Soul Stalker

Soul Stalker Timeless [2] Kreitzer, Laura Obsidian Mountain Publishing (2010) Tags:

Women heroes, Italy, Fantasy fiction, Paranormal, Fiction, Romance, Fantasy, Mystery fiction, General, Angels

SUMMARY: Being the Illuminator is not all happiness and light, especially when everyone thinks you are dead. When Gabriella decides to finally let her angels know that she is alive, Joseph and an unexpected friend help her. The Darkness Illuminator is not as in control of her power as she believes, which makes for a very comedic and endearing relationship that blooms between the three. A fender-bender debacle, a run-in with the cops, and a hiccup at the

airport seem to all be worth it until Gabriella finds out her plan has backfired.The three angels are missing, more mysteries pile up, and a new evil is brewing so terrifying, in fact, that even the Soul Stalker herself is cowering in fear. Our heroine begins a jarring, romance-filled, heart-breaking journey that will lead her back to Italy, and ultimately to the answers she is desperately searching for. What will she do when they aren't the answers she expected? What happens when she unveils a truth, so deeply hidden, that it causes an angelic war? Copyright (c) 2010 Laura Kreitzer All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Because of the dynamic nature of the internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them. ISBN-10 0982903316 ISBN-13 9780982903315 Obsidian Mountain Publishing [email protected] http://www.obsidianmtpublishing.com Front cover artwork by Igor Scekic Printed in the United States of America Soul Stalker Book two Timeless Series Laura Kreitzer Obsidian Mountain Publishing For Christopher Emberton. Your love inspired me in indescribable ways. Your ending was a passionate, emotional catastrophe. Nov. 5, 1978-Aug. 14, 2010 <> To Bonnie and Linda, whose triumphs over difficult times

should be an inspiration to us all. <> Strong souls Live like fire-hearted suns to spend their strength In farthest striving action; breathe more free In mighty anguish than in trivial ease. George Eliot was one she had worn before she died, but Andrew couldn't let it go because it smelled of her, like lavender. People say that time heals all wounds, but it was quite the opposite for Andrew. The instant connection that grew between him and Gabriella was rare and beautiful. When he awoke on the plane from his long, deathly slumber, he was not confused--actually, he was quite focused. He needed to get to her . . . to save her. It was his destiny. The brightness of her distressed soul had attracted Andrew to her immediately. When they touched, he felt the power that was growing inside him leave through their contact and bring something inside of her alive. That was when he knew she was his . . . and he was hers. There was another loud bang on the door. It's . . . about Gabriella. What about her? Andrew thought dejectedly, wishing Ehno would just drop all the conjecture already. Ehno palmed the door and placed his forehead against the wood that separated the two of them. She's . . . alive. In a flash of movement, Andrew was off the bed, across the room, and halfway through the doorway before Ehno threw his hands out to stop him. Hope flared through his body as his eyes darted in every direction to see where his angel was. "Brother, she's not here." Ehno gripped his shoulders. Andrew slumped slightly but still managed to glare at Ehno. When you've lived for thousands of years, you learn to quell your anger, but there was no stopping the force that was Andrew's wrath. "That was a foul tale to spin." He yanked himself free of Ehno's grasp. "It was no tale, Brother." Ehno's voice was calm and Andrew couldn't sense any lies within him. Not a joke? Andrew collapsed against the door frame. "Where is she?" "On her way here," Ehno informed as his eyes shot down to the dress in Andrew's hands. He was smart and ignored Andrew's need to be close to its.< /> "How?" Andrew choked out, gripping the door frame for sup port. The wood began to buckle under his strength. He fixated on a flaw in the paint as realization finally hit. "How is it possible?" Was it possible? "Truly, she is alive and well. We don't have time for speculation on how. We're in trouble." He heard Ehno's words, but it took a while for the meaning of them to penetrate his spinning world. "Trouble?" Andrew's bright blue eyes glanced up into Ehno's and saw the terror there. "Soul Stalker . . ." Ehno trailed off, though his thoughts came loud and clear into his mind. She would be back and after them--it was inevitable. But for some reason, Andrew didn't care about his own safety--all he could think about was the fact that Gabriella was unprotected and on her way to Aiden's where the Soul Stalker would soon make an appearance.

She is actually alive, Andrew thought over and over, trying to make the concept real. Then panic seized him; he couldn't lose her again before he had a chance to live a million lifetimes with her. "Then we let her take us," Andrew said firmly. It was the only way to keep Gabriella safe from the Soul Stalker. The soulless Angel didn't need to know the Illuminator was still alive. Ehno stared back at him with loyalty. "I agree." She was what mattered now--she was who they were made to protect. Even if Andrew had to sacrifice himself in her place. 1 The air conditioner was acting up again. A fan was moving back and forth, but it was only blowing the sticky air right back at me. There were no windows in The Fishbowl to alleviate the heat that seemed to be melting my very skin. I was alone and it was late. Again. I wasn't really working though; I was playing solitaire on the computer while waiting for a shipment that was "molto importante." As I moved the mouse to click on the king to end the game, the fan spluttered, made a wrenching noise, and then stood still. I sighed and hit my head against the desk, the cool metal mollifying heat from my forehead. When my skin had soaked up all the refreshing coolness of that spectacular metal surface, I sat back up and pulled my hair into a messy bun. Several loose hairs clung to the moisture on my neck. I picked up my notepad and began to fan myself, hoping the tiny draft it made would help in some way. It was so damn hot. Every second the air seemed to grow warmer until the whole room felt like an inferno. There was no way I was going to be able to work under these conditions, especially if the package included human remains. That suddenly gave me an idea and my eyes immediately darted to the morgue fridge I had affectionately nicknamed "stiff-n-store." I raised one eyebrow and the resulting sly expression was wasted on me, myself, and the voices in my head. It was cold behind the tiny doors that held those strange bodies . . . and I was warm. No, I was hot, more than hot--it was a fiery pit of hell in here with no air flot felt like I was breathing fire without the benefit of a dragon-slaying knight to set aflame. Relief was behind those steel doors. Smirking, I looked left to see my reflection in the glass; the lights were off in the room surrounding The Fishbowl. There was no one there that I could see. I looked right to see the door to another lab. I giggled aloud, but I was on fire in here, and it was cold--my eyes swung back to the stiff-n-store--in there. I tried to look casual, just in case someone was watching, and pulled the first small door open to be greeted by Frosty the Dead Man. The frigid air felt like a wave of ice cold water had splashed over me. But it felt so wrong sticking my face so close to those hairy feet that stuck out. I laughed at myself, shut the door, and moved over to open another one. A small cloud of freezing, merciful air wafted out when I opened the door. I stuck my face close to the frosty metal and felt the sweat on my forehead crystallize into rivulets of salt. When the air cleared, I almost choked on a laugh. It was the suspected leprechaun; his tiny body barely filled the tray that had previously held "Bigfoot" and "the human fish." I had to admit it was hard to suppress the giggles, even today, thinking of when they first brought in the man who was spotted at the end of a rainbow next to a pot of gold. Oh, how bored the rich become. After I had cooled to some degree, I realized just how ridiculous I had looked--still looked--and shut the door with a small clicking noise when the lock latched. It only took seconds for the smoldering-hot blanket of stale air to turn my skin to a flushed mess again. The large digital clock on the wall displayed the time. It was almost midnight. I had to cool this room down or I wouldn't be able to work in the morning. The bodies in the stiff-n-store were nice and cozy in their iceboxes, but they wouldn't fair well in this heat. I pivoted, saw the fan again, and walked toward it to see if maybe it had accidentally been unplugged or if I could magically make it work again. Several minutes of fiddling with the cord, shaking the thing over and over, and cursing it didn't help in the least. A layer of sweat was now covering my skin, which made it look like I had dipped myself in lip gloss. Who would have thought that doing so little could make you perspire so much?

I placed my hands on my hips and circled the room slowly, while my eyes followed the line of the ceiling to catch sight of the several vents that were not blowing out any air whatsoever. How frustrating! Maybe there was something blocking the airflow. Don't ask me why I thought that, it must have been the heat, because the rest of the building was having the same problem. That didn't stop me from grabbing a stool and climbing on top of it to see if I could somehow stare at the vent and make it suddenly work for my benefit. As soon as I steadied myself on the wobbly stool, holding onto the wall to keep myself from falling on my face, the phone for the lab rang. I jumped and landed on the floor with a thud. "Ouch," I whispered furiously and cursed under my breath. The shrill ring of the phone didn't stop, so I gathered myself up and limped toward the phone. I seized the receiver and put it to my ear. "Stiff-n-store, your one-stop shop for the paranormal," I giggled in a heat daze. "Doctor Moretti?"Ralph the night guard asked with a chuckle. "You haven't been breathing in those fumes again, have you?" I laughed. "No, and that was purely a mistake last time. What's up?" "Your package has arrived and the delivery guy is demanding that you be the one to sign the chain of custody." He paused. "Plus," he laughed, "it is not as hot up here--I have the windows open." Ralph knew how to entice me. I nodded into the phone and hung up. It was then that I realized I had only nodded instead of responding. Delirious and rude, I scolded myself. Once upstairs in the cooler air, and not in the sweltering heat of The Fishbowl, my head cleared. A man stood in the doorway, a very nervous and anxious expression on his face. When he saw me, his eyes snapped to my lab coat and he froze, as if I had frightened him. The only part of him that was moving was his eyes, which started to dart back and forth. "Um . . . hello?" I questioned. "I'm Doctor Moretti. I was told you have a package for me?" He nodded, his eyes looking everywhere but at me. "Sign here." He held out his clipboard and stabbed the line. Well, what did the clipboard ever do to you? I pulled a pen from my lab coat and scribbled my name. He shoved the box into my arms, turned, and stalked away quickly. Well, it was definitely too small for a body. The door practically slammed and I jumped in surprise. I heard a chuckle behind me and twisted around to see Ralph. "He was scared to death of you and what was potentially in that box," he said. A smirk lifted his wrinkled cheeks. "Why?" "He's a delivery guy who isn't told anything about his deliveries, but he does know one thing--you are dead, and even if he didn't know that, he would know just by looking at your lab coat." He laughed again. I looked down to see the name and shrugged my shoulders at what it said, "Dead Illuminator". My eyes didn't leave the box in my hands as I stepped toward the elevator and pressed the button. Once I was back inside the blazing lab, I snapped gloves over my hands--which took several minutes due to the amount of sweat that had already accumulated in my palms--and popped the wooden top off the box. I reached inside and pulled out a head that had been brutally severed from a body that was . . . where was the body? Was there not supposed to be a body? I shrugged and pulled out the normal forms to be filled out. I began to write, "Dark skin, black as onyx." I paused, my pen not leaving the paper. I looked back over to the head again. The hair was thick and long, and there were several small cracks in the skin. It was so realistic. Creepy. My eyes moved back to the box and I noticed an envelope attached to the top. I sat the clipboard down and frowned

before I peeled off the envelope. It was so hot in the lab, the tape had melted. After struggling with the sticky tape that now covered my fingers, I was finally able to unfold the elegant stationary inside. A necklace tumbled out of the folds and I caught it, briefly seeing a small circle, like a halo, with a shield in the center. Then I read the only line on the paper in cursive script. Illuminator, The immortals can't save you now. You're next.

Soul Stalker

The Fishbowl had officially turned into an inferno. Fire licked its way up the walls like hungry piranhas. I folded the paper and put it in my pocket along with the necklace, patting it once for good measure, and went back to work. I sprang forward from sleep, my breathing insanely quick. "What the hell was that?" I whispered to the air, my fingers gripping the couch with unnecessary force. Light flooded into the room like liquid rivers of gold, spreading to the still form on the recliner next to me. By the angle of light, you could tell it was still early in the morning. It took me a few moments to figure out where I was, but then I was abruptly immersed in the memories of the last few weeks. It all came rushing back to me like a loyal dog: the bodies in my lab, the FBI, Karen, the plane crash. It was then that everything had changed for me. Before, I thought it was all a dream, and then I'd almost died. There were Angels, one in particular I couldn't erase from my mind. Andrew. He was my kindred soul. My heart ached every moment I was away from him, but mostly because he thought I was dead. Then again, they all thought I was dead, every

Angel and person, except for Joseph. Joseph stirred next to me. He must have fallen asleep out here with me. His eyes flew wide-open. He flung himself forward and the chair flew back to its original, upright position. "Shit!" His chest heaved as his head jerked wildly around as if he had heard a burglar. When he caught sight of me he froze. "Shit!" he repeated. I silently agreed. "I thought it was all a dream, but it wasn't, was it?" For a moment I thought he meant my dream before realization hit and I shook my head. "I'm really here." He heaved one last calming breath and turned his body toward me. "Excuse my language. I was . . . well . . . I was afraid it was all a dream and that you really were . . . dead." I leaned forward and placed my hand over his. "Joseph, I'm sorry. I'm here. It's really me." His eyes darted down to our hands and he turned his palm to wrap his fingers around mine. We were both speechless for a moment. He seemed to make an internal decision, pulled me toward him, and hugged me against his chest. It was at an awkward angle, and a little uncomfortable, but it felt so wonderful to be close to him that I didn't protest. That was when the babbling began. "I had to do it," I told him, "to protect everyone. Jeff had promised to kill everyone that stood in his way--and I know you and the Angels and your heroic ways. I knew that you would all sacrifice yourselves for me. I couldn't have that, I just couldn't. And when I woke up in the morgue, and realized what had happened to me, I knew what I had to do. Please, forgive me. Ple--" "Oh, shut up, Gabriella." I did. His arms squeezed me tighter until he pushed me away from his chest and just looked at me. "I don't care why you did it; I am just so damn happy that you are alive that I can't even think straight. How is it even possible?" We seemed to skip past this conversation last night. "I'm an Angel--you know, immortal." I tried to smile, but I was sure it didn't come out right. Honestly, that was my best guess as to why I wasn't dead. "I know, but Andrew told me that the spell had severed your soul from your body, just like with Abelie. If she was gone . . . I thought you were too. It just doesn't make any sense, but I really don't care if it does." He grinned widely. "You're alive!" He suddenly stood, grabbed my hand, and yanked me to my feet, a little too violently. "Joseph?" I squeaked and looked down where he had gripped me. "Oh." He looked embarrassed and let go immediately. It still amazed me how strong he was, and at the same time, it surprised me by how weak I felt. Ever since I had . . . "died," my power had only come in spurts. One moment I felt like I could lift mountains, the next I seemed incapable of shocking an electrical wire. My stomach growled and we both laughed. "You don't happen to have any cereal, do you?" I asked. "I'm starving." He smiled brightly. "I could make you a real breakfast, none of that cardboard crap. Eggs, bacon, sausage? Maybe some biscuits or hash browns . . . or both, if you wish." "You don't need to go to the trouble, really. Cereal will be fine." "Nonsense," he snorted dismissively and started toward the kitchen. I followed. His kitchen was spotless, with dark wood cabinets and granite counters. He had stainless steel everything, and the floor was real, off-white tile. There was an island in the middle of the large kitchen, and a small bar with a couple of stools. A glass cabinet where wine was stored stood against the wall and another one housed the wine glasses. The walls were a tan

color and he had a couple of beautiful paintings of fruit and wine on the walls. I could see the theme he had chosen: "FBI Immaculate." "If you don't want any of that, how about pancakes? Waffles, perhaps? I might even have some fruit in here somewhere, or chocolate chips." Joseph bent down to rummage through the refrigerator. It was knew a smile was playing on my lips the whole time as I watched him rearrange the food on the counter in some sort of order that I couldn't quite understand. Living in such a small town with no fast-food joints or restaurants, I always had to cook for myself. I immediately wondered if Joseph even knew how to cook, or if all this talk of ingredients was just for show and I was actually going to be served some sort of FBI version of an MRE. I guess I was going to find out. Suddenly, music began to play. He had turned the radio on. The kitchen filled with music and the delicious smell of coffee as it dripped quickly into the coffee pot. Once the coffee finished, Joseph poured it into a mug that said "World's Best Uncle" and put it in front of me. "Cream? Sugar?" he asked with a huge grin plastered on his face. "Just cream, please." He practically danced back to the fridge--in sync with the music--got lost behind the door again, and stood up with three different types of creamer. "Take your pick. Hazelnut, Amaretto, or plain." "You drink a lot of coffee, don't you?" He walked over to me, shut the door by kicking behind him, and placed all the creamers before me. "Oh yeah." He nodded. "So, Illuminator, take your pick." I frowned. "Just Gabriella. The Illuminator . . . well, she's dead. It's just boring ol' me now." He nodded seriously. "That's okay with me. I liked Gabriella better." I reached for the Amaretto creamer and poured some into my coffee as Joseph held out a spoon for me to stir. That was the best tasting cup of coffee I had ever had. 2 We sat quietly at the small bar, our elbows bumping into each other as we ate. There was so much food piled around us I wondered if we would ever see the counter again. There were three cups of an assortment of juice in front of me alone, on top of the cup of coffee that Joseph continued to fill for me. "Do you want more bacon?" he asked as he held the plate out to me. "Are you trying to fatten me up so you can kill me and eat me later?" I joked. "I knew you would find my gingerbread house." He smirked. "Ah, I have figured out your evil plan!" I gave my best evil laugh. "Watch your back; I might push you in the oven." Joseph put another pancake on my plate and placed the syrup next to it. "I seriously can't eat anymore, Joseph." I held my stomach and mimicked unbuttoning the top button of my jeans. "Can I help you put food away?" "No!" he exclaimed. "No, no. You are my guest. I'll do it. Just keep me company." He rotated in his stool to face me. "I'm just so happy you're here." My hands automaticalent to my wild hair to flatten the mess it was probably in. His lips twitched up and his hand came up to tuck some of my hair behind my ear. I was sure he was about to explode in laughter at the nest that

was surely my hair. "I thought you'd be mad at me, but I didn't know who I could turn to." I glanced down to my knees, my stomach tying in knots over what his reaction would be to my plea of help. "I really don't want you to take this the wrong way, but I was hoping with your connections you could help me find the Angels." "Lucia, Ehno, and . . . Andrew?" I noticed he said Andrew reluctantly. Joseph's chair scooted out from under him with a grating noise before he began to gather food and dishes. I looked up and heaved a big sigh. "Keeping with the same theme, I kept the fact I was still alive a secret because I didn't want us to get caught with our fingers in the frosting of the gingerbread house and killed by the evil witch." He chuckled lightly before he asked, "The Soul Stalker?" "Among other evil . . . Shadows." He looked over his shoulder and frowned. "I can see why you did it--faking your death." "You can?" "Um, yeah," he said as if it were the most obvious thing on this planet. "Ehno told me about the incident at the cemetery. It was . . . God, Gabriella. You were dead." The refrigerator slammed shut and I flinched. "He said that the Shadow, Jeff, hit you with a spell and part of the tree above you landed on your head and pierced through your chest. I . . . It's just so hard to comprehend that, especially with you sitting right here in my kitchen." "Okay. But why do you understand my decision?" He sighed. "Ehno told me that Jeff promised to kill everyone who stood in his way. We haven't known each other for very long, but I feel like I already know you and I'd do everything I could to keep you safe." He leaned over the bar on the other side, his forearms flat against the counter. "Apparently that is unnecessary, seeing as how you died and now you are sitting across from me." Warmth spread through my chest and flooded my veins like melted chocolate, and I was pretty sure I was flushing a radiant shade of red. Or silver. Maybe I was shining. "Don't think that I can't die. We all saw what happened to Abelie. There has to be a reason why I came back." Right? "And that is why you want to find the Angels?" "One of the reasons--but mostly because I wasn't going to keep my . . . situation a secret for long. I just needed the Soul Stalker, and the Shadows who are under Jeff's thumb, to believe that I am dead." "Trust me when I say they all think you are dead." "I don't know about that," I admitted, a little sheepish. "Why's that?" Joseph asked while he grabbed some dishes and dumped them in the sink. "Well, um, I went to my funeral." A dish clattered in the sink and Joseph whirled around. "What?" For a second he looked angry before he reined it in. "You were there?" "I was worried that something had happened to the Angels. And . . . I have to admit I was curious." Joseph still looked startled as he ran his hand through his thick brown hair several times. His dark eyes shot up to mine, hurt. I dropped down from my perch and circled around the bar. "Listen, Joseph. I'm sorry. I couldn't show myself at my own funeral. That would have been . . . Anyway, I'm here now. Can you please, pretty please, forgive me?" I begged. "I did actually die, you know? Death certificate and all. Imagine waking up in a morgue." I shivered at the memory. "It was a day before I felt like I was fully back to Earth."

He paled. "I . . . I guess I hadn't thought about it that way." His expression quickly turned to sympathy. "I was just so thrilled that you were living and breathing . . ." His voice trailed off as his eyes turned wary and suddenly, a look of total fear crept across his face. He took a step back. "What's wrong?" I asked. He took another step back. I took one forward like we were doing a strange tribal dance. "Joseph?" "Working in our field," Joseph stuttered, "I've come across some freaky things, Gabriella, but the biggest scare of my life was actually coming across a . . . vampire." I stopped in my tracks and stared at him. "Wait . . . you think I'm a--a vampire?" I burst out in laughter. He took another step until his back was flush against the fridge. His eyes whipped back and forth like he was trying to find an escape. "Um . . . yeah?" His voice cracked in panic. I couldn't stop laughing. He was seriously scared of me. "I am not a vampire, Joseph," I said through more giggles. "I didn't even know vampires existed!" I seized his hand and put it right above my breasts, his palm flat. "Feel that? That is called a heartbeat." He jerked his hand free. I rolled my eyes and sighed in exasperation. I reached behind him, our bodies touching for a second and pulled back with a knife he had on the counter and sliced my finger. Joseph made a noise of protest and then silver blood dripped unceremoniously to the floor, right before the wound sealed itself. "I'm an Angel." "The Angels have golden blood," he barely choked out. His expression was that of a mouse cornered by a cat. "If I were a vampire, would I have silver blood? I wouldn't think something that's supposed to be killed by silver bullets would have silver blood." I crossed my arms in challenge. Joseph still looked frightened. "Maybe vampires can't be killed by any of those mythological principles--silver, crosses, holy water . . ." I scoffed. "Only a total pansy would claim ability to survive just about anything. I suppose you think they could survive being ripped apart and burned too." Joseph's brow furrowed. "Okay, well maybe that would kill them . . ." I closed my eyes and sighed. I'd had enough of this meaningless discussion. "I don't know why my blood is silver now. That is another reason why I want to get back to the Angels. Maybe they have answers." When I opened my eyes, I saw Joseph exhale the long breath he had been holding. Panic was quickly replaced by embarrassment. "Of course, I'm an idiot." "Yeah, a bit." "To become a vampire, you have to be bitten by another vampire." I shrugged. I was curious, I had to admit. That was one of my deals, the supernatural. On another day, I might have attacked him with a million questions. I had too many other things on my mind, though. "I don't know how they're made; I didn't even know vampires existed or that more could be made, or how they could be made." Joseph started chuckling insanely. "God, Gabriella." His hand had found his hair again and it was almost sticking on end. "I'm sorry. I'm such an idiot," he repeated. "There has just been this weird case at work, and my head has been everywhere since the Angels and your . . . death and then your . . . life. Gah, I'm just going a little crazy." "No more of this vampire talk!" I narrowed my eyes. Oh, who was I kidding? I was dying to know. "So, there really are vampires, then?" "That would be an affirmative, but from what I can tell, there are hardly any vampires in the world." "Good to know." I backed up and he peeled himself off the fridge, having to turn and rearrange some of the

photos. "So," he tried to say nonchalantly, "why would they think you aren't dead?" "Um, well . . . do you remember that invisible charm Aiden and Lucia used in Italy?" He nodded. "I used that, to keep myself covert. But after the funeral, Ehno was staring right at me. I think he saw me, or he knew I was there. Like an idiot, I forgot about his psychic ability." Idiots all around this time. Joseph turned the water on in the sink, his back to me. "He didn't say anything to me about it, if he did know." He started to wash the dishes and spoke over the running water. "Not that I am part of their little gang of Angels, or whatever, but I figured if Andrew knew, he would go straight to you. I admit I was wary of Andrew at first, but now I know he has your best interest at heart." "I love him," I blurted stupidly. He looked over his shoulder, his expression an unreadable mask, and then turned back to scrubbing the dish in his hand. I grabbed a towel and began to dry them as he sat them next to the sink. "I can tell, and he feels the same." He sighed and handed me a dish to dry. "I have to be honest here . . ." He trailed off, seeming unsure how to proceed. "When we were on the plane, I felt like we had a connection, like maybe it was the start of a new, um, friendship. After the crash, everything changed so sudnly. One second I was with you, trying to comfort you since I knew there was no way to save you; then the next second, this superhero flies in to save the day. I know I can't compete with that . . . I don't have a magical flying cape." I snorted. "Andrew doesn't wear a cape." He ignored me. "But, Gabriella, I do care for you, more than you'll ever know and I'll do whatever is in my power to reunite you with Andrew because I know he is the only person who will ever make you happy. I can see that now, well everyone can; you two are meant to be together. He loves you more than you probably know." I thought I was done with all the tears, but a single silver droplet landed on the tiled floor with a little plop. I wiped the evidence away before Joseph could see it. I wondered if being an Angel meant you shed more tears than a human. Since being an Angel, I had cried more than my whole life before. Joseph turned around, his hands soapy. "When you died, I felt like I had lost my best friend, and now, here you are." His hands waved up and down as if he were doing a magical trick. Abracadabra, I thought dryly. If only I knew what sort of magic had brought me back. "We have been reunited. I could never be upset about that, even if you just came to me for help to find Andrew." "You have got that all wrong, Joseph," I protested and rolled my eyes at his ridiculous assumption. And we all know what it means when you assume. "You have great connections, true, but I would have come to you regardless. I trust you more than I trust anyone else." His lips twitched up into a smile and he turned back to the sink to finish washing the dishes. "I'm glad to hear. Now I won't have to plump you up anymore." We both laughed, soprano and tenor. "And I won't have to push you in the oven." <> After a very refreshing shower, I pulled on some clean clothes I had brought with me. I had finally started to feel like my old self. As I waited for Joseph, I sat on the couch where I had previously slept. Joseph had already folded the blanket I had used. I could hear his joyous whistling down the hall as I fiddled with the hem of my skirt. I smiled to myself as I waited in my grey and white pin-striped dress suit. It was Joseph's idea to dress as my "normal" professional self before we went to the FBI building. He had some plan up his sleeve; I just didn't know what it was. Joseph's shoes echoed on the cherry wood floor as he walked down the hall. When he rounded the corner he was

a picture. He looked just as he did the first time I saw him before we got on that plane together. The same plane that spun us wildly toward Earth, the same one that brought the Angels back, and started this whole journey. The thought brought my mind to the Illuminator's journey. I didn't want to think about it. In my head, when I died, it wasn't truly me. It was the Illuminator. She died, not me. If it wasn't for the prophecy, my mom would still be alive. I pushed those thoughts aside. I couldn't--and wouldn't--deal with them right then. I let out a low whistle. "Very . . . FBI." I waggled my eyebrows at him. He laughed at my playful side. "Not so bad yourself," he said as he gestured toward my clothes. "Very . . . angelic." Heat raced to my cheeks. "Oh, stop it, Joseph. You sure do know how to make me blush." Or shine? That was still debatable. He smiled down at me as he strode to my side. I felt like covering myself as I followed his eyes which seemed to be meticulously surveying me. The light dimmed from his gaze and his smile slid from his face as if it had melted off. "What is it, Joseph?" I wondered. He held a hand out to me and I took it. "I'm not sure what the FBI are going to do when they find out you are alive." I stood, but he didn't let go of my hand. When I didn't respond, he continued. "They are going to want to know what happened, and you can't tell them you are an Angel. You can't tell them much of anything, really. Of course, they'll need to know some things about what happened in Italy, but let's try to keep most of it under wraps. I need you to understand that and be prepared." I squeezed his hand and looked him directly in the eye. He was so sincere, so real, and he was my friend. A genuine, true, honest friend. Warmth spread through me as if I were standing next to a toasty fire. "I understand." And I did. I knew exactly what it would mean if they thought I was beyond human, even for a second. Joseph's eyes lingered on my face and he let go of my hand and gestured toward the door. "You know, I've never had a true friend outside of my family," I mused aloud. I could feel his eyes on me, as if his intense gaze was a tangible touch. "It's . . . nice." That didn't even begin to cover it, but when I looked behind me, Joseph's grin was back in full force. Go team, I chanted to myself. 3 Magnetic Black> There was a door to the garage in the kitchen. Joseph opened it for me and gestured with his hand for me to enter. I stepped down three concrete steps into the dark before lights flickered to life around me. The garage smelled of gas, oil, and freshly cut grass. There was a lawn mower in the corner--one of the ones you have to push, what kind of salary did an FBI agent pull these days anyway?--and a black sports car in the middle. There were also tools and other things I could only describe as "man stuff." Underneath the fluorescent lights the car's paint practically glittered; you could tell that he kept it clean and in great shape, just like the inside of his house. Maybe he had ObsessiveCompulsive Disorder. If he did, then so did I and I didn't think now was a good time for the pot to call the kettle black. He walked around to the passenger side and opened the door for me; what a gentleman. I wondered how my list of horrible, dreadful dates and short-term relationships all ended up being with unchivalrous pigs. I was lucky to find Joseph and the Angels. My life was better for it. When it rains it pours--and holds your umbrella for you. "What kind of car is this?" I asked, curious. I just didn't peg him as the sports-car type. But I didn't exactly expect him to be riding around in a Lincoln Town car either, and a truck just didn't seem to suit him. He flashed me a smile. "It's a Nissan 350z." Like I knew what that meant; it just sounded fancy to me.

"Because that explains a whole lot," I said with an eye roll. He frowned. "Is there something wrong with it?" At least he didn't try to explain the engine stuff to me. I went on a date with a guy who did nothing but talk about his car. And yes, date, as in singular. I probably said three words to him the whole night that he actually understood and then he tried to kiss me. I had never climbed out of a car so fast before in my life. I looked up at Joseph, grateful. I was sure it showed on my face. "No, no. I just didn't expect . . . this." I waved my hand back and forth to indicate the very pretty black car. Except it didn't exactly look black. More like metallic something . . . "What color is that, anyway?" "Magnetic black." He didn't offer anything else. "Magnetic?" I snorted because all I could picture was people with large belt-buckles gravitating by their waists to the "magnetic" car. I swallowed the sarcastic remark I wanted to retort. "Well, it is a nice looking car," I complimented. I was being civilized because I didn't want to hurt his male ego, now did I? A grin over took his features. "Thanks, Gabby." I froze. He didn't seem to notice as he waited patiently for me to get in. I turned around slowly, my eyes narrowed. The grin slid off his face. "What?" he asked, his face merely quizzical. "Don't call me 'Gabby.' " I tried my best to keep an even voice. The smile was back, amused. "What's wrong with 'Gabby'?" "Nothing is wrong with 'Gabby,' except that it is not my name." I plopped down in the seat, my arms folded across my stomach. "It's Gabriella." Why did I feel like I was repeating myself? I looked up at him as he gazed down at me as if I were a pouting five year old. I relaxed my arms and tried to look more like an adult, though that was all I was going to give him. My name was still Gabriella, not Gabby. Jenna got away with it because she was my sister, but no one else. Okay, maybe Jules could too, but she always tried to say my full name. The memory of her tiny childlike laughter as she tried to say my name and the only thing that would come out was "Gab-ella" made something tighten in my stomach. I missed them more and more. Joseph chuckled, bringing me back to the present, and finally sighed when he didn't gain any ground. "It's just a nickname. Would you rather I call you 'Ella'?" My hand automatically came up to cover my eyes. Talk about strolling down memory lane. Andrew's handsome face with his light stubble as we talked about baseball came flooding back to me. We were normal for just those few minutes that morning. I was hoping to remedy our distance with this trip to the FBI. I shook my head back and forth at Joseph. Oh boy. I really didn't want to have to explain this to him. "What did I say this time?" He made a faux exasperated sound. I peeked between my fingers before I let my hand slide down my face. His amused smile was still there. I rolled my eyes again, which seemed to be becoming a habit around him. "Just get in." He shut the door obediently and walked around the front of the car, obviously laughing at me. He thought he was so charming, which he was, but not when he was being irritating. He slid into the driver's side and shut the door. I was surprised he could fit his long legs into the tiny car. We both automatically buckled our seatbelts. He pressed a button over his head and the garage door sprung to life and moved over our heads to let us out. He turned the key in the ignition and the car literally purred to life. How could a car purr? I didn't know, but this one did. Maybe all cats came equipped with tiny engines we knew nothing about. I'd have to look into it. "You know," Joseph began as he shifted the car into reverse, "the name Gabriella is a mouthful. If you don't like Gabby--" I cringed visibly and he laughed. "If you don't like . . . that nickname, and there seems to be something wrong with 'Ella,' then what can I call you?" He pressed the button over our heads again and the garage door shut in front of us. He backed out of the driveway and into the street before he put the car in first gear.

