Shadow of the Sun (17 page)

Andrew didn’t say anything, and I looked up to see him touching one of the pictures on the cover of a magazine. His eyes were far away, as if he was thinking of another time.

“
Andrew?”

He didn’t look up. “This painting looks so real,” he said in awe. “And the paper . . .”

I tried not to laugh. “That’s not a painting; that’s a photo.”

He looked over at me, questions in his eyes.

“
You know: a visual representation,” I said slowly and then trailed off. “It comes from a camera. They’re devices that can capture a moment in time and be printed onto paper.”

“
There are a lot of devices in this world,” he stated.

“
I agree,” I said and showed him the magazine I held. “Tell me, does this look like an okay place to stay the night?”

He seized the magazine right from under my fingers. “It’s beautiful. Won’t it be expensive? I don’t have any coins.”

I smiled. “I do. It’s only sixty dollars for one night, and look”—I stabbed the coupon—“it says if we bring this in, we get ten percent off.” My eyes scrolled down to the fine print. I should have known, always read the fine print. It said: “Rooms with one king-sized bed.”

I thought Andrew would offer something like “I’ll sleep on the floor,” or “We’ll put pillows between us,” but he didn’t.

His eyes grew wide. “Sixty dollars? That’s preposterous.”

“
No,” I whispered. “That’s normal. And we have plenty for the room. I took a few thousand out of my savings before we left Burns.”

“
Thousands?” His eyes grew wider. “I’ve always had money; it’s just part of being alive forever. But human women—” he cut off. “To have that much money, you’d have to be rich.”

“
No, I’m in the medium income level in America,” I said in the best matter-of-fact tone I could give him.

“
And that would be?”

“
I believe the average yearly income for a household in the U.S. is roughly fifty thousand.”

His mouth dropped, but he quickly moved on to another subject. “The U.S.?”

“
The United States of America.” I rubbed my neck, tired. “I can’t wait to get you to a library.”

“
Take me tonight,” he suggested. “I read swiftly.”

“
Okay, if I can find one open this late. It’s almost ten in the evening. If there’s a campus nearby . . .” My eyes roamed the many flyers, magazines, and brochures around the table before I saw one with a university in the background.

“
Ah hah,” I exclaimed and snatched it up. “Boise State University. Why didn’t I think about this before? I knew the university was here. “We’ll call a cab and go see if their libraries are still open. When I was in college, the libraries on campus stayed open all day and night.” I would know from the many hours I’d studied instead of partying.

“
A cab?”

“
Andrew, just go with the flow,” I said.

Clearly confused, he asked, “The flow?”

I scrubbed a hand down my face and made a noise of frustration. “Sorry,” I said. “I’m not trying to be rude, I’m just exhausted.”

He smiled his wonderful smile, completely unaffected. “Gabriella, the only way you could hurt me is by not existing anymore.”

And there goes the blush again. “I’ll call the cab company.”

“
Of course. Go with the flow,” he said in his Italian accent. He seemed so innocent for someone so old. I laughed and seized his hand in mine, letting the electricity flow between us, pun intended. The feeling was amazing.

CHAPTER 13: LIBRARY

The library towered over us, its lights shining like tiny beacons. We stood outside the door, reading the sign displayed there.

“
They’re only open until midnight,” I conveyed to Andrew, exasperated. “We don’t have much time, maybe an hour.”

“
I read fast,” he reminded me ostentatiously, gazing at the towering building. “I’ve probably read over a million books. I can assimilate information from paper quickly.” He motioned us forward. “Watch for yourself,” he offered.

He pushed open the doors to the library and gestured for me to enter. The aroma of old and new parchment hit my nose. Rows of books lined the walls, placed neatly in succession and towering up to the ceiling. One of the student employees greeted us with a little wave of hello before sitting down behind the counter to keep reading her book.

Andrew walked along the shelves of books, his fingers tracing the spines of each of them. “This library is remarkably immense.” He took in a deep breath. “Don’t you just love the smell of books?”

I smiled at his face. He looked like a kid at Disneyland, though his vocabulary proved to be of an exceptionally—and possibly excessively—educated adult. Join the club.

“
This is only the first floor. There are eight more above us.”

He looked up automatically.

“
Do you still think one hour is long enough?” I challenged, my voice smug.

He moved to the second row of books. “No. But for the important things, yes.” His fingers lingered over the bindings of the new row, and then he reached for a book. “I’ll start here.” The book was
Chemistry Methodology and Mathematical Models
.

This place was a titanic mine of information, so I nodded, thinking
good luck
.

“
Take a seat,” I said, pointing toward a table not far away. “I’m going to go upstairs to look through some of their
non
academic books for something to read.”

He gave me a solemn look. “Maybe I should go with you?”

“
Andrew,” I answered dismissively, “I’ll be fine. It’s just a library.”

He surveyed my face for a few seconds and grinned. “It won’t bite,” he said, mimicking my phrase about the clothing store, except in his wonderfully deep Italian accent. God how that accent was going to get me into trouble.

“
Exactly,” I said.

