cate was still there, standing in the office doorway. "Sarah, what's wrong with your throat? Did he hurt you?"

"No, I'm fine. Just a sore throat." She felt close to tears, but she knew if she broke down in front of Cate, she'd never hear the end of it. Cate would want her to go to the police, but what could she say? "I met this guy who said he's an angel, and then this other guy, who I would guess is an angel, too, came in and demanded to know where he was, and when I couldn't tell him, he somehow made me stop breathing without touching me." Uh huh. She could just imagine how well
that
would go over.

Or maybe this guy wasn't another angel; maybe
he
was the demon she'd been fearing since she met Zach. It was hard enough believing in an angel; she
definitely
didn't want to be dealing with something even stranger and potentially dangerous.

"Cate, I need to make some phone calls, okay? I'm going to close the door, just come get me if you need me, okay?"

"If you're sure you're okay . . . " Cate moved slowly back into the store.

"I'm sure." Sarah closed the office door, then sank into her chair.

The big man had looked vaguely familiar, now that she thought about it, but she couldn't imagine where she'd seen him before. Maybe he resembled some movie actor she'd seen, or maybe he looked like a criminal she'd seen on television. He was certainly scary enough. He had that absolutely unfriendly, no questions, no smiles attitude--definitely the strong, silent type. Like some stereotypical Mafia goon whose job was hurting people, and he liked it.

She had told Cate she needed to make some phone calls just to get her out of the office, but maybe she
should
all someone. But who? Who could she tell that would believe her. She dialed Esmé in New Orleans.

"Hello!" came the familiar, warm voice.

"Hey, Esmé, it's Sarah," she said, and at the "Sarah!" that came back, the tears started.

Esmé knew enough to wait until Sarah could talk again; Sarah wouldn't be calling with some emergency that couldn't be handled long distance, she needed a shoulder to cry on, and a long distance shoulder must be all that was available.

"It's okay, sweetie," she crooned, just like she would have done if they'd been in the same room. "Just cry, Esmé's here."

Sarah finally got herself under control. "I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to do that. You know how it is, when you're just kind of holding yourself together by your fingernails, the smallest kindness can send you over the edge?"

"I know
exactly
how that is. What's going on, Sarah? What's got you on the edge?"

"Oh, I don't even know where to start!"

"How about at the beginning?"

* * *

Once she got started, it wasn't a very long story. When she had finished, there was silence on the other end of the line.

"You don't believe me, do you?"

"It's an old cliché, but I believe that
you
believe, and that's really all that matters at this point. Why don't you come down and stay with me for a while? I've got plenty of room, and while I'm finishing the book you'd have a lot of time to yourself. And Charles is here to keep away the bad guys." Charles was Esmé's . . . well, Sarah wasn't sure exactly
what
Charles was. "Bodyguard" was probably too formal a term for what he did. He drove her car when she needed to go somewhere, and he took care of things around the house, and when "bad guys" needed to be taken care of, he took care of them, although Sarah doubted that came up very often. Still, Esmé
was
very well known in certain circles, and it certainly didn't hurt to have someone watching your back. Sarah had always wondered if there was more to their relationship than employer and employee, but she'd never asked.

"I'd love to, but really, I can't. There's the store . . ."

"Sweetie, the store won't collapse if you're not there. You've got people you trust working there, don't you? Let them handle it for awhile."

"They're just part-time, I really can't go anywhere. Not right now, anyway. Maybe after the first of the year."

"And what will have happened with your angel by then?" Esmé's voice was soft. "I really think you need to get out of town for a little while."

"I'll think about it.”

"Okay, okay, blow me off. I'm used to it." Sarah could hear the smile in Esmé's voice. "But please promise me you'll be careful."

It was beginning to be an ongoing theme. "I will. I promise. Listen, I've got to go. Thanks for listening."

"Call me and let me know what happens. Call me
anyway
, okay?"