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She continued on her way up the path, tugging the gloves on her hands as she walked.

"Well, are you?" he suddenly asked her.

She stopped and turned around with that nasty scowl decorating her face. "Am I what?" she asked,annoyed.

"Are you a good cook?" he asked with a grin.

Try as she might to hold it back, Mrs. Provost cracked a smile, but quickly turned around so Aaroncould not see it for long. "Depends on who you ask," she said, picking up the pruning sheers from thesteps leading to the front porch. "My husband thought I was pretty good—but look how he ended up."

"It's nice," Aaron said as he walked into the room and looked around.

The theme was grapes. There were grape lamp shades, a vase with grapevines painted on its side; eventhe bedspread had grapes on it. It was kind of funky, but he thought it was cool. Gabriel hobbled in andimmediately found a place to lie down beside the queen-size bed where the warm sunlight streamedthrough the window.

"Is that where he'll sleep?" Mrs. Provost asked.

"The floor is good, but sometimes 1 like to sleepwith Aaron,"Gabriel barked.

"Is that where you'd like him to sleep?" Aaron asked with a sly smile.

"He can sleep wherever the hell he wants," she said, moving toward the closet. She openedthe door and pulled out a white comforter adorned with grapes. "Just thought if he was going to sleep on the floor, he might be more comfortable lying on this."

As she approached, Gabriel got up and let her place the downy bedspread in the patch of sunlight.

"There you go, boy," she said, smoothing out the material. "Give this a try."

And the dog did just that, lying back on the comforter with a heavy sigh of exhaustion.

"I think your dog's tired," she said, reaching into her blue jeans pocket. She handed Aaron a key on an i-love-maine  chain. "Here's your key. It works on the front door, too, which I lock promptly at nine o'clock every night." Mrs. Provost moved toward the door. "I eat supper at six," she said as she walked out into the hall. "If you like meat loaf, I'll see you in the kitchen. If not, you're on your own."

"1 like meat loaf,"Gabriel yipped from his bed as the old woman closed the door behind her.

"Is there any food you
don't
 
like?" Aaron asked, kneeling down to check the injured leg.

"Never really thought about it,"Gabriel replied thoughtfully.

"Tell you what," Aaron said, patting his head. "Why don't you give that question some serious thought

while I go see if I can find Camael."

"Will you be all right?"

"I'll be fine." Aaron climbed to his feet andwalked to the door. He was just about to leave when Gabriel

called.

"Aaron, do you think we'll find Stevie here?"Aaron thought for a moment, trying to make sense of odd feelings that were still with him. "I don't know. Let me poke around a little and we'll talk later." Then he left, leaving his best friend alone to rest and heal.

Aaron strolled casually upBerkely Street , taking in his surroundings. He turned left onto a street with nosign, committing landmarks to memory so he wouldn't get lost. Lots of quaint homes, nicely kept up,many with beautiful flower gardens more tame than Mrs. Provost's version of the Amazon rain forest.

At the end of the nameless street he stopped to assess his whereabouts. There was still no sign of Camael, and the bizarre sensation he'd been feeling since arriving in Blithe continued to trouble him. It feltas though he'd had too much caffeine after a late night of studying. He knew he had the ability to interpretthis strange feeling, but he didn't know how to go about it. There was still so much he had to learn aboutthis whole Nephilim thing.

"You will need to master these abilities,"Camaelhad said during their ride to Blithe.
"Sooner rather than

later."

Aaron found the angel's words somewhat annoying. Mastering these so-called abilitieswas likereading a book without knowing the alphabet. He just didn't have the basics.

He recalled a moment not long after they'd first leftLynn . Camael had been describing how an angelexperiences the five senses—not as individual sensations, but as one overpowering perception ofeverything around it.
 
"Do as I do,"
 
the angel had said to him, closing his eyes.
"Feel the world and

everything that makes it a whole, as only beings of our stature can."
 
Aaron had tried, but only ended up with a nasty headache. Camael had clearly been disappointed—apparently Aaron just wasn't turning out to be the Nephilim that the former leader of the Powers thought he should be.
Maybe it's not me the Seer wrote about in the prophecy,
 
he thought.
Maybe
Camael's finally realized this, and took off to find the
fallen angels' real savior.

Something rustled in a patch of woods behind him, and Aaron turned toward the noise. He noticed aglint of red in a patch of shadow, and then, as if knowing that it had been discovered, a raccoon slowlyemerged from its hiding place.
This is odd,
 
Aaron thought, watching the animal.
1 thought raccoons arenocturnal.
 
He recalled how he'd hear them late at night through his bedroom window as they tried to getinto the sealed trash barrels.

The raccoon moved closer, its large dark eyes unwavering. It was moving strangely, and he wondered ifit was rabid.
 
"Isthat it?"
 
he askedaloud, knowing instinctively that the animal would understand him.
"Areyou rabid?"

The raccoon did not respond. It just continued to stare, and pad steadily closer.

As Aaron gazed into its eyes, an overwhelming sense of euphoria washed over him. It was all he coulddo to keep from bursting out in laughter and then breaking down in tears of sheer joy. He closed his eyesand swayed with the waves of emotion.

Stevie. His little brother was
here
 
—in Blithe, he was sure of it. Aaron could feel him, waiting to bepicked up—embraced, played with. Stevie was unharmed, and that brought Aaron the greatest pleasurehe had ever felt. Nothing would ever come between them again.

"Excuse me," a voice suddenly interrupted his reverie.

Aaron opened his eyes and saw that the odd raccoon was gone, replaced by a police officer who waseyeing him strangely. "Is there a problem, sir?" the policeman asked him, moving closer, his handclutching his gun belt.