"I just don't like the name Gabby. There isn't anything wrong with it, I just don't like it--it's not my name. It seems more like a child's nickname than anything," I explained. Petty, who me? "Now you're just making up excuses." "Maybe," I retorted as if I had won the argument. I was determined to win. He shifted the car again and started to drive slowly in his neighborhood. I figured him for the speed-racer type considering his car choice, but he put the car into second gear smoothly and continued at his slow pace. I was relieved that I didn't have to use the handle above my head--what I liked to call the "oh shit" handle--to keep from sliding around. Was there anything Joseph wasn't good at? "And what about 'Ella'?" Oh, wait, there was something he wasn't good at: understanding hints. He continued, "What's wrong with that name?" I instantly felt heat creep up my cheeks. He laughed. Great, he noticed. "So, there is a story behind this one." It wasn't a question. I nodded, embarrassed to be talking about this with Joseph. "The nickname Ella is for people who know me personally." Personally as in . . . I had to stop my mind from drifting to places Andrew and I hadn't been able to go yet. We were at a four-way stop. Joseph looked both ways before he went forward. His eyes never left the road, but I could tell he wante to look at me. "I know you personally," he finally said. His voice sounded rather offended. I chuckled nervously. "That's not what I mean." I sighed. Joseph's eyes finally left the road to give me a brief look of "I don't understand" before he turned back. "But I heard Andrew use that nickname with you once and you didn't seem to mind." "You did?" He nodded. Great, he noticed everything. Observant, know-it-all FBI agent. "Ugh, I can't believe I'm about to say this to you." I paused. Joseph made a hand gesture for me to continue. I huffed. " 'Ella' is more for those I am intimate with." Not that I had been intimate with anyone, really, but I had officially reserved that nickname for lovers only, which basically meant Andrew and no one else. I think Sally knew it and that was why she always called me Ella. Maybe she wanted to be my lover, who knew? I shuddered a little at the thought. The car stuttered and jerked as Joseph grinded the next gear, unlike his other smooth clutch-to-gas movements from earlier. "Oh," he barely whispered as he finally made the car move smoothly again. "I didn't realize . . ." A flush crept up his neck, mimicking my own feelings on the subject. "I mean, I knew that Andrew had stayed in the same room with you for those couple of nights but I didn't think . . . and, well, I just thought that . . . you know, you weren't that type of girl." At least he thought highly of me. It took me a second, but I finally realized what he was hinting at. I started to laugh so hard I was close to snorting . . . again. His fingers gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. "I don't see what is so funny about this, Gabriella." "I'm not t-that type of g-girl. I-I d-didn't have sex with h-him." I was still laughing; I wasn't even sure if what I said was coherent. I tried to pull it together to explain. "I didn't even tell him how I felt about the nickname Ella. Maybe he read it in my thoughts, but it just felt right."

His lips pressed together in a firm line for a moment and then he said, "Oh. Sorry." His shoulders slumped, deflated and relaxed. I couldn't stop laughing at the whole situation. Joseph continued to turn a deep shade of plum. "I guess we'll have to come up with another nickname to suit you then." "Okay," I said cautiously, trying to contain my fit of giggles. "Should I be nervous?" "Terrified," he said then smiled. He tapped his chin with his right hand in mock thought before he had to shift again. "Let's see here. You don't like Gabby . . . so, hmm." I eyed him nervously in his pristine suit with his dark brown hair and eyes that matched. He looked professional, like someone who would not know humor if it bit him in the ass. But I knew Joseph, and he was always trying to be comical, which I was grateful for. I knew that he was either going to come up with something hilarious or something embarrassing. I was just waiting for him to pick a nickname I'd never live down. "How about Bri?" he asked and returned my gaze. My jaw popped open. "No good?" he asked quickly with a twitch of his lip, a nervous gesture. I shook the surprised looked off my face. "No, it isn't that. I was sure you were going to give me some outrageous nickname like Zinger." "Zinger?" I pointed toward him with my index finger and made a bzzt sound. His facial expression changed from confusion to understanding. He smiled. "Oh, because of your gift of manipulating electricity? Well, it has possibilities, now that you mention it." "I set myself up for that one, didn't I?" He nodded. "But I like Bri. It sounds pretty," I assured him. He grinned. "It'll be your top-secret, covert name while you are undercover." We both laughed at that. "Off topic," I hedged after our laughter died out. "Tell me what my family knows about my death. What happened after I . . . died?" I wasn't exactly sure I wanted to know all the gory details, but we were on our way to the FBI building and I wanted to be fully prepared. "What was the explanation for my empty coffin?" "Your family was told that you died in the plane crash." He seemed hesitant to continue. I didn't blame him; I knew that he took my death pretty hard and, even though I was sitting right next to him, he certainly didn't want to relive it. Neither did I, but I had to know. "I thought I was a wanted terrorist by the government? What happened to that little news story?" The events of the plane crash still boggled my brain. I still didn't know who called the FBI about terrorists before the plane crashed. It had to have been someone who knew about the Angels in the cargo hold, and someone who would have known they would wake up from their deathly slumber. That was one more mystery I still hadn't solved and one I still had no theories for. I didn't think the Soul Stalker knew that the Angels would wake up. Maybe it was someone higher up on the food chain. "There was a retraction in the news and in the paper from the government before we even found you and Andrew in Idaho. Apparently they received some very bad intelligence from a trusted source." Joseph gave good FBI voice--he was so serious. I could just hear the authority that leaked from it. "It was all a mistake. I still don't know who the source was, but when I find out I--" he hesitated then continued on. "It was a mistake. I'm sorry your name was even tarnished for a second."

"A mistake," I grumbled under my breath. "Yeah," he agreed, just as disgruntled as I was. "I'm not worried about Darren, but I am guessing you had to find a way to silence Sally?" I laughed at the thought of Sally's knowledge of the paranormal. There was a reason why I kept her out of the lab. "That is a whole other story. Let's just say that she is working in a government facility where the employees don't leave." "What?" I gasped. "Like jail?" He chuckled. "No, no. We gave her some simple job to do in a government building where the employees eat, sleep, and work in the same building. From what I last heard, she is pretty happy . . . though the others aren't." "I can only imagine . . ." "I'm sure it won't be long before they have to move her again, before someone murders her or there is some catastrophic accident--that she probably caused--and she winds up dead." He laughed as he turned onto the interstate. I really hoped that wasn't going to happen but it was Sally we were talking about. "I know that feeling," I mumbled. "How was the empty coffin explained?" That was what I was more curious about than how others thought I had died. A small town like Oretown loves their gossip. I could already picture the old ladies hanging out at the small grocer's market gossiping away in the soup aisle about how I was the one who flew the plane into the ground. "They didn't," he told me as he braked behind a wall of cars. Great, traffic. It didn't seem to bother Joseph. Maybe patience was a trait all FBI agents had. "What do you mean, 'they didn't'?" "You were in a plane crash, you saw the flames billowing out of the plane," he explained as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. It kind of was. "It would be evident that there wouldn't be any remains to even put in a casket." "That makes sense." I changed my thought process. "So, how was my body explained, then?" I laughed at myself. It wasn't funny, but to me, it could be funny if I wanted it to be, or it could just be morbid. I picked funny. Joseph seemed to be amused by my question too. Glad to see we were on the same page. "The government has their own coroners who are paid to do what they're told with no questions asked, and they requested an autopsy on you. The FBI was suspicious after some of the eye-witnesses came forward with information about your 'accident' in Italy." I wondered what the eye-witnesses saw. I skipped that subject to bring up later. "And what did the coroner find?" Surely there was something. "Nothing. Human. Red blood and everything." "Really?" I didn't see that one coming. "Really." Well, wasn't that interesting. Golden blood, red blood, now silver. Wasn't I just colorful? After inching our way through traffic, we finally made it to the FBI building where Joseph worked. I was impressed that he didn't get angry once during the whole twenty minutes of stop-and-go traffic, not even when some jerk cut him off. We pulled up to a small building that housed a security guard. There was a gate that surrounded the parking lot beyond it. The grey-haired guard stepped out and greeted Joseph. "How are you today, Agent Carter?"

"Things are good, Andy," Joseph greeted with a winning smile. He pulled out his wallet and handed him his ID which Andy scanned. It was the same one he had used when we were in Nevada, the one with the gold stripe. "How are you?" "Same ol', but I see that you are doing better?" Joseph smiled wider, like the Cheshire cat. "Definitely." "That's good. I'm sorry to ruin your good mood, but Sara stopped by again." Joseph's smile instantly turned into a grimace. "Great." "If I see her while you are here I'll call the cops for you," Andy replied in a deep voice. I wondered who this Sara person was and why Andy would need to call the cops. Weren't there big, bad FBI agents all over the place? "I'd appreciate that." Andy the security guard leaned into the window. "And who's this pretty young lady?" "This is Doctor Moretti. She is visiting with me today. We have business with Director Morris." Joseph's voice turned from friendly to protective in a nanosecond. "All right." Andy seemed to get the hint: back off. "Have a good day, Agent Carter." As Joseph put his ID back into his wallet the security guard looked at me. "You too, Doctor Moretti." And then he winked at me--maybe he didn't get the hint after all. I grinned back and returned the wink just as Joseph looked up. He stared between the two of us and I gave my best "serious FBI face." Joseph didn't reply as he went through the now opened gates. I felt a little bit of pride for my serious FBI face because it seemed to have worked. "Who's Sara?" I wondered, trying to change the subject before he said something about my exchange with Andy, just in case I was wrong. "An ex-girlfriend," he replied, his voice giving nothing away. I could feel my serious expression go slack some. Damn, his FBI face was much more impressive than mine. "Why would he call the cops?" I continued. "Is she a psychopath? Should I be worried about being seen with you?" He turned the car off, pulled up the parking brake, and sighed. "She has stalked me for months--I can't seem to shake her. But no, you shouldn't be worried. If Sara ever tried to hurt you . . ." he trailed off, not finishing his sentence. He seemed to do that a lot, not finishing his sentences before threats. I wondered if that was also an FBI thing. "You'd do what?" I pushed, smiling. "I don't know what I would do, but you are important. I'd never let anyone hurt you." There was something in Joseph's voice, almost like an accusation. I let it go; we were both about to be under a lot of pressure. "Thanks, Joseph." And I meant it. He was someone I could count on, a true friend. Hee was, going above and beyond for me, and I was pushing him. I still wasn't sure how to act around him, but the last thing I wanted to do was fight or upset him in some way. Maybe I was getting the hang of this whole friendship business after all. It felt nice. Joseph patted my knee and opened his door. I mimicked his movements, minus the knee pat, and met him at the back of the car. "Are you ready?" he asked. "As I'll ever be, I guess." Joseph took my hand and led me forward. I didn't protest because it was nice, but it also felt wrong somehow. He wasn't as warm as Andrew; his hand just didn't feel . . . right. But it felt comfortable. We'd held hands before as we plummeted to our death. Now it just seemed like a natural protective instinct.

As we approached the building I stepped in a puddle of water, and what was worse, my shoes made loud squeaking noises as we entered through the heavy glass doors. Many people greeted Joseph immediately. You could tell he was high on the totem pole and he was liked and respected. We reached an elevator and he pressed the "up" button. Inside, Joseph scanned his gold-striped card and pressed the button for the eighth floor--above ground. I felt relieved that we weren't going down into a basement. Bad things always happened in basements. 4 I felt intimidated as soon as the elevator doors popped open on the eighth floor. Who wouldn't be? I was practically marching into an FBI building to confess that I had miraculously come back from the dead and to ask for help. Someone like me would have normally ended up in some glass prison cell to be poked, studied, analyzed, probed, and experimented on. Nothing on that list sounded the least bit pleasant. Joseph settled his hand on my shoulder and I jumped. Was I anxious? Maybe a little. He shot me a small twitch-of-his-lips smile, probably to try and reassure me. "Are you nervous?" Joseph asked with a chuckle. "You bet." My lips twitched, unsure if they could form a full smile. "What gave it away?" "You're fidgeting." He seemed to be highly amused by my discomfort as we walked down a hallway with offices on both sides; parts of the walls were made of opaque glass. "I do not fidget," I argued with narrowed eyes. "Um, yes, you do." He thought he was sooo witty, sooo charming. He smiled at me like a kid who'd gotten away with sneaking broccoli under the table to a dog. Well, at least it worked as a distraction for a little bit. We entered a large room with several cubicles in the center. There were windows at the end of the room where the sun glittered down onto the busy employees in their fancy business clothes. It was amazing how efficiently they worked together. I watched as the collective flowed seamlessly like dancers who had choreographed each of their movements. I was out of place, a spy who had infiltrated the hive.People bounced from desk to desk and from computer to computer as if there was some national emergency, completely ignoring our not-so-grand entrance. Perhaps there was some emergency and we picked a really bad day to come out here. You could tell this was a close-knit group that relied on each other. If there was some security threat I'd want these people on my side because they knew what they were doing. Joseph stopped next to an unoccupied, mahogany, L-shaped desk that looked like a paper bomb had exploded on the surface. The desk was ten times worse than Sally's, but the paper was scattered in a way that led me to believe there might be a method to the madness. Was it organized by the number of espresso shots needed to get through the paperwork or how many Valium pills one must consume to deal with it? Maybe it was arranged by hours of therapy billed in conjunction with the case work. Joseph turned to me suddenly and he was so close that our noses practically touched. "Why are you nervous?" he whispered. I was fidgeting again; damn him for being right. I stilled my fingers by folding my arms. "I'm dead, remember? The FBI might find that a little strange, don't you think?" Visions of prison cells danced in my head and I contemplated doing my best Michael Jackson impression so that I might pass for a zombie. My distressed whisper must have been a smidgen too loud because some of the diligent workers in hearing distance stopped what they were doing to glance up at us. Of course, I immediately felt embarrassed under their scrutiny, though Joseph just waved them off with a flourish of his hand like it was nonsense. It didn't take long before they noticed I was a trite civilian and the inquiring glances swiveled back to their computer screens and the business at hand. I lowered my voice. "You saw what they did to the Angels in Nevada. What if they do that to me?" I felt wrinkles

assembling on my forehead like collagen congealing in waves under my skin. Luckily, I would never have to worry about that again. I was an immortal and, as soon as I smoothed my worried expression, those wrinkles would disappear. No need for Botox in this life. Joseph frowned and backed up a step or two. "Hmm," he said as he walked around me like a lion ready to pounce. "You look pretty alive to me." "Yeah," I muttered, "that's the problem." Again, the zombie thing seemed like a good idea. He stopped after completing one circle and just shook his head at me. "I won't let anyone put you in a glass cell. I promise. But please keep quiet as much as you can about . . . stuff. Only tell them what they need to know." I pointed at him; my voice was playful yet anxious. "I'll try my best and you better be right about that." He shot me a devilish smile. "And what are you going to do about it?" I was glad we were joking around. It was either joking or I was going to fall to pieces on the floor. I lifted my hand and flexed my fingers. "Oh, I'll think of something. Maybe I'll try to cook me some FBI agents if they try to lock me away. They don't call me Zinger for nothin'." I poked Joseph in his side and made the "bzzt" sound again. His smiling face twisted into a grimace for a second, but he replaced it quickly with a teasing smirk. "Don't worry, Gabby"--I scowled at him, but he plowed on without hesitation--"you won't have to worry about that. Tom and I go way back. He may be my boss, but he respects my opinion. I never actually told him what really happened in Nevada or Italy; I think now's the time." I agreed wholeheartedly--even though I wasn't really sure myself what the hell happened. "Well . . . just in case . . ." I pointed my finger at a potted plant at our feet and let the electricity flow through me. The pot exploded and Joseph had to cover his mouth to keep from bursting at the seams with laughter. Oops. Several people jumped up while the majority dove to the floor as if a bomb had exploded. Uh oh. I turned to Joseph who had tears in his eyes from the coughing fit he had in an attempt to hold back his laughter. He held up his hand to one of the men that came rushing our way. Joseph shook his head a few times but finally reeled in his chuckles. "It's nothing; I accidently kicked the pot and it broke." Oh, so he had supersonic feet now? Please. The men nodded at him like they would have believed anything he said. I could feel the heat in my cheeks as I stared at Joseph. He looked highly amused with a mischievous smile on his face. I gave him two brownie points for blaming the "accident" on himself. He moved closer to me and leaned in. "How about you don't try any more tricks until we leave the office, okay?" Like he needed to tell me that. I just rolled my eyes and that made him laugh again. Whispers wafted around us and I tried to ignore them as much as possible. "What are we waiting for?" I wondered as we stood next to the vacant desk. "Me," a soprano voice sang behind me. I nearly jumped out of my skin and whipped around. My nerves were not on my side. "Jumpy, are we?" Joseph chuckled and put his arm around my shoulders almost business-like. He was enjoying this much more than he should. He must have been able to read the look on my face because he whispered so low that only I could hear, "I'm just savoring this moment of non-fierce Gabriella." The woman sat behind the desk and typed a few things on her computer. We advanced to the edge of her desk right at the bend of the L. Joseph waved his hand toward the beautiful woman. "This is Emily. She is the Director's go-to for everything. The Director would be lost without her." She smiled and her eyes sparkled behind her glasses. Her teeth were white and straight and she had soft, pale

