The Kiss of Angels (Divine Vampires Book 2) (13 page)

“I’ve done things I shouldn’t have.” His voice shook with his confession.  “I knew they were wrong, and I did them anyway.”

“Like what?” she asked, but she knew.  Some part of her knew, had always known. 

“I fell in love with a cherubim.” He smiled when he said it, a light in his eyes that made her feel dizzy with loving him right back.  She had done it too.  She had fallen in love with him. 

“Well, there are technically no rules against it,” she countered, remembering Jari’s question to her about it. 

“Oh, yes there are.” His smile faded, his eyes grew serious.  “I also gave a human unauthorized information.”

“Oh Char.” She cringed, remembering how she’d begged him to tell Jack and Lucy the truth, to give them some bit of hope.  “That was my fault.”

“No,” he insisted, pressing his finger to her lips.  “You know that was me.  It was all me.  I was the one who chose to tell them.  And I stole you away, even if it was only for a day… I’ve defied
The Maker
at every turn.  And I’ve had ample opportunity not to.”

“But Char…”

“Listen to me.” His voice was soft, but urgent.  “I did it because I love you, Muriel.  I loved you when I was a seraphim, I love you now, as a human, and I’ll love you… I will love you for eternity, whatever form I take.  Do you believe me?”

“Of course I do.” She searched his eyes, puzzled at his urgency.  “I love you too.  But Char, it wasn’t just you.  I—”

“Shh!” He glanced around as if someone might hear them.  “Will you please stop talking and kiss me one last time?”

“Last—?”

He pressed his lips to hers and everything inside of her went silent. 

It was their last kiss, and she knew she would remember it forever. 

“They’re saying we may not even need partners at all soon.” Anauel squinted up at the hot, Florida sun.  It was only mildly warm to Muriel, but she did love the brightness “There’s an entire Internet division of cherubim now.  I hear their arrows don’t even need to meet.  Some new multi-spatial technology in the arrows or something.  Pretty cool.”

“Will wonders never cease.” Muriel murmured the words, but Ana wasn’t really listening.  She liked to hear herself talk, and she talked a lot, which Muriel didn’t mind.  That meant Muriel could be quiet, which she was most of the time.  “I smell peanut butter.”

“I don’t smell anything.” Ana shrugged. 

Muriel wasn’t surprised.  Angels’ sense of smell, Muriel had discovered after her twenty-four hour stint as a human, wasn’t keen at all.  Like their emotions, everything was dampened.  And now, more than ever, she knew the reason for that. 

“There.” Muriel pointed to a toddler being pushed in a stroller, mashing a quarter of a peanut butter sandwich between her teeth.  She wore a pink hat and sunglasses.  “Peanut butter.”

“Huh.” Ana blinked in surprise.  “I still don’t smell it.”

Muriel didn’t say anything, so Ana started talking again about the new cherubim technology.  The times had changed.  It was almost impossible anymore to ensure two people would be in the same room when they fell in love.  The Internet had brought its own set of problems, and solutions. 

The smell of peanut butter lingered, even though the mother had pushed the toddler past their outdoor table.  Muriel closed her eyes, turning her face up to the sun.  There wasn’t a time that she didn’t miss him or think about him.  She supposed it was part of her punishment.  She had to spend an eternity remembering, loving, but never having. 

It was the perfect torture. 
The Maker
had designed it that way.  It would have been easy for them to wipe her memory, to give her a new start somewhere.  The Fey Advisory Board had even considered it, but in the end, they’d decided that it would be more fitting to allow her to keep her memories of that day. 

Secretly, Muriel was glad.  It had left a gaping hole, a festering wound, but it was her wound, and she loved it.  She loved him, even now.  So when the smell of peanut butter wafted her way, bringing a fresh new hell alive for her senses, she reveled in it, even if it hurt.  Especially if it hurt.  If it was one thing she’d learned being human, it was that without pain, pleasure meant nothing at all. 

“Do you know what I mean, Muriel?”

“Ummm-hmmm,” she agreed, not even knowing what she was agreeing to, but it was a sufficient enough response to keep Ana prattling on. 

She hadn’t asked for a transfer, but they gave her one anyway.  She’d now spent the better part of seventy years shooting arrows at the souls of men and women wearing Mickey Mouse ears and old folks in senior centers.  And there were a growing number of same-sex pairings here in Florida than she’d ever seen in Michigan.  Key West, even in December, was hot, in more ways than one.  Christmas here was palm trees decorated in lights.  It was a whole other world. 

Sometimes she really missed Jari.

“Muriel?”

“Mmm-hmm,” she agreed again, not opening her eyes.

Then she realized that the voice that spoke wasn’t Ana at all.  She turned at the sound of her name, not quite believing it could be true, as if her thought had conjured her here.  Was she seeing things?

“Jari?” Muriel blinked, shading her eyes against the sun.  “What are you doing here?”

“I…” Her ex-partner shifted her weight, slinging her bow and arrow over her shoulder.  “Can we talk?”

“Ana, I’ll be back.” Muriel stood, seeing the puzzled, curious look on her new partner’s face.  Seventy years and she still thought of their partnership as new.  “They’re not due for drinks until happy hour anyway.”

“Go ahead.” Ana squinted at Jari, then looked at Muriel, a question in her eyes, but wasn’t going to tell her anything else.  No way.  “I’ll be here.”

They flew together, down to the shoreline, not saying anything, but the silence was comfortable, easy.  That hurt more than anything. 

