The Angel of Death (The Soul Summoner Book 3) (15 page)

Nathan stepped back, drying his eyes on the back of his sleeve as he turned away.

The woman held up a fetal doppler. “Sloan, are you ready to check the baby’s heart rate?”

I sniffed and sat up in the bed. “Absolutely.”

Dad laid a black backpack on the chair beside the bed. “I got your clothes, sweetheart.”

Nathan took a step back next to my dad.

A few moments later, a muffled
bump, bump, bump, bump, bump
echoed around the room. I covered my mouth with my hands. “I’ve never heard it before.”

She smiled.

Dad walked over and put his hand on my shoulder.
 

Nathan was beaming in our direction.

“The heart rate’s a little slow, but that’s normal due to the drop in your body temperature,” she explained. “I’ll come back and check on you in a little bit.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”
 

When she was gone, I looked at Nathan. “Did they find the lunatic who was standing in the middle of the road?”

He shook his head. “No. The Sheriff’s office is looking for her, but so far they haven’t found anything.”

“The FBI guys following us didn’t see anything?” I asked.

He lowered his voice. “As far as I know, no one from the FBI was there.”

Interesting.

In the cubical to my left, someone erupted into a violent coughing fit. Then a woman cried out in pain.

I pointed toward the bag on the chair Dad had brought from my house. “Hand me my clothes, please.”

“You haven’t been cleared for release yet,” Dad said.

I shook my head. “I don’t care. I can help her.”

He hesitated. “This isn’t a good idea.”
 

“Dad, nothing I ever do is a good idea.”

He tried not to, but he cracked a smile.

I held my hands up. “What will they do? Kick me out of the hospital? Hand me my clothes!”

Dad dropped the bag onto my bed and put his hands on his hips.

I unzipped it and pulled out a sweatshirt. It was a black hoodie with S.W.A.T. written across the back in bold white letters. I laughed. “Nathan, look,” I said, holding it up for him to see.

He glanced over and chuckled. “That’s hilarious.”

“What’s so funny?” Dad asked.

“It’s Nathan’s shirt,” I said. “It’s a long story.”

Nathan had given me the shirt to wear the night we saved Kayleigh Neeland, and Warren hated I still had it. Thinking of Kayleigh reminded me that the angel pin she had given me must still be in my bra, wherever it ended up…or maybe it was at the bottom of the river.

I couldn’t put the shirt on with the IV still in my arm. “Dad, can you take this thing out?”

He looked around for the nurse. “Sloan, I really don’t feel right about this.”

I cocked my head to the side. “Are you going to let me jerk this needle out of my arm and bleed all over the emergency room?”

He groaned and stepped over beside my bed. “You’re so stubborn.”

I winked at him. “I get it from you.”

He rolled his eyes and removed the IV.

I slipped the sweatshirt over my head and caught Nathan grinning over at me. “It still looks good on you,” he said.

I laughed. “Glad you think so.”

Carefully, I wiggled into a pair of black yoga pants underneath my blankets. Almost all the feeling had returned to my extremities, so I was even able to tie on my sneakers without any help. I swung my legs off the bed and looked up at my dad. “Do you see anyone coming?”

He looked around the hall behind him. “Your nurse is two stalls down.”

“Can you distract her?”

He frowned but nodded his head.

My legs wobbled a bit when I stood, so I gripped the bed for support. 
 

“Where are you going?” Nathan whispered.

I didn’t answer him. Instead, I quietly tiptoed over to the curtain, pulling it back slowly as to not make a sound.

In the cubicle next to me was Virginia Claybrooks, the guard from the jail. I gasped. “Oh, Ms. Claybrooks.”
 

Perspiration was beaded on her forehead, and her cheeks were streaked with tears. A young man was holding her hand. She looked at me, full of fear. “How ‘you know my name?”

I touched my fingers to my chest. “I’m Sloan Jordan from the county office. Don’t you remember me?”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re the cute blond boy’s girlfriend, aren’t you?”

I laughed. “Detective McNamara and I are friends. Are you ill?”

She began coughing again. With each convulsion, she winced and more tears spilled out. “They say I got fluid in my lungs. Feels like I’m drowning from the inside out. I’m gonna die here.”

