Part 7 (1/2)
Pivoting on the narrow stoop, she blinked and engaged the nict.i.tating lenses that allowed her to see in the dark. She searched the nearby area, the heat of her already fevered skin rising. But she saw nothing. No gleam of moonlight in malevolent eyes, no betraying movement. She sniffed the air and smelled the sea.
Still, she knew something was out there.
The bushes dividing their yard from the neighbor's rustled. Eve leaped to the yellowed gra.s.s and landed in a crouch. A tiny puff rushed out at her and she caught it, lifting it by the scruff and drawing her fist back to strike.
Hold it, sweetie! the toy poodle cried, flailing its tiny legs. Eve paused midswing, her marked senses retreating as quickly as they'd come, taking the overwhelming urge to kill with it. The mark created power and aggression in highly intense quant.i.ties. The sensations were base and animalistic, not at all the elegant sort of violence she might have expected the Almighty to use in the destruction of his enemies. The surge was brutal . . . and addicting. Don't punch the messenger.
”Jesus-ouch!” Eve winced as her mark flared in protest. Since she wasn't a pet owner, days could go by without any animals speaking to her. She often forgot that the mark had given her new senses, such as the ability to converse with all of G.o.d's creatures. ”What are you doing running at me like that?”
I'm in a hurry. Put me down. This isn't dignified.
Eve set the little creature down and watched as the obvious stray shook herself off. Despite the filth that darkened the poodle's cream-colored fur to a cafe au lait color, the dog was adorable. ”Why are you growling at me?”
Not at you, doll face. The teeny poodle pranced daintily and looked at Eve with somber, puppy-soft eyes. At those around you. You feel it, too. You're smack dab in the middle- An explosion rent the air. Eve jerked in surprise, then found herself splattered with gore and fur.
”What the h.e.l.l?” she screamed, leaping to her feet.
Izzie stood in the doorway with a gun. A second later, the light from the kitchen was blocked by the number of people crowded behind her.
Eve looked at the carca.s.s on the ground and the mark's potency rushed through her. ”You idiot! What did you do that for?”
”It was attacking you,” Izzie said, shrugging.
”It was the size of my shoe!”
Gadara materialized on the stoop and held his hand out for the gun. Izzie pa.s.sed it over. The archangel looked at Eve. ”Are you okay, Ms. Hollis?”
”No.” She looked down at the blood on her clothes. ”I'm really f.u.c.king far from okay.”
”What happened?”
”A stray wanted some dinner sc.r.a.ps.” She glared at Izzie. ”And ending up getting blown to smithereens instead. What the h.e.l.l caliber pistol is that?”
Gadara turned his attention to the gun, then to Izzie. ”This is yours?”
”Yes.”
”You were told to come unarmed. I will provide everything you need.”
Izzie's purple stained lips thinned stubbornly. ”I told you, I saw that ghost program on television. I could not come to this place without protection.”
”You have no faith,” he said, eyeing her with a narrowed gaze. ”You have no belief in me. I am here to help you rebuild you life and attain the skills to live it to the fullest.”
”And there are millions of demons prepared to end it,” she argued.
The archangel hovered above the stoop, his silence as condemning as shouted rebukes. Even Eve shuffled nervously and she had done nothing wrong.
”What happened?” Ken yelled from the back of the kitchen.
”Seiler shot something.”
”What? Let me by.”
”It was only a dog,” Izzie muttered, looking mulish.
”A dog?” Ken scoffed.
”Everyone back in the house,” Gadara ordered, his voice resonating with celestial command. The persuasion was so forceful, it was nearly tangible, and Eve took an involuntary step forward. She forced herself to stop by supreme effort of will.
”Why were you packing heat right now anyway?” she asked Izzie. ”And where did you hide it?”
Izzie turned on her boot heel and shouldered her way back into the house. Eve quickly moved to follow her. She didn't feel sick anymore, at least not physically. Sick at heart, yes. And so furious with Izzie she wanted to strangle her.
Gadara caught her arm as she rushed by. ”Leave her.”
”Her problem is with me.”
”And now it is with me.” His dark eyes burned into hers, taking on a golden sheen. ”You suffer from lack of faith, too, Ms. Hollis. It is why you often find yourself in situations such as these.”
She opened her mouth to protest, then snapped it shut again. They both knew what was really going on. Reiterating wasn't necessary. ”I want to know what answers she gives you.”
He smiled indulgently, his teeth white against his brown skin. ”You a.s.sume I mean to question her.”
The cryptic reply was so like him. So like all the angels actually.
Gadara gestured toward the drive way. ”Take Dubois and two guards with you back to the other side of the duplex. You can clean up and prepare for bed.”
”I don't feel . . . right,” she said, surprising herself. She wasn't quite sure why she was telling Gadara that when she didn't trust him.
He studied her. ”In what way?”
”I'm hot.”
His brows rose.
”Hot flashes. Intermittent fevers. That sort of thing.”
”That is impossible.”
”Tell that to my body.”
”You are under stress, Ms. Hollis, and experiencing dramatic and rapid change. It is not surprising that your mind would expect your body to have physical responses to such extreme pressures . . . even to the point of phantom maladies.”
”Which is just a convoluted way of saying it's all in my head.” She dismissed him with a frustrated wave of her hand. The persuasive undertone in his voice wasn't lost on her, but it wasn't effective either. ”My onthe-fritz brain and I will just run along now.”
He dismissed her as easily, turning his back to her and levitating over the remains of the stray. As he spoke a foreign language in a low tone, his arm made a wide gesture over the gore, turning it into ash, which sank into the earth.