Before I ascended the stairs, I peered over my shoulder to see Andrew staring at me intently, his expression growing more somber by the second, before he reluctantly opened the book in his hands. He leaned over and began reading, flipping past the first two pages before I had even started up the stairs.

On the sixth floor, I thumbed through several science fiction and fantasy novels, wishing I could take them all home with me. I loved reading, and if I had it my way I’d blow my whole paycheck at the local bookstore. I found a book I’d never read and skipped down the stairs, taking two of them at a time. When I reached the first floor, Andrew was at the table leaning over a pile of books so large it partially blocked him from view. I gasped and dropped my book, the shock so outrageous that it rooted me to the spot.

Andrew leapt to his feet, practically flying across the room, which I knew he could have if he wished. Within seconds he was at my side, picking up the book from the floor. His eyes were uneasy.

“
Gabriella? What’s wrong?” He led me toward the table and helped me sit.

“
How many—” I paused to lift some of the books off the table. My shock turned to awe. There were physics, chemistry, geography, geology, biology, and many other scientific books splayed across the table. Half of them were open. “How many books have you read? I was only upstairs for fifteen minutes.”

I checked my watch to make sure I hadn’t gotten carried away looking at books, which happened more often than not at any bookstore or library.

He looked pleased with himself. “I read through twenty books, and I must say they were fascinating. Science has enhanced tremendously over the past few hundred years.”

“
Twenty?” I mouthed, trying to recover from the shock of the books piled taller than Michael Jordan.

“
When I was young, I read as fast as you,” he informed me, “but age, time, and my magical abilities have given me the opportunity to gain knowledge by reading quickly.”

“
I’ll just stick to my single book right here.” I showed him my book on werewolves. “You know, this is my kind of scientific research,” I teased.

He laughed and pulled out his chair, grabbing another book off the table. “Aerospace engineering is a beguiling subject.”

“
Werewolves,” I countered, “are equally intriguing.”

“
But completely fiction,” he pointed out.

“
I’m not sure. I haven’t had the opportunity to disprove that yet.” I grinned at him.

“
Or to prove it,” he added with a wink.

“
Anyways,” I said, “angels are supposed to be a work of fiction as well. Okay, to most people anyway. But here you are—positively, solidly here.” I poked him, and he grabbed my finger and laughed.

“
If you say so.”

“
I do.” He let go of my finger. “Now get to reading. We don’t have much time.” I pointed toward the clock on the wall. “Librarians are very strict.”

“
I know. I was friends with one.”

At that moment, someone
shushed
us. We both fell silent and pulled our books to our faces, our smiles spilling over the pages.

He flipped through the pages of his so quickly I thought he was just looking for pretty pictures. I tried to tear my eyes away from him and read my book on werewolves, but for several minutes all I could do was watch this angel rapidly slicing through the pages. He was more engaging and enchanting than a man who turned into a wolf.

Andrew looked up when he noticed I wasn’t reading. “Something wrong with your book?” His tone was teasing.

“
No. You just surprise the hell out of me.”

He smiled at the saying. Then a thought came to me—one that I hadn’t had much time to consider or think about since we’d been on the run. I felt worse and worse as I tried to digest the appalling thought, like an invisible hand was twisting my insides. I wondered how the other angels were doing in their prison cells.

He must have seen the look on my face because he arched an eyebrow. His dark hair fell around his face. “What is it?”

I became abruptly serious. “Do you believe in hell?”

He looked slightly taken aback for a second before his expression cleared. “Why should I?” He shrugged with dispassion. “I’m immortal. Death constantly eludes me. The Olympian gods were whom we all feared when I was a child. But, as you’ve seen, even being in the ground for a few hundred years hasn’t stopped me from living.” He didn’t elaborate on how he ended up there in the first place.

I didn’t want to continue with my line of questioning; it reminded me forcibly of the dream of the dead angel and the golden blood. They were unbidden, unwelcome thoughts. Were angels really as immortal as they believed? Even Paolo had said that some angels didn’t survive attacks by the Shadows.

I tried to rid myself of the image. It was hard to resist asking questions; there were so many answers I wanted to know. We had only a little time left for reading anyway. He must have interpreted something in my eyes, because he bowed over the book again and flipped through the pages.

Silence fell between us. I immersed myself in the werewolf book, enjoying the main character’s struggle with self-denial. Those were always my favorite kinds of stories, probably because I had never had the opportunity to be in a position to self-deny.

My eyes flickered up toward Andrew, stealing another glance. His long, dark hair fell to his shoulders as his golden eyes raced across a page. He was reading a book on popular culture, and his lips twitched up several times. The line of his jaw was flawlessly straight and dimples formed with each smile. His nose was proportioned for his face. I studied his arms and the well-formed muscles. I’d almost bet my life savings that he had a six-pack under that shirt. Add wings and a halo, and I’d believe he was an angel from heaven.

Then again, I was using my life savings to keep him safe, so I was already betting on him being the real deal. I flipped the page of my book distractedly but couldn’t help but continuously peek up at Andrew.