Color of Angels' Souls (7 page)

Just then, he would have given anything for a pair of underwear.

Flint had told him that he could make clothes out of the Mist. He had also said that it would take some time before Jeremy would master the technique himself. But there were no Angels around except for the horrible Red, who hardly seemed willing to help others. No, Jeremy would have to do it on his own.

He went down to the kitchen, startled each time a living person walked by without seeing him.

The cook and the butler were sitting together, laughing as they read the newspaper. Jeremy walked up to the white Mist rising from them and, almost reluctantly, took a bite for his “breakfast.” It wasn't the same color as the Mist he had eaten the day before, but the sensation was exactly the same, and just as overpowering. It made his knees wobbly for a second, but this time he didn't fall over (just to play it safe, he had leaned against the wall before taking a bite).

Once the rapturous sensations had subsided, he realized that the more he ate the less vapors the two people produced. He'd better stop—he had more important uses for that Mist. First he tried to grab some with his hand, but it slipped right through his fingers. He formed a cup with his hands, but the vapors managed to find a crack to escape through.

He tried to grab hold of some Mist for a good twenty minutes while the two of them finished reading their newspaper, but to no avail. He grew more and more frustrated and started to lose patience. Flint had warned him, after all. Which was exactly why he
had
to succeed now. Throughout his short life, he had always fought against preconceived notions—especially when they concerned his young age. This attitude had made him a very unique and stubborn person. He began to concentrate hard on the problem, so hard that his head hurt, but he ignored the pain. He bent his will harder and harder, using all his rage and resolve to gain control over the Mist.

Suddenly, it was like something clicked into place inside his head. The Mist started to collect in his hand, almost as if Jeremy's rage had brought it to a halt there. Jeremy swallowed hard, still concentrating with all his might. It wasn't his hand that was holding the Mist. It was his mind. He could shape the Mist with his mind! Shaking due to the exertion, he relaxed his hand, and his mind.

The Mist remained in place, curled up in the palm of his hand like a warm and cuddly little animal.

“
Yeeeessss
!”

Jeremy cried out victoriously, and was surprised when neither the man nor the woman reacted to the noise. He was beaming, and released the Mist, watching it float up through the ceiling.

“OK,” he said quietly to himself. “Now I know how to stop it. Let's see if I can shape it.”

It wasn't easy, and the fact that the emotions of the two people kept fluctuating between amusement, indignation, and compassion didn't help matters any. But the majority of their feelings were positive, so Jeremy didn't have to worry about which ones he used. After an exhausting hour of work, he finally managed to put together a white, blue, and gray loincloth that didn't look too bad. The funny thing was that, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make a button, but had no problem conceiving a safety pin. Probably because the strongest Mist came from the cook, who was a very practical woman. The safety pin did a good job holding on his loincloth, even if it wasn't the most manly arrangement.

Jeremy had to stifle a laugh. He looked ridiculous. But he had done it! Flint had told him it wasn't possible. He felt much better after his minor victory. For the first time since he had found himself in this strange new world, he realized he had at least a little bit of control over his fate. He whistled his way up the steps at a leisurely pace, but his good humor quickly evaporated when he remembered the red Angel.

Angela was reading when he entered her room. A light brown Mist rose from the little girl. He could tell she was sad. Her face was all puffy, and it looked like she had been crying all day long. In fact, she was still crying, and had to wipe away her tears as she tried to read.

The red Angel hung from the ceiling, looming above her. He was rubbing his hands with delight, but he scowled when he noticed the intruder. He had been so busy eating the day before that he hadn't even noticed Jeremy. He didn't look any too happy to see him.

Once again, the mere sight of the Angel made Jeremy feel sick to his stomach.

It was more than just his hideous appearance and the crazed look in his eyes. It was as if he radiated an appalling energy that corrupted everything it touched. Jeremy took half a step back, and the slight movement made the Red snap around. He pounced on Jeremy and grabbed him by the neck, forcing him up against the wall. With his gargantuan strength he almost pushed the young Blue halfway through.

