“Want me to keep talking?”
“Yes, please.”
She hesitated as she thought of more to say. “I just moved into this apartment a few months ago. It’s the same price as the one in Providence, but it’s smaller. It’s within walking distance to the office, though, and there’s a cute little coffee shop on the hill just up the street…”
Chapter Two
Jared
Nina’s sobs had quieted down in the last hour, reduced to intermittent whimpering between silence. As she lay on my lap, hugging my thigh, I ran my fingers through her hair, saying prayers in the language of Heaven. That had always seemed to calm her most.
I’d regretted my choice to reveal myself to her more times than I could count, but those feelings of guilt were always overshadowed by my love for her, the precious moments we shared, and the life and family we’d built together.
Not this time.
My choice had hurt Nina—physically and emotionally. She’d been afraid for her life, for our daughter’s, and had already lost too much before she watched our daughter’s murder. Nina was even tortured in her dreams. But this… I didn’t deserve to look her in the eyes after this.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said, caressing my arm with her fingertips. “Do you know what I’m thinking?”
“I’m afraid to ask,” I said, sincere.
She turned for a moment to kiss the underside of my forearm, but didn’t look me in the eye. “Of the bench.”
I closed my eyes, still combing my fingers through her light golden strands. “The night we met.”
“Just the bench. It was cold that night. Do you remember?”
“I recall you being cold.”
“You blew on your hands and rubbed them together.”
“It’s ingrained into us to replicate human movements to fit in.”
She breathed out a ghost of a laugh but didn’t smile. “The bench, Jared. I was cold when I arrived, and the longer I sat on that hard, frozen wood, the colder I became. The frame was black iron, and the ground beneath was dusted in snow. I had just lost my father—my everything—and felt empty. I had nothing. And somehow, in that moment, you gave me you.”
I shook my head, feeling my eyes burn. “You had your life at college. You had your friends, your career, your whole life ahead of you.”
“And I wouldn’t trade it. I need you to know that.”
A tear made its way slowly down the bridge of my nose, settling at the end, and then dripping onto her shoulder. She crossed her arm over her chest and covered the small, wet dot with her hand. “In the end, I have to admit that I gave you nothing but pain, Nina.”
“This isn’t the end.”
“It’s the end of Eden.”
“You gave her to me; even if it was for a blink in time, she was mine. All of those smiles, those memories of you walking the floor with her, the firsts. It’s all because you sat on that bench. You gave me things no one else could. You’ve saved my life countless times.”
“We have no daughter. This is no life.” I broke down then. For the first time, I found myself not only unworthy, but unable to be a rock for Nina. I’d let her down again.
She stood and cradled my head to her stomach, gently pulling me to her, swaying just a few inches in either direction. She began praying, and my breath caught. With a human-American accent, she spoke the language of Heaven she’d heard me whisper so many times before. Much of it was barely decipherable, but I knew exactly what she was trying to say. And, more importantly, what she was trying to do. Hearing my wife’s voice speak the language of my heavenly and earthly fathers was exactly what I needed to hear in that moment.
I wrapped my arms around her legs and pressed my cheek against her middle, letting my pain fill the loft. I gasped and sputtered, cried out and growled, shook and fell limp, swayed and nearly collapsed as waves of grief rolled over me just to come from another direction. Nina held me through it all.
“I’ve got you,” she said in English. “I won’t let go.”
We stayed that way for hours, holding each other, grieving together, but other than prayers, not much talking until I sensed her stomach twinge.
“You’re hungry,” I said, standing. My body felt two-hundred years old, sore and aching, sluggish and clumsy.
“I couldn’t possibly, Jared. Please don’t,” she said, reaching for me. “Sit,” she said.
I obeyed.
“What now?” she asked.
My brain simply wouldn’t move forward from that minute. I shook my head, waiting for something to come, but for the first time in my life my thoughts were quiet.
“Do we fight? Do we help Levi? Do we demand justice? I need to know. Was this God? Did he let this happen? Was this His plan?”
I rubbed my forehead, feeling overwhelmed. “I … don’t know. I don’t have the answer this time.”
“Do we find the answer?”
I looked up at her, knowing my face looked just as red, beat up, and puffy as hers did. There were always answers, and she deserved them. We both did.
“I need you to stay with Lillian. I’ll send Grant.”
“Are you going to find answers?”
I stood, cupping her shoulders and kissing her forehead, slow and soft. “They’ve started a war. It’s time someone holds them accountable.”
She took a step back from me. “You’re just going to execute every demon you see?”
“Yes.”
Nina thought about what that might mean, but the sweetness of revenge sparked in her eyes. “Good. Kill them all.”
Chapter Three
Claire
“You have got to be mother flipping kidding me.” I chomped on the wad of gum in my mouth, watching the sun rise. At least three dozen demons at my feet, and twice that many goblins. I couldn’t walk without getting blackish-blue goo on my white Louboutin’s. I hooked my arm around Ryan’s middle. It was the only time he grimaced when I touched him.
“No. Don’t. Cl—”
Before he could finish, I bent at the knees, got a good, sturdy stance, and then pushed off, landing outside of the large circle of carcasses, more than thirty feet from the center.
I released Ryan, and he rubbed his sore side. “I hate that.”
I jutted out my bottom lip.
His face screwed into disgust. “Don’t start. The only reason you did that was to keep your white outfit or ensemble or whatever clean.”
“So?” I said, unaffected by his less-than-stellar jab.
He pointed at the bottom of my shirt. “Got some uh… some splatter there.”
I looked down. Sure enough, the dark red, almost black amalgamated, dried ketchup-like goo that could only be demon blood had spattered my shirt and the pocket area of my white jeans. “Damn it!” I said through my teeth, knowing better than to rub. It would only smear. “This stuff doesn’t come out!”