For the first two seconds, the shock disoriented him.
For the next two, he couldn’t bring himself to resist.
And for the final two seconds, he fought his emotions and hormones until, with a gasp, he freed himself. Her face was still lifted, lips parted, eyes shut.
“Just a goodbye kiss,” she said. “Not sorry about that.”
“I’ve got to go,” Jon said when he could control his breathing enough to get the words out.
It was just a kiss.
He almost laughed out loud at the sheer lameness of the thought as he opened the door.
“Pray for me, Jon.”
He allowed himself a brief moment of light-heartedness and smiled as if defeated by an admired opponent.
“I’m the one who needs prayer.”
“I’m so embarrassed.”
“No need,” he said. “Goodbye, Maria.”
As he double-timed on the carpet in the empty hallway, Jon knew he’d crossed a bridge he should never have approached. And in the process lost the right to think of himself as Elaine’s victim.
It was too late for that now.
28
FOR THE ENTIRE DRIVE NICK PONDERED what he had just done. The last time anything like this happened was back in England a century ago. Hadn’t he learned from that?
Apparently not.
The subject had fallen asleep slumped down in her seat by the time they arrived at the Broadmore Hotel in La Jolla. The clock on the dashboard read 3:35 AM. The streets were desolate. At this unholy hour no concierge was on duty, so he constructed one to come to the passenger door.
Nick nudged the subject gently until she awoke with a start.
“We’re here.” He nodded at the window.
A handsome young man wearing a white shirt and black pants opened the door for her. She lowered her face, embarrassed by her state of disarray. Nick walked around to help her out, while the concierge stepped back.
“Thank you,” she said. “I feel like such a lady.”
Nick nodded to the concierge. “Checking in.”
“Yes, sir.” The concierge shut the passenger door, got into the driver’s seat, and drove the construct-car off into oblivion.
When they got to the front desk, the subject stood behind him as though hiding. Nick gently lowered his palm on the chrome-domed bell so as not to ring it too loudly. A bleary-eyed young man, probably an undergrad at UCSD, emerged rubbing his eyes but smiling as best he could.
“May I help you?”
“A room, please.”
“For two?”
“Just her.”
“Name?”
Nick turned around. She straightened and pushed the messy locks of hair from her face.
“Matheson. But there’s no way I can afford—”
“Not a problem.” Nick turned back to the desk clerk. “Matheson.”
“First name?”
This time Nick asked with his eyes only. She sighed and looked straight at him.
“Hope.” She smiled. “Ironic, isn’t it?”
“I think it’s lovely.”
He handed a gold Amex card to the desk clerk.
“Not sure how long she’ll be staying, so keep this on file for any and all incidentals.”
“All?”
“I’ve got an astronomic credit limit.” More like cosmic. “She’ll stay here until we can find her something more permanent. Anything she needs, just charge it to the card.”
The clerk ran the card while Nick’s construct caused it to interface in a way that ensured the hotel would be paid. Then he signed.
“Welcome to the Broadmore.” The clerk gave him the room’s key card, which Nick handed to Hope.
“Suite 310.” She took the key and walked toward the elevator. “You really shouldn’t have done this, but I guess there’s no point in saying it.”
“None whatsoever. Go and get some rest. I’ll have some fresh clothes and toiletries sent up later.” Which meant they’d materialize in her room. “What are you, a size five?”
“Ha! Try eight.”
“Just guessing.”
“Thank you, really.” She smiled. “For everything.”
“Come and meet me here in the lobby in the morning—you’ll be famished, no doubt. We’ll have breakfast.”
“I don’t know what to say,” she said, stepping into the light.
“How about, ‘See you later?’” Just as he leaned forward to get a good look at her face, she turned around and went into the elevator.
“Later.”
No doubt it was the physical form that hung on Nick like armor, but he actually felt tired. He went over to a sofa, sank into it, and found that he could actually smell the wonderful scent of leather and feel its buttery soft surface. Unfortunately, he also felt the tightening in his chest and shortness of breath. That all too familiar manifestation of stress had returned.
He’d intervened without authorization.
Revealed himself to a human.
Touched her meaningfully while perceptible.
Surely he had failed again. How would he explain it to Lena? Through the ages, his rashness and indiscretions had…
Did he really care?
His smartphone chimed.
A text message from Lena:
Meet me in five or ten. Construct of your choice.
29
FOR ONCE, NICK WAS GRATEFUL that despite their supernatural abilities, angels were neither omniscient nor omnipresent. Lena had no idea where he was, much less what he’d done. But where best to meet his alluring yet intimidating new supervisor?
He thought about it for all of two seconds, then appeared on a level rock that rose from the waves pounding the La Jolla shores. Upon arrival he wove a thin construct of invisibility to human perception. About half a dozen seals barked loudly and dove into the water. That was the thing about animals, they often perceived the presence of angels. Dogs always did, and they caused the most trouble.
Nevertheless, he loved this part of the planet around sunrise. Any minute now the first sun rays would strike the rolling waves.
He sat on the rock surface.
“Crikey!” A cold wet sensation in the seat of his pants jolted him to his feet. He nearly slipped.
“Aw, you’re wet.” Lena said from behind him. He turned to face her.
“It’s nothing.”
“How did it go with your last subject?”
“The crazy suicidal woman?”
“Did she do it?”
“Not exactly. Bit of a complication—nothing major.” Best not to expound further. “In any case, it’s only a matter of time before she tries again.”
“What happened?”
“Right, well…she was there at the bridge…. ”
“But she didn’t jump?”
“You know, I don’t understand what the hurry is.”
Just then a huge wave crashed against the rock, sending frigid water over them both. Nick gasped for breath and wiped water from his face. Still drenched, he looked at Lena. She was staring at him—completely dry.
“Why are you still in your mortal form?”
“I thought I’d switched out of it,” he said.
“Apparently not.”
She touched his shoulder, and all the water from his hair and clothes lifted to become a myriad of drops and rivulets that sparkled like gems in the early morning light. She smiled, twirled them around Nick’s face, then sent them back into the ocean.
“There. Better?”
“Thank you.” Nick tried again and this time felt certain he’d exited his physical form. “I’m usually quite good at transitions.”
“Of course you are.” Lena slipped her arm around his and took him to the edge of the rock. The seals who’d fled were poking their heads out of the water, observing the two of them. Lena hissed at them, and they dashed off as though a great white had just surfaced. She laughed and looked at Nick. “So tell me what happened.”