The Saving Angels Series: Books 1-3 (55 page)

"Let's get some chow," I chattered to him as I descended the stairs two at a time. He purred his approval at my attention. Talking to him had always been second nature to me, but recently my endless stream of babble pleased him to no end. He loved the interaction although I knew he understood none of it.

My mom was already at the table sipping a cup of coffee when I made my way into the kitchen. "Hey mom, what's up?" I asked, giving her a quick peck on the cheek on my way to the cabinet to grab a bowl.

"Not a whole lot," she said distantly, in a voice that a few months ago would have broken my heart. Obviously she was still mad about our fight from the night before. Well, more like her fight, since I really didn't yell. I merely stated what I wanted to do and that I wouldn't be swayed. I knew my attitude aggravated the crap out of her, but since that fateful night, when my whole world had been flipped upside down and inside out, I had allowed a chasm to grow between us. I knew the indifferent attitude I had assumed around her in the last two months hurt her, but I also knew in the long run it would make things easier.

My days at home were coming to an end and she was upset by the many decisions I had made without consulting her first. To say she was pissed when I finally worked up the nerve to tell her I had withdrawn my enrollment at U.C. Santa Cruz, and applied to the University of Colorado instead, was putting it mildly. What she still didn't know however, was that I had no intention of actually starting school like she thought. I had enrolled in college, but it was all just a ploy to give me an excuse to leave Santa Cruz without her questioning where I was at.

I had decided two months ago when I stood on our beach with my heart in shreds, that one way or another I was going after Mark. I harbored the smallest bit of hope that he
could be saved, that he was merely a Forgotten Soul and not a Dark Angel like his father. I would not give up until I knew for sure.

"There are chocolate chip muffins in the pantry," she said, not looking up from the book she had resting against her coffee mug.

''No thanks," I replied, pouring Raisin Bran cereal into my deep ceramic bowl.

I had lost my desire for chocolate two months ago, when the love of my life's eyes had changed from the warm delicious chocolate brown I had loved so much, to a color I no longer recognized. My addiction for that particular sweet just no longer mattered. My mom had been trying to coax it back out of me the entire summer, but it was like it had lost all its appeal.

She sighed and resumed drinking her coffee. I felt a brief twinge of guilt for upsetting her yet again, but knew it was all for the best. My attitude change and indifference would make it all easier for her to deal with when I left. I would much rather her view me as a bratty teenager than some mystical being that was going off to search for the one who had rejected me. I was sick of pretenses, and I wanted to have enough distance between us that I could finally embrace who I was without also having to worry about playing the "human role."

In the beginning, after Mark left, she had tried to encourage me to let my grief out, but after my heartbreaking moment on our beach, I had locked the rest of my sadness away, pulling it out only when I was alone. Mark leaving me felt like getting a limb amputated. When we first moved to Santa Cruz, my dreams became altered as he was ripped from my arms every night, but at least I knew he would be there again the next night. Now the loss of not having him in our dreams has been as awful as our actual separation. My soul just can't seem to grasp the absence of something that had been with me for as long I can remember.

"I have to work in an hour, can I use the car or do you need me to bum a ride from Sam and Shawn?" I asked, standing up to wash out my empty cereal bowl.

"You can use it. I plan on finishing my painting today for the downtown art show," she said, also standing so she could dig out the keys from her purse. She handed them to me without a word and headed toward her art studio.

My chest tightened as she closed the door firmly behind her. I wanted to burst through the doors and throw myself in her arms like I used to when I was little, and weep in her embrace until not a tear remained, but I fought back the urge. Instead, I grabbed my backpack off the back of the chair and headed for the door, reminding myself that the distance between us was necessary for now.

The ride to work passed in a blur as I drove on autopilot with my thoughts floating around. Now that my mom knew about my change of plans for college, I could start to focus on my plan to go in and find Mark and his dad. Haniel had let it slip several weeks ago that Victor's hideout was located on some mountain called Shasta. I tucked that bit of information away to be pulled out again when no one else was around. In the last few weeks I had educated myself so much on Mt. Shasta, I was sure I could give the locals a run for their money.

I was fully prepared to go after Mark on my own, but I knew that my friends, Sam and Lynn, not to mention my brother Shawn, would never allow it. I knew for a fact that Haniel had already gleaned my thoughts of a rescue mission from my head, but had yet to mention them. Over the last two months, Haniel and I had grown close and I realized
Mark was right when he had stated that Haniel liked me. He was different than a typical father figure. He was every person you could ever need rolled up into one: Father, brother, mentor, and protector. I can only imagine how the last two months would have been without him around.

I pulled into my usual parking spot behind the
Book Nook
where I work, and snatched up my backpack off the floor before I slammed the stubborn car door behind me.

"Hey Krista, how are you doing this morning?" Joan, my boss, asked as I re-locked the staff door behind me.

"Good Joan, how about you?"

"Not bad. This past weekend's sales were fantastic, which means I can now afford our extravagant end of summer employee bash I have planned."

"You mean for all three of us?" I joked, opening up a box of books the UPS guy had delivered while I was off over the weekend.

"He-he, yeah and that's if Martha feels like going out after her normal six o'clock bedtime," Joan added laughingly, referring to the elderly woman who worked part-time on the weekend shifts with Joan.

Martha was by far one of the most colorful people I had ever met, displaying a kind word for some, but having a bite to her for others, like her daughter for example. At seventy two years old, she only worked to get out of the house and away from her "crazy daughter"- her words not mine- that liked to drag her out for weekend excursions.

