Fallen Angels 06 - Immortal (20 page)

Well, yeah, Devina thought. But she also wasn’t into the hearts-and-flowers shit because she was evil, hello.

“He loves someone else,” she blurted.

“This man of yours?”

“The one I’m in love with … yes, he loves someone else. But he is
mine
. He’s supposed to be mine, not hers.”

“The two of you are in a relationship?”

“Very much so.”

The therapist nodded. “And you feel that he’s been unfaithful?”

“He’s now living with someone else. I mean, I was with him when he met her. I just never expected…” She pushed her hair back. “Here’s the thing, it’s like, he and I have this romantic night down at the Freidmont, right? And it’s all amazing. The best sex we’ve ever had.” Jim had fucked her so hard from behind that her forehead had left a bald patch on the rug at the foot of the bed. “But the morning after? He goes home to her. Leaves me, and goes home … to her. And I’m telling you, it’s not like she’s attractive. My God, she’s built like a Ticonderoga pencil. Flat. So flat, and that hair? Please. I’ve seen rat fur with better body. It’s downright embarrassing that he could actually be attracted to her.”

“Did you have an understanding that you were in a monogamous relationship with each other?”

“Of course.” How could he want anyone but her? “We’re in love.”

“But he’s seeing this other woman.”

“Yes.”

“So what happened that prompted you to call? You just said you’d had an ‘accident’ all over your things?”

Devina fought the urge to break down as she pictured the mess of her basement. “It was bad enough that he was with her after we had our special night. But then I totally put myself on the line for him. I broke some major rules to save his … job.”

“Are we talking corporate mandates, or state and local laws?”

She guessed the Creator’s rules and regs were more like the feds’. “Pretty high-level laws. I saved his job for him—and then I watched as he went to her right in front of me and…”

Okay, she totally didn’t want to think about Sissy and Jim getting all
reeeeeeeunited and it feeeeeeels so gooooood
after he’d come back from Purgatory.

Fucking hell, she was going to be sick.

“Does she work in this company, too?”

“How can he do this to me?” Devina muttered.

“You know, I think it might be more productive to focus on yourself and where you want to go from here. You can’t control him or his choices. All you can do is take care of yourself and put your needs first. At the end of the day, people have to earn the right to be in your life, and it sounds as if he’s not doing that. It may be a healthier option to avoid contact with him and reassess the relationship. With distance comes perspective.”

“It’s going to be impossible not to see him. At least for the next round.”

“Round?”

“Week.” Depending on how long it took her to win. “Or so.”

The therapist leaned forward, her pudgy fingers tightening their hold on her brown-and-gold reading glasses. “Devina, it’s important for you to realize that there is no one person for any of us. Relationships come and go out of our lives all the time. Some partings are more painful than others, but that’s where the learning comes—learning about ourselves, the world around us, other people.”

“Why does it have to hurt like this,” she said, letting her head fall to the side. “Why?”

The therapist’s face changed subtly, an odd light coming into the woman’s eyes. “I’m so sorry you have to go through this, I honestly am. I just don’t think there’s any other way for us to learn the lessons we’re here to learn.” The therapist folded and unfolded those glasses. “You know, people really do ask me that all the time, and that’s the only answer I have. I wish it could be different, but the more I see, the more I’m convinced that just as children have growing pains as their bodies work to attain maturity, as people’s souls deepen and gain resonance it’s the same thing. To be challenged, to stretch, to get stronger comes only with the hard stuff—loss, heartache, disappointment. You’re doing the work you need to do, Devina. And I’m very proud of you.”

Devina stared at the woman for a long time. Funny, at the moment, the therapist didn’t seem so doughy as she sat on that puffy couch. She looked … regal … in her wisdom.

And she was honestly empathizing. Even though Devina was just one of eight, hundred-and-seventy-five-an-hour sessions in the day, the therapist seemed to truly care.

“How do you do it?” Devina asked.

“Do what?”

“Care this much? Doesn’t it eat you alive.”

Sadness suffused that barely contoured face. “It is my burden to carry. It is my growth and my maturation—my work.”

“Glad I don’t have your job.”

The therapist smiled. “No, Devina, this is not for you.”

Devina checked her watch and patted around for her bag. “Time’s up. I’ll write you a—damn it. Where’s my purse?”

“I don’t remember seeing you with one when you came in.”

“Oh. Can I give you a check for two at the next session? Or do you want to bill me?”

“Actually, I’m putting everything through to your insurance company now. They’ll take care of it.”

“Oh, great.” Devina got to her feet. Hesitated. “I’m not sure where to go with all this.”

“Believe it or not, that’s part of finding your way. Trust me. And maybe we should keep your regularly scheduled appointment for later this week. What do you think?”

“Yeah, good idea.” She’d make sure to do her face for that little tête-à-tête. “See you then.”

“Be good to yourself, Devina.”

Yeah. Sure.

Over at the door, she paused and glanced over her shoulder. The therapist hadn’t moved, didn’t move, from her perch on the couch. And yet, between one blink and the next … something changed. Something …

Okay, she was losing her mind.

No wonder she needed to come here three to four times a week.

“Thank you,” Devina murmured. “You know, for…”

“I know.” The therapist smiled again. “And I want you to keep something in mind. It doesn’t sound as if this man truly loves and respects you. I recognize that you believe you love him, but I challenge whether or not you have a good compass on what is right for you in a relationship. I know it’s hard to move on when feelings are strong, but sometimes, that is the only way we can nurture ourselves. I’m also willing to bet, if you do the work you’re supposed to do, that when the right man does come along, not only will you know it, but you will be able to have a productive, healthy relationship with him.”