Aaron swayed, feeling as though he'd been on a roller coaster. "I'm fine," he managed.
 
What justhappened?

"You don't seem fine," the officer barked. "You been drinking?" he asked, stepping closer to sniff

Aaron's breath.

Aaron shook his head, feeling his strength and wits slowly returning. "No sir, I'm fine. Ithink I might havesunstroke or something."

"Can I ask you what you're doing here?"

"Actually I'm looking for a friend of mine," Aaron said, bringing a hand up to his brow to wipe away

beads of sweat. "Tall, silvery white hair and goatee, dressed in a dark suit?"

The policeman continued to watch him through his mirrored glasses. "I'd like to see some identification,"he finally said, holding out his hand.

Aaron was getting nervous. First Camael disappears, then the strange raccoon—and now an evil sheriff.

As he handed the police officer his license, he couldn't help but wonder what other surprises the town

ofBlithe had in store for him.

"Just passing through Blithe, Mr. Corbet?" the policeman asked, handing back his identification.

Aaron returned the license to his wallet. "I'll probably be here for a couple of days," he said, sliding hiswallet into his back pocket. Suddenly Aaron couldn't help himself; the attitude he had worked so hard tokeep in check was rearing its ugly head. It had been the bane of his existence—he just couldn't learn tokeep his mouth shut. "Is there a problem, Officer ... ?" he asked, an edge to his tone.

"Dexter," the policeman said, touching the rim of his hat.
 
"Chief of Police
 
Dexter. And no, there isn't any problem—now." He smiled, but Aaron saw little emotion in it. If anything, itappeared more like a snarl than a smile. "Blithe is a quiet town, Mr. Corbet, and it's my job to make sure it stays that way, if you catch my meaning."

Aaron nodded, biting his tongue. After all, he was a stranger, and evidently that made him immediatelysuspect.

Chief Dexter began to walk toward a cruiser parked by the side of the road nearby. Aaron had been socaught up in the bizarre spell of raw emotion that he hadn't even heard the policeman pull up. He lookedback to the wooded area. "Chief Dexter?" he called.

The policeman stopped, his hand on the door handle of his cruiser.

"You didn't happen to see a raccoon when you pulled up here, did you?" Aaron asked.

Dexter pulled open the door, and the squawk from his radio drifted out to fill the still air of theneighborhood. He smiled that nasty snarling smile again before easing himself into the driver's seat. "Noraccoons around this time of day, Mr. Corbet. They're nocturnal."

"Thought so." Aaron nodded. He stared at the police officer. There was something about him . ..

"Enjoy your visit, Mr. Corbet," Chief Dexter said. "Hope you find your friend," he added, before

slamming closed the door of his car, banging a U-turn, and driving away

From a woman who brought her dog in for its annual heartworm check, Katie McGovern learned thather former fiance had been missing for at least four days. Apparently, the dog—an eight-year-old poodlenamed Taffy—had had an appointment for Monday morning, but no one had been in the office until Katie arrived that Wednesday afternoon.
It's very unlike Dr. Wessell
to miss an appointment. I hopeeverything is all right,  the dog's middle-aged owner had said, her voice touched with concern.

Katie had made up a story about a family emergency that Kevin would have to deal with when he finallygot back—
if he does,
said a nasty little voice at the back of her mind. She had tried to ignore the voiceby cleaning up the office and catching up with Kevin's appointments.
From organization comes order,
her mother had always said.
And from order comes answers.
 
But the creeping unease she'd been feelingin the pit of her stomach since receiving that first e-mail from her former lover a little over two weeks agocontinued to grow.

Think I've found something here that might interest you—
care for a visit?
Katie had thought it nothingmore than another attempt by Kevin to get her back into his life, and she'd ignored the message—untilshe received another a few days later.

Not sure if I can handle this. Really need to see you. Please come.

There was a certain urgency in the communication that had piqued her curiosity. She had called him thenext day, but there was no answer at the clinic. And when Kevin had failed to return the multiplemessages she'd left on his home phone over several days, she'd decided to take some vacation time andhead toMaine . They may have broken up nearly two years earlier, but it didn't mean they weren't stillfriends.

The office had been in complete disarray— Kevin did have a tendency to become easily distracted. Infact it was a
distraction
 
with another woman that had brought an end to their relationship. But this wasdifferent.

Katie glanced at her watch; it was nearly six, and she felt as though she hadn't stopped to breathe allafternoon—between appointments, trying to bring order to the place, and figure out where Kevin hadgone. She thought of Aaron Corbet. He seemed just the person to help her keep the practice afloatduring Kevin's absence.

She snatched up his dog's file from the corner of the desk and casually began to review it. The words "raccoon bite" stuck out like a sore thumb. Katie had seen many bites in her years as a vet—and Gabriel's hadn't been caused by any raccoon. She wasn't even sure if the bite had come from anythingthat walked on four legs. In fact, the wound looked as though it might have been made by a small child.
 
Something else to add to the strangeness of Blithe,
 
she thought.

The veterinarian sighed and closed the folder. She moved to the file cabinet next to the desk and pulledopen the drawer. Katie added Gabriel's file to the others she had organized and tried to slide it closed. But something was blocking it. She reached in and felt behind the drawer. Sometimes a file slipped out ofplace and became wedged in the sliding track. Her hand closed on what felt like a book. She tugged itfree and slammed the drawer shut.

Probably some veterinary journal,she mused, bringing it to the desk to take a look. It was journal, allright, but one of a far more personal nature: Kevin's journal. She remembered him writing in it each nightbefore bed. It was something he had started in college. Helps me get my thoughts in order, he had toldher one night when she'd asked him about the habit.

She flipped through the entries and stopped at the one dated June 1: