The Complete Zagzagel Diaries (2 page)

“Ever heard of Jagniel?” A chill raced through me as the name of my fallen beloved tumbled from my lips—even after all the millennia. I stopped myself from saying more, wanting to know if Bret had heard me—really heard me.

A slight shrug and a quick roll of his eyes skyward informed me, he had. Though he’d probably never heard of Jagniel
—not many had—
I was playing up the point more for effect than for detail.

“Try living, banned for eternity from the one you love.”

His shoulders shook as his tears multiplied into a river. Maybe I’d do better to simply shut my mouth—

“At least…” Choking, he covered his face with his hands, drawing into himself, as his wailing picked up on the wind. “You
had
love—”

I leapt with the untimely gust, following his panicked scream. He hadn’t meant to let go—he slipped. That’d be the story I’d recount to Big Papa, anyway.

Rendered invisible in flight, inches beneath him, I considered how truly alone he must right now feel. Legs kicking madly, arms outstretched, reaching, hoping, praying, and for the first time in his nineteen years, truly finding the nothingness he once only thought consumed him—he fell.

We passed the thirteenth story, the twelfth. Just a few more seconds, I’d torment. Precious seconds needed to help him never forget the feeling of true despair. Tenth story. Ninth….

Impact.

The remaining air rushed from his lungs as I embraced him, held him to me and redirected our flight. Wings spread, I swooped upward, supporting his weight. Bared skin from his uplifted shirttails shifted against my chest, my torso…
God damn me to hell
…this man was fine. “I got you. Don’t worry.”

“Am I dead?” His voice, scratchy and barely above a whisper, trembled. Limp and cold, his body tucked neatly in line with mine.

I turned him, trapping his arms between us, and held on securely. Catching the breeze, with a glide, I took my sweet time to the rooftop from whence the ordeal started, hoping to stretch the minutes. Precious minutes, I feared I should never relive.

And I feared I may never live again, not truly. Not after having this man in my arms, knowing I must relinquish him back to his earthly realm.

“You’re all right.” Softly assuring him, I held on, memorizing the feel of every sinewy inch of that body touching me, the rush of his pulse beating in time with mine, the unmistakable smell of his fear-drenched sweat.

The soft pad of his shoes upon the loose-graveled rooftop followed my touchdown, as we alit above the nineteenth floor. Holding him to me in a final farewell to our touch, his thoughts invaded mine—I cringed.

He had regrets.

Heh. Mortals hadn’t a clue.

If only he could read my mind, know just how much I regretted having broken the rules for him—now that I had to let him go.

Papa forbade I risk taking pleasure in the feel of Bret’s magnificent form one moment longer. I may not ever release the man. Though his body shuddered with tremors of aftershock, I moved to step away.

“No!” He flung his arms around me. Our bodies crashed together. “Don’t leave me. Please.”

Instinctually, my wings wrapped us in a shield from the wind, and, against my better judgment, I embraced him with more earnest than before. Knowing in vain, I prayed.
Papa help me.

His head tucked neatly up under my chin, his face against my chest. I held him, stealing this chance. My hands drank in the sweat of his back, as I found my way beneath his shirt. I milked the moment for all its worth—time, my enemy.

“I don’t want to die.” The warmth of his moist whisper across my chest nearly brought me to my knees.

He pulled me closer, which I didn’t think possible, with that perplexing body of smooth skin and firm muscle tauntingly pressed to mine. I could do little but reply with a deep rumbled groan.

Hair half-covering his tear-streaked face, he drew back and, with red-rimmed eyes, met my gaze. “They hate me. I can’t stand the pain.”

Pain?
As usual, he was clueless but to the self, yet so damned beautiful peering up at me with such innocence.
Let me taste you…just this once….

I took him. With yearning, he opened to me. Our tongues collided…and, breaking the kiss, I let out a chuckle.

“What?”

“Sorry. You taste like cotton candy.”

His expression morphed from desperate to mischievous. “Bad?”

