Color of Angels' Souls (27 page)

Impatient now, goaded on by an irrepressible desire to thumb his nose at Death in a celebration of love and life, he lay down on the bed beside her and removed his loincloth, quivering, eager as never before to show his love.

He'd gone one step too far.

The excitement and elation Allison had felt were swept aside by a sudden wave of panic. She jerked back in fear and gave Jeremy a violent shove that sent him tumbling from the bed.

Quite possibly saving his life in the process.

Because right in the spot where he had been two seconds earlier, a gleaming red, razor-sharp sword struck the bed, cutting cleanly through the sheets, mattress, and bed frame before striking the carpet. Feathers were flying everywhere as Jeremy and Allison cried out in unison and took cover behind the shattered bed. Allison had just enough time to grab a piece of ripped sheet to cover herself.

The killer was back.

And armed to the teeth.

Furious to have missed his prey, he raised himself up to full height and, strangely enough, saluted them with his sword, as if they were two worthy adversaries. That's the impression he gave Jeremy at least, even though he was still partially paralyzed by fear.

“Good God!” he yelled. “What's your problem? You already killed me, then you killed Allison—what more do you want?”

The killer gave them a menacing look, then realized that they were actually waiting for a reply. He opened wide his mouth and stuck out his tongue to show it to Jeremy and Allison, who were still crouching behind the remains of the bed. Actually, in place of a tongue he had nothing more than a scrap of charred flesh. It looked as if it had been burned. Not cut, no, but burned down to a horrible, pink pulp.

Allison shuddered in disgust.

“I see,” Jeremy remarked. “Looks like we might have some trouble communicating.”

Then, before the killer had the chance to close in on Jeremy and test his capacity for regeneration by chopping him up into little pieces, the young Angel took him by surprise when he too opened wide his mouth and yelled at the top of his lungs.

“FLLLLLLLLIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNT! HEEEEEEEEEELP!!”

The killer only scowled and jumped atop the shattered bed, somehow managing to keep his balance. In a flash, Jeremy dodged away from the ruby-red blade as it sliced through the air, narrowly missing him.

“FLLLLLLLLLIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNNT! WHERE ARE YOUUUUUU??!!”

Still half asleep, Flint burst into Allison's room and froze in his tracks, taken aback when he saw the hacked-up bed and his feathers scattered everywhere. His eyes soon came to rest on the red Angel with his sword, who looked bent on killing the two Cherubs.

The assassin never knew what hit him. Flint's eyes began to blaze. He instantly grew in stature a good three feet, and turned a blue so dark that he was almost black.

“Not in MY house!!” he bellowed in an imperious voice.

He walloped the killer with an enormous hand, sending him crashing through the window along with his sword. They could hear his inarticulate scream as he fell, soon drowned out by a loud “boom!” when he struck the ground below.

Jeremy and Allison were too terrified to speak as they gazed at Flint, unable to believe that the friendly, good-natured ex-centurion had turned into an incredible hulk with a lousy temper.

“Ahhh!” the blue behemoth growled. “How did that puny red worm find you? And even worse, how could he break into
my
apartment without me realizing it?”

It took Jeremy's brain a few seconds to kick in, as his neurons had all short-circuited due to shock, but he finally managed to hazard a reasonable guess: “Uhh, by doing the same thing we all do? Passing through the wall?”

Flint stared daggers at him. “No,” he groaned before turning on his heel to leave the room. “I painted the walls.”

Allison and Jeremy could only stare at each other. Through the window, they saw the killer was already limping quickly away down the street.

Reassured by the sight, they both hurdled the bed and ran after Flint. They found him sitting on one of the couches in the living room, lost in thought. He looked drained following his transformation.

“How could painting the walls possibly have stopped that madman from breaking in?”

“It should have,” muttered Flint as he stroked his tired face. He looked strangely vulnerable after his flamboyant demonstration of force. “I placed a coating of Mist on the walls. It obeys my wishes, just like my body. It can also act as an alarm system, and keep out anybody whom I don't want to enter.”