skin that complimented her long and very naturally blonde hair. "You know how to butter me up, Agent Carter." She stood and shook my hand. Her grip was firm. "And you are?" "Oh," I said, a little flustered. "I-I-I'm D-Doc--" "This is Doctor Gabriella Moretti," Joseph cut in. Thank god for that because I was not going to be able to spit it out. I needed to get it together, maybe have a little pep talk with myself. Emily looked over the top of her glasses before she yanked them off her face and just gaped at me. She looked down at her desk and began to shuffle the papers around until she came across whatever it was she was looking for and then she literally collapsed into her chair. It wheeled away from the desk a few inches. The file must have been under "hours of therapy billed in conjunction with the case." For a few seconds she just sat there in bewilderment until she scooted forward, placed the paper face up on the desk, stood again, and pointed down at it. "You . . . died." I nodded stupidly with no clue what she was even pointing to. "It says here that you are dead." She circled around her desk and walked towards me. I didn't move as she placed her hands on my cheeks and studied my face with her grey eyes as if it contained the secret to resurrection itself. If only I knew . . . "Emily," I barely mumbled between my grasped cheeks. Her eyes stopped their frantic search of my face and locked with mine. "Oh," she said before she looked down and freed my cheeks from her grip. She backed up and Joseph put his hand on her arm but his dark eyes bored into mine. "It's really her," he said. "Trust me when I say that I was just as surprised when she showed up on my doorstep last night." Emily stumbled as she rounded her desk and picked up her complicated looking phone. She pressed a button. "Tom, I'm clearing your schedule this morning--" She was abruptly cutoff and there was a mumbling of a voice on the other end. "Director," her voice grew firm, "this is more important than those old farts." I didn't picture anyone speaking to the Director that way. I looked over at Joseph and raised my eyebrows. He was frowning in an attempt stop himself from smirking--he had smiled more today than I had ever seen. I glanced back over at Emily and watched as she put her hand to her forehead as if the conversation were causing her brain pain. "I don't care what you say about Alexander; he is still an old fart. It doesn't matter. Trust me when I say that this is more important." She sighed and rolled her eyes. And the theme of the day continues! "I don't care if you are eyeballs deep in reports. Get. Your. Ass. Out here!" She hung the phone up and looked at us with a soft smile as if she hadn't had the conversation at all. Joseph rolled his eyes to the ceiling before he looked back down at Emily. "I see you are still keeping him in line." "It's a dirty job but somebody has to do it." Emily turned toward me. "Even if you weren't a walking miracle, you are still far more interesting than some of the political idiots that Tom deals with. 'Old farts' was practically a compliment." The office door we had previously passed flew open and a tall man stomped toward Emily's desk. He froze when he caught sight of me. He was tall and dressed as nicely as Joseph. He screamed FBI. The man's chocolate eyes grew wide as he looked between the three of us; his mouth opened, shut, and then he did his rounds again. He finally settled on Emily after giving us another round of ping-pong eyes. "You could have told me . . ." He focused on me again and he swallowed. "I received the report from the coroner; I saw the photos. One of my agents confirmed your death." The tall man closed his eyes and kept them shut for a few seconds.

"Oh, come on, Tom," Emily said brusquely. "She's alive. Now quit being rude and introduce yourself!" Just one of Tom's eyes popped open before his head snapped in her direction and then back to me. I would be surprised if his brain wasn't scrambled by the time he finished his eye-neck-twisting-dance. "Right, of course. I apologize. I'm Director Morris." He held his hand out to me. I took it and he placed his other hand over mine, not shaking at all. He rubbed my hand and I could tell he wanted to see if my arm was also as real as my hand. His eyes were doubtful, yet hopeful. Those same eyes whipped back up to my face and he spoke softly, "You can call me Tom." "Hi Tom," I said warily as I pulled my hand from his grip. He let go reluctantly. "I'm Doctor Moretti. You can call me Gabriella." He nodded and looked over my shoulder. "Agent, did you know about this?" "She showed up at my door last night," he stated as if he had won a big bucket of money. Match three symbols and you win . . . The Illuminator! Limited time only, some exclusions may apply. "All right. I think we need to talk," he answered. His voice was just as wary as mine. Perhaps those five cups of coffee weren't the most brilliant idea. The way the three of them looked at me made me even more jittery and I was sure I was fidgeting again. But I supposed I would be acting the same way in their position. I could suffer through the scrutiny as long as they didn't start treating me like the second coming. Tom and Joseph escorted me to an interrogation room. That was a bad sign all on its own. I'd watched some of those criminal shows on TV but I didn't expect anything like this. The walls were a subtle silvery grey that matched the silver one-sided mirror. The black, glassy furniture made the inside decor look . . . pretty. There was no other word for it. The interrogation room was pretty. It gave you false hope by making you feel comfortable. I mean, why would they give a criminal such nice interrogation quarters if they were truly going to charge them? Sneaky FBI. "Fancy," I joked as I sat at the table. I placed my palms on the black, glass tabletop. When I moved them away, moisture was left behind, but it evaporated quickly. Great, now Director Morris knew I had sweaty palms. Maybe the decor had a deeper purpose than I thought; perhaps it was meant for understanding suspects, like detecting sweaty palms. Guilty as charged. Joseph had taken a seat next to me, but Tom took a seat directly across from mine. He had the same problem with the glass top when his hands moved away. I guessed we were going to be talking with our hands in our laps. Joseph seemed to be a seasoned interrogator and didn't touch the table at all, but sat back comfortably in the chair. We all just perched in our chairs and tried to avoid eye contact--though I did catch Tom eyeing me from time to time when he thought I wasn't looking. Abruptly, we all startedspeak at once and then grew quiet. Then we suddenly all started talking at once a second time and then went silent again. Before we made the mistake a third time, Tom put his hand up in a gesture to say "quiet" before we spoke. "Doct--Gabriella, how are you alive?" Wow, he came out with guns-a-blazing--I didn't know I needed a bullet proof vest here. "You got me there, Tom. I just . . . woke up." I chuckled nervously. Who needed the decor's help when I gave myself up so easily? Instead of looking to me for answers, he turned to Joseph. Joseph put his hands up in the air in a gesture that said "don't look at me, I'm just as clueless." The fact that Tom turned to him instead of me only made me angry. I was the one who died and came back, right? It didn't seem fair that Joseph got all the credit. "Tom, I can honestly tell you that I have no idea why I am alive. The last thing I remembered was--" I paused, unsure of what my actual story should be. Did I tell the truth? A semblance of the truth? Make something up? What had the "witnesses" seen? Yes, Director, it was my body double? What? You didn't know I had a twin sister . . . "What, Doctor Moretti?" Tom leaned over the table, as if moving closer would give him the answers. I noticed we weren't on a first name basis anymore. Fine by me. I finally decided on the truth--mostly. I was not very good at lying under pressure. "One of those . . . powerful beings

attacked me. He actually hurt me from a distance. I'm not sure how he did it--" "When you say 'powerful beings,' " the Director cut in rudely, "do you mean the supernatural creatures we brought in from the plane crash?" I thought Director Morris was going to eat table, he had leaned in so close. At least the decor would be good for something--lunch. "Yes and no," I said, unsure how to explain. "What does that mean?" "It means he wasn't the same as the ones from the plane crash. Those three were . . . they had morals. Something these other creatures didn't," I explained, or tried to. It was hard not saying "angel" and I was honestly afraid I might slip at some point. I hadn't looked to see what Joseph's reactions were, but Director Morris had slits for eyes they were narrowed so much. Could he even see? I must have said something wrong. "Moral? Those . . . things," he snapped angrily, "attacked my men and escaped from the lab. They took you, Gabriella, and two of my agents including you, Agent Carter. Three of my men were placed in the hospital and two of them were killed. How can you sit here and defend them?" "I didn't know . . . about the other agents," I barely mouthed. Soul Stalker was going down. How could she? "So you need to cut the crap and just tell me what the hell is going on," the Director shouted. "Now!" I flinched. Oh shit. I should have talked with Joseph more about what our story really was before we arrived hereIt's not like that. Yes, they escaped, but there was another creature after them--it wasn't those that escaped that killed--" I choked on the word "--those agents." I held my head down in shame. I didn't even have to try to look sincere; I was truly sorry. "It was my fault. I helped them escape and now two men are . . ." Joseph made a noise next to me and sat up abruptly. "It's not all her fault," he said quickly. "I helped too . . . with the escape . . ." His voice trailed off before he could finish. Director Morris looked between the two of us, all ping-pong-eyed again. They were hard black marbles in his eye sockets now. "You two did what?" I thought I saw spit fly. He was definitely angry. I sighed heavily and Joseph grabbed my hand under the table. My shoulders relaxed as I came to the conclusion that this conversation was about to go downhill and fast if I didn't do something about it. My eyes darted to the side to meet Joseph's frown. "I've got to tell him or he'll never help me," I told him. "Tell me what?" "Gabriella," Joseph warned. "Are you sure?" "Tell me what?" Director Morris repeated, his face growing red. I nodded toward Joseph who sighed in resignation. "All right." "Tell me what?" Director Morris shouted. "They are not 'creatures,' okay? They're Angels." There, I said it: Angels, Angels, Angels. "The Angels in the lab were good. The one that attacked your men was what you might call a dark Angel who wanted to harm me." Director Morris paled, his jaw ajar. He stood quickly, pushed his chair across the room angrily where it hit the wall with a thunk, and turned toward the one-way glass. He cupped around his eyes and placed his forehead against it. "Are there cameras in there? Are we being filmed? Is this some kind of sick joke?" "No," Joseph and I said at the same time. "She's telling the truth," Joseph continued.

Director Morris swiveled on his feet to face us. He leaned over the glass table and put his palms on it. "Are you seriously telling me that Angels attacked my agents?" he asked rudely, apparently thinking that I was insulting his intelligence. "Um . . . yes," I barely managed to squeak out, unsure of how to proceed from there. The Director's scowl moved from me to Joseph--again, seeking his knowledge or approval of some kind. What was I? Chopped liver? Joseph gave a slight nod to show that he backed up my story. Gee, thanks for the backup, Joseph. But Joseph's nod seemed to soften the Director up a bit. His angry, skeptical face slowly turned to confusion. "So . . . what, are you telling me that the FBI is caught in the middle of some kind of spiritual warfare or something?" Director Morris said slowly. Joseph and I just stared at each other, hoping that the other would continue the story, though the Director had summed ip quite nicely. Joseph didn't step up to the plate with any great explanations, so I dove in. It would be hypocritical to expect him to take the lead when I felt so furious every time Director Morris turned to him for confirmation. "Well, no . . . not exactly, sir. The Angels are not the spiritual beings that the Bible talks about. They just assumed the title many, many years ago. They are . . ." I stopped, unsure of what to say and afraid to reveal too much. I looked pleadingly at Joseph, hoping he'd bail me out. He gave me a small nod and continued where I'd left off. "Tom, it turns out that there is a race of supernatural beings that even the Paranormal Investigations department of the FBI has never heard of." Hello FBI voice. "Essentially, they were a group of humans who possessed powerful magical abilities. Thousands of years ago, they figured out a way to combine their magic and make themselves immortal. Most of these 'Angels' have devoted their lives to using their magic to help the human race--hence the name Angels. But there are some who have crossed over to the dark side." Joseph, who had been telling his story with complete confidence, sat still for a moment to allow Director Morris to absorb all of the new information. As I sat watching him come to terms with this new revelation, I thought I saw the dawn of recognition appear on his face for a fraction of a second before he returned to his serious FBI face. What, do they teach that face in FBI training? "Immortals. Magic. Angels . . ." the Director trailed off. "I know it's a lot to take in, sir, but I think I may have a missing piece to your puzzle. I'm sure you've noticed that Agent Austin is missing?" I let the bait sit there for a moment before continuing. "Well, when I mentioned that one of the dark Angels wanted to attack me, what I didn't mention was that it was Agent Austin--she's an Angel, sir." I sat perfectly still as I waited for a response. Several uncomfortable moments passed before I glanced over at Joseph hoping for some reassurance. He took my hand in his again and looked back at Director Morris. "Sir?" Joseph prompted quietly. He answered slowly, hesitantly, "If it were coming from anyone else besides you two, I wouldn't believe you for a second." I took a sharp breath. "You believe us?" He nodded. "The head of Zelko Corporation had nothing but wonderful things to say about you, Doctor Moretti." "Gabriella," I corrected now that we were back on friendlier terms. "Gabriella. He said that you were the biggest skeptic of them all. I can't imagine someone fooling you." He gestured toward Joseph. "And with your track record, Agent, I know that you can tell the difference between a prank and something real. Between the two of you, how could I disagree? I wasn't there, there was no video coverage, and Agent Austin has been missing ever since. We all thought she was taken, possibly dead--but you say that she was one of the bad guys?"

We both nodded in unison. Director Morris shook his head slowly from side to side.Oh shit. I had no idea." "She's a good manipulator," I said. "You ain't kiddin'." "Tom, I need your help. That is why I came here," I said. "There are a lot of things that happened in Italy that are just too difficult to explain. We'd be here for days. Please trust me when I say that the human race is in trouble." Director Morris deflated and practically fell into the last chair standing. "Trouble?" I nodded. "The good Angels are trying to stop the dark Angels, and you want us to help with our assistance?" That summed it up nicely. "That is exactly right. There are some very powerful beings out there that want to enslave mankind." I pointed between the three of us and put my wrists together like I was cuffed. I saw Joseph smirk at me from the corner of my eye. Friendly terms . . . "Those Angels that came back to life on the plane not only saved us from that plane crash, but were also trying to save the world when they were entombed in the mountains of Italy. My counterpart in Italy, Adriana, was the one who uncovered them. She was the one who sent them to my lab in Oregon, but it was me who brought them back to life." Director Morris had taken to pulling his hair out by excessively raking it through his hands. "You?" he asked skeptically. "Me," I said firmly. "I need the FBI's help and resources to find those Angels because they need me." Director Morris was looking a little pale. "Why would they need you, Doctor Moretti?" Great, back to proper names. "Because I am an Angel, too," I said. Joseph kicked my chair and I turned toward him. "What?" "I thought you weren't going to explain everything," he said through his teeth. "I suck at lying. I am great at keeping secrets, but dancing around the truth--well, I am horrible at it. This is necessary if we want the FBI's help," I explained. Joseph's forehead crinkled as he shot me a "when did you become an expert on the FBI?" look. I turned back to Director Morris, ignoring Joseph's expression. "It's true, okay? I am an Angel and I need to find the other Angels so we can . . . stop those dark beings from destroying mankind." "How can you help them?" He was just fishing now. He had already made a decision; I just didn't know what it was. "I am special--different from other Angels." I did a sideways glance toward Joseph who looked nervous now. "I have powers and gifts that can stop this from happening." "And when you say 'this,' you mean them enslaving mankind?" "Indeed, Director." "What kind of powers do you possess?" the Director asked. "I can manipulate electricityI said truthfully and showed him the current running between my fingers. He looked impressed. Glad he didn't know how wonky that particular power had been acting. "And I have the gift of light. I can bring light to those who have fallen into darkness. I am the only one with that gift, therefore I am the only one who can bring those who wish to destroy our world to the light." Director Morris seemed to be frozen. For a moment, I wondered if I poked him if he would just wobble from sideto-side.

"Director Morris?" I questioned eventually. No response. "Director Morris?" Nothing. The poking thing wasn't looking so bad. I could probably put him on my dashboard in a hula skirt at this point and watch him dance as I drove down the road. "Hey! Tom!?" Joseph waved his hand across his face. Director Morris jumped. "Sorry . . . sorry. You're an a-an-angel?" he stuttered. "Truly?" "Yes and I need your help. Please," I begged. "Okay," he relented. "Okay? As in yes?" "Yes. I'll help you," he confirmed. I stood suddenly and Joseph was at my elbow. "Thank you. Thank you, you won't regret this." Director Morris nodded slowly, still dazed by the whole conversation. I was glad I didn't have to poke him or make him into a tacky car ornament. "I'll get back to you, but I'll try to make it quick." He rose swiftly from his seat. "Agent, I will need you to come in and make an official statement about Doctor Moretti and the events that happened in Italy so I can process the proper paperwork. The government will expect some form of explanation as to why my field agents are gallivanting around with a dead woman." Joseph nodded and began to walk towards the door. "One more thing," I said. "I must stay 'dead' until we get this worked out. I was killed by supernatural beings who think my death is their win. They can't know I am alive." "Of course," the Director said. "We can keep it hush-hush." Joseph grabbed my elbow and pulled me toward the door. "I'm going to take Gabriella back to my house and I'll be back after lunch." "Oh no you don't, Agent Carter," Director Morris said. "You will stay with her. If what she says it true, which I honestly believe, then we need an experienced agent with her to protect her from another attack." "That's not necessary," I cut in as we exited through the door. "He has a point," Joseph disagreed. "No, he doesn't," I whispered through my clencheeth and turned toward Joseph with the Director at my back. "Do you want the FBI's help or not, Doctor?" Oh, it was threats, was it? "Of course I do--but this is unnecessary, really," I said as calmly as I could. I liked my independence and all I had been capable of lately was being dependent. Dependent on my Angels, on Andrew, on my parents, and on Joseph. "If you really are the key to stopping whatever it is--which by the way, Agent, I expect the full story from you; I'll send someone to watch her so you can come back in for your statement--I need you safe, Doctor." I sighed, resigned. "Fine, you win."