“Nuh-uh. Good actually—”

Without hesitation, he was on me, his roaming hands seemingly as starved as his hungry mouth. Such passion in his touch, overwhelming; I sought to reciprocate the attention. His perfect ass gripped firmly in my palms, I—

I vanished along with all memory of me, with the outward slam of a steel door.

Bret stumbled, off-balance, dazed, to the rooftop.

“Bret?” Eric, Bret’s supervisor, trotted over then slowed at the young man’s side.

Hands in pockets, he shivered against the cool night air as he assessed the area. Stepping past Bret—now getting to his feet—Eric surveyed the concrete, once named demise, nineteen stories below.

“Whatcha doin’ out here?” he asked, turning and retreating from the roof’s edge. He studied Bret’s confusion as he made his way back, wanting very much to brush away a straggling teardrop but kept to himself.

What are my boundaries,
he wondered—words only audible to my ears.

Bewildered, Bret looked to him.

I’m sorry for your confusion, I wished so badly to tell him but knew better, as silently cloaked, I watched.

“Just needed to clear my head.” Hesitantly, he pushed the mussed hair from his face. “I think….”

Take him into your arms, cherish him!
My mind screamed to Eric. But he was in no situation to warrant my guidance.

“Kinda chilly out tonight,” he said, hands still tucked inside his pockets. “Was thinking ‘bout heading to the canteen…uhm…your family again?”

Bret looked away, toward where I stood, invisible, waiting. “
No
family is more like it. Not anymore.”

I let out a long-held exhale, as Eric withdrew his pocketed hands.

He removed his suit jacket and draped it across Bret’s shoulders. Bret embraced him with the same intensity that had touched me moments earlier. Despite the pangs of envy that recoiled my insides, I rallied.
Just do it!

Bolder, with a sense of urgency, Bret leaned up and kissed him. Lips searching, tongue seeking, hands reassuring, as if to confirm both men stood, in the flesh, on that windswept rooftop—as if to confirm he was truly alive. Eric accepted the desperate move with a smile as they parted.

About Bret’s boss—I was right. Wasn’t I always?

“Hot chocolate?” Eric asked, securing Bret under arm. “It’s on me.”

Heh. Hot chocolate.
Apparently, he knew Bret almost as well as I did.
Almost.

“Offer still stands,” he said. “Got plenty of room…” He led Bret inside.

With the shut of the steel door, the two disappeared, looking quite comfortable in each other’s company. Relieved beyond measure, a good part of me was, but another part, a much larger part, was rent into pieces of resentment laced with an edge of bitterness. Did I mention I hated my job?

Ensuring my armaments intact, I set off for counsel with Big Papa. Regardless his majesty’s apathetic stance, I knew he’d revel in every detail—each moment-by-moment replay.

Damn it. I had one hell of a lot of explaining to do.

Denial

Swear to God…

I closed my eyes, certain Deena had not meant the thought.

Though Big Papa frowned on reason, I made note to later offer the most valid one I could conjure on her behalf. One never knew with him. Maybe this time he would relish me with praise for my show of compassion. Then again, maybe not. My halo did hang a bit askew, according to the
Big Cheese
; that is, if I’d choose to don the ridiculous thing, which I never had and, if I continued to have my way, never would.

From my vantage point, perched atop the wrought iron fence a couple of yards outside her john’s window, I was privy to Deena’s thoughts—and her mood, which radiated as strongly as her latest john’s stench from the situation, both consuming the lavishly furnished bedroom. I only hoped she took him for a pretty penny.

Panties on, she threw on her blouse, buttoning from the top down, while trading blow for verbal blow with the man stretched across the bed. Other than the coyness in his jibes, I was sure from his leisurely repose, he basked from one rather enjoyable evening—thus far.

“I don’t care, Tom.
I
make the rules.” After fastening the last button on her shirt, she wriggled some blood-red number up and over her hips. One yank on the zipper and the skirt, which appeared no more than a four-inch strip of leather, was secured in place.