“You little piece of Blue shit!” he hissed. “What the hell you doing here?”

He tightened his grip, and Jeremy wondered if he weren't going to strangle him on the spot.

“I saw your picture on the kid's nightstand. You're her stepbrother, ain't ya? The outcast. Whadda ya want?”

Jeremy was quavering. He lowered his eyes to block out the face, twisted with hate:

“Good evening. … Excuse me, I didn't want to bother you, sir. I was just passing through and …” He stopped, pretending he'd just thought of something: “Hey, why aren't there any blue Angels around Angela?”

In fact, there weren't any other Angels in the entire house. Jeremy began wondering why.

“Because I chased all those little maggots away,” the Angel sniggered. “I'm getting my vengeance on that little girl over there, and all the negative energy makes you little Blues sick! They shot out of here faster than a bullet from a .357 Magnum. Ha ha ha!”

He eased up on Jeremy, floating halfway between the floor and ceiling.

“Can't you feel it, little Blue? All the hate, all the rage? Usually it makes you Blues sick!”

Jeremy understood why he felt so queasy when he was around the Red, all bloated with hate. But actually he was more disgusted than anything else, and would have loved to squash his fat red head. He wondered if the Angel was going to kill him—or if he even
could
, since he was already doing his best to strangle him. And if he died a second time, then where would he go?

He heard Angela sniffling over in her bed, and quickly snapped out of his philosophical musings.

“Actually, I was wondering why you seem to be so angry with her,” he said.

“Because of her father!” bellowed the Red, making Jeremy jump. “The bastard had me knocked off: that's why!”

“All right already! No need to yell! I'm not deaf, you know! And why did he have you killed?”

The Red opened his mouth to reply, then stopped short and gave Jeremy a suspicious look.

“What's it to you, Blue?”

Jeremy had to think quickly. He needed more information, needed to find out just how deeply involved his stepfather was in his murder. He would have to tell what he knew.

“Because I was murdered too,” he said calmly.

The red Angel stared at him with his mouth agape for a few moments. Then began chuckling.

“And you think that your own stepfather, Frank Tachini, is responsible? Then you're gonna have to get in line, buddy, cause you certainly ain't the only one!”

Jeremy suddenly realized what the Angel was trying to tell him. Up until now, his stepfather's shady business dealings had made him angry, and he had broken almost all ties with his family. But he hadn't been afraid. Only Claire had been worried sick by her husband's work. Jeremy knew what arms dealers like Frank were like. They made their fortunes working just within the limits of the law. But now he realized in a flash that his stepfather was more than just an arms dealer. He was also a dangerous murderer.

Except there was still something not quite right about the whole thing. He had no problem imagining Frank wheeling and dealing to make money through his family business. But he had a much harder time imagining him having people killed in cold blood.

“Anyway, you're just a Blue,” the Angel sneered. “If you want to get revenge, if you want to influence his wife's feelings, if you want to get his employees to steal from him and lie to him, you'll have to become a Red. You've got a long way to go.”

Jeremy had also realized how ironic the situation was.

The bloated monster rose back up to his perch beneath the ceiling, and stubbornly refused to answer any more of Jeremy's questions. He tried to insist but the Angel became threatening once again.

Jeremy paused to think. Something interesting had just happened.

The red Angel hadn't killed him. Sure, he had roughed him up a bit, but he hadn't killed him, and judging by his furor and rage, he certainly wouldn't have hesitated to do so. If he could have. Did that mean that he couldn't? Millions of questions were running through Jeremy's head, but he figured it was better to give it a rest.

He glanced over at his innocent little half sister, as the red Angel hungrily slurped up her sadness. He didn't know the rules of the game yet, and there was no way he could fight against the monster. But he swore to himself that he would do something. If the Red wanted to seek vengeance on Tachini, that was fine, but there was no way Jeremy would let him make his half sister go crazy to do it.

Claire appeared in the doorway, then came over to tuck in her daughter. Angela quickly wiped away her tears with her handkerchief and gave her mother a sickly little smile.

“Mommy!”

