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And in the next breath, nothing.

He looked down, but a cold breeze was blowing away the rest of the angel’s powdery remains.

After a moment, the two men stood. A Styrofoam soda cup rattled down the concrete riverbed, and the wind shook a chain-link fence. Jack turned up his jacket collar. This was the first time he’d ever visited Southern California in the winter. He’d thought the weather would be warm, but even though the days stayed bright and sunny, the wind held a bite.

Andy checked his watch.

“We’d better get on the road,” he said. “It’s almost four. If we hurry, we’ll be off the 405 before rush hour.”

They didn’t discuss the angel until they’d picked up a late lunch—or an early dinner—at McDonalds. The sun was low by the time the battered Dodge pulled up in the campus parking lot. California Hills University looked deserted, students
and faculty disinclined to linger outside in December’s chill. A few lights streamed through the curtains of the apartments in the tiny visiting faculty complex, but nobody peered out to wave to them as they hurried up the walk.

Jack set the greasy bags on Andy’s kitchen table while his friend woke up his laptop and began to peck at the keyboard.

“Two Big Macs, fries, an apple pie, and a milkshake,” Jack grumbled, separating out his salad and throwing the dressing packets into the trash. He opened Andy’s refrigerator and pulled out the low-fat, low-sodium dressing he’d bought three days before. “God must have given you a plenary indulgence for cholesterol.”

“Mmm-hmm,” Andy grunted, not really listening. “You saw a field covered with blood?”

“Yeah. Bone stairs. Worms or maggots. Doors slamming.”

“Any idea where that field was located?

“Could've been any field in the world.” Jack dropped into a metal folding chair and emptied the dressing over the salad, turning it into balsamic soup. “I know some songs about bloody battlefields, but it looked like plowed land to me.”

“The blood could be literal or symbolic.”

“Life would be a lot easier if angels saw the world the way we do.”

“No doubt. And religion would be a lot easier if the Bible were literal.”

“Does saying things like that ever get you in trouble in the religion department?

“That? No.”

“Something else?” Jack looked over at his friend, who was frowning at the laptop screen. A clear, bluish light lit his face, reminding Jack of the radiance that had streamed from the angel’s lips as it had spoken his name.

His name. He knew, intellectually, that God was aware of his name, that God knew him more intimately than any mortal could. But to know didn’t mean to forgive. The dark, cancerous-looking holes in the reflection that he’d seen in the devils’ and angel’s eyes served as a grim reminder that he was a long way away from a state of grace.

“Nothing important. I’m caught up in an administrative pissing match,” Andy said. “I told you my invitation came directly from the university president, didn’t I?”

“Yeah. They’re rebuilding the religion department, and he wanted a Catholic viewpoint.” Jack shrugged. “Strange choice for a Lutheran university.”

“It’s not rabidly Lutheran, and there’s a large Catholic population in the area.” Andy made a face as the computer showed him something he didn’t want to see. He stood, running a hand through his white hair, and joined Jack at the kitchen table. “You know, I don’t think there’s any significant difference between a pint of low-fat dressing and a few ounces of regular dressing. Why are you on a diet, anyway? You look fine.”

“Don’t you watch TV? Half the country is fat.”

“You’re not. Now that you’re on the wagon, you look a lot better.” Andy unwrapped his burger, using the paper as a plate, and dumped his fries next to it. Jack eyed the crispy golden morsels with open longing. “Help yourself. A couple fries won’t kill you. This isn’t some kind of midlife crisis, is it? Or could it be, pray God, you’ve finally got a girlfriend?”

Jack made a disgusted noise and grimly scooped up his floating strips of iceberg lettuce and toothpick-shaped carrot slices. For a celibate man, Andy seemed intent on Jack finding someone to replace Rose.

Nobody would replace Rose.

“Just stayin’ healthy,” he said.

“Uh-huh.” Andy’s gaze was probing. “You’ve been cutting back on the cigarettes, too. That’s good. That’s really good.”

“It’s your apartment.” Jack avoided his friend’s eyes. “So, you gonna tell me what we were doing today?”

Andy hesitated a moment, then let the change of subject stand.

“You know as much as I do.” He looked solemn as he wiped his mouth on a thin paper napkin and leaned back in his chair. “Someone emailed me those GPS coordinates anonymously. Someone who knew the pack would be on a hunt.”

“Anonymously.” Jack mentally dredged through what little he’d gleaned about computers from TV shows and mystery novels. “A hacker?”

“It doesn’t have to be that complicated. The message could have been sent through any remailer that strips off the return address.”

“Is that hard to do?”

Andy smiled. “You know, Jack, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. I’m twenty years older than you are, and I know more about the Internet than you do.”

“I don’t have time for the Internet.” Jack reached into his shirt pocket and laid a pack of Marlboros on the kitchen table. He glanced at the clock. Twenty minutes. He’d let himself have a cigarette in twenty minutes.

The sound of a broken bottle echoed in Jack’s memory. He restlessly flipped the cigarette pack over.

