Rising (22 page)

Gabe cranes his neck. “Compression
socks.”

“Last time I checked, Tarren wasn’t a
hundred years old. He doesn’t need compression socks.”

“Their house was cold. Really cold.”
Gabe takes a long chug of the protein shake. “They’re sisters, you know.
Mildred, she’s the baby at 82. She putters around with her walker, likes to
follow her kids and grandkids on Facebook, but Florence can’t get out of bed.
She’s the one with the IV hookup. I found them some blankets in the attic, but
it was so damn cold.”

“What does that have to do with
compression socks?”

“They’re on a fixed income, and apparently
heating can get expensive.” Gabe swallows and stuffs the rest of the power bar
in his mouth. “They had an extra pair of compression socks they were looking to
sell, so…” Gabe shrugs. As I watch small, sad hues of yellow alight in his
aura, I wonder how much of our limited funds he gave them. Probably too much.

I don’t like seeing those yellows in his
aura.

“I bought Tarren a lap dance,” I say,
“while we were at one of those skanky strip joints.”

Gabe’s eyebrows hitch up, and the yellows
begin to fade from his aura. He swallows the rest of the power bar. “How’d that
go?”

“Not so well,” I admit. “We had to pay
her extra after it was over.”

Gabe laughs, and shades of green whisper
through his aura. He glances toward the bed as if to make sure Tarren is still
unconscious, then leans toward me. His voice is low and conspiratorial.

“Okay, so this one time, Tammy and I
were staking out this angel’s house. Mom was too sick to come, so it must have
been seven, maybe eight years ago. Tarren was nothing but a beanpole with his
nose in a science textbook. Hated the mission. Just wanted to stay in the car. This
is before he went complete Terminator. Guy had no game. None.” Gabe cuts the
air with his hand for emphasis.

“But we dragged him on the mission.
Tammy was stationed at the front door. I was at the back. We needed somebody on
the roof of the neighbor’s house with a pair of binoculars to see if the angel
was home and to track his location while we broke in.”

The greens grow stronger, more vibrant
in Gabe’s aura. “All Tarren had to do was sit on a roof. Easiest job in the
universe. Monkey could’ve done it. It was, hell, I don’t know where. Somewhere
cold. Lots of snow. Christmas time.” Gabe bites his lip.

“Don’t start laughing,” I chide him.

“I’m not, I’m not.” Gabe takes a breath.
“So this neighbor, fuck, this guy must have loved Christmas the way models love
lettuce and cocaine, because you could have landed a plane in his yard. Tons of
lights, inflatable snowman, blinking icicles, Santa and his reindeer on the roof,
the whole works. Tarren, god, I don’t know what happened. Maybe there was a
patch of ice, or maybe it was just all those blinding lights.”

“He fell!” I squeak.

“Oh yeah.” Gabe’s grin infuses his
entire face. “Took Santa, Donner, Dasher, and Prancer with him. Loudest god
damned crash I’ve ever heard in my life. Tarren, he…he…,” Gabe chokes on
laughter, gasping hard to keep it down, “knocked himself out cold.”

“No!”

Gabe nods. “We…we found him all tangled
in reindeer and blinking lights. Shit.” Gabe takes another deep breath to
control his giggles. “Every light in the neighborhood came on.”

“What’d you do?”

“Tammy and I, we just…we just…” His eyes
are wet, and the giggles pour out of him.

“Come on Gabe.”

“We…we….” His face is beet red.

“Keep it together.”

“We grabbed him and ran. There was still
a reindeer hanging off him when we got to the car. I think it was Rudolph.”

I try to hold down my laughter, but it’s
no use. It comes out of me in a long wave that locks my stomach muscles tight. “Was
he okay?” I pant.

Gabe tries to form words. “Broken…broken
arm. M…mild concussion. We…never told…him…about…about Rudolph.”

Gabe is lost in giggles, and I slide to
the floor. The laughter is a flood, a crazy kind of catharsis that soon has
nothing to do with Gabe’s story, just the green in his aura, those beautiful
happy colors.

***

The giggles eventually subside. I make
sure Gabe finishes all of his food before allowing him to set up Tarren’s IV. I’m
surprised at how gentle, how competent he is with the equipment, though I
shouldn’t be, knowing that he was to one who took care of Diana as cancer
slowly ate away her life.

Together, Gabe and I watch some YouTube
videos on affixing a catheter. I expect him to make some ribald jokes, but he
watches the videos in silent concentration then banishes me to the bathroom
while he performs the procedure.