In my entire existence, I’d never witnessed one of my charges adorn clothing this fast. A loin cloth covered more; of that I was certain. The party looked to be just warming up… I settled back on my haunches, preening my feathers.

Heels on, matching jacket whipped into the air, one arm in— “Damn it, Tom.” She tugged on half the jacket still in her possession—her john reciprocating the tug with a bit stronger force. “We don’t have to go through this again, do we?”

“Don’t we?”
His toned mocked hers to the extreme as he tugged harder on the empty sleeve.

Apparently, success didn’t equate to class.

She fell against him and, with a huff, squirmed out of the jacket, shoved away, and headed for the door. Her jacket swayed back and forth in his grip. “Oh, come on, Deena.”

Humans…such a complicated lot.

Why hadn’t I leapt to her assistance, you ask? Give me a break. At any moment, the former self-defense instructor, which resided tucked neatly away, would resurface. Trust me. I’d seen this human female in action, many times. Tough was an understatement, but she was no less vulnerable, especially to herself.

“Come on. Just one kiss.” With his body, her john barred the door.

Mere feet from him, Deena halted her exit without a word, removed a bobby pin from her hair, and placed it between pressed lips.
Stupid fucker
, her only thought.

Once again, her thoughts proved more vivid than her words.
Priceless.
I’d enjoyed the past twenty-six years over this one. Though she was utterly clueless—as are most humans; though don’t get me wrong—a dull moment around Deena was often hard to find. Damned if watching her didn’t evoke the strongest urge for an old-fashioned bucket of movie popcorn. As always, she put on one hell of a show. Rivaled the great Cleopatra—you know, the
queen of ‘de Nile’?
If only Deena knew.

After smoothing her shoulder-length mane, she gathered and twisted it into a fancy knot behind her head. “Get out of my way, Tom.”

“What’s wrong with asking for—?”

“Enough! We’ve been through this. Every time I’m ready to leave, you—Listen. I’ve had enough.” Hair in place, she held out her hand, beckoning for her jacket.

Ooh…
that painted glare could rattle Medusa’s serpents.

“Boundaries, Tom.
Rules.
” With an exasperated sigh, she grabbed at her jacket—the tug-of-war rekindled full force.

“You’ll swallow, but you won’t kiss! Give me a fucking—”

Holy Mother of—
She gave it to him, all right.
Even as battle-seasoned as I was, I cringed at the force her roundhouse kick inflicted.

Healthy war-wound the side of his temple, her john lay out cold to the right of the door. Whoever had proclaimed heels a disadvantage, didn’t know
my
Deena. She retrieved her inadvertently discarded jacket, flung it over her shoulders, and opened the door. With a disgust-filled expression, she gazed upon her john with a scornful, final exhale. “I’m afraid we will no longer be doing business.”

* * *

They say there’s a first time for everything, but with wind-battered wings and G-forces jostling me to and fro on each turn, my attempts to remain concealed took great effort. I vowed, I’d never hitch a ride in another convertible—hardtop retracted—as long as I…well, for eternity if you wanted to get technical.

In the passenger seat, silent and invisible to any human eye, I remained as Deena screeched her Ferrari California into its designated spot. Unmoving, with a hand on the wheel, the other on the shifter, she stared out over the hood. One second later, she smacked the wheel proclaiming, “Stupid Bastard!” and the next, she snatched up her pocketbook and rummaged for—

Cosmetics?

Like I said, never a dull moment.

Powder fresh, she untwisted the mascara brush from its tube, gave it a couple of dips, adjusted the rearview mirror, and then began stroking the gooey thickener onto her lashes. She continued, undisturbed, until a movement from under the building’s shadowed eaves caught both her and my attention.

Her makeup returned to the pocketbook in typical Deena fashion—at lightning speed. Morphing from don’t-fuck-with-me tough to unbridled terror, in less time than it took her to blink, her gaze fixed on the figure moving rapidly along the walkway and in our direction.