The_Demons_Wife_ARC (28 page)

How could her
iPod be here in his car unless it had been him in this same car yesterday?

What the Hell
is going on?

“Samael!” she
exclaimed.

“What?” He
looked at her, shock and surprise on his face. “Did you see someone?”

It took effort,
but Claire shook her head and then looked at him with a cold, steady gaze. She
was so close to screaming in terror, but she kept hold of herself, knowing if
there was ever a time to be strong and deal with things upfront, this was it.

“Do you swear
it wasn’t you?” she asked.

She had no
idea how she kept her voice from shattering.

“Was me?
Where? What are you talking about?”

“Yesterday…on
the drive north…and again this morning.”

Samael’s brow
furrowed with concern. There was deep hurt in his gold-flecked eyes.

“I…I don’t get
what you’re talking about,” he said softly. He started to reach in to touch
her, but she swept his hand away. They locked eyes, and she could see emotions
struggling inside him.

“When we—when
I and you or whoever was driving this car started out yesterday, I plugged my
iPod into your system,” she said.

“Yeah…and…?”
He looked confused.

“
And
—”

She indicated
the iPod with a curt nod.

“It’s still
connected to your sound system,” she said evenly, trying hard to mask her
nervousness. “If that wasn’t you driving with me yesterday, how did my iPod get
here?”

Samael’s
expression suddenly went slack. He shook his head and was silent for a long
time as he stared straight out the window.

Please,
please, please let there be a rational explanation for this,
she thought.

“Well…?” she
said, drawing out the word.

Samael shook
his head as though bewildered and said, “Claire, you have to believe me. No
matter how it looks. Your iPod wasn’t here yesterday, when I drove home from
work.”

“You
specifically noticed that?”

Samael nodded
and said, “I’m very observant.”

I’ll bet you
are
,
she thought but didn’t say. Instead, she said, “So…What? It magically appeared
here out of nowhere now that I’m back in town?”

Again, Samael
shrugged and shook his head.

“I don’t know
what to say.” And then his eyes brightened, and he snapped his fingers. “Wait a
second. You saw him—the imposter—pass you on the highway?”

Claire nodded
thoughtfully, seeing it coming.

“So what’s to
say he didn’t come by my place and put it there…knowing that when you saw it,
you would immediately doubt me?”

Samael shifted
in the seat and turned to face her. The loving earnestness in his eyes was too
much to take. Claire had to look away in order to hold her ground.

“Sounds
reasonable enough,” she said, “but is it the truth?”

“You have to
believe me,” he said. He took her hand and squeezed it. Her hand was sweaty in
his grip. “You have no idea…no idea what they’re capable of doing. If you don’t
believe me, then I…You have no idea what I’m risking here.”

“And I’m not?”

“I told you.
You’re not the one they’re after. They can’t stand it when one of us decides to
renounce our Evil ways. And they’ll do anything and everything they can to stop
it and make sure I pay for it.

“My torments
would never end, and it’s only you…your love that—”

His voice
hitched, and tears brimmed in his gold-flecked eyes.

Holy crap!
Claire
thought
. He’s crying!…Can a demon do that?

“You have to
trust me, Claire. Please,” he said, squeezing her hand tightly. “And you have
to promise me you’ll never let me go.” He swallowed hard, his gold-flecked eyes
moist. “And you have to remember…”

“Remember
what?” she asked.

“You’re my
salvation…my only salvation.”

“Samael—” she
started to say, but her voice choked off when she saw the earnest determination
in his face.

“You’re the
whole reason I’m doing this,” he continued, “and to be honest, I don’t think I
can do it alone. Without you, I’m not even willing to try. I can only do this
as long as you’re with me.”

Claire was
stunned. Speechless. She pulled a glove from her coat pocket and used it to
gently wipe away the tears that were now streaming down his cheeks.

His tears were
warm—hot, and they tingled like weak acid on her fingertips, an almost pleasing
sensation.

“I am,” she
said, her eyes tearing up as well. “I’m with you all the way, and…and I always
will be.”

~ * ~

 “Something’s
wrong?” Claire said as they pulled into Samael’s driveway. Above the pines in
the direction of the house, a thin column of black smoke was tumbling up into
the slate -gray sky.

Samael
squinted and leaned forward over the steering wheel as he navigated the gently
winding curve of the driveway. Claire tensed in her seat, staring intently at
the pillar of smoke. When they rounded the corner and could see the portico of
Samael’s house, they realized it wasn’t the house that was on fire.

“Looks like
it’s out behind the house,” Samael said as the car skidded to a stop. They
hurriedly got out.

“Thank God,”
Claire said, and he shot her a quick smile. He dashed around the car to her and
put his arm around her shoulder.

“Doesn’t look
too bad now,” Samael said. And, indeed, the thick smoke was all but gone.

She shot him
an “are you sure” glance, and he nodded as they started up the steps to the
front door, holding her protectively to his side. 

When they
entered the house, Michelle was striding down the hallway toward them. The
heels of her shoes clicked on the Italian tile floor and echoed in the vastness
of the room. She looked perfectly calm, but Claire thought she detected a level
of agitation lurking below the surface.

“Is everything
all right, Michelle?” Samael asked. He, too, seemed to be trying to mask his
concern.

Michelle
nodded and said, “Michael’s out back. He has everything under control.”

Who the Hell
is Michael?