The Director shot me a victorious grin, marched into his office, and slammed the door. Then Joseph and I were off, down the elevator, and into the parking lot. 5 Wild, Electric Storm> I didn't know what the rush was about. Joseph had practically run to the car, but I figured out what the urgency was once we stepped outside. Maybe he somehow expected the events that would unfold. There was a beautiful girl-tall, leggy, pretty, black hair down her back--leaning against Joseph's car. She had simple makeup and, though she was drop-dead gorgeous, she didn't seem flashy. I would have thought it was just one of his coworkers, or possibly a stranger just taking a break in the parking lot, if it wasn't for Joseph's strange reactions. He stopped mid-stride and grimaced. He immediately snatched my hand in his, almost as if I was being a defiant child. I immediately realized who the woman was and I could completely understand why he would be attracted to her. Sara was, simply put, exquisite. We were still far enough away that she couldn't hear us, though that didn't stop her happy-gaze from turning into a nuclear-missile-glower as her eyes narrowed in on our attached hands. I figured I owed him--big time--so I'd play along if that was what he wanted. With my other hand, I rubbed Joseph's arm above our intertwined fingers. His eyes shot to mine and I gave him a meek smile. "I got this," I barely whispered. His grimace disappeared and his lips twitched with amusement. He understood that I knew who she was. "This ought to be good." He snickered. I bumped my shoulder with Joseph's broad one, though it was more like bumping his bicep he was so tall. "Does Emily always talk that way to the Director?" I asked jovially. Nonchalance was the key. Joseph went into full friend-FBI mode. I bet he could convince anyone he was in love with an inanimate object. His FBI facade was very impressive when he actually applied it. But there was something about his broad smile that led me to believe he was really happy about something I had just said. "What?" I whispered with raised eyebrows. He gavesmall cough-laugh. "Okay . . . I'll play." Joseph's voice went up several octaves so Sara could hear him. "Oh, yes. Emily sometimes has to treat the Director like a child." He continued to stare at me-- my face, over my shoulder, down at his feet--anywhere but at the beauty that was bent against his car. "But that is mainly because he acts like a child. Sometimes he has no manners and Emily has to keep him in line so he won't offend someone." We both gave a small chuckle at Tom, the Director, for his bossy yet unrefined manners. Joseph finally looked up at Leggy right before we untwined our fingers. When we stopped a few paces away from her he put his arm around my shoulder "casually," snuggled me under his arm, and glared pointedly at Sara. Her eyes roamed over the two of us to read our body language. You could interpret in her face that she didn't want to believe what she saw before her. In her eyes, you could literally see the wheels in her head working their magic. It was as if she was trying to find a way to explain my presence. Some people might not have seen all of these emotions flit across her face, but I did. I'd dealt with enough weirdos in my time, even though the majority of them were dead and on my lab table. Sara pushed off the car angrily and stomped toward us in her high heels. We were merely fifteen feet away from the car, so the march was short-lived. I tried not to laugh at her expression of extreme anger because it was utterly ridiculous. We should be the ones angered by her presence. By just looking at Joseph you wouldn't have been able to tell this stressed him out, but his arm tensed around mine and I wondered what kind of crap he had to deal with in the past from this woman. To try and ease his sudden stiffness, I linked my hand with his hand that was around my shoulder. It was odd trying to be openly flirty with Joseph when our relationship wasn't that way, but I

was doing him a favor--I only hoped that it helped the situation. "Who's this?" Sara snapped. Joseph opened his mouth to say something but I thought I could nip this in the bud quickly. At the time, I had no idea how wrong I was. I placed two fingers delicately over Joseph's surprised mouth and gave him what I hoped was a shy smile. I'd seen Jenna flirt a million times and I just hoped that I could pull the act off since flirting was a foreign concept to me. I was either interested and let the man know or I wasn't. And no matter how good-looking, sweet, and kind Joseph was, he was no Andrew and my acting skills were mediocre at best. He was not my kindred soul, but deep down I knew that we had a connection and I honestly didn't know if that was what a typical friendship felt like with a male, or if there was something else between us. Whatever it was, I was willing to potentially embarrass myself to help Joseph. Joseph looked down at me with slight surprise before his face went back to its FBI mask. I stepped out of his embrace and held my hand out to Sara. "Hi, I'm Gabriella . . . and you are?" Truly, I tried to say it as politely as possible. That was when things went downhill. Or maybe catapulting off a cliff was a better metaphor? Sara practically stalked toward me, grabbed my hand, and yanked me down until my nose was merely inches frmeeting the car. The only reason I didn't kiss the trunk of that beautiful magnetic black car was because Joseph had caught me and partially because Sara was now flat on her ass with her wrist held gingerly against her body. Her mouth was slightly ajar in shock. Joseph pulled me into a hug and whispered low in my ear, "You shocked her." Oh, that is why she looks shocked, I realized. I didn't even know my own voltage. I shook in his arms and, from an observers point of view, you would think I was crying, but I was laughing. But the next thing I knew Joseph's shoulder was yanked away from me as Sara tried her best to slam him against his own car. I wasn't sure what to do because I didn't want to shock her to death or hurt her in some irreparable way. Not yet, anyway. So, I came up behind her and kicked the back of one of her heels. The heel broke off the shoe and she dropped down on one knee. She yanked the shoe off her foot. At that point, Andy the security guard had seen the scuffle in the parking lot and ran in our direction. He immediately cuffed Sara and pushed her against the car next to Joseph's. Her breath fanned against the metal and fogged it up in the chilly October air. "He'll just do the same thing to you," Sara spit, half her words muffled against the car she was practically eating. We ignored her. Andy beckoned Joseph forward to hold Sara down. "I'm going to call the police. I'm so sorry, Agent, I don't know how she got in here." For the first time that I could remember Joseph looked livid. "That's Special Agent," he said tersely as he placed his palm on Sara's upper back. Andy backed away and apologized profusely with gestures, words, and even bows. "Come on, give the man a break," I pleaded. I hated to see that side of Joseph, and I felt partially responsible because I knew it was my presence that made Sara go off the deep end. Joseph's eyes snapped to mine and his expression softened a little, but still held an edge of anger. "And what if she had a gun? What if she really hurt you?" I raised my eyebrows. Hadn't I died once and come back? It was wrong to think myself invincible, but it gave me a sense of security; I just wasn't sure if it was false or not. Sara spoke up again. "He'll use you and spit you out!"

I lowered my face so she could see me without straining her eyes. "He can use me whenever he wants!" My eyes flicked over her head for a second. Joseph pinned his lips together as he suppressed a smile and possibly a laugh. Glad I could entertain. "He doesn't really want you, he'll always want me! He's mine and I'll get him back!" she shouted at me. "How could you, Joey?" Joey? Again, my eyes shot up to see Joseph's face. He frowned deeply. Hmm . . . ammunition. Joey--it had possibilities. "He invited me here!" Sara continued in her high-pitched voice. Now she was grating my nerves. I lowered myself to her face again. "I know he didn't invite you here. Joseph doesn't want you, Sara. He's never going to want you. Understand that and let this little obsession go." Some of her hair had fallen in her face and she blew it away angrily. "He talks like he doesn't care about me-telling lies to his friends and family about us, but when no one is around he is always there for me." Her breath was heavy and each time she exhaled her hair would rise up in a cloud around her before it fell back to her face. I placed my hands on the car and lowered myself closer to her. "You're delusional." "It's true," she disagreed and I noticed Joseph's arm flex some as he pushed her further into the car hood. "He loves me! He's just being a typical guy. We see each other all the time and he takes me out to eat and to the movies. I even talk to his mother on a regular basis." At this point, I was expecting the girl to tell me she rode here on a unicorn. "Joseph?" I asked over her head, but continued to look at Sara. "Is what she says true?" He scowled. "No." "Sara?" I barely whispered, irritated. "I really hope you aren't calling Joseph a liar." Lies happen, I realize that, but it was one of my biggest pet-peeves when people say fallacious things about others just to flame them. "He's lying," she said slowly, menacingly. I immediately took my hands away from the car, afraid that with my anger I might shock the car and both of them would go down in a blaze of blue lightning. My posture straightened and Joseph studied my face for a second, his amused face was gone. Sara screamed and fought against Joseph. "Get her away from me!" she screeched. "You freak!" Jeez, someone get this woman a Valium shot--fast! Andy scampered back--yes, literally scampered--and took up his post of holding Sara down. He went through all of his procedures of checking her pockets, asking her if she had any needles on her person, and finally yanked her from the car and walked her toward the guards' station. Joseph looked at me, like really gazed at me, before he grabbed my hand and practically pulled me toward the car, opened my door, and helped me in hurriedly. I didn't know why he was in such a rush--Sara was in custody now. He ran around the car and jumped into the driver's side, slammed the door, put the clutch in, put his key in the ignition, and turned it. The car did its purring-to-life thing. He popped the brake down before he slammed the gear shift into reverse and we were through the gate and on the streets before I could say "hot tamale." I buckled my seat belt and hung on for dear life as he whipped around traffic. He was going so fast I wondered if the cars around us were actually driving backward. "Hey, Joseph!" I shouted. "Why are you speed-racing? Why are we in a hurry to go back to your place to do nothing?" He did a quick glance in my direction as he shoved the gear down lower and the car lurched forward. My head

slammed back into the seat. "What the hell, Joseph?!" He glanced at me for a second, his face apologetic. "Gabriella . . . your eyes." That was all he said to me. His voice was quiet; a scary calm. I popped down the mirror and stared at myself for a good few seconds before I could register what was wrong. It was the strangest, and dare I say coolest, thing I had ever seen. It practically looked like tiny bolts of blue lightning were crashing in the whites of my eyes. My eyes still hadn't changed back from their sad blue color. The effect was rather impressive and scary-looking all at the same time. I looked like some artsy photo where you see the reflection of a storm in someone's eye . . . except this was inside me. Had my rage at Sara caused that or was it something else entirely? This gave a whole new meaning to the phrase "eye of the storm." I sighed and snapped the sun visor back up. "Are you angry, Joseph?" He did his funny sideways glance at me again. "No. You really freaked Sara out . . . and to be honest, me too." I scoffed. "You're joking, right?" He shook his head. "You saw me electrocute a woman when we were escaping from the underground labs . . . but now my behavior is scary and I am not even meaning to do it!?" Again, he did the sideways glance. I huffed. "Gabriella . . ." "Is it going to be like this every time I do something weird? Joseph, I can't help it! This is all so new to me. I'm an Angel. AN ANGEL!" I shouted. "In a matter of days I discovered a whole new world, almost crashed in a plane-which, by the way, you lost many of your colleagues and friends in--was rescued by Angels who were dead in my lab less than a few hours before, escaped the FBI--again, funny, since you are with the FBI!" I chuckled without humor. "Then I became a suspected terrorist, was taken to Nevada to experiment on the very Angels who saved our lives, found out someone I trusted wanted to kill me, was attacked by 'the good guys' who aren't really good, went through a portal--literally a portal!--met my mother who healed me and then who I lost in a matter of moments . . . and I had to lie to everyone when I died and came back. I think I have the right to have flashy lightning-eyes without the scrutiny!" I folded my arms and glared angrily at the passing cars as we flew down the interstate. "It's because you don't realize it's happening . . . that you are oblivious to these changes that scares me, Gabriella. Until we find Andrew, and the other Angels, we need to figure out what you can and can't do and see if you can't learn to control it," Joseph explained carefully. "I'm not scared of you; I am scared for you . . . of what you might do on accident." I breathed in a sigh before I turned in my seat to face him. "Joseph, don't be scared for me--" "How can I not be?" he cut in. "Because'm scared for me and the last thing I need is for you to be in the same boat. I need you to be someone I can count on and rely on. Someone who I know will be there for me--not someone who will pity me," I said, a little snippety. He frowned, deeply. "I don't pity you, Zinger!" He chuckled at what he thought was a clever time to joke. "I might possibly be a little jealous . . . especially with a nickname like yours!" "Your attempt to joke won't save you," I replied dryly. "I need to know that you aren't going to freak out every time I do something weird because, no matter what, it is still me inside. It is always me. If I lift a car with one finger I don't want you to suddenly cower in fear like I am going to throw it on top of you. I need you to be the person I turn to and go 'what the hell did I just do?' and for you do say 'I don't know. That was cool.' or something like that. Not 'I'm scared for you.' That shit isn't going to help me in the least."

Joseph's foot faltered on the gas for a second before he turned his head and smirked at me. "I love it when you cuss," he stated suddenly. "I only cuss when the need arises or when I am dealing with a little shit." I narrowed my eyes at him. "You know . . . like you, Joey." My serious face was gone in an instant as we both cracked up. "You don't wanna play that game, Gabby, because I'll win," Joseph said good-naturedly. "The only people that can get away with calling me that are under four feet tall and share my last name." "We'll see, Joey." I snorted. Once the laughter filtered out and all that was left were our smiles and the heat floating from the vents, Joseph spoke. "I promise I'll be there for you. No matter what, I'll be there." "I know," I told him sincerely. "Now, explain what happened back there with Sara." He sighed dejectedly. "Honestly, things probably wouldn't have gotten so out of control if you hadn't mentioned Emily and the Director." "Explain." "The FBI is my . . . turf, I suppose. It's the one thing that is mine--that I earned. I never brought a woman to my work, to see my office, to meet my co-workers. The only glimpse Sara, or any girl I dated in the past, ever received was the stories I told them. Emily has always taken up post as my second mother so, of course, I spoke of her a lot and it is hard not to talk about your boss and how he can't find his keys half of the time." Joseph shook his head. "And the first words that came out of your mouth were about Emily--my second mother figure that I never let her meet. My mother instantly approves of almost every girl just because she wants me to get married and give her grandbabies ASAP. Emily, though . . . approval from her is actually important to me. So, you can only imagine what Sara was thinking." He chuckled under his breath. "I'm surprised she didn't jump you immediately. Jealousy doesn't even cover what she was probably feeling. I'm really sorry she even touched you, though your shockingpeople-abilities haven't faded much." He smirked. "Well, I didn't mean to. Must have just been my body's emergency response. Fight or flight, I guess. And my body said fight." I paused. "I know we aren't dating . . . but did I get the thumbs up from Emily?" I asked self-consciously. He rolled his eyes and made it obvious to me by moving his head too. "Of course. It's hard not to like you, Gabriella." I sighed. "Thanks. So, what about Sara?" "I really hope we don't have any more problems with her, but I can't promise she won't do a drive-by or even come to the door," Joseph muttered. "I hope the police keep her in custody for a while. If you want to file assault charges, or get a restraining order, I will take you down to the police station after I receive your paperwork from Tom." "No. She's harmless. I hope. If not . . ." I rubbed my fingers together and they sparked. I was ready for Sara and whatever shit she brought with her. Yes, shit--she deserved the word far more than her sweet Joey ever would. "I think she is," he replied. "Anyway, we won't be around here for long. Not sure who they are going to put on your detail, but I believe Tom is going to take your protection seriously. He's seen and heard some weird stuff before, so what we told him isn't as far-fetched as you would think him to believe. It helps that you came back from the dead and that we are both credible people in the world of the paranormal." A memory came back to me suddenly. "Joseph, you said you've seen some weird crap before. Worse than I have ever seen?" He nodded. "Well . . . can you tell me?" I wondered. I was undoubtedly curious. Plus, after the whole vampire debacle, I was ready to hear some of his stories.