Tarren is absolutely going to kill us
when he wakes up. He’ll probably take his time too, practicing all those
excruciating nerve pinches he knows.

When Gabe gives me permission to come
out, I tell him about the conversation between Raven’s mom and the police
officers.

“I think she called her family and told
them she was running away,” I explain. “She knew the risk she presented and
didn’t want to put them in danger.”

Gabe sits on the floor and pets Sir
Hopsalot, who lounges in his lap. “Okay, so what does she do next?”

“I think she goes back to the mansion,”
I tell him. “She may have hated War for changing her, but where else can she
go? Family and friends are out. Her options are limited.

“The mansion’s toast.”

“She doesn’t know that. If she’s on
foot, she may not have made it back yet. I can sit on the site for the night
and see if she shows up.”

Gabe looks at me. “That’s kind of a long
shot. You want some fresh air or something?”

“It’s for the mission. You know, saving
people and…Yes, please.” I think about actually sliding to my knees to beg. “It’s
just, I can hear…downstairs. I can hear her mother crying. She doesn’t stop.
Won’t stop.”

Gabe and I look at each other. He
absently scratches Sir Hopsalot behind his long, hanging ear. “Alright, but you
can’t go alone.”

“No. You’re too…” I hastily reroute my
words, “…needed here. We shouldn’t leave Tarren alone, and Raven may get scared
and come back to the motel.”

Gabe stares at me, and there’s no doubt
he picked up on my epic verbal fumble.
Quantum Queen of Tact.

“I know,” he says softly, “but you still
can’t go alone. That didn’t work out so well for you last time, did it Rambo?”

I deserve this smack down, so I stay
quiet while Gabe pulls out his cellphone and makes a call. When I hear who
picks up on the other end, I don’t even try to hide my groan.

I pull up against a curb in an
upper-class subdivision about a quarter mile away from the mansion. Turning off
the engine of the jeep, I wonder again if I’m the worst sister in the world for
coming out here on this poor excuse of a mission instead of staying at the
motel and looking after my brothers.

Yeah, probably.

This is a fool’s errand. Even if Raven
returned to the mansion, she could have come and gone hours ago. And now I’ve
got to babysit The Totem thanks to Gabe’s misplaced concern. It figures. The group
kidnaps and tortures me, and Gabe makes them drinking buddies in an afternoon.

My breath turns to plumes as I step out
of the jeep. Everything is quiet and snow-slogged. The sun creeps down below
the horizon, and lights glow in the windows of the houses to my right. Smoke
even curls out of some chimneys. How very quaint.

I let the cold settle on me and decide
to put on my heavier black jacket. I wonder if the whole Totem roster will show
up, or just one or two of them. I definitely wouldn’t mind having another
conversation with Bear Mask. If he isn’t in charge, someone needs to pass him
the leadership baton quick. Then there’s Rain Bailey, but I don’t want to think
about Rain, not his dark brown eyes, his spikey hair, those lips…

“Stop,” I say out loud and focus on
tightening a gun holster on my right thigh. Next, the left. I fill one holster
with a fully loaded Glock and, after some hesitation, put our only spare tranq
gun in the other. If Raven shows up, what the hell am I going to do? Take her
down like an ordinary set of wings? Try and sell her on the miracle diet of rat
energy? How will The Totem react if I try to go all buddy buddy, even if she is
a terrified young girl? I’m not sure they even understand enough about angels
to appreciate the complexity of her situation.

“She’s not going to show,” I remind
myself. I swing the sniper rifle case over my shoulder. The extra protection
will come in handy in case any other angels decide to come back and sniff
around. Not likely. The mansion was just a temporary stop-over, not some
permanent headquarters filled with important files and valuable keepsakes worth
rescuing. Still, a girl’s got to be prepared.

I keep off of the sidewalk, melting into
the darkness where the streetlamps and oncoming headlights won’t find me. I
give the mansion a wide berth, but even from a distance I can see that the firefighters
and police team have wrapped up their investigation for the night. The entire
mansion is cordoned off with police tape, and the area is quiet, save for the
strong pulse of a nearby aura. I make my way toward it.

Just off the driveway to the mansion, Rain
leans up against a battered truck, wearing a black hoodie, jeans, and sneakers.
A bulky backpack hangs off one shoulder, and a red knit cap hides his brown
hair. He slouches, hands plunged deep into his pockets, and occasionally throws
a glance behind his shoulder at the mansion.

