The theme was grapes. There were grape lamp shades, a vase with grapevines painted on its side; even the bedspread had grapes on it. It was kind of funky, but he thought it was cool. Gabriel hobbled in and immediately found a place to lie down beside the queen-size bed where the warm sunlight streamed through the window.
“Is that where he’ll sleep?” Mrs. Provost asked.
“The floor is good, but sometimes I like to sleep with Aaron,” Gabriel barked.
“Is that where you’d like him to sleep?” Aaron asked with a sly smile.
“He can sleep wherever the hell he wants,” she said, moving toward the closet. She opened the door and pulled out a white comforter adorned with grapes. “Just thought if he was going to sleep on the floor, he might be more comfortable lying on this.”
As she approached, Gabriel got up and let her place the downy bedspread in the patch of sunlight. “There you go, boy,” she said, smoothing out the material. “Give this a try.”
And the dog did just that, lying back on the comforter with a heavy sigh of exhaustion.
“I think your dog’s tired,” she said, reaching into her blue jeans pocket. She handed Aaron a key on an i-love-maine chain. “Here’s your key. It works on the front door, too, which I lock promptly at nine o’clock every night.” Mrs. Provost moved toward the door. “I eat supper at six,” she said as she walked out into the hall. “If you like meat loaf, I’ll see you in the kitchen. If not, you’re on your own.”
“I like meat loaf,” Gabriel yipped from his bed as the old woman closed the door behind her.
“Is there any food you don’t like?” Aaron asked, kneeling down to check the injured leg.
“Never really thought about it,” Gabriel replied thoughtfully.
“Tell you what,” Aaron said, patting his head. “Why don’t you give that question some serious thought while I go see if I can find Camael.”
“Will you be all right?”
“I’ll be fine.” Aaron climbed to his feet and walked to the door. He was just about to leave when Gabriel called.
“Aaron, do you think we’ll find Stevie here?” Aaron thought for a moment, trying to make sense of odd feelings that were still with him. “I don’t know. Let me poke around a little and we’ll talk later.” Then he left, leaving his best friend alone to rest and heal.
Aaron strolled casually up Berkely Street, taking in his surroundings. He turned left onto a street with no sign, committing landmarks to memory so he wouldn’t get lost. Lots of quaint homes, nicely kept up, many with beautiful flower gardens more tame than Mrs. Provost’s version of the Amazon rain forest.
At the end of the nameless street he stopped to assess his whereabouts. There was still no sign of Camael, and the bizarre sensation he’d been feeling since arriving in Blithe continued to trouble him. It felt as though he’d had too much caffeine after a late night of studying. He knew he had the ability to interpret this strange feeling, but he didn’t know how to go about it. There was still so much he had to learn about this whole Nephilim thing.
“You will need to master these abilities,” Camael had said during their ride to Blithe. “Sooner rather than later.”
Aaron found the angel’s words somewhat annoying. Mastering these so-called abilities was like reading a book without knowing the alphabet. He just didn’t have the basics.
He recalled a moment not long after they’d first left Lynn. Camael had been describing how an angel experiences the five senses—not as individual sensations, but as one overpowering perception of everything around it. “Do as I do,” the angel had said to him, closing his eyes. “Feel the world and everything that makes it a whole, as only beings of our stature can.” Aaron had tried, but only ended up with a nasty headache. Camael had clearly been disappointed—apparently Aaron just wasn’t turning out to be the Nephilim that the former leader of the Powers thought he should be. Maybe it’s not me the Seer wrote about in the prophecy, he thought. Maybe Camael’s finally realized this, and took off to find the fallen angels’ real savior.
Something rustled in a patch of woods behind him, and Aaron turned toward the noise. He noticed a glint of red in a patch of shadow, and then, as if knowing that it had been discovered, a raccoon slowly emerged from its hiding place. This is odd, Aaron thought, watching the animal. I thought raccoons are nocturnal. He recalled how he’d hear them late at night through his bedroom window as they tried to get into the sealed trash barrels.
The raccoon moved closer, its large dark eyes unwavering. It was moving strangely, and he wondered if it was rabid. “Is that it?” he asked aloud, knowing instinctively that the animal would understand him. “Are you rabid?”
The raccoon did not respond. It just continued to stare, and pad steadily closer.
As Aaron gazed into its eyes, an overwhelming sense of euphoria washed over him. It was all he could do to keep from bursting out in laughter and then breaking down in tears of sheer joy. He closed his eyes and swayed with the waves of emotion.
Stevie. His little brother was here—in Blithe, he was sure of it. Aaron could feel him, waiting to be picked up—embraced, played with. Stevie was unharmed, and that brought Aaron the greatest pleasure he had ever felt. Nothing would ever come between them again.
“Excuse me,” a voice suddenly interrupted his reverie.
Aaron opened his eyes and saw that the odd raccoon was gone, replaced by a police officer who was eyeing him strangely. “Is there a problem, sir?” the policeman asked him, moving closer, his hand clutching his gun belt.
Aaron swayed, feeling as though he’d been on a roller coaster. “I’m fine,” he managed. What just happened?
“You don’t seem fine,” the officer barked. “You been drinking?” he asked, stepping closer to sniff Aaron’s breath.
Aaron shook his head, feeling his strength and wits slowly returning. “No sir, I’m fine. I think I might have sunstroke or something.”
“Can I ask you what you’re doing here?”
“Actually I’m looking for a friend of mine,” Aaron said, bringing a hand up to his brow to wipe away beads of sweat. “Tall, silvery white hair and goatee, dressed in a dark suit?”
The policeman continued to watch him through his mirrored glasses. “I’d like to see some identification,” he finally said, holding out his hand.
Aaron was getting nervous. First Camael disappears, then the strange raccoon—and now an evil sheriff. As he handed the police officer his license, he couldn’t help but wonder what other surprises the town of Blithe had in store for him.
“Just passing through Blithe, Mr. Corbet?” the policeman asked, handing back his identification.
Aaron returned the license to his wallet. “I’ll probably be here for a couple of days,” he said, sliding his wallet into his back pocket. Suddenly Aaron couldn’t help himself; the attitude he had worked so hard to keep in check was rearing its ugly head. It had been the bane of his existence—he just couldn’t learn to keep his mouth shut. “Is there a problem, Officer …?” he asked, an edge to his tone.
“Dexter,” the policeman said, touching the rim of his hat. “Chief of Police Dexter. And no, there isn’t any problem—now.” He smiled, but Aaron saw little emotion in it. If anything, it appeared more like a snarl than a smile. “Blithe is a quiet town, Mr. Corbet, and it’s my job to make sure it stays that way, if you catch my meaning.”