I stepped to her bedside and took her hand. “You’re not going to die, Ms. Claybrooks.”

She moaned, triggering another coughing fit.

Gently, I sat on the edge of her bed and put my hand on her clammy forehead.
 

“Your hands are ice cold,” she said, shivering.

“Well, speaking of drowning, I almost drowned in the river tonight,” I said.

Her eyes widened. “What the heck were you doing in the river, child? Don’t you know it’s winter time?”

I laughed. “If I didn’t know it before, I know it now.” I put both my hands on either side of her face.
 

“What are you doin’ to me?” she asked.

“Maybe my cold hands will help with that fever,” I said, smiling gently. “Hey, that cute blond boy is here. Do you want to see him?”

She shook her head. “Don’t nobody need to see me. They say this thing could be contagious. My son, David”—she gestured to the man beside her bed—“he’s as stubborn as a bull, and he won’t leave.”

I laughed. “My dad just said the same thing about me.” I glanced at her son. “Hi, David.”

He waved. “Hi.”

Ms. Claybrooks shuddered again and winced with pain. When she coughed again, it already sounded less congested. My hands warmed against her face as my whole body buzzed with energy.
 

“I feel all twisted up inside,” she cried.

“Shh,” I said. “It will be over soon.”

“Cuz I’m gonna die,” she whimpered.

“Virginia, look at me.” Her swollen eyes focused on mine. I shook my head. “You’re not going to die. Not today. And certainly not from a cough.”

Her face relaxed, and she looked at me with fierce curiosity. “What are you?” she whispered.

I winked at her. “I’m a publicist.”

* * *

Before the doctors caught on to the rounds I was making through the emergency room, I was able to heal Ms. Claybrooks from pneumonia, a single mom of three kids from a severe case of strep throat, and two old ladies who were dreadfully sick with the flu.

When the nurse brought my discharge papers, she was frowning. “Make sure you stop by and say hello when you’re back in here with a productive cough and a fever in a couple of days.”

I smiled and tucked the papers into my bag. “I’m sure I’ll be OK. Thanks for taking such good care of us, Rena.”

She pointed at me. “I don’t want to see you again, Ms. Jordan.” She turned toward Nathan who was standing next to my bed. “Or you, Detective.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Nathan said.

My dad looked down at me. “Are you ready to go?”

I nodded and he helped me to my feet. “Yeah. Can you drop us off at my house since neither of us have a car?”

“Of course. You about gave me a heart attack. I may never let you out of my sight again.” He kept his hand on my back. “I’m so thankful you’re both alive.”

Nathan took my backpack and slung it over his shoulder. “We’ve all got Sloan to thank for that. She saved us by shattering the windshield.” He looked over at me as we walked out to the lobby. “How did you do it?”

I thought about the way Kasyade had once thrown a car down a San Antonio street and how Samael was able to lock and unlock doors without touching them. “I think it must have been part of my power, but I have no idea how I did it.”

“That’s near death experience number three in the time I’ve known you, Sloan,” Nathan said as he held the door open to the parking lot. It was still snowing, but it was wet and clumpy.

“I think I came a lot closer to death than you did this time,” I said.
 

Dad looked at both of us. “It’s not a competition, kids!”

I put my hood up over my head. “I never would have made it to the shore if…” I stopped before sounding completely nuts again.

“If what?” Nathan asked.

“I could have sworn Warren pulled me out of the water,” I said, bringing our little group to a halt.

Nathan’s brow crumpled. “Impossible. You had to be hallucinating.”

“Nathan, I saw him. I felt him when he grabbed me. I didn’t hallucinate that feeling.”

“It’s impossible,” he said and started walking again.

I did a double-step to catch up with him. “Did you see who pulled me out?”

Nathan was quiet till we got to the car and Dad unlocked the doors. “I was in and out of it, and I remember seeing a man carrying you up the riverbank, but it wasn’t Warren. It couldn’t have been.”

We all got into the car, and Dad started the engine. “It isn’t uncommon to imagine things when you come so close to death, Sloan. I agree with Nathan.”

I leaned my head back against the seat. “I know you’re right, but I also know what I saw.”

Dad sighed. “Well, I’m grateful to whoever pulled you out of the river.”