Andy had removed all the bottles from the house the day Jack had arrived. There was nothing in the apartment to tempt him except memories and old habits and the lingering smell of whiskey conjured up for him that afternoon.

Jack looked at the clock again. Not even a minute had passed. He stood, grabbing the trash off the table.

“So, who wants you involved in mal'akhim business?”

“Could be anybody.” Andy kept eating. Jack jammed the bags into the can under the sink, catching a glimpse of himself in the black mirror of the kitchen window. No holes in that reflection, just a man in his mid-forties affecting aging-biker chic. He refocused and looked outside at the lights across the narrow courtyard. His heart was pounding. He took a deep breath, trying to force it back into a slow, steady beat.

“So what’s going on in the department?” he asked after a moment, turning his back on the darkness outside.

“The chair doesn’t want me.”

“Doesn’t he take orders from the president?”

“She, and yes, technically she does, after she takes orders from the dean and provost, anyway. But they disagree over which direction the religion department should be taking. The administration and regents want the department to focus on the Old Testament, and the chair wants more social justice-type professors.”

“But you’re an Old Testament candidate.”

“Me and Todd, the other visiting professor. I think we were both hired over the chair’s head. And I don’t think either of us is going to get our contract renewed next year.”

Jack walked back to the kitchen table and sat down. Andy had finished his burgers and was picking at fries and slurping on his chocolate milkshake. Jack wanted to light a cigarette just to kill the smell. His stomach growled.

“Todd’s the guy across the courtyard?”

“Yes. Apocalyptic scholarship in the Judaeo-Christian tradition.”

“You two get along?”

“We haven’t talked much. He’s a big man, but quiet, even at departmental meetings. He works well with the students, though.”

Jack picked up a burger wrapper and looked at the nutritional information, reminding himself why he was sticking to salads. “Don’t the students like you? I’d think they’d get all excited about angelology.”

“I don’t get to teach angelology. Two of my classes are Introduction to Christian Studies, and I’ve got a small special-topics course on Christian-centered cults. I talk about angels a little there, but the students don’t like what I have to say.” Andy finished the fries. “They think angels are sweet, cuddly little things that watch over them and keep them safe. You should see them squirm when I make them take a closer look at what the
b'nei elohim
actually do in the Bible.”

Jack nodded, crushing the wrapper into a tight little ball.

“Anyway,” Andy continued, “it’s all too old-fashioned for the chair. She doesn’t think the Old Testament is relevant.”

“Your position at Belleville College is still secure, right?”

“Oh, as secure as it ever was. I’m sure I’ll have no trouble going back. I thought CHU might make a nice place to retire, but I’ll do all right in Belleville, if I have to.”

“Retire?” Jack dropped the wrapper and studied his friend. “You?”

“I’m sixty-five, Jack. I’m ready.”

“What would you do?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Andy smiled. “Buy a Harley and hit the road with you, maybe. Find America and fight the forces of Satan.”

“Christ.” Jack shook his head. “You're not serious.”

“No, not really. I’m at more of an RV stage of life. I might buy a big old Streamline, tour the national parks, and write a few more books. I hear there’s a senior ranger program that would reduce my camping fees.”

“You been thinking about this.” The idea of Andy retiring troubled Jack.

“A little. The recession slowed me down, but I’d like to be out in five years. That’s probably another reason the chair doesn’t want to hire me—she’d prefer younger blood. I mean, that’s what caused the problem in the first place. The campus was founded just over sixty years ago, and now all the faculty who were hired back when this was Cal Hills College are retiring and leaving the departments short-handed.”

“I didn’t know this place was so young. Guess that explains all the construction,” said Jack. “So why hire an old man like you at all?”

“Academic excellence.” Andy grinned. “I’ve got age and the Old Testament against me, but my publication record balances that out. CHU might decide it’s worth a five-year investment just to get my name on its professor emeritus list.”

“This is why I work for myself,” Jack said, shaking his head. “I hate all that bureaucratic wheeling and dealing.”

“So do I, but I enjoy a steady paycheck and benefits. Not to mention a pension. Do you ever think about where you’re going to be when you’re my age?”

“Too late for me to worry about that now,” Jack said, looking away. “I don’t have much of a resume. Folk singing, bike repair, and high magick. Not exactly CEO skills.”

“Motorcycle repair might get you somewhere.”

“In a small town, maybe. But it wouldn’t be the kind of job you’re talking about, with pensions and—and health insurance and all that.”

He could feel Andy’s eyes on him.

“This might be a rude question, Jack, but do you have any savings at all?”

“Nope.” Not anymore. He’d had a few thousand put away for a rainy day, but then it had rained, and the hospital bills had eaten up everything he’d saved. “Don’t matter. I'm not gonna live to your age.”

“But you’re eating better and smoking less. That’s a good start. And if you retired from the magick business....”

Jack gazed at his reflection in the window and shrugged, feeling uncomfortable.

“Come on, what’s going on?” Andy demanded. “I’ve been biting my tongue for days, waiting for you to start talking. Why are you here? Is that angel linked to you? Did you show up on my doorstep with the mal'akhim on your tail?”