Jeremy tensed at his words. A suspicious little voice in his head whispered to him that, if you could keep people from entering, you could also keep them from leaving. He stored away the information in a corner of his mind. While he was thinking, Flint returned to “normal,” if the word could ever actually apply to the blue Angel.

“Why does that Red hate the two of you so much?” he asked them, curious all of a sudden.

“I have no idea,” Jeremy replied. “All I know is that he's the one who killed us.”

“And it looks like he wants to start all over again,” Allison added, her voice still trembling, while she arranged her ripped piece of blanket to form a sort of mini-dress.

“Exactly. It's all so weird. Now that I think of it, Flint, the way you made the Angel disappear who was tormenting my little sister was quite original. You didn't even try to use a sword or a gun, as if arms were useless here. And yet the killer Angel attacked us with a sword and wanted to slice us up into pieces. Could it have worked? Could he have killed us again?” Jeremy asked nervously.

Flint closed his eyes tiredly.

“Yes and no,” he replied enigmatically, before adding with a sniff: “He's a Newcomer, and Newcomers always make a mess of everything.”

Allison and Jeremy waited patiently for Flint to explain, but after another minute passed without Flint seeming any more inclined to expand on his reply, Allison finally lost her temper.

“What do you mean,
yes and no
?” she asked. “Is it yes, or is it no?”

Flint jumped slightly and seemed to snap awake.

“What? Oh, right, sorry. I'm exhausted. Expending so much energy over such a short period of time isn't such a good idea. Yes, he could have hacked the both of you to pieces, which would have been very painful, and no, he couldn't have killed you. You just have to be touched by the Mist and you can regenerate.”

Jeremy and Allison gave each other a questioning look.

“Which means,” Jeremy said, choosing his words, “that when we nourish ourselves, we actually don't have to ‘eat' the Mist. We just have to touch it. Is that what you're saying?”

“Yes. You can eat it just by touching it,” Flint said with a tired smile. “But it's hardly as much fun, and almost impossible for young Angels—at least at first. Watch.”

He moved over on the sofa and Jeremy and Allison were both stunned to discover a hollowed out section that had the same outline as Flint's body. While they'd been talking, Flint had begun to regenerate by absorbing the Mist from the object. Through all of his body parts.

Jeremy had seen enough documentaries about cell division to ask a follow-up question: “And what would happen if that nutcase had cut my head off? Would my body grow back beneath my head? And what about my body? Would it grow a new head? And then there would be … two of me?”

“No. A body part can't regenerate on its own, not without the conscious will of the head. Don't bother asking me how it all works—you'll have to ask your physicist friends about it. They'll tell you it has something to do with causality, the bonds between matter, cellular attraction. All I can tell you is what I know for myself. It's also true that Angels can heal themselves by reattaching a lost arm or leg, or—like a lizard or an octopus, grow a new one.”

When Allison had something on her mind she wouldn't leave it alone, and now she had something on her mind: A horrific vision of her body spread over the sidewalk like a bunch of hamburger.

“So if I understand correctly,” she pressed on, “if you can carry off somebody's head, you can keep their body from regenerating?”

Flint looked uncomfortable.

“Not exactly … but yes, at the same time, it might be possible …”

Allison was exasperated: She hated it when people weren't clear!

“If the head has no access to Mist, it won't be able to recover enough energy to make the body grow back,” Flint explained. “For that to work, the killer would have to find a way to quickly take the head to a place where no one could ever find it. Places like that are becoming more and more rare around the Earth. Even in the heart of the desert or at the Earth's poles, there are oil prospectors, hunters, travelers, explorers. The places without Mist continue to dwindle.”

Allison forgot about the hamburger and started thinking about fish sticks.

“What about on the bottom of the ocean?” she asked. “There's nobody down there, is there?”