At least he’s not wearing that idiot
mask,
I think to myself
as I study him from a distance. Without meaning to, I pull up the memory of his
lips on mine. Did it mean anything that he tried to save me, or was he just
following Gabe’s orders?

I shake the thoughts away. There’s
nothing between me and Rain Bailey. Less than nothing. I need to be smart about
this. Keep him at a distance so I don’t make a royal fool of myself. Or hurt
him.  

I creep up on Rain, wondering how close
I can get without him noticing. This turns out to be just behind him where I
watch over his shoulder as he pulls out his cellphone and opens a new Facebook
update that’s come through.

“What the hell are you doing?” I hiss at
him.

The phone tumbles out of his hands, and
he whirls around, aura crackling in surprise. “I…I…Jesus.”

I’m mildly disappointed that he didn’t
pull a weapon on me. He’s obviously not anywhere near battle-ready, but I
suppose I shouldn’t have expected otherwise.

Rain bends down to collect his phone. “What,
was I supposed to be on patrol already?” He brushes the snow off his screen. “Good
thing I sprung for the case.” He stands up and gives me a guarded look.
“Where’s Gabe?”

“Is that your truck?”

“No. It’s Bear’s.”

“You can’t park here.”

He frowns. “Why not?”

“Because….” I wave my arms at the police
tape and the burned wreckage of the guesthouse.

“Ohhhhh.” Rain follows my gestures. “No,
I don’t get it.”

“You can’t park right on top of our
stakeout site. An angel could see your stupid truck and know we’re coming for
them.”

“Okay,” he says, “but wouldn’t they just
think it’s a regular truck and then, like, if we need to follow them or run
them down, then we have transportation close at hand?’

“We’re not running them down, because if
they come back here, we shoot them.”

“But we could, you know, miss.”

I give him a look. “No. No missing. Park
that somewhere else.”

He frowns again. “Where?”

He doesn’t know anything about
controlling his aura, and it glows with a mesh of emotions. I haven’t known him
long enough to read them accurately, but my guess is all those dark shades
speak of unease, mistrust, and discomfort.

“Not here,” I say.

He opens his mouth to say something,
reflects on my expression, and then jumps into the driver’s seat.

I slip behind a tree and let out a sigh.
As soon as I close my eyes, I realize how tired I am; how long it’s been since
I’ve slept. Well, at least voluntarily slept. I look over at the burned ruins
of the guesthouse and shiver. Rain’s trust of me is a fragile thing, if it even
exists at all. What conclusions will he leap to if Raven makes an appearance
and I try to help her instead of putting a bullet through her head?

She won’t show,
I tell myself.

Fifteen minutes later, Rain returns. I
let him wander around a while looking for me before I step from behind the tree
and startle him again.

“Gah! Why do you keep doing that?” He
shifts the straps of the backpack.

“Where are the others?” I ask.

“Bear picked up on another one of the
things across town. He and Chain went to check it out. Finch went home. She
was…well, she went home.”

“Things?”

“We haven’t agreed on a name for them
yet. I wanted to call them the…” He finally realizes who he’s talking to. “Never
mind. It got voted down anyway.”

“No, go on. This should be good.” I
raise an eyebrow.

“Soul Suckers,” he admits, “because, you
know, they do the thing…” He extends his hand, palm forward and makes a long,
wet sucking sound.

“Uh-huh.” At least he said
they.

“So where’s Gabe and that other guy?” Rain
rocks lightly on the balls of his feet.

“Busy. Come on,” I tell him, all gruff
and exasperated. God, I almost sound like Tarren. We walk in silence, and I try
to ignore Rain’s aura, the closeness of it.

“Your face looks good,” Rain says, and
his aura jumps. “Not good, I mean better. The bruises are gone.” He throws a
quick glance my way. “Do you, like, can you heal really fast?”

I’d really rather not have the
conversation turn in the direction of my freakitude, and I’m not sure what to
make of that possible compliment. He probably only meant that my face looked
good in comparison to the puffy, discolored mess that Garret made of it.

“Yeah, I heal fast,” I say shortly.

Rain must pick up on my discomfort,
because he changes the subject. “I wasn’t sure what to bring,” he admits, “so I
just packed some snacks, binoculars, and a first aid kit. And a gun, of course,
but not, like, the big one you have.”

A cold wind picks up, blowing my hair
behind me and biting at my exposed flesh.