Devina laughed sharply. “I can’t imagine that, but thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“I’ll see you the day after tomorrow.”

“It’s a date.”

Devina walked out and let the door to the inner office close itself. As she strode through the waiting room, the next client was keeping his head in one of the well-thumbed magazines, like he didn’t want anyone to know he needed a shrink.

Just as well he didn’t glance up at her. She wasn’t looking or feeling her best.

Although at least she did have some direction. The therapist was right. She could bellyache and bitch about all the things that had happened with Jim, and the ways she’d been let down by him, but that was just wasting time with shit she couldn’t change. She needed to focus on what to do now in regard to the war, and that was, compared to trying to get over that motherfucker, so very simple.

Besides, considering how lovebird-ish Sissy and Jim were getting? She knew just how she was going to win this.

A little fuck-you to the both of them.

There was just one thing she had to do first: She had to deal with what she’d done to her collections. She had to clean that mess up—scattered house, scattered mind and that crap was definitely true for her. Once that was back in order? She was good to go.

Fuck you very much, Jim Heron.

As she strode out into the lobby of the professional services building, she still felt like death, but at least she was moving.

It was out in the spring sunshine that she paused for a moment and glanced up at the five-story glass-and-steel facade with a frown.

Funny, she didn’t have an insurance company.

Up in Heaven, Nigel sat at a table set for four with only two of his fellow archangels. Still, Bertie and Byron were delighted in spite of the critical absence. Then again, for them, at least, a kind of normalcy had returned—and this was good news even in the midst of the war.

As Nigel poured some Earl Grey into his porcelain cup and took a sip, he did not feel similarly, although this repast was a vast improvement over Purgatory’s relentless dust.

Was this what humans felt when they survived illness or accident? He was at once totally present amongst his colleagues, feeling the chair beneath him, the weight of his clothes upon his back, the curving handle of the cup in his grasp—and yet he was utterly absent, his mind trying to knit together some kind of link between where he had been and where he sat now.

Thus far, he had not been successful.

In truth, though the body had moved, the consciousness was still on the far side of Heaven, and there was a bumbling, buzzy dizziness associated with the split.

He had the sense that if only he were able to connect with something vivid here, it would help the re-integration process.

But Colin had made his position known on that with a shake of his head back in that parlor—

Off in the distance, across the rolling green lawns, a figure in white appeared and grew closer … and Nigel’s breath stopped in his throat. Tall and forceful, with a stride like that of the fighter he was, Colin approached with efficiency … and brought with his presence a devastation that left Nigel reeling.

When the male sat down, he greeted only Tarquin, the Irish wolfhound, as all others went still and silent.

In the tense quiet that followed, Nigel noticed that that dark hair was wet from a recent washing and that Colin smelled of sandalwood and spices.

“Now that we are all in attendance,” Nigel said hoarsely, “I wish to formally apologize for my actions.”

Or more accurately:
I am so sorry, Colin. And I would have preferred to do this in private.

“In an effort to more fully engage the savior, I—”

Colin cut in, “I think we can all agree that given the dire state of the war, the only thing that matters is where one goes from here.”

Read:
I am not interested in any kind of explanation or apology, public or private.

Nigel took a moment to recover from a blow to his gut. “Yes. Of course.” He cleared his throat as Byron and Bertie became quite engaged in counting the currants in their scones. “I believe the question is whether or not to tell the savior of his upcoming role in the war.”

“You’re assuming he wins this round,” Colin muttered.

“He will not stand for losing.”

“This is an angel who gave a flag away, may I remind you.”

“He is changed.”

“Because he went to Purgatory and back?” Colin’s eyes were level as they finally looked across the tea sandwiches on their stand. “It must be a transformative place, then. Unfortunately, too little, too late and all of that.”

“’Tis not the place, but the nature of mistakes which changes a person’s course. The mourning of foolish actions can be a powerful catalyst.”

“There are many things that can be catalysts.”

Read:
Such as being abandoned and betrayed by one whom you love.

“Tea?” Bertie asked, as if he wanted to break up the subtextual bickering.

“No, thank you.” Colin sat back and stared at the Manse of Souls. “Sustenance is the last thing of interest to me now.”

Byron put his cup down in its saucer as if he, too, had lost his appetite—but his eyes gleamed behind his rose-colored glasses. “I am encouraged by your optimism, Nigel. I am of hope that we shall as yet prevail—and although I have always respected your commitment to the rules of this war, I can see why Jim’s knowing that he is to be the last soul which is battled for could be beneficial.”

“Assuming we do not lose this round,” Colin interjected. “As we have lost three others.”

“Jim will not be bested.” Nigel took a sip from the rim of his porcelain cup. The tea tasted like dishwater, even though it had been conjured in the same manner it had been forever. “Not with who is in play.”

“You think that will make a difference?” Colin smiled coldly. “Love is not quite so bankable. At least in my experience.”

With that, the archangel got to his feet. “If you all will excuse me, I’m going to do a check of the castle periphery.”

“Would you care for company?” Bertie asked.

“No. Thank you.”

As Colin stalked off, Bertie and Byron once again busied themselves with ocular endeavors that did not include Nigel.

“Tarquin,” Nigel murmured. “Do follow after him, will you?”

The Irish wolfhound let out a chuff and then padded off in Colin’s wake, keeping his distance and being as subtle as an animal who weighed ten stone and looked like a floor mop could be.

“I believe I shall retire for some rest,” Nigel said as he put his napkin upon his empty plate. “Do excuse me, will you.”