Hand in hand,
Claire and Samael walked down the long hall. They finally arrived in the
breakfast room, which had a screen door leading out onto the back porch, which
ran the length of the house. A man was standing on the lawn at the foot of the
steps, looking out across the lawn at the smoke drifting up into the sky. It
was coming from a small, black mound in the middle of the lawn.

Claire gasped
when the man—obviously “Michael”—turned and regarded her with a long, steady
stare. She had noticed, without too much amazement, his long, perfectly snow-white
hair that cascaded to his shoulders. But when he turned, she was stunned to see
his eyes. They had no pupils and were pure silver. Even in the dim daylight,
they flashed like white fire.

Samael, still
holding her hand, sensed her reaction and gave her a reassuring squeeze as he
leaned close and whispered, “I understand…It’s always surprising at first.”

You could say
that again,
Claire thought as they moved closer to the man.

No…This most
definitely was not a man.

“Michael. I’d
like you to meet Claire,” Samael said simply. “Claire. This is Michael.”

Claire was
dumbstruck. She could only stare at him in amazement. His presence was
overwhelming, and she couldn’t decide if she should shake his hand, curtsey, or
bow down.

“Don’t be
afraid,” Michael said in a sweet voice that was at once soothing and powerful.
He held his hand up with the palm facing toward her, like a minister giving a
blessing.

Claire sensed
great love and understanding…and power. She bowed her head in acknowledgment.

“Michael’s
here to help,” Samael said to Claire, and then to Michael he said, “Tell me
what happened.”

A faint smile
passed across Michael’s lips, and his eyes flashed. Claire noticed that his
face had an odd translucence that made his skin look waxy and pale, as if an
inner light was shining from him. 

“One of them
tried to get into the house,” Michael said. When he nodded in the direction of
the still smoldering heap, a cold shock went through Claire’s heart.

That burning
pile used to be a person…or a demon…or whatever…

“A feeble
attempt,” Michael continued. “They can and will do much better. We can’t lower
our guard for an instant. I suspect they made such an inept attempt as their
first move perhaps to lull us into a false sense of security.”

“Makes sense,”
Samael said, stroking his chin. He stood for a while, deep in thought as he
stared at the pile of ashes. The smoke had diminished now to a thin, black
smudge against the sky. Claire couldn’t tell if Samael was angry or worried or
satisfied or…what? And she sensed that now was not the time to bother him with
questions. All she knew for sure was that he—and she—were in grave danger and,
possibly, more than she could imagine. But after seeing the wasp demon on the
bus, she didn’t think anything would surprise her. She moved closer to Samael
and tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow.

“Everything
else is secure?” Samael finally said.

“As good as I
can make it,” Michael replied.

“Then it’s
better than secure.”

Finally, a
look of pure relief—the first she had seen since they reconnected—came over Samael’s
face. He smiled when he said, “Well, then, what say we go back into the house
and refresh ourselves. It’s been a helluva day.

And, I
suspect, it’s going to be a helluva night.”

At that
moment, Claire had no idea what an understatement that was.

~ * ~

Claire was
feeling way out of her depth as she sat with Samael and Michael in the living
room. They talked until the sun had set. Then, the spacious room filled with
soft, gray arms of shadows stretched across the plush carpet. Even in the
waning light, she couldn’t stop herself from looking at Michael’s eyes. They
shined even more as the room grew dark, and she knew without asking that he
could see as clearly in the darkness as he could in the daylight.

She also
sensed that whenever he looked at her, even if for only a flashing instant,
Michael could see clear into her heart and know what she was thinking and
feeling. She knew without being told that he understood her in ways that even
she didn’t.

How can I not
be afraid?
She thought.

This spiritual
being…this angel—because she knew that’s what he was—was frightening in spite
of his silver aura. She chuckled to herself, remembering a time when, in
confirmation class, she had asked her Sunday School teacher, Mrs. Carmody,
about angels. While reading the Bible, she had noticed that in every or nearly
every instance, when an angel first appeared to a human being, he—it always
seemed to be a male even though most paintings of angels depicted them as
female—said, “Be not afraid,” or words to that effect. She had asked Mrs.
Carmody why an angel would say something like that, and she concluded at a
young age that angels must be terrifying beings to behold.

And now she
knew.

They were.

But—somehow—not
in a bad way.

Here she was,
sitting in a darkening living room with a demon who professed to love her and
wanted to reclaim his angelic nature, and an honest-to-God (pardon the phrase)
angel.

It was
surreal, to say the least.

She tried to
focus on the conversation Samael and Michael were having, but it seemed as
though they spoke in code, at times, or else used an entirely different and
incomprehensible language. Maybe she was still exhausted from her ordeal in the
woods overnight and the terrors of the bus ride back to Portland. But much of
the conversation passed way over her head.

Long after the
room was too dark for her to see more than vague shadows—and no one made a move
to turn on the lights—she sat on the couch, her hand clasped by Samael’s so
tightly it grew slick with sweat. But she didn’t take it away. She wanted—she
needed—the reassurance of physical contact to ground her in a reality that
seemed to be slipping away rapidly. She rested her head against Samael’s
shoulder.

Their
voices—especially Michael’s—were amazingly soothing. Warm, rich, and mellow.
She felt so comfortable she started to doze off. As she floated in and out of
hazy half-dreams, she felt a safety and security she had never known before.

He really will
take care of me…They both will…

And then—is
this still part of the dream?—Samael kissed her lightly on the cheek.

“Claire…Com’on,
Claire…It’s time to wake up and go to sleep.”