I glance at his bare hands. “What about
gloves?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m sure I threw gloves in
there.” He thinks. “No, actually, I don’t think I did. Go on.”

“What?”

“You’ve got another big sigh coming.”
His mouth quirks up.

I swallow my sigh and ignore that little
smile. “No talking unless it’s an emergency.”

“Okay. Yeah, stealth.”

We walk past the mansion and then double
back. The house is isolated from its neighbors by a dense cluster of naked
trees. The closest house isn’t positioned to give me a clear view of mansion.
We’ll need to set up in a tree. I don’t like it. Without any foliage to hide
behind, we’ll be highly visible to the sharp eyes of any suspicious angel, but
there are no other good options.

Behind me, Rain flounders through the
shin-deep snow. Each step is a cacophony of sound as he kicks through the snow,
shifts his jangling backpack, and huffs for air. I grit my teeth and find us a
nice, sturdy tree with low branches that I think Rain can handle. The branches
are strong, even high up where we’ll set up our position.

“This one,” I point when Rain pauses
next to me.

“What, like climb?” His eyes make a slow
ascent of our tree.

I whirl around to face him. “Yes. Climb.
Stakeout.”

“What kind is that?” Rain squints and
walks toward it. “Is that elm?”

“How the hell should I know?”

“It’s just that…no, without the leaves,
I should be fine.”

“What?”

He looks at me with a sheepish
expression. “Allergies.”

“Are you serious?”

He nods and shifts his legs. His jeans
are soaked up to his knees.

“What about that one?” I point to a tree
further down.

“No, that’s oak. Oak is even worse than
elm.”

“God.”

“This one should be fine. It’s mostly
the leaves.” He looks up at the tree and nods.

“Are you, like, one of those people who
die if they get stung by a bee?” I ask as I move to the tree.

“No. I swell up a lot, but I wouldn’t
die. Now peanuts. Peanuts are a different story. Peanuts are bad.”

“Peanuts?” I have to make an effort to
keep my mouth from dropping open. “You want to hunt super powered angels, and
you’re done in by peanuts?”

I expect him to bristle, but he says,
“It’s not like the Soul Su…angels are going to be throwing peanuts at me or
anything. And even if they do,
voila
.” He fishes in his pocket and pulls
out a thin tube. “I just inject myself with this, and I’m good as new…well,
I’ll be kind of out of it for a while, but I won’t die.”

I think about all those nights I spent
wondering what kind of person he was, all those different fantasies I created
of him fearlessly trekking across the globe to find me and avenge the death of
his sister.

And here he is, Rain Bailey, shivering,
gloveless, looking up at our chosen elm tree with unconcealed worry.

“Come on,” I say and swing onto the
first branch. In twenty seconds, I’m nestled into a sturdy fork near the top. I
realize that Rain hasn’t followed me up the tree. I look down and see his pale
face staring up at me from the ground.

“What are you waiting for?” I hiss down
at him.

“Huh?”

“Get up here,” I say louder.

“I, uh…how did you do that?”

“You can’t climb this tree? The tree I
specifically picked because it was the easiest fucking tree to climb?”

His brow crinkles in a frown. “I’m not a
spider monkey.”

I lean the sniper rifle against the
branch and make my way down to the first branch. “Have you ever thought that
maybe, just maybe, this isn’t your chosen line of work?” I ask as I hold out my
hand.

“All the time.” He looks at my hand. Awkwardness
ensues where it becomes apparent that he’s reluctant to take it.

“I’m wearing gloves,” I tell him.

“It doesn’t have to be skin on skin
contact,” he replies. He would know after Poughkeepsie where that sadistic
group of angels fed on him, Milo, and a group of others like snacks. The angels
kept their victims alive for weeks as they drained them little by little.

“My hand has to be bare. The, uh, the
feeding mechanism has to connect directly with the aura.”

“Aura?”

“The grid of energy around you. Now come
on.”

Rain looks up at me again, his aura
streaming a shimmering blend of reds and oranges – the shades of conflict and
fear. Then he reaches up, wrapping long fingers around my arm. I haul him up
onto the branch. He slips on the icy bark, and I pull him into my body to
steady him. For a moment we’re pressed into each other, and all I feel is his strong,
vibrant aura stroking against me. Waves of blue and red, now tinged with the
deep violets of….

I lean back. “You…you got it?” I hear a
waver hit my voice. Beneath my gloves, the skin of my palms splits along the
seams and scrolls back.

“Yep, thanks.” He looks down and
swallows.