“I'm here, darling!”

Claire's face lit up, all sign of worry gone now. She sat on the bed next to her daughter, and gathered her up in a fragrant embrace. Their love turned the rising Mists blue, blocking out the sad brown color for a short while. The red Angel shied away, growling in disgust.

“Oh, Mommy, I still can't believe that Jeremy is dead. On the news they said that he was decapitated. Who would do such a thing to my brother? And why didn't you tell me about it this morning? Why did you tell me it was an accident? It wasn't an accident!”

Claire shook her head and Jeremy could see the color of anger in her emotions. She must have been upset with the journalists. The red Angel drew closer.

“I didn't want to make you even more upset, dear,” she whispered. “It's already bad enough; I wanted to protect you.”

Angela closed her mouth tight. Her Mist turned pink. She was mad, too. The red Angel drew even closer, licking his fat lips. Then he yelled: “You're a big girl! Don't let her tell you what to do! You want to go to that funeral!”

The little girl reacted to what he'd said! Jeremy was mortified.

“I'm ten and a half years old, Mom. I'm not a baby anymore! I want to go to his funeral.”

Claire went rigid.

“To his … but sweetheart, this is all so unexpected … I think it would be better if …”

Angela looked up at her mother. Jeremy recognized the stubborn streak the family was so well known for on her face, which had suddenly become very serious.

“But I want to go, Mom! He was my big brother!”

She broke down in tears, and despite her best efforts Claire soon did the same. The red Angel, very pleased with his work, bounded down onto the bed and began eating up their sadness. Jeremy ground his teeth. How he would have loved to send that red devil straight to hell! But how could he, since, apparently, neither heaven nor hell even existed?

“I … I'm going to have bad dreams again, won't I, Mommy?” Angela whispered in a scared voice.

The red Angel perked up at these words.

Claire wiped off her face and shook her head. She began caressing her daughter's pretty blond hair.

“I don't know, honey … maybe you won't.”

“But I feel so sad, I'm sure I'll have another nightmare. …”

Claire sighed. Jeremy could feel how much she loathed all this.

“Do you want some medicine?” she asked uncertainly.

“Do you think I can, Mommy? Two days in a row?”

Claire managed to smile.

“Oh, two days isn't so much! OK, honey, I'll give you some medicine. You have to get some sleep, because you and I will go to your brother's funeral in a few days. I want you to be well rested.”

She held out a spoonful of syrup. Angela pinched her nose and swallowed it down.

The red Angel roared his frustration. When he disappeared through the wall Jeremy let out an enormous sigh of relief.

“Can you stay with me for a while, Mommy?” Angela asked. “Tell me some stories about Jeremy, OK?”

Claire sighed, but finally acquiesced. She began telling Angela some silly story about a circus, an elephant, some carrots, and an incredibly naughty thing Jeremy had done, knowing full well he wasn't supposed to. Angela smiled a few times, fighting off the blues. Jeremy decided to leave. It hurt too much to listen to his mother talk about the good old days.

He left the room.

Jeremy had finally gotten over the immense shock he'd felt after his death and rebirth. He'd resigned himself to the fact that he would just have to get by on his own in this new world. He was finally starting to think straight. No, he wasn't going to turn into one of those wispy phantoms and just melt away, because he now had plenty of projects to occupy his new life. He would find some way to protect his half sister from that red Angel, and protect his mother from Frank Tachini. He would find proof that it really was Tachini who had had him killed, and find out why. If Claire learned the truth, she would leave him for good. He was thrilled by the idea, but wasn't sure it was worth the risk.

He went downstairs and made himself comfortable on one of the big fat sofas in the luxurious living room, decorated in subtle grays and gilded tones. Now why would Frank want to kill him? He could think of several possibilities.

Maybe his stepfather wanted to get rid of Jeremy, the only heir to his grandfather's immense fortune (but Frank had really looked stunned when he'd learned that his wife was now rich), so that he could then kill Claire to inherit the money himself (but the color of his emotions had clearly shown that Frank really loved his mother).