“The beach hasn’t changed.” Jari glanced around as they reached the water’s edge.  “But the people sure have.”

“They wear a lot less.” Muriel had almost forgotten the times they had come here for their weekly vacation.  “It’s been a long time, Jari.  How have you been? You still in the old neighborhood?”

“Good.  I guess,” Jari replied, settling on the sand and patting the space beside her.  “I’m still in the same place, but I’m by myself now.”

“Are you?” Muriel sat beside her on the sand.  The water was like a lukewarm bath.  That made her think of him too.  Seeing Jari brought it back hard.  She hadn’t expected to see her again.  Not ever.  After the Fey Advisory Board meeting, hearing Jari tell them again how Muriel had snuck away to meet Char in secret, how she’d missed the tournament, she had finally realized how broken things were between them. 

“Internet division,” Jari explained. 

“Ana was just telling me about that,” Muriel said.  “How do you time things?”

“These new arrows.” Jari shrugged.  “Multi-spatial technology.  It’s not like it used to be.  Remember how precise we had to be?”

“Yeah.” Muriel nodded, watching the water rush over her feet.  She knew Jari was thinking about that day, Norman and his black soul.  She was too.  “Jari, why are you here?”

“About that…” Jari sighed.  “Muriel, I’m sorry about what happened.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” She turned her gaze out to the horizon where sailboats skimmed like they were sailing off the edge of the world.  “You just told them the truth.”

“Have you ever seen him again?” Jari asked softly. 

“No.” The stab of pain in her middle was sharp and sudden.  “I’m sure he’s… well, it’s classified.  The Fey Advisory Board made their decision and it was final.”

“More final than you know.” Jari used one of her arrows to draw stick figures in the sand. 

“What?” Muriel cocked her head, eyes narrowing. 

“I came here to tell you something.” Jari gave the stick figure a halo and then crossed it out. 

“Tell me then.” She braced herself. 

Jari poked vigorously at the sand with her arrow.  Then she looked up at Muriel and sighed. 

“Do you remember the name Zephiel?”

She didn’t at first.  Had it been that long? But then she glimpsed him in her memory, catching little Henry as he fell from the teeter-totter, standing in the corner as the little boy struggled to keep breathing. 

“The guardian?” Muriel nodded, feeling that memory, an old wound made fresh.  “What about him?”

“You told me about him.  Remember?”

Muriel nodded again.  She’d probably told Jari far too much.

“I heard his name, a couple months ago.”

“So?”

“So it’s kind of an unusual name… for a human.”

“I suppose.” Muriel shrugged, not understanding where this was going, but wishing Jari would get to the point. 

“Anyway, I thought he was a human,” Jari went on, still not making much sense, rambling.  She was starting to remind Muriel of Ana.  Maybe she’d been alone too long. 
And whose fault is that?
“He works in a school, as a teacher.  I was there on an assignment.  The principal was falling for some woman over Skype in Tennessee.  Anyway, that doesn’t matter.  It’s him, Muriel.  It’s the same Zephiel you told me about.”

“It can’t be.” She shook her head, laughing.  “It’s a coincidence.  Humans name their kids all sorts of strange things these days…”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought at first too,” Jari said.  “Until I heard him talking to…”

“Talking to who, Jari?” Muriel prompted. 

“Chariel.”

She hadn’t heard his name spoken out loud in so long.  It hit her hard.  Her hands began to tremble, and so did her voice. 

“Jari, this is mean,” she whispered.  “You’ve come an awful long way to play some sort of joke…”

“It’s not a joke,” Jari said, and when Muriel looked into her eyes, she knew her ex-partner was telling her the truth.  “It’s really him.”

“They made him human?” Muriel choked. 

What a horrible punishment.  It had been years.  He would be an old man now.  But maybe it was better, she thought, to be human, to feel the loss burning bright and hot for as long as you were alive—and then to sink back into oblivion, a part of the whole again.  She had to spend an eternity grieving the loss of him. 

“He’s not human, Muriel.” Jari’s words were broken, choked.  She’d never seen her so emotional before.  “He’s fallen.  They both are.”

“Zeph and Char?” she whispered.  “They’re both fallen?”

She’d only ever heard rumors of fallen angels, cut off completely from
The Maker
, forced to walk the earth, knowing only the pain of separation for all of eternity. 

“I’m not supposed to be here.” Jari lowered her voice, as if that would keep
The Maker
from hearing her, from knowing what she was doing.  “But I had to tell you.  He’s become… a monster.  Something so dark and twisted.  You don’t know.  Fallen angels, they’re—”

But Muriel wasn’t listening.  The only thing she could focus on was the memory of the seraphim who had loved her—who, she hoped, loved her still. 

“Take me to him.” Muriel stood, her wings already buzzing, itching to fly. 

“I thought you might say that.” Jari sighed, standing too.  “Are you sure? The board was lenient with you last time, you know.  If you defy
The Maker
again…”

“I need to see him.”
Need
didn’t even come close.  “Please, Jari.  Take me to see him.”

Muriel reached out, taking her ex-partner’s hand, and Jari nodded, squeezing as they took flight.  Muriel didn’t even stop to tell Ana where she was going, and she only felt a little bad about that. 
The Maker
would tell her, soon enough, she reasoned, and find her another partner.  Or maybe assign Ana to one of those new-fangled Internet divisions she was so hyped up about.  Whatever happened, it really didn’t matter, not anymore. 

Because Muriel was going home.