The Swamp Angel finished her first set, climbed down off the stage, and grabbed a drink from the bar. She and Melvin talked for a moment, both glancing toward Francis.
Quickly the former Guardian angel willed himself invisible, appearing to humans as only another shadow in the darkness of the corner.
The woman took her drink and headed toward him. And certain that he couldn’t be seen, Francis watched her, nearly mesmerized by her beauty. She was wearing a frilly white blouse and a blue skirt that came down past her knees. The clothes looked as though they might have had some years on them, but it didn’t matter. She wore them well.
She stopped before him and took a dainty sip from her whiskey. “Do you like my singing?” she asked.
Francis looked over his shoulder but there was no one else there.
“Are you not answerin’ my question because you don’t, or are you just being rude?” she asked.
She can see me.
The Swamp Angel smiled, and held out a delicate hand. “Well, I’m not rude,” she said. “I’m Eliza. Eliza Swan.”
Not good. Not good at all.
The smell of Eden was most certainly in Jon’s blood.
He had quickly dressed, then given Remy a facecloth he had used to wipe the blood from the laceration on his head.
His blood reeked of magick, and Remy could follow magick.
With the scent of Eden filling his nostrils, Remy reluctantly called upon the Seraphim. He felt the transformation begin, as his clothing shifted from cloth to armor, and wings of gold unfurled from his back. His angelic nature eagerly attempted to fully assert itself, but he forced it back, allowing only a small part of the divine power to come forth.
Remy leaned in close to Jon, capturing a whiff of fresh blood from his still-weeping wound.
An explosion of imagery filled his mind. He knew where they were going.
“Are you ready for this?” Remy asked.
Jon nodded, although his expression wasn’t as certain.
Remy took hold of Jon’s shoulders and closed his wings around both of them. In his mind, he saw the place where they were headed and tightened the embrace of his wings as he felt reality begin to shift.
The strong bleachy smell of the motel room was replaced with the thick aroma of honeysuckle and the heavy, damp smells of a swamp.
They had arrived.
Remy opened his wings, and Jon spilled out onto the ground, where he immediately began to vomit.
“Sorry about that,” Remy said as he took full control back, pushing away the fearsome visage of one of God’s soldiers. “I’ve heard it can be a little rough.”
“S’okay.” Jon wiped his mouth and climbed unsteadily to his feet.
“So, where are we?” Remy asked, looking about the heavily wooded area.
“It’s called Eden Parish,” Jon said, beginning to make his way through the forest.
“Of course it is,” Remy said, following.
Jon pushed through the thick underbrush to emerge in what looked like a small junkyard. Old, rusted-out cars were parked here and there, and a school bus without any wheels listed to one side, and appeared to be sinking into the soft earth.
“Is this right?” Remy asked, the place not where he imagined one of the descendants of Eve to be found.
“I think it is.” Jon continued to walk across the yard, past corroded car engines and shopping carts overflowing with pieces of scrap metal. There was a dilapidated trailer ahead, and Remy could see a small child sitting on some wooden steps that led up to a screen door.
The child was filthy, and was playing with a black-and-white kitten in her lap.
“Hello,” Jon said, smiling at the child.
She looked at him and scowled before placing the kitten in the crook of her arm and heading toward the door.
“It’s all right,” Remy said, stepping forward.
The little girl had the screen door open halfway, but let it close, her eyes never leaving Remy’s.
“I know what you are,” she said almost dreamily.
“She can see me,” Remy said to Jon. “Really see me.”
“She probably can,” Jon answered. “Just like I can see you.”
“You can see me?” Remy asked him, surprised by the admission.
“Certainly,” he said. “The original bloodlines are very attuned to all things divine. That’s how I found you in the park that night; I could see your glow.”
“I glow?”
The little girl clutched her kitten closer. “I know what he is, and I know what you are as well,” she said, scowling at Jon.
“What am I, darling?” Jon asked, gently.
“You’re one of the bad men,” she said.
“He’s not bad,” Remy began to explain. “He’s a nice man who—”
“No, to her I am bad,” Jon interrupted. “Remember, she’s a child of the original bloodline . . . of Eve’s original bloodline. . . . Our two lines have been at each other’s throats for millennia, one blaming the other for what transpired in the Garden. She can tell what I am, and hates me. It’s practically genetic.”
The little girl stared at Jon, and Remy could feel her anger.
“You know the old saying about how Eskimos have a hundred different words for snow?” Jon asked Remy.
Remy nodded, having heard something like it before.
“Well, they say that the Daughters of Eve have a hundred words for hate . . . all directed at the Sons of Adam.”
A large woman, her gray hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, appeared at the screen door. “Lydia, get your ass in here.” She, opened the creaking door just enough for the child to scoot inside. “What the hell do you want?” she asked, turning her angry gaze on Jon and Remy.
The woman’s not-so-pleasant disposition went from bad to worse as she continued to stare at Jon.
“I was hoping you could help us,” he said as politely as he could.
“You’ve got a lot of balls coming here,” the woman snarled. “We’ve killed people like you for less than trespassing around these parts.”
“Please,” Jon said. “We don’t want any trouble, we just . . .”
A shotgun muzzle slid out from behind the screen door, aimed at Jon’s chest.
“We don’t like your kind in this parish,” she warned. “So if you don’t want to end up at the bottom of the swamp I suggest you take your sorry asses and get . . .”
Remy stepped in front of Jon.
“We don’t mean to cause you any problem, ma’am,” he said. At first he thought he might get shot, but gradually her expression began to soften, and she lowered her weapon.
“What the hell is one’a you doing with the likes of him?” she asked, disgusted by the idea of anyone—never mind an angel—being seen with a Son of Adam.
Jon bravely stepped out from behind Remy.
“Haven’t you felt it?” he asked her.
“Felt what?” she barked, the shotgun starting to rise again.
“You know what I mean,” Jon said. “We’ve all been feeling it . . . all of us who are of the blood.”
“I don’t know what you’re—”
“I see it in my dreams,” Jon interrupted. “A place so beautiful that I wake up with my face soaked with tears. It was supposed to be our home . . . where the first of us were to live with our families, and our family’s families . . . forever.”
Remy could see the woman’s eyes grow glassy with emotion. “But then there was the sin,” she mumbled.
Jon moved closer to the steps. “But what if there’s a chance that sin could be forgiven?” he proposed eagerly. “That all the hate we have for one another . . . all the guilt, could be made to go away?”
Tears were running down the woman’s leathery face as she stared at him from the doorway of the mobile home. “Why haven’t I shot you yet?” she asked, wiping away the tears with her free hand.
“Because you can sense that what I’m saying is true,” Jon replied. “That there’s a chance they can finally be forgiven.”
“What do you want from me?” she asked.
“There’s a house on stilts,” Jon said, gazing past the mobile home. “Out there in the swamp. I need to speak to the woman who lives there.”