“In the deepest abysses, it might be possible. But even there, humans are sending down more and more sophisticated machines, and man will go there himself one day. As soon as the head finds some Mist, the body will start to grow. Some of us, the most ancient Angels, even say that it should be possible to use energy from animals, or from any living cell for that matter. But no Angel has ever succeeded. In any event, if the head can't nourish itself with Mist, then the same thing will happen as with any Angel that stops eating: The head and the body will disappear.”

Flint winced. He snatched up a glass made of Mist and it began to dissolve in his hand as he consumed it to regain his strength.

“Aw hell!” he said with regret. “These glasses cost me a fortune! And if I keep eating my couch, it'll cost me even more!”

There was something else that kept nagging at Jeremy.

“Flint,” he asked. “How do you think the killer managed to find us?”

The old Angel frowned. He had certainly asked himself the same question, and it was obviously bothering him as well.

“I have no idea,” he muttered. “But it probably wasn't all that difficult. A lot of red Angels know where I live. Any of them could have told him. What bothers me most is that he found a way to pass through my wall of Mist!”

All three of them were troubled now. They looked at each other in silence.

“Maybe this is how the red Angels are going to declare war on us, a bit earlier than we expected,” Flint finally murmured. “In which case, one thing is clear: You won't be safe on your own. You're going to have to stay here with me. Under my protection. Right here!”

Allison had been contemplating Jeremy for the last few minutes from her overstuffed armchair. She had been right to push him away earlier, because it had saved their li—saved their skin. But at the same time, she now regretted it. Allison had to face the facts: She was very attracted to him.

But that was impossible. You couldn't fall in love with someone in just a couple of hours! Or could you?

On the other hand, her feelings for Jeremy were only one more thing to add to the long list of things she couldn't understand in this new world.

Another thing was bothering her as well: her fascination with Flint. The blue Angel seemed so incredibly powerful. She could feel her attraction to him. It was as if he were a burning fire and she had to stop herself from holding out her hands to warm herself. Never before in her life had she been so subjugated by a man. Like a lot of girls at a certain age, she had of course been crazy about pop stars, actors, and authors, but never to the point where she would sleep on a sidewalk to see a concert or get a book signed, or wait for hours in front of a hotel just to get a glimpse of her idol. Well, actually, she had done that once for an actor, but it was like a shameful secret she kept hidden away. But now she had to admit it was the exact same thing she felt for Flint. It was almost as if she worshipped him in some weird way, and just the thought of it made her blush. She was pretty sure that the wave of desire that had overcome her in bed with Jeremy was something completely different, but she was still deeply troubled.

She had gotten over the shock from the aborted attack and now wanted nothing more than to get some sleep. Jeremy had told her that Angels didn't need as much sleep as the living. Then why was she so incredibly tired?

She instantly snapped awake at the sound of Jeremy's voice—especially the firm tone.

“The killer was completely red. And he had a sword made of Mist with him.”

“What?” Flint asked him, all ears now. “What did you just say?”

“You once told me that us Newcomers take on different colors based on the type of person we are. When people pass over, the ones who are more attracted to negative emotions will turn red—but not completely red. And people who feed off positive emotions will turn blue, like me and Allison. But the killer was already completely red—from head to toe!”

“And you say he'd made a sword for himself?”

“Yes.”

“That's impossible!”

Jeremy just shrugged.

“You know, Flint, with all that's happened since I've been here, I'm beginning to wonder if that word even exists in this world.”

Flint mulled over his words for a moment, then climbed gracefully to his feet despite his exhaustion.

“Listen, I need to recover from all my efforts, or else I'll be completely useless. Let's meet up in six hours for breakfast, and then we'll think this all through, OK? Until then, a word of warning: Don't go outside. I cannot stop you from leaving, nor would I ever want to, but it will be hard for me to protect you if you venture outside without me.”

Allison had been frightened enough over the past few hours, and had no desire to go anywhere at all. With or without Flint for that matter. The old Angel nodded to both of them and walked slowly out of the living room. Finally they were alone. All the commotion hadn't disturbed Lili, which wasn't surprising since the apartment was huge and her room was at the far end.