"I'm seventy two. I've seen all the flea markets, garage sales, and overpriced shopping malls I want. I would rather spend my weekends surrounded by what I love the most," she had told me when I first met her, indicating the books around her.

"Yeah, our big bash tonight will have to be the early bird special," I teased, breaking down the box I had just emptied.

I tossed the flattened box aside and reached for the second box of books. I worked the edge of my thumbnail under the tape and grasped the lose piece I had worked away from the cardboard, pulling the rest of the tape off the top of the box. Joan preferred the boxes to be opened without a sharp box cutter and I completely agreed with her. The thought of accidently cutting into the beautiful spine of a brand new book made me just a little bit nauseous.

I pulled the flaps of the box apart and sighed with pleasure when I saw the newest book by my most favorite author. I gently extracted one and gasped with pleasure at the lovely cover. I had already seen the picture on-line, but it just did not give the cover its due justice. Not being able to resist, I opened the book turning to the first page.

"No way," Joan said, snatching the book out of my hands. "You know the rules. You can't start it without me," she said, lightly placing two of the books on her desk.

"Aw man, no fair. You know you wouldn't even be reading this series if I hadn't pointed it out," I said, pretending to pout. In all honesty, I was completely psyched that she enjoyed the same books as me. Discussing the books and the characters in them had become a welcome distraction for me on the days I work, and I love when we playfully argue over who we thought was "crush worthy." I had chosen not to tell Joan anything about Mark, and I found it oddly refreshing to be around someone who just thought I was a regular teenager and not someone who had lost her very purpose in life. Pretending to crush on a hottie from a fiction book was a welcome distraction, though no matter how
the author described the characters attributes, in my mind's eye, it was always Mark's face I saw.

"Rules are rules," she said playfully as she punched the code into the mini-refrigerator sized safe that sat on the floor.

She pulled the heavy metal door open, extracting the cash till for the register. "I'm going to go boot up the register and start the coffee maker. Do you need help with that?" she asked, indicating the last box of books on the floor.

"Nah, I got it. You know me, I like to ogle at the covers before I place them in their new home," I said, docking my iPod onto the radio Joan kept in the stockroom.

Joan smiled at me and headed out the door as the new Katy Perry song blared out of the mini speakers. Keeping music on when others were not around to distract me was a definite must.

Bopping a bit to the music, I picked up the last heavy box of books off the floor and unpacked them onto the book cart with the others, sorting them by genres as I worked. When I started in June, Joan had allowed me to organize the books in the store in a more manageable system. It was a monster task, putting every book in appropriate genre sections, versus the standard alphabetical system Joan had used for years. All the hard work was well worth it though. Now when a customer has a specific book in mind, but can't remember the author or title, I can help without losing my mind.

I finished unpacking the last book when my current favorite song started playing on my iPod. It was an older song that I had discovered by chance shortly after Mark left, and it was as if the singer knew every emotion I was feeling. I cranked up the volume and sank into the chair at the desk as the music filled my head. I knew I was a glutton for punishment for even listening to a country song about lost love, but I couldn't seem to help myself, something about the lyrics spoke to my now empty soul.

Closing my eyes, I allowed myself to summon up Mark's image. I had once heard that when a person lost a loved one that they would often have difficulty recalling what they looked like as their mind began to distance itself. For me, it was the exact opposite. On the rare moments like these when I would allow myself to indulge in thinking about him, his image was so vibrant and strong, it was as if he was standing directly in front of me. I could see every hair on his head that I loved to run my fingers through, the sexy grin that melted me from the inside-out, and the sparkle in his eyes that made my whole body hum. It was on these occasions that a small ounce of hope would creep in. Surely, somewhere inside him, some of these same feelings for me still remained—or maybe I was wishing for the impossible.

My chest began to heave as my emotions finally got the best of me. A lone silent tear welled up and escaped beneath my closed eyelid, followed by a cascade of tears streaming fast and warm down my cheeks.

Pull it together Krista
, I thought, trying to calm down.

I knew I needed to get a grip on myself. Joan could walk in at any moment, and explaining my torrent of tears was just something I didn't relish doing. Of course, knowing I needed to get a grip and actually doing it were two different things, especially while sitting here listening to the words of this stink'n song…"You left me all alone in love, and now I desperately long to feel your touch."

I need to stop torturing myself like this, I thought again.

The song came to a close and I swiped the last of my tears away. Pushing the chair back, I stood up reaching to turn the volume back down so it was merely background noise. I turned around, intending to hit the bathroom to do damage control before Joan caught a glimpse of my swollen face.

I gasped when I saw the tall imposing figure standing in front of me.

"Holy crow Haniel, you scared the crap out of me!" I said, trying to calm my racing pulse.

He raised his eyebrows at my words, but remained silent.

"Well sheesh, if you don't want me to swear you need to stop sneaking up on me like that!" I said, embarrassed that he had most likely caught me crying. Like most things in life, crying in front of others had always embarrassed me, especially in the presence of someone like Haniel. Besides, girls that used their tears as a tool had always annoyed me, and I shuddered at the idea of being lumped together with them.

"You are sad," Haniel said as more of a statement than a question.

I sighed trying to think of how I would explain to someone outside the human realm that the music had initiated my tears.

"The music just made me think about
him
," I said, deciding to give it to him bluntly.

"I see. Well, music is a powerful force," he said, obviously understanding who
him
was.

"Yep, it is," I said, thankful that he didn't push the matter further. "Why are you here? And how did you get in here without Joan seeing you?" I asked, puzzled that he had sought me out at work.