“Me too,” Nathan agreed.

We had an uneventful drive home, but when we turned on to my street, a black truck was parked in front of my house. Nathan pointed over my seat. “That’s the truck that’s been following you.”

I strained my eyes in the dark. “That doesn’t look like the FBI.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Nathan agreed.

My father pulled to a stop behind the truck.
 

“Stay in the car,” Nathan said as he wrenched his door open.
 

I smirked and pulled on my door handle. “You can’t tell me to stay in the car at my own house.”

Dad tossed his hands up. “What good is it to have the boy to protect you if you never listen to him?”

The street was dark, but in the moonlight, I saw a man standing on the front steps of my house. I couldn’t sense his soul. I grabbed onto Nathan’s hand and ducked behind him. “Not human,” I whispered.

When we got closer, the man turned toward us, and light from the moon flashed across his face.
 

It was him.

11.

“Warren?” Nathan asked, cautiously moving forward.

I hesitantly side-stepped around him, but Nathan blocked me with his arm.
 

The man didn’t move, making us come all the way to him at the foot of the stairs where he towered over us. I doubted it would be much different if we were on equal footing. Beneath him, I felt very small and was keenly aware Nathan had lost his sidearm in the river. We were completely unprotected.

The man was dressed in dark clothes and had short black hair. It wasn’t Warren, but it could have been his clone. I gasped and covered my mouth with my hand. “Oh my god.”

“Who are you?” Nathan demanded.

“My name is—”

“Azrael,” I said, pushing Nathan’s arm away from me and taking a step forward. “Your name is Azrael.”

The man’s black eyes widened with surprise. “Yes. My name is Azrael. How did you know?”

“Lucky guess,” I said.

Nathan looked at me. “Who?”

“He’s Warren’s father.” I studied Azrael. “It was you who saved me tonight. You were following me.”

He nodded slowly.

“You’ve been following her?” Nathan asked, anger rising in his voice.

Azrael stepped down one step. “And where would she be if I hadn’t been?” His voice was dark and dangerous, just like his son’s.
 

 
“Are you here to kill me?” I asked, summoning courage I didn’t know I had.

“If I were here to kill you, I would have let you drown,” he answered. “You’re in danger and, as I am Warren’s father, I came to protect you…and your unborn daughter.”

“How do you know about the baby? And what makes you so sure it’s a girl?” Nathan asked.

He smiled, but it was more creepy than comforting. “Your child is well known in my world, Sloan.”

My neighbor’s porch light flickered on. My eyes darted down the street. “Can we go inside before someone calls the police?” I asked.

“I am the police,” Nathan reminded me. “And no, we can’t go inside.” He stepped protectively in front of me again and looked up at the angel on my porch steps. “If you’re here to protect her, then why all the secrecy? Who the hell do you think you are?”

Azrael took a step toward Nathan. “My name is Azrael, the Archangel of Death.”

I swallowed and cowered behind Nathan’s back.
 

Nathan smirked. “Sure you are.”

I pressed my lips together and shrank back even more. I tugged on his arm and lowered my voice. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to get mouthy with him, Nate.”

Azrael’s face was inscrutable. “You don’t have to believe me. It doesn’t make it any less true. I am also her child’s grandfather.”

Nathan cast me a skeptical glare.
 

“Who, may I ask, are you?” Azrael said.

Nathan folded his arms over his chest. “I’m Detective Nathan McNamara. Sloan and I are close friends, and I promised the baby’s father I would look out for her while he’s gone.”

“You know my son?” Azrael asked.

“How do we even know he’s really your son?”
 

“Look at him,” I said. “They couldn’t look any more alike if you put Warren through a Xerox.”

Nathan turned toward me and put his hands on his hips. “People think my dad looks like Paul Newman, but it doesn’t mean they’re related!”
 

“Your dad
does
look like Paul Newman!”

Nathan’s head dropped to the side. “Focus please.”

“Sorry.”

“Even if he is Warren’s dad, who’s to say he’s not a psychopath like your sadistic mother?” he asked.

I put my hands on his forearms and cut my eyes up at him. “Nathan, this is one of those leap of faith moments you’ll have to take with me. I believe him, and I really want to hear what he has to say.”