"Yes. If you're good," he said through chuckles. "We've got time, Zinger." I folded my arms across my chest. "I should have kept my mouth shut." "Oh, but I am so glad you didn't! And now, after the whole Sara incident, it is even more fitting," Joseph mused. "Hah-hah," I said wryly. We were silent for the rest of the drive, though my brain never turned off. All I could think about was the wild electric storm that raged in my eyes. I just hoped that it would go away before I had to go out into public again; I didn't want to be like Jeff Vittorio and his sunglasses. I shuddered under the memory of him killing me and my short-lived good mood disappeared. Where are you Andrew? I need you. And that was more accurate than I realized. 6 <Surrounded> By the time we arrived at Joseph's, my eyes had returned to their regular sad blue. I wondered how long they would be that color . . . how much longer I would be mourning for my mother and for my own situation. That night, Joseph and Iorked on my ability. And when I say my ability, I mean my knack to burn hot dogs (our dinner) into a crispy pile of ash, leave a streak of grass burned in his backyard, shock a squirrel out of a tree, and catch his grill on fire, all with electricity. But at least my gift worked--even if it was faulty. I actually began to panic when, by the end of the night, I couldn't even melt an ice cube. I had no control over my ability whatsoever; it either worked with horrible side effects or didn't spark at all. I went to bed early. Since my mother's death, I only had one dream from the "sight" that my mother bestowed upon me--and that was back in the Divine Library, which felt like a millennia ago. Since that stretch of time, there had been no dream-memories to keep me from completely falling apart like shattered crystal. Still, I was unceasingly eager to dive into sleep every night because I desired so deeply that the dreamless nights I had would end and I would see her again. There was a time I feared and resented the memories that came to me when I slept, but now I cherished and missed them. That night I did dream, though, or . . . I remembered. Except it wasn't really a dream; it was more like a nightmare. Through my dream-haze I witnessed everything all over again; my mother healed me, spoke to me, protected me . . . loved me. Those were her last moments alive and they were spent loving. And all over again, I saw the last time she would take a breath, speak in her sweet voice, or hold me in her motherly arms. Instead of the warmth of the bed I was cuddled in, I was back in that wind-chilled, fire-blazing field. Shadows--Shadows were everywhere! Flames exploded out of one of their palms and whisked across the darkened grounds. It happened all over again. The trembling flames curved up my mother's legs, spiraled around her stomach, and coiled at her neck. Screams-I heard screams and they all came from me. Even through my shouts, I heard it again; that horrible noise--the snap of bone--as my mother's neck broke in two. Her soul ascended from her body like white smoke as it dissipated, melted, and finally dissolved into the sky above us. Her soul just vanished like fine mist upon sunrise. I could feel my heart shrivel within my chest like a grape turning into a raisin. The words "her soul was severed from her body" whispered across my skin and all I could do was scream and scream. I didn't think I could endure the pain again. But I did. I flew up in the bed, my eyes closed so tightly I wasn't sure a winch would have been able to open them, and felt the moisture on my face. The bed creaked next to me and I screamed and scrambled away like a wounded and frightened animal. "It's just me," Joseph murmured as he leaned across the bed, slowly, cautiously, and brushed my tears away with his thumb. I let out a shaky breath, opened my eyes, and saw him gaze at me with an agonized expression, as if he were afraid I would turn away from him. "What's the matter? Did you . . . dream?" I knew what he meant by "dream" so I shook my head. "No," I croaked. "Nightmare." I wiped my tears furiously

from my face and attempted to compose myself. I reached over, turned the lamp on next to the bed and blinked repeatedly into the sudden brightness that attacked my pupils. When I finally focused, I took in the scene before me. My pillow smoked slightly, like I had electrocuted it, and the bed was in disarray, as if a tornado had twisted the covers into a knot--I knew that I was the tornado. Joseph was in his flannel pajama pants, no shirt, and his hair was disheveled on onde of his head while the other side looked like it was plastered to his scalp. In my attempt to push away that particular memory--that sound--I chuckled softly. A ghost of a smile graced Joseph's lips. He reached out to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind my ear. "What's so funny?" he asked. I was just happy he didn't ask about the nightmare because I didn't want to relive it again. The awful thoughts vanished like shadows exposed to the sun. Joseph seemed to have that effect on me, even in times of crisis. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you went swimming and put half of your head out the window while driving to dry it." I snorted and laughed some more. His whole look almost had me in utter hysterics, which was mainly due to the depression cloud that had made a home right above my head. The cloud finally ruptured and what it set free were absolute, uncontrollable giggles. Joseph's lips formed a straight line as he stood and headed toward the bathroom. I heard an amused cough right before the faucet turned on and water splashed in the sink. A few minutes later, he came back into the room, but what I saw was the last thing on this planet I would ever expect. He'd taken his brown hair and molded it into a mohawk; the hysterical giggles were back. I reached up and messed his hair so it was in wet tangles. "Much better," I mused. After we had both calmed, Joseph placed his big hand on my shoulder and sighed. "Gabby"--I scowled and, again, he ignored me--"it's so good to have you back. I never thought I would hear your voice again, let alone hear that wonderful laughter." I opened my mouth to retort with "my name's not Gabby," but Joseph stopped me with a finger over my lips. "I don't think you realize how many times I thought you died within the first few days I knew you; when the plane crashed, when that Lady of Light attacked you, and when the Shadows surrounded us and demanded that we give you over to them. Each time I thought you were dead or going to die. But every time you amazed me and survived. That was when I realized just how special you were." "I don't understand," I began but was stopped again with his finger over my lips. He smelled like the soap in the bathroom--rosy. "I'm sure you've heard the phrase 'you don't know what you have until it's gone?'" I nodded and he continued, "Of course, I had to study your file before I flew out to Oregon so I already knew a little about you and I was instantly intrigued. Then I saw you and you literally took my breath away. You had this whole . . . witty and frazzled demeanor. When I thought I had you figured out, though, you pulled out a novel on vampires." He chuckled. "Vampires," he repeated. "I couldn't believe it and I knew immediately that there was something different about you." He sighed as if he were remembering something horrible. "I was so happy to have found you and then . . ." he choked up. He was silent for a few moments as he tried to compose himself, but the only words to escape his lips were, "You died." "I know," I said too loud and hugged Joseph to me. "I'm so sorry, Joseph. I'm so, so sorry that I didn't immediately come to you or show myself at my funeral. I couldn't, but I'm here now. I'm sorry!" I was doing the epic Gabriellababble thing again. It d't seem to bother Joseph at all as he hugged me back just as fiercely and nodded his head against my shoulder. "That phrase has a whole new meaning for me," he murmured. "You aren't just special, Gabriella. This world needs you. Without you, everything turned dark and grey. How the clock continued to tick on I will never know because my world stopped. I barely had any time with you, but you had such a profound effect on me that losing you seemed to make everything else in the world not matter anymore. When you showed up on my doorstep, it was as if the world turned from black and white to full technicolor. I think we were destined to meet." I wouldn't have believed in the word "destined" before, but then I met Andrew. "Me, too," I barely whispered over

his shoulder. "You're my best friend." "I like the sound of that." I smiled. "And . . . I've never had one of those before, besides my sister, Jenna," I admitted. "So it's kinda a big deal." His body shook with light laughter. There was something about his arms around me, the warmth he brought to me, and the comfort his touch exuded that told me I was safe. It was completely different from Andrew. There was nothing romantic between Joseph and me--he was more big brother.That was all I had to compare it to, anyway. Andrew brought about those same feelings but with his touch came electricity, intense desire, and overwhelming love. To have them both in my life--I was the luckiest girl alive and I knew it. We let go of each other and I lay back down on the bed, exhausted. Joseph had brought in a small futon so he could sleep in the same room while being a gentleman and I saw that the covers had been thrown across the room. I was sure he did that when I cried out. I yawned sleepily while I stared up at Joseph. "So . . . I wrote Jenna some letters," I said slyly, remembering him opening the car door for her at the funeral. He cocked his head to the side and gave a partial smile. "Your sister. I met her when I went to your funeral." He suddenly grimaced. "She was pretty distraught." My coy attempts at seeing what he thought of her epically failed within two point five seconds. I frowned, embarrassed and upset with myself for not thinking. He sighed as if in apology. "So, what did you write in them? Does she know you are alive, then?" I shook my head and pointed toward the dresser where I had placed them in the top drawer--not like he would know why I was pointing to it. "I haven't sent them. It's killing me not to be able to tell her everything that has happened. We don't have secrets between the two of us besides the obvious job stuff. Even if I wanted to hide personal things from her, she always figures them out. I am just no good at keeping important things from her." I played with the edges of the sheet that I had pulled up to my chin. "If I tell her, I might be placing her in danger." He nodded seriously, as if he were really weighing my words carefully. "I know you are all about protecting everyone but are you really worried that she will be in any more danger than she is in now? I can't imagine her running off to tell everyone about you, especially if you asked her not to." I studied him for several long seconds. "I guess not," I said slowly. There was a tone in his voice, the way he spoke of Jenna, like he knew her better than just meeting her once at my funeral or reading about her in my file. "Did you . . . go on a date with my sister?" I gasped, delighted. He gave me a cocky smile. "No." "Liar!" I said and laughed joyously. "You went on a date with her!" He laughed and plopped down on the bed next to me; we both gazed up at the spackled ceiling, our shoulders touching. "It wasn't like that," he said evasively. "And what does that mean?" I asked while I grinned like a maniac. "It means I dropped by to give her my condolences." I shook my head and bumped his shoulder. "Quit playing coy with me, Joseph. I know my sister and she has a thing for your type. Trust me on that!" I laughed again at the thought. Joseph and Jenna together . . . they were perfect for each other. He shrugged in typical male fashion and left me with no details whatsoever. I sighed. "Fine, don't tell me."

He sat up slightly, put his arm around me, and brought me close to his chest. "Quit playing spy, Gabriella. I truly only stopped by to check on her. She was just so . . . upset." "Uh huh," I replied in disbelief. "Just wanted to pat her on the back and tell her everything would be okay?" "Truly," he said sincerely. "I wanted her to know that the FBI was there to give their condolences." He hesitated. "And I was kind of upset, too." His voice lowered. "It was comforting to be around someone who was close to you, someone who understood how much I was hurting." I nodded against his shoulder and felt like a big pile of crap for keeping such a large secret from them both. The vision of her at my funeral replayed as I listened to Joseph's even breaths. The rhythmic motion calmed me and soon I fell into a dreamless sleep. <> An alarm clock blared to my right and I jerked up but was held down. There was a warm arm around my waist and when I turned, I realized it was attached to Joseph. He must have fallen asleep about the same time I did. The annoying sound didn't stop, it just escalated in volume. Joseph groaned and pulled me tighter against him. "Joseph!" I pushed against him. "Joseph! Please turn that horrible thing off!" I squinted against the blinding sunlight. Joseph swung his arm behind him and began to swat and smack at the space behind him. He managed to knock over an empty glass of water, a book, and the lamp. Yes, the lamp, which luckily didn't break! It crashed to the ground and Joseph shot out of bed as if strings had pulled him forward. I laughed, shook my head, hopped out of bed, rounded to Joseph's side, and shut the damn alarm off. I giggled and shook my head the whole way to the bathroom. When I finally emerged, fully dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, I caught Joseph shaking his hips to some sixties music in the kitchen while he sang along. He was already dressed neatly in his FBI attire. He flipped a pancake in the skillet and sang into the syrup bottle. I nearly fell over right then, but I contained my laughter because I wanted to see how long it would take before he noticed me. He didn't, but he did put on quite the show. So when the song ended, I clapped and cheered. He whipped around and actually blushed. Who knew Mr. FBI still had the ability to blush? I would've thought they'd trained that out of him, as well as the rump-shaking. "How long have you been standing there?" he gasped. "And how much did you see?" "Oh, for a little while," I replied merrily. "And I think I saw the whole show!" I did a quick mock-shake of my hips. "Well," he flipped the radio off, "now that you know why I am an FBI agent instead of a rock star, how about breakfast?" He held out a plate of pancakes and I had to admit that after the very burnt hot dogs we attempted to eat last night, the pancakes looked like a five-star meal. I pointed down to the empty spot at the bar, where a cup of coffee waited for me. "Pile'em high!" I rubbed my belly and grabbed my fork, ready to dig in. Joseph sat next to me and bumped my shoulder. That seemed to be our thing--shoulder bumping. We shoveled food into our mouths for several minutes in silence, just the random sounds of our forks grating against the plates echoed in the kitchen. "So, Gabby"--I took in a deep breath, ready to retort, and, like always, he plowed on without notice--"I received a phone call from Tom this morning while you were in the shower." "Oh," I said. "And?" "Agent Thomas is outside right now. He's going to watch over the place so I can give a statement regarding the events in Italy. Is there anything you want me to keep out?" He turned toward me and raised his eyebrows. "Just use your best judgment." I shrugged. He scooted his seat back. "Listen, I don't like leaving you here but it's best if you aren't caught by someone who

recognizes you as 'that girl' who died that they saw on TV." I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, yeah. I understand." I hated it when he made sense. "Just the one agent, right?" He gave me one of his exasperated sighs and hugged me for a second before he left. Right before he shut the door, he yelled out, "Make yourself at home." To be nice, I washed all his dishes, but I had no idea where to put them all so I stacked them neatly on the counter. He seemed to have a method to his kitchen and I didn't want to disrupt that. I know I'd be upset if I couldn't find stuff in my kitchen. After an hour of trying to read a book that Joseph had on his small bookshelf, I decided I would go meet Agent Thomas. I peeked out the window to see him sitting in the non-descript, obviously government, vehicle. He seemed to be very alert to his surroundings as he constantly darted his head around to watch the surnding area-kind of like a meerkat or a groundhog in a suit. When I opened the front door, chilly October air rushed across my skin and goose bumps arose immediately. I dashed across the lawn and knocked briskly on the agent's window. He rolled the window down. "Doctor Moretti," he greeted. Of course he'd know who I was. FBI agents are nosy! "So, um, Agent Thomas, is it?" I asked Agent Groundhog nervously. He gave a curt nod and continued to scan the area. "Would you like to come inside?" His head snapped in my direction like I just told him that I was giving birth right there on the sidewalk and needed him to deliver the baby--hah; I wondered if they covered that in training. His expression only gave a flicker of nervousness before his FBI mask covered it back up. Jeez, they must have taught that look in FBI school, or whatever the hell it was that they had to go through. "My orders are to watch the perimeter for any threats, Doctor Moretti." That's when I saw it. He placed his finger over his ear piece as if someone were speaking to him. Why would someone be talking to him? And how could he watch the perimeter while staying in his car . . . "Dammit, Joseph!" I muttered angrily. Agent Thomas looked at me carefully. "Is there something wrong, Doctor?" I took in a deep breath because I knew it wasn't this agent's fault. There was another agent, though, that came to mind. A sixties music singing, hip shaking, mohawk wearing FBI agent! "You can call me Gabriella, Agent." Another deep breath. "So, how many of you are there?" I wondered casually. His eyes narrowed at me for a second. "Only me, Doc--Gabriella." "Bullshit," I yelled and pushed off the edge of the stupid government vehicle. I did a small circle in the yard before I lowered myself back down to the window but the agent was gone. When I stood he was next to me. FBI agents and their magical tricks! He must have popped up out of an underground tunnel like the groundhog he was. "You need to go back inside, Doctor." I glared at him. "I'm sorry for my inappropriate language." And I really was. "Please just tell me how many of you there are?" The agent grabbed my arm and practically had to drag me toward the house. "Doctor, you need to get back inside," he said sternly. "Fine," I muttered and jerked free. I knew I probably overreacted, but seriously, more than one agent? What was Joseph so worried about? Everyone thought I was dead, right? So I decided to figure out how many agents there were. How concerned was Joseph? It was time to find out, so I

devised a plan. First, I ordered a lot of pizza at noon, hoping to lure them in, but Agent Thomas stopped the man before I explained to him that it was just food. The count was still one. At twelve fifteen, I called a tree service and explained it was an emergency. I told them to go straight to the back of the house and I would meet them there. At one, the tree service showed up. At one-oh-one, three FBI agents escorted them away from the house. I didn't recognize any of them as Agent Thomas. I paced the length of the house several times before I attempted anything else. There were four agents outside the house. Could there be more? At three, I resolved that I needed to go on a walk and was followed by two agents, only one that I had seen before. By the time Joseph arrived back home, I had come to the conclusion that there were five FBI agents surrounding the house and one at the end of the block. When Joseph walked in the door, he gave me a questioning glance. He must have noticed my "I know what you did" stare. "Sorry it took me so long. I hear things here were pretty eventful." He chuckled like he knew what I was up to. "Oh yeah," I said with a laugh. "There's cold pizza in the fridge. Hope you like pepperoni." He turned his head to the side so all I could see was his profile and his eyes glanced sideways at me before he smirked. He sucked in air with the smirk never leaving his face--the look between humor and exasperation. "How many did you find?" he asked. "I have no idea what you mean, Joseph," I answered in nonchalance. "Gabby!" He looked at me like I was the biggest liar on the planet. "Joey!" We stared each other down for a few moments. "Agent Thomas gave me a bill for a tree service estimate for the tree that fell through my roof." His eyebrows rose in question. "There is no tree through my roof." "Must have been the wrong address," I lied coolly with a wave of my hand. He shook his head while laughing. "And how was your walk?" "Delightful. I met an agent named Agent Jack Sparrow. How about that?" I chuckled. "I was always a big fan of those movies." "You are full of it, you know that?" Joseph shook his head back and forth. "Me?" I asked in faux surprise. "Nooo." "What was the final count?" "Six." I shrugged. "Seven if you count your nosy neighbor. Almost as bad as the six FBI agents combined." He groaned. "Are you mad?" "I was," I admitted. "I understand that you worry about me, but next time, only send one and give them permission to come inside." I stood and gave Joseph a hug to welcome him back. "Any of them except Agent Thomas-talking to him was like chatting it up with the pile of leaves in the backyard. Wait, no, I take that back, the leaves could probably hold a better conversation." "Okay," he relented. I narrowed my eyes in disbelief. "Do you mean it?" "Yes. Only one agent," he promised.

