“What happened, Francis?” Remiel asked. “I thought you were dead.”
Francis did not look at him, continuing to look at Eliza’s face, as if searching for a sign of life. More snowflakes had collected there.
“Should be,” he said at last. “But I’m not.”
Remiel waited for Francis to say more, but he remained silent.
“Is that it? Is that all you’re going to tell me?”
“For now,” Francis replied.
The grass at their feet was dying as the intensifying snowfall gradually covered it.
“I need to bring her home,” Francis said finally, looking up at his friend.
Something’s missing from those eyes, Remiel thought. But he couldn’t quite figure out what it was.
“There’s something different about you,” Francis commented, as if reading the angel’s thoughts.
Remiel looked down at his naked, angelic form. His wings slowly flapped, stirring the powdery snow at his bare feet. “Yeah, there’ve been some recent changes.”
“Looks good on you,” Francis said, with a barely perceptible nod. “Might want to get some pants, though.”
Remiel laughed. No matter what, it was good to have his friend back, alive.
Wasn’t it?
“Do you want me to take you somewhere?” Remiel asked him.
Francis shook his head. There came a strange crackling sound and the air behind him began to swirl like a whirlpool, sucking in all existence and leaving behind a spiral opening.
“I’m good,” he said, moving toward the portal.
Since when can he do that? Remiel wondered, but keeping his question for another time. If there was another time.
“Be seeing you?” he asked instead.
Francis didn’t answer right away as he ducked his head into the portal.
“Yeah, I’ll be around,” he finally offered, giving Remiel a quick look over his shoulder as he disappeared into the passage, taking Eliza Swan home.
It was then that Remiel realized what was missing in his friend’s eyes.
Hope.
And for a moment, the Seraphim felt the awful bite of the northern wind, before wrapping himself in the embrace of his warm, feathered wings, leaving the cold and barren place behind.
Remy Chandler sat with his car running on the street in Brookline.
Yes, Remy was back, but this time the guise of the Seraphim warrior had been put aside gently. There was no struggle, as there used to be, only the painless replacement of the angelic with the human. And although the angelic nature floated just below the surface, Remy was all right with that. It was where it needed to be: side by side with his humanity.
He was a Seraphim, but he was also a man.
Returning to his apartment this last time had felt strangely wrong—not only because it was empty, but because he wasn’t the same as when he’d left.
Shedding his warrior guise had been easy. He’d showered, dressed his wounds, and made himself presentable. He’d then driven right over to Linda Somerset’s apartment, not even bothering to call first.
But here he sat.
“Aren’t you going in?” a sweet voice asked from the passenger seat.
Remy looked over and saw Madeline sitting there, as beautiful as she always was.
“Don’t rush me,” he said, and smiled.
She smiled back, but then grew serious. “What’s wrong, Remy?”
“I have to get used to this again,” he explained. “It feels like I’ve been gone from this sort of . . . normalcy for so long.”
“You need to get used to being human again? Is that what you’re saying?”
“I guess that’s it,” he said, looking through the windshield at Linda’s third-floor windows. There was a light on, casting a warm glow through a white curtain. It was inviting . . . comforting, and Remy focused on that.
“You weren’t gone so long, y’know,” Madeline commented.
“I know,” he said. “But it felt like forever . . . and the changes.”
“Sometimes changes are good.”
“Yeah, they are,” he said, and truly believed it.
“Go on,” Madeline encouraged. “The baby needs to see his father.”
Remy looked at his wife, terribly missing the reality of her.
“I think I might’ve screwed things up pretty good with Linda,” he said.
It was Madeline’s turn to look through the windshield.
“Well, you’ll never know if you don’t go up there.”
“As profound as always,” Remy said as he turned off the engine. He looked toward his wife to say thank-you.
But she was already gone.
Remy was halfway up the third flight of stairs when he heard the sound of a door unlocking . . . followed by the familiar jingling of a chain collar. And then he was met at the top of the stairs by the most excited black Labrador retriever he’d ever seen.
“Hey, buddy.” Remy laughed, squatting down so his face could be thoroughly licked.
“Hi,” Marlowe barked between kisses. “Hi. Hi. Hi.”
“Did you miss me?” Remy asked, rubbing his velvety soft ears and kissing his cold, wet snout. “I certainly missed you.”
“Missed you,” Marlowe said, panting excitedly. “Missed you much.”
And suddenly Remy found himself that much more in tune with his humanity, the events of the last week already receding into memory.
He rose to his feet, dog dancing happily around him, and walked down the hallway toward Linda’s apartment.
She appeared in the doorway then, leaning against the jamb, arms crossed.
“Hey,” he said with a sheepish smile.
“I thought he was going to tear my door down to get out,” Linda said. “I knew it had to be you to get that kind of a reaction.”
“He must’ve smelled me coming up the stairs,” Remy said, keeping a respectful distance.
“Must have.”
Marlowe jumped on Linda, knocking her back against the doorframe. He barked excitedly before returning to Remy.
“I know, I know, Remy’s home,” she said with a laugh. “We thought he’d left you forever.”
Ouch! Remy felt that one.
“Yeah, about that,” he said as he affectionately thumped the dog’s side.
“Yeah?” she asked.
He stepped closer, drawn to her annoyance.
“Things just got out of hand with the case, and I’m sorry,” he told her.
“Marlowe was worried,” she said.
He looked down into his dog’s deep brown eyes. “I’m sorry for worrying you, Marlowe,” he said.
“Okay,” the dog barked in response.
“He’s forgiven me,” Remy said, moving closer to her.
“I was worried,” she said. Her eyes grew slightly wider as the words left her mouth, as if they surprised her.
“I’m sorry, Linda,” he said in all earnestness, hoping that she could see how bad he felt.
She was quiet for a moment. “I’m not sure I believe you,” she said at last, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
“You’re not?” Remy asked, pretending to be serious. “Marlowe, Linda doesn’t believe I’m sorry,” he said to his dog.
Marlowe whined, ears going flat.
“I know. It’s a terrible situation. But what can I do?”
Marlowe tilted his head to one side, crying again, then letting out a pathetic bark.
“Kiss her?” Remy said.
He looked from the dog to her.
“He said I should kiss you.”
“Did not,” Marlowe barked.
“What’d he say then?” Linda asked.
“He was stressing just how much I should be kissing you.”
“Do you always do what your dog tells you to do?”
“He’s never steered me wrong before,” Remy replied, staring deeply into the warmth of her eyes.
“Hmm, you should probably do as he says, then,” Linda suggested.
“Do you think it’ll work?” Remy asked. “That whole proving-I’m-sorry thing?”
“Never can tell till you try,” Linda said.