Gabriel looked deeply into her eyes. “Yes,” he answered with a short, grumbling bark.
She couldn’t understand him as Aaron did, but still, she seemed to grasp his answer—as if he were somehow able to touch her mind.
“Are you hungry?” she asked.
Gabriel could not lie to the child and barked affirmatively while he used his mind to tell her that he would love a bite of her lunch.
The child suddenly turned and walked toward the picnic table. She snatched up her hot dog, tore off a hunk—bread and all—and brought it back to Gabriel.
“I don’t know if you should do that, honey,” her father cautioned.
Lily presented the food to the Lab, and he gently plucked it from her hand, swallowing it in one gulp. Thank you, Lily, he thought, looking into her eyes.
“You’re welcome,” she responded with a pretty smile.
Lily’s father walked over, carrying his own sandwich in one hand. “Okay,” he said, trying to steer the child back toward the table. “I think the doggie’s had enough. Say good-bye now.”
Gabriel stared intently at the man. “Before I go,” he directed his thoughts toward Lily’s father, “can I have a bite of your sandwich?”
Without a moment’s hesitation, the man tore off a piece of his hamburger and tossed it to the Lab.
Gabriel was satisfied. The painful pangs of his empty belly had been temporarily assuaged with the help of Lily and her parents—it had been awfully generous of them to share their lunch—and he was heading back to join Aaron, exploring as he went.
The tinkling of a chain was the first thing to capture his attention, and then he became aware of her scent.
Gabriel stopped at the beginning of an overgrown path that led to a small area designated for children. He noticed some swings, a tiny slide, and a wooden playhouse shaped like a train. Again came the jangle of a chain, and from behind the playhouse appeared another dog, her nose pressed to the sand as she followed a scent that had caught her fancy.
Gabriel’s tail began to wag furiously as he padded down the path and barked a friendly greeting. How good is this? he thought. A full belly and now somebody to play with.
The female flinched, startled by his approach. Her tail wagged cautiously. She, too, was a yellow Labrador retriever and she wore a pretty, red bandanna around her neck, as well as the chain.
He moved closer. “I’m Gabriel.”
The female continued to stare, and he noticed that the hackles of fur at the back of her neck had begun to rise.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said soothingly. “I just want to play.” He lay down on the ground to show her that he meant no harm. “What’s your name?”
The female moved slowly toward him, sniffing at the air, searching for signs of a threat. How odd, thought Gabriel. Maybe her family doesn’t let her play with other dogs. “I’m Gabriel,” he said again.
“Tobie,” she replied, hackles still raised.
“Hello, Tobie. Do you want to chase me?” he asked pleasantly, rising to all fours.
Tobie sniffed at him again and growled nervously. Slowly, she began to back away, her tail bending between her legs.
Gabriel was confused. “What’s the matter?” he asked, advancing toward her. “You don’t have to chase me if you don’t want to—I could chase you instead.”
Tobie snapped at him with a bark, her lips peeled back in a fierce snarl as she continued to back toward the playhouse.
Gabriel stopped. “What’s wrong?” he asked, genuinely concerned and quite disappointed. “Why won’t you play with me?”
“Not dog,” Tobie growled as she sniffed the air around him. “Different,” she spat, and fled around the playhouse in the direction she’d come.
Gabriel was stunned. At first, he had no idea what Tobie meant, but then he thought of that day when he had almost died. He flinched, remembering the intensity of the pain he had felt when the car struck him. Aaron had done something to him that day, had laid his hands upon him and made the pain go away. That was the day everything became clearer.
The day he became different?
He left the play area, his mind considering the idea that he might not be a dog anymore, when he heard Aaron call. Gabriel quickened his pace and joined his friend and Camael. They were cleaning up their trash and getting ready to resume their journey.
“Where’ve you been?” Aaron asked as they headed toward the parking lot.
“Around,” Gabriel replied, not feeling much like talking.
A car on its way out of the lot passed them as they waited to cross to their own vehicle. In the back, he saw Tobie staring intently at him. It wasn’t only the window glass that separated him from her, he thought sadly as he watched the car head down the road.
“Are you all right?” Aaron asked as he bent to scratch under the dog’s chin.
“I’m fine,” Gabriel answered, unsure of his own words—recalling the truth revealed in another’s.
“Not dog. Different.”
INTERLUDE ONE
“This will sting, my liege.”
Verchiel hissed with displeasure as the healer laid a dripping cloth on the mottled skin of his bare arm.
“Why do I not heal, Kraus?” the leader of the Powers asked.
The blind man patted down the saturated material and reached for another patch of cloth soaking in a wooden bowl of healing oil, made from plants extinct since Cain took the life of his brother, Abel. “It is not my place to say, my lord,” he said, his unseeing eyes glistening white in the faint light streaming through the skylight of the old classroom.
The abandoned school on the grounds of the Saint Athanasius Church, in western Massachusetts, had been the Powers’ home since the battle with the Nephilim. This was where they plotted—awaiting the opportunity to continue their war against those who would question their authority upon the world of God’s man.
Verchiel shifted uncomfortably in the high-backed wooden chair, stolen from the church next door, as the healer laid yet another cloth upon his burn-scarred flesh. “Then answer me this: Do these wounds resemble injuries sustained in a freak act of nature, or do they bear the signature of a more—divine influence?”
He was trying to isolate the cause of the intense agony that had been his constant companion since he was struck by lightning during his battle with Aaron Corbet. The angel wanted to push the pain aside, to box it up and place it far away. But the pain would not leave him. It stayed, a reminder that he might have offended his Creator—and was being punished for his insolence.
“It is my job to heal, Great Verchiel,” Kraus said. “I would not presume to—”
Verchiel suddenly sprang up from his seat, the heavy wooden chair flipping backward as his wings unfurled to their awesome span. Kraus stumbled as winds stirred by the angel’s wings pushed against him.
“I grant you permission, ape,” the angel growled over the pounding clamor caused by the flapping of his wings. “Tell me what you feel in your primitive heart.” His hands touched the scars upon his chest as he spoke. “Tell me if you believe it was the hand of God that touched me in this way!”
“Mercy, my master!” Kraus cried, cowering upon the floor. “I am but a lowly servant. Please do not make me think of such things!”
“I will tell you, Verchiel,” said a voice from across the room.