"And not Agent Thomas?" "Not Agent Thomas," he confirmed. "Good. I just wanted to get that on record before you go into the kitchen," I said with a sly smile. He pursed his lips. "What's wrong with the kitchen?" "Nothing's wrong with the kitchen," I told him seriously. "Okay," Joseph said slowly, "what is in the kitchen, then?" I smirked and followed behind him as he entered the kitchen, not waiting for my answer. He flipped the light switch. "Jesus, Gabriella! How am I supposed to eat that much pizza?" I tried to hold in my laughter. "Um . . . very carefully?" Joseph began to count the boxes of pizza on the counter. "Don't forget the ones in the fridge!" I reminded him cheerily. After he finished his inventory, he turned to face me. "Twenty boxes?" "Like I said, I hope you like pepperoni or you are just out of luck. Well, we could order more pizza, but I suggest going through a different company. I think Agent Thomas scared the poor kid to death. I tipped double." His head fell back as he looked at the ceiling and muttered under his breath. When he was done with studying the ceiling, he looked at me and said, "I deserved this, didn't I?" I nodded. "Absolutely." Then I grabbed a piece of pizza out of a box and took a huge bite. "Mmmm," I mumbled. 7 Letters> I was going absolutely stir crazy after five days of being locked indoors with nothing to read except a small collection of military and political books. Day one consisted of eating left over pizza and playing Scrabble. Surprisingly, Joseph was quite good at it and totally kicked my butt. Well, until I accidently caught the board on fire when I lost. We spent the rest of the evening attempting to figure out my power. Attempt being the key word. It was nice just hanging with Joseph, even though he snored like a freight train at night. Day two was bad because I had a lot on my mind--mainly my mother. Abelie graced my dreams again, but it was just like before: the fire literally screaming across the grass and snapping her neck, her soul departing. Or as Andrew had so eloquently put it, "Her soul was severed from her body." I had awoken to Joseph again and he let me cry it all out on his shoulder until I fell to sleep listening to him whisper reassurances about the Angels. He was quickly becoming a rock in my life, someone who knew the real me and acceed it. Day three was better, though that was when I met Agent Croft. Agent Croft was about five feet, nine inches with short blonde hair, dark blue eyes and a small sturdy frame. He seemed nice, but at the same time you could read something behind his eyes that spoke of the horrors he had witnessed. He was quiet and kept to himself, even after I offered to send him home with five pizzas--even though they were leftovers. When Joseph left for the day I wasn't alone, but I was. Might as well have been considering how much Agent Croft spoke--which was not at all. I think I scared him when I lit the grill without a lighter. Or maybe it was the fact that I made a gun out of my hand when I did it and then blew the smoke away like it was a real gun. Joseph laughed while Agent Croft decided that the bushes on the other side of the yard were potential threats to my safety. Day four was the worst of all. Joseph was gone the whole day and I was left with nothing to read and no one to talk to. All I had were my thoughts, which were not very appealing. Andrew was on my mind: who I thought of, who made my body tingle just by the mere mention of his name. That was what day four was all about: Gabriella and

her aching heart. I just had to keep telling myself that it would be remedied soon. And if the FBI didn't get the ball rolling soon, I was going to ask Joseph for the address and go by myself. I knew he would never let me do that, but I also knew he wouldn't dare try to keep me against my will. Boy did I have loads of will, too. The will to get the hell out of D.C. and run straight to my lover's arms, to my father's, and to my Angels. By the time Joseph came home, I was huddled on my bed with bright blue eyes. There were no tears, but it didn't stop the sadness from showing. He brought me hot cocoa and rubbed my back until I calmed down. By day five, Joseph finally accepted a booklist of mine and headed to the nearest bookstore. He didn't want any more "episodes" when he was gone. Still, I hated when he left me alone in the house again because I wasn'ttruly alone. Agent Croft floated from room to room and said very little to me, actually, he practically ignored me. Joseph explained it as "You're too distracting." Whatever that meant. I begged and begged him to take me out. I'd settle for hanging my head out the window like a dog as he drove down the road. Yeah, that was how stir crazy I had become. Daytime TV held little interest for me so, while he was gone, I did the only thing I could think of: I wrote to Jenna. One last letter, I decided. This letter would be difficult to write because I finally reached the toughest part of my story; the part that hurt me so deeply I had to stop and cry in the bathroom for thirty minutes before I gained my composure back. But I wanted to finish. I hoped one day I could send them to her--or give them to her directly. Jenna was important to me and I needed her to understand why I did what I did. The thought of her reading the letters about Angels brought me back to a discussion we had a long time ago. The phone rang three times before Jenna picked up. There was a screaming Jules in the background and a muffled hello. "Oh! Sorry. You are probably really busy but I have good news," I said excitedly. There was a lot of noise before I heard her grip the phone firmly. "Gabby." She sounded relieved. "Please give me some good news. It's been one of those days with Jules and Dave has been on my mind." My heart gave a small jolt. Dave was her husband that died in the war before Jules was born. After Jenna isolated herself for a few months with a newborn Jules and her grief over her husband's death, she moved to Portland for a fresh start. "I'm so sorry Jenna, but maybe this will cheer you up. I just got a job in Oretown, Oregon." There was a pause on the other end. "Never heard of it." I smiled into the phone in hopes that it would transfer into my voice. "It's about an hour from you. I'll be able to visit all the time." There was a sob on the phone and I frowned. It wasn't exactly the reply I had hoped for. "Oh my god, Gabby. That is so wonderful. I've missed you so much and I just--" I cut her off. "I know it's been hard, but I'll be there for you now." I heard her take a shuddering breath in. "What's the job?" "Top secret! I'll be working in a lab." "Doing what?" she asked suspiciously. "Something that has to do with the supernatural," I said honestly. She snorted. "You're joking, right?" "No." "Of course you'd find a position like that." She laughed. "The supernatural doesn't exist." "We'll see about that . . ."

If she ever read the letters I wrote, she'd most definitely think I had lost my mind. I smiled at the thought of her reactions and it only made me miss her more. It also made me think about Jules and her tiny curls bouncing as she slid across the floor in her socks the last time I saw her. There was one thing, though, that Jenna would understand, and that was Andrew. I had never lost someone close to me before Abelie, so now that I had gone through that loss and found my kindred soul, I could better understand and appreciate the pain that Jenna went through. The way she handled her loss was impressive. Though she isolated herself for a while, she never let it interfere with her being a good mother to Jules and I envied her bravery and strength to deal with such loss. I sighed, flipped my notebook open, and pulled a pen out to write my final words. It was raining and cold outside and the swish of the wind swirled around the soaked grounds. The trees swayed wildly from side-to-side in the backyard. I stared out of the window for an hour as my eyes followed the line of the wooden fence to the small green bushes that brightened the otherwise gloomy fall day. This was my view--my only window to the outside world I felt comfortable enough to look out of because it was protected from peeping eyes and nosy neighbors. Joseph had no idea how nosy one of those neighbors could be. Agent Croft, the one who had ignored me for days, came in to inform me that Joseph had been called into work and would be back later in the evening. His voice was surprisingly soft compared to his hard exteri. Three days and that was the most he had said to me--actually, I couldn't even recall what his voice sounded like before. I gave a nod and put my pen back to the paper. I had written many things to Jenna in my letters during those few days after my funeral, before I found Joseph. They contained everything from the small bit of information I knew about the Angels, all the way down to my feelings for Andrew. I explained that even though Abelie--my biological mother--passed away, I still had a dream that included her memories but hadn't had one since. I explained that through her memory I saw the Shadows had once been part of the elite Angels. They were part of the Halo of the Sun, a brotherhood that directed and led the Guardian Angels, and their memories were erased while the other Angels had their minds altered to forget them. There was a whole letter that included the Ladies of Light and the Soul Stalker. How corrupt the Ladies of Light were when they attempted to kill the Halos, but instead created the Shadows. And though I wasn't one hundred percent sure why the Soul Stalker was after me, I knew the Shadows were falsely warned that I would be the one to destroy them--when in reality I knew I would bring them light. I'd save them. But most importantly, I wrote down in small script that I failed by believing the deceptions all around me and that was why I had to deceive everyone. It was the only way to fix it. So when the Shadow killed me, I made the difficult decision to stay dead. I ended my last letter with "I miss you. It's been difficult not being able to call you or to tell you everything that has happened to me. More importantly, I am alive. I thought about coming to you, but I knew I couldn't. They said they would go after my loved ones. I couldn't lose you. I love you." With a great sigh, I signed my name, licked the envelope, and sealed it. It'd just be another letter that would never be sent. With a graceful move, I rose and strode toward the room I had been sleeping in. When I moved with an angelic elegance, it still surprised me. It was things like that that made my heart ache worse than ever. In the past few days, I still had not been able to figure out my powers. Sometimes they didn't work and other times they worked too well. I needed guidance . . . I needed Andrew. The bedroom was more spacious without Joseph's futon bed. After two days of him sleeping in there with me to make sure the sight wouldn't harm me, I told him to go back to his bed. I didn't voice my thoughts to him, but I was sure I had lost everything my mother had given me. The sight was gone. Plus, he did snore, even though he argued he didn't. When I opened up the drawer in the dresser where I'd placed my completed letters, I gasped. They were gone. All of them! Immediately, I shoved the letter in my back pocket and started to yank the contents out of the drawer. I threw my clothes over my shoulder as I dug into the drawer. I couldn't find them and began to panic. I tore through every drawer and still they were empty of any evidence of those letters. When I whirled around in panic, I saw Agent Croft gawking at me and the disaster of the room with raised eyebrows. The room looked as if a clothes bomb had exploded. "Is everything all right?" the agent asked. "I, uh--" Again, his voice surprised me. Well, not really his voice, but that fact that he even spoke. The doorbell rang

and we both broke our focus off the room and turned toward the hallway that led to the front door. Agent Croft turned back to me. "Stay here," he commanded. He walked out of the room with a purpose as he pulled his gun out of its holster. I poked my head around the corner and saw a glimpse of brown hair and a beautiful face through the window next to the door. I ran toward the agent. "Wait! I know who it is. It's okay. Put your gun away," I tried to explain, a little breathless. "Stay in your room," he ordered without glancing at me. "Really," I protested, "your gun is unnecessary." Agent Croft stopped suddenly, whirled to face me, and frowned. "My job is to protect you, Doctor Moretti. You are making it awfully difficult." I made a noise of annoyance, pushed past him, and ran with angelic speed to the door. In a quick motion, I unlocked the door and flung it toward me. I stood frozen for a few seconds as I took in her beauty. She was shorter than me but still had legs for days. Her pink dress flailed in the wind and rain before she pulled her long, black coat around her firmly, a black umbrella in her left hand. Her big green eyes surrounded by her curly brown hair stared at me in shock. Her pink lips were parted slightly as her eyes fixed on me. "Jenna!" I said in relief. She said nothing, just continued to focus on me. "What are you doing here?" I practically yelled at her. Agent Croft grabbed the door behind me and yanked it from my grip. I looked at the small table next to the door where his keys and my purse were beckoning me and snatched them up. He shouted from the door as I grabbed Jenna and ran toward his car. Jenna didn't object--she still hadn't said a single word. Agent Croft's footsteps pounded behind us and I turned, running backwards, and made a gun out of my hand. "Don't even think about it!" I shouted. He froze, as if someone had shot him with an ice cannon. The fact that a paranormal FBI agent was petrified of a hand gun, literally made me internally snicker. I turned back around flung my door open. "Get in!" I commanded to Jenna with a smile and she hopped into the car. Just as I shut my door and locked it, the agent reached us and banged on the door. "What are you doing?" he shouted. "Get out of the car now!" I stuck my tongue out at him like a little kid, turned the car on, put it in reverse, and peeled out of the driveway. Jenna and I flew down the street and I randomly turned from street to street with a smile on my face. Jenna was still silent as she held onto her seatbelt. "Jenna! Say something, please." "I thought it was a joke," she barely whispered. "It had Joseph's return address on it and I didn't know if he wrote them or what! It was your hand writing though. Then I thought that maybe you wrote those letters while you were alive and he was just now sending them." Realization hit me like a twenty ton truck. "No, Jenna. I wrote those after I died," I explained as we got on the highway. I reached out and grabbed her hand which she gripped back fiercely. "It was me all along." She began to cry profusely as she laughed hysterically. I was going to kill Joseph for sending those letters without my permission. He just placed Jenna in huge danger. "What the hell is going on?" she finally uttered through her sobs of joy. Jenna gained a dirty mouth after living on a military base. I smiled at her curse word.

"You read those letters, right?" She held onto my arm, her fingers intertwined with mine. "Are you telling me that what you wrote was the truth?" "Yes," I said wearily. "You've got to be joking," she said with a shake of her head. "This isn't real. It can't be real. This must be just a crazy dream and you really are dead." I pulled my hand free and pinched her hard on the arm. She yelped and covered her arm up. "That hurt!" she accused. "You're awake. I'm alive. This isn't a dream and those letters were not a lie." I sighed heavily, still angry at Joseph. For some reason, I didn't feel an ounce of guilt for stealing the agent's car. She rubbed her face as more tears came. She shook her head back and forth and muttered obscenities under her breath. For a few minutes the only noise was her hysteria and the pounding rain. "Can we get a drink?" she finally asked. "Yeah, I think we both need one." I took a random exit and we finally found a bar a mile away called "The Dive." The name was fitting since it really was a dive. Before we got out of the car, we hugged for a whole five minutes. I held my tears back because I wasn't ready for her to see the evidence of my silver tears. It was one of the things I actually left out of the letters. It seemed so small and I had truly just forgotten. She stepped out first, ran to my side, and held the umbrella over my head. We walked toward the bar with arms around each other. When we walked inside, several people looked up at us or stopped their pool games to see who it was. I gave a meek smile as I led Jenna to a bar stool. We immediately ordered drinks from the bartender, who introduced himself as Joe, and then we stared at each other for several minutes. It was so good to see her and I was sure she felt the same. I was going to take advantage of every second I had with my sister again. Jenna spoke first. "First let me start by saying wow." I nodded. Wow was an understatement. "You're alive." That I was. 8 Liquid-Sterling Blood> Jenna had one elbow propped up on the dark wooden bar. The side or head rested against her hand; her dark, curly hair draped over her shoulders like a veil as she stirred her Washington Apple with the tiny straw the bartender gave her. "So"--she smirked at me--"what's up with you and Joseph?" Her green eyes were amused and more interested than the polite conversation indicated. At least she was going the light route instead of diving into the Angel conversation. Maybe we both needed a little alcohol in our systems before we spoke about it. "Nothing," I answered dismissively. The last thing I wanted to do was to think of the conversation Joseph and I had over breakfast the first morning together--or the incident with Sara. Joseph was a friend--even if, at one point in time, we thought it could be different. It wasn't, though. He was my best friend. "Nothing? Or is it something and you just don't want to tell me?" She gave me the stare, the one that said "I know you are hiding something from me." Imagine that. "He was the only one I could trust with my secrets." I faltered and realized my oversight. "At the time," I added. I did trust Jenna, but the knowledge of my existence would have put her in danger--life-threatening danger. Even now, I felt a weird prickle about her knowledge of this entire new world that I didn't even know that much about. Would this cause her harm or follow her back to Jules like an evil black cloud? I could only hope her visit would be short and would leave her undamaged. Anger toward Joseph bubbled to the surface but I shook it off quickly. He was

just trying to help me. I tried to hide my depression over everything but he saw right through me. Jenna frowned and took a sip of her red liquid courage. "You didn't send me those letters, did you?" She must have seen the look on my face. There were too many emotions, too many thoughts to hide from everyone. I sighed and put my head in my hands. "No," I moaned. "I wrote them because I wanted to talk to you, tell you what was happening. But I couldn't. It would have put you at risk." If only she knew. . . Jenna didn't say anything as I stared at the inside of my hands and waited for her reaction. The only noise in the bar was the light chatter of voices, the clicking of pool balls, and the ball game on the television. I felt Jenna's warm hand touch my shoulder and I turned my head to gauge her reaction. She pulled me into a tight hug. "Is it all true? Everything you wrote in those letters?" How could I deny her the truth? If anyone would be on my side, it would be her. And after all the lies, she deserved the truth. Plus, I didn't think I could hold it all in any longer. I nodded against her shoulder. She pulled away from me though her hands stayed on my arms. "Why do I believe you?" Her eyebrows knitted together as if she were trying to figure out a complicated math problem. If only a calculator would help. "I don't know." I sighed as words piled up in my throat, begging to be free. "I don't know either." Jenna laughed like it was funny to her. Not funny hah-hah, but funny peculiar, strange. It was time to show her what I really was--who I really was. I just hoped that it wouldn't scare her off. "Let me show you something," I whispered and turned toward the bartender who faced the other direction. "Joe?" He pivoted and smiled at us. "Need a refill, ladies?" Oh, I needed a lot of things and alcohol wasn't one of them . . . though it would have been nice to have felt the numbing power of a margarita or three. "Sure," I said with a smile. "But I also need a knife. Do you have one I can borrow?" He raised his eyebrows at me but continued to smirk. He was definitely amused. He wouldn't have that grin on his face if he knew what I planned on doing with that knife. "Sure." He reached under the bar and handed one to me. "Don't start any bar fights, okay ladies?" Again, not what I had in mind. Jenna and I laughed at him though there was an edge to it. She was probably wondering what the hell I needed a knife for and I was nervous to see what her reaction would be. She had a curiously scared expression on her face, like she literally thought I would start a bar fight or was going to do some wild kung fu move. There was no crazy fighting technique to show her and it wouldn't be the knife these patrons would be scared of; it would be me. "I don't think that will be a problem," I replied dryly. Poor bartender Joe had no idea that I planned to cut myself instead. A little blood never hurt anyone, right? He winked at us. Joe really wanted a good tip, no matter the blood spillage. Not that he knew. Once he turned away from us, I swiveled toward Jenna again. I took a deep breath and held my arm out across the sticky bar, my forearm facing up. I traced one of my blue-red veins, though my skin had the pleasant glow that the other Angels had. "It looks human--normal. But I'm not . . . normal; not anymore." Jenna traced her finger over my arm too. "You're an Angel," she murmured. I nodded in assent, though she said it as a statement of fact, not as a question. That was just the way Jenna was--accepting. No matter how many lemons life had thrown at me, Jenna had always shown me how to make lemonade, or at the very least, throw those lemons back. Here's to hoping she doesn't throw them at me, I thought with the knife's handle turned toward me. I played with it on the table as Jenna watched me. She surveyed me with a stunned and horrified expression on her narrow, beautiful face when she realized what I was going to do. I lifted the knife and put the blade against my

skin as Jenna sat, frozen, looking as though she wondered if she should stop my suicide attempt. Of course, that wasn't what I was doing. I pressed the knife into my skin, the indention not yet breaking the flesh. Jenna snapped out of her trance as her eyes immediately darted around the room, probably to see if anyone was watching my little demonstration. As her eyes fell back on me, a look of trust slowly spread over her face. I almost wanted to giggle. Joseph had the same reactions when he was thrown into this world. He just . . . trusted. Fancy that. I tried not to smile at the image of the two in my head. I didn't want to look sadistic while I pressed a blade to my skin . . . though I think I had already failed when I put the knife to my arm in the first place. In a hushed-whisper, Jenna said, "Gabriella, what are you--" but her voice cut off as I bit my bottom lip in anticipation of the pain. Regardless of being an Angel, the pain didn't go away. The blade sliced through my skin and it was more painful than it should have been. Stupid, dull blade. The liquid-sterling blood spilled from the incision and pooled around the indention the knife made as we both watched it trickle down to the bar like lustrous melted silver. The blood caught the sunlight and reflected back at us like a light in a mirror that shimmered. I made a little noise, a gasp of pain, as I dug the blade in deeper. My eyes closed under the pressure and I almost bit a hole in my bottom lip. "Gabriella," Jenna barely breathed in awe. She placed her hand over mine--the one with the blade--and gently tugged at my arm. "I get it. No need to cut your arm off." It really hurt, so I had to agree. I dropped the knife onto the bar where it bounced against the wood twice before there was no noise but the background sounds of the bar patrons. I opened my eyes to see Jenna's reaction. It was like staring at a cartoon character. She was perched at the end of her stool with her eyes popping out of her skull as she watched the blood continue to seep from my wound. Her mouth was opened so wide, I thought she might have added a weight to her bottom lip like someone from some remote tribe in Africa. I put my finger under her chin and pushed up. My eyes followed the path of her eyes. Silver blood dripped down the edge of the knife, like tear drops, and plopped onto the wood. As I looked at it, I actually thought: It's beautiful. When I glanced back up, Jenna just blinked at me. Her mouth opened and closed like someone had stolen her voice and she was eating the air in hopes she would regain it. It must have worked because she suddenly said, "Beam me up, Scotty!" I raised my eyebrows at her reaction. She shook her head as if the movement would realign her thoughts. "Sorry, that was the first thing that came to mind. What I just saw was just as ridiculous as if you would have literally been beamed up into a spaceship." I supposed anything was possible, but I didn't say that to her. "Seriously, Gabby." She seized my arm and waved her other hand over the damage I had caused. "What the hell? You can't just cut yourself, have silver blood gush out, and expect me to just say . . . well, I'm not even sure what to say." "Beam me up, Scotty," I grumbled under my breath and turned away. She was right, of course, but it was either all or none. I couldn't keep secrets anymore. There were just too many of them. "What did you say?" My eyes snapped up to her green irises. "Oh . . . nothing." I didn't think she bought it, but she let it go. Smart woman. She dropped my arm and went for her red drink. She probably needed the courage. I knew I did. "So . . . silver blood, eh?" "That's not even the half of it," I muttered.

The wound on my arm began to heal itself, as I expected it would. The cartoon character look was back. I thought I was going to have to push her eyes back into their sockets. After a few seconds, there was only the silvery substance that gave me my timeless immortality left on the wooden bar. "What the hell?" Jenna had grabbed onto the bar as if she were going to throw it at someone. I sighed. What else would I have expected from this revelation? She stared at the knife like she was thinking of asking me to do it again. Her finger grazed the blood and she brought it close to her eyes to examine it. "Gabby, maybe there is more to being an 'Angel' than I realized." I nodded in complete understanding and mimicked her movements by swiping my own finger through my blood. "It was gold." "What do you mean 'it was gold'?" "I mean"--I snatched the knife off the bar and cut down my finger--"this"--I pointed to the sparkling blood that began sliding down my finger--"this used to be gold. I just can't figure out what happened. It's silver now. I don't know what it means." There was silence between us. The wound healed again and I wiped the blood on my jeans which made them shimmer as if I had doused them in metallic paint. I figured I could probably market those to teenagers. "Perhaps it's just another one of my . . . gifts? Powers? I'm not sure what to call it." Jenna gaped at me as if I had grown three more arms and turned fluorescent green. "First, stop cutting yourself! Second, what do you mean another one of your gifts? What other gifts, or um . . . powers, do you have? Can you fly? Where are your wings? Have you met God?" I giggled and placed a finger over her mouth before she could continue her questioning. "I can't fly, that is Andrew's special talent. No wings that I've seen. And God . . . well, I've never met Him." Jeez, this was sounding an awful lot like Karen explaining this to me. I shuddered but brushed it off before Jenna could sink her proverbial claws into that one. "Honestly, I'm not sure he even exists." My fingers drummed madly on the bar as Joe-thebartender plopped another drink before me. Yum, Yum. Pumpkin beer. 'Tis the holiday season to tell your sister that you're an Angel with magical abilities. "Tell me about Andrew! I have never heard you speak about a man like you did about Andrew in those letters." I sighed and opened my mouth to answer but she was already onto the next topic. "Hey, does Joseph have a special talent? Is he an Angel, too?" A soft blush crept up Jenna's face as she waved Joe down for her fifth drink. "Andrew is . . ." How do you describe the person who means everything to you? "He's my Angel . . . my everything." I sighed as I took a sip. Oh, liquid courage, you are my friend. "As far as Joseph is concerned," I began. Jenna gave me a peculiar look. "Wait, do you . . . like Joseph?" I laughed. "Do I like Joseph, or do I like like Joseph?" She giggled as she obviously felt the alcohol slowly turn her into a giddy school girl with no brain-to-mouth filter. "Why do I sudden feel like we're on the play ground in elementary school?" Another giggle escaped. "But, really, what's not to like? Hello? FBI Agent, tall, dark, handsome, successful . . . will you put in a good word for me?" "Sure, Jenna." I laughed. Jenna literally jumped from her bar stool. "Oh, and Andrew . . . oh my god, Gabriella, are you really in love?" Ignoring her drunken state--one I was surely falling into myself--I let out the breath I didn't know I had been holding. "I don't know if love is the appropriate word." Her checks flushed. "Did you make it to third base?" I gasped. "Jenna Rae Moretti-Freeman!" Freeman was her married name. She rearranged her features in a faux-sheepish-grin. "What? We're sisters; we're supposed to share all of our gory details--although gory might not be the right word in this case. Spill the beans, Gabriella. Come on, I haven't

had a man touch me in ages--give me the dirt!" I eyed her for a few seconds. I truly missed these kinds of conversations. "We had some hot kisses in a library in Italy." Jenna grinned. "You made out in a library? How cliche is that?" "Best cliche ever," I reminisced. "His hands . . . his body. Oh, the things he could do with just a simple touch." I sighed at the memory. I took a swig of my beer in an attempt to use it as a shield from my insane blushing. I didn't want to meet my sister's eyes before I continued on. "He slept with me for several nights." She cocked her head to the side and narrowed her eyes in good-humor. "Slept? Or slept? Do not hold back the details." "Well . . . the first night I didn't have any PJ's so I slept in the bed with only my underwear on . . ." Jenna's mouth hung agape. "But," I rushed on before she thought I had done something besides sleep . . . and dream, "he slept on top of the covers." "Seriously?" she asked disappointedly. Jenna popped up straighter in her seat and leaned toward me. "Oh my god, is he from the 1950's or what? Slept on top of the covers?" She laughed. "What was that about?" "It was the first night that he . . ." was alive? Came back to life? "He was just being a gentleman. He could probably tell how nervous I was." And I was nervous. Unbeknownst to Andrew, that had been the first night I had truly shared a bed with a man. When I told him later, he was surprised. Regardless, it was so easy to cuddle into his shoulder with his arm draped around me that first night. I was on my third drink and my brain was beginning to do that whole "I need to do something right this second or I'll burst" ordeal, in which I wanted to leave and find Andrew--to hell with waiting for the FBI. Jenna spoke and pulled me from my memories and longing. "Okay, so you slept in a bed--without intimate contact--then kissed in a library. Why is he your Angel? By the way, is Joseph seeing anyone?" She literally gave me the "sorry, it's all the alcohol's fault fomy stupid filterless comments" look. I understood, though. We were both lonely. "He did cuddle with me the first night, Jenna. Anyway, he is kind of like my protector . . . my Guardian, I suppose." I sighed. "It's complicated." That was an understatement. Well, everything was an understatement it seemed. "Angels have their own Guardian Angels?" She sighed. "You do realize how poetic that sounds?" "Yeah, it does sound pretty sappy," I replied with sarcasm. "That's so romantic," Jenna continued, ignoring me. "Can I have a Guardian Angel too? Is Joseph taking applications? I think he'd make a perfect Guardian Angel for me." I laughed, loudly. A few guys looked up from their pool game and winked at us. I turned away quickly. "Joseph isn't an Angel. But as far as I know he's on the market." I elbowed my sister playfully. "I'm sure he'd be flattered if you asked him to be your Guardian Angel . . . and as far as Angels having Guardians; they do. It is just, like I said before, complicated." My eyes shot down to my beer again. Oh frothy goodness, how you distract me . . . "Apparently I'm . . ." the Illuminator. No, she's dead. I'm Gabriella. "Special." I put my head in my hands. "But that isn't the problem right now. The thing is . . . Andrew doesn't know I'm alive," I admitted, ashamed. "Wait," Jenna choked and threw up her hands like she was stopping a ninety mile-per-hour train. "How does he not know that you're alive?" "Because . . ." I trailed off. "Jenna"--I placed my hand on her arm--"there was a fight and Andrew tried to save me, but it was too late. I . . ." "Died?" she whispered in shock. Realization blossomed on her face as she grew somber. "Gabriella," she asked tentatively, "if you were not really dead, who did we bury?"

"No one . . . an empty casket." The thought of my funeral actually made me sick. I saw the hurt in everyone's eyes-hurt that I couldn't take away without putting them all in danger. My Angels risked everything for me. My mother died protecting me and I would forever have to live with that horrible, gut-wrenching guilt. I just hoped it would lessen over time. "If you died, how are you here now?" Jenna glared down at her red beverage. "Seriously, no more alcohol for me-I think I'm going crazy here because I was pretty sure you just told me that you died. I thought that maybe you faked your death." "I didn't fake my death. And I don't know why I'm alive," I told her honestly. "One second I was barely conscious, the next I was dead--which I don't remember any of--and then, suddenly, I woke up in a morgue. Scariest thing that has ever happened to me." I omitted the part where I saw my mother for just a few seconds as I stumbled around naked and blind, thinking I had been kidnapped. Jenna didn't even know I had found my mother . . . oh crap, she did! Those letters were going to get me in a lot of trouble. Note to self: give Joseph a scolding later. "So, you've . . . um . . . crossed over? Is that an Angel thing? Is this normal?" Jenna quit glaring at her drink and instead took a deep swig of it. Great, I'd driven my sister to drinking. The sounds of the bar filled the silence between us for a few short seconds as we both took gulps of our drinks. "I haven't the slightest clue," I finally said. "I have yet to tell any Angel what has happened to me. I did it to keep them alive because, you see, there are those who will protect me and then there are those who will kill everyone who stands in their way to get to me--to kill me. I did it to protect them." Jenna's body trembled and in a small, shaky voice she asked, "Kill you?" Her words were met with my silence and the heartbroken expression I knew I was wearing. "Gabriella, I get the feeling that there is more to this story than you are telling me. Spill the beans, please." "You already know the story. Didn't you read all of my letters?" I wondered. She nodded. "There are obviously things you left out while writing them." Dammit if she wasn't right. The final letter was still in my back pocket and I knew it would tie up all those loose ends that the other letters left hanging open. "Please, tell me. I want to be there for you, but I can't if you don't tell me everything." I hated that she was pleading with me. I almost growled at her. "That's the thing, Jenna, you can't be here for me. Danger surrounds me at all times--even if you can't see it. It will only be a matter of time before someone finds out the truth and I am suddenly number one on their hit list." "Fine," she snapped. "Put me in danger, I don't care! Just tell me." "What about Jules?" I whispered and glowered at my empty glass. "Are you willing to put her in danger, too?" "Well . . ." Jenna's voice softened, "of course not, you're right." She sighed heavily. "Just give me the basics, please. Gabby, I grieved for a sister I thought I'd lost forever, so you kind of owe me." I sighed and reached into my back pocket. I pulled a sealed envelope out and passed it to her. "This is my most recent letter to you. It explains why I decided to keep my 'being alive' a secret. I just hope this isn't too much for you to handle." I placed it on the bar and slid it towards her with one finger on it. Jenna stared down at it like it was going to bite her. I remembered what I had written. It was about the Shadows; how they had lost their memories, and though I wanted to help them, they thought I wanted to kill them because of the prophecy that was actually an altered version of what the Angels had previously read. Also, inside the envelope was information about the Ladies of Light and how they were supposed to be good, but had become corrupt. And, most important, how the Soul Stalker was after me and was so good at lies and pretenses that I fell for her deceit--hook, line, and sinker. It was about my failure.

I failed. "Um . . . okay." Jenna cautiously reached for the envelope. As she read it, all sorts of emotions rolled across her face; confusion, terror, disbelief, and finally she semed to settle on horror. She was horrified. "Gabriella, we've always known that you were, um . . . different. But what's written in here"--she held the letter up and shook it like I needed a reminder of the monstrosities that were contained in the letter--"it is beyond reality. We need to get help; call the FBI or the CIA, or the um . . . who do you call for something like this?" I shrugged. "Ghost Busters?" she asked, absolutely serious. I burst into laughter while I shook my head back and forth. I knew she was being serious, but the Ghost Busters line almost made me fall off my bar stool as I imagined Karen morphing into a giant Marshmallow Man. Or maybe it was the alcohol. Whatever it was, I knew that the two J's might just be meant for each other. She deserved someone like him. Jenna deserved everything and I knew Joseph was good with kids, he told me so on the plane, so long ago . . . "Are you laughing at me because I'm drunk, or because I love the Ghost Busters?" I raised my eyebrows at her. "Okay, forget the stupid Ghost Busters. Honestly, Gabriella, your life is in danger! Does Joseph know about this? Is there someone he can call--someone to offer you protection? Geez, I'm terrified, so I can't even imagine how this all feels to you." "Joseph and I had a similar conversation," I said through strained giggles. I finally composed myself and looked at her face as it grew serious. "Joseph is FBI, remember?" I ignored her other questions; there was no need to answer them. "I mean . . . come on, Jenna, what would you do in my situation? Do you really think that the cops would not send me straight to Crazyville?" Jenna stared at me in understanding. "Yep--one way ticket to the Funny Farm." A strange expression crossed her face, like she was considering what she could do to help. "NO," I yelled because I knew what she was going to ask or offer. The bartender, who was leaning over the counter and speaking with a pretty woman, looked over his shoulder to see our very empty drinks. We'd been downing them pretty quickly. "What do you mean 'no'?" Jenna asked in a strained whisper. After Joe-the-bartender replaced our drinks, I turned to stare directly at Jenna and didn't even bother to lower my voice. "I will not put your life in danger. You are already risking it by coming out here with me." I lowered my voice. "I am supposed to be dead." Jenna finally turned angry. "I'm not just going to sit idly by while some crazy Soul Stalker stalks the soul of my sister. You and I might not share a blood bond, but I think of you as my sister in every way, shape, and form. I will help you in any way that I can," she concluded stubbornly. I jerked my beer off the counter, took a long drawl of the thick concoction of wheat and pumpkin before I answered honestly. "The best thing you can do, Jenna, is go home to Jules. She has no father"--I hated playing that card, but it was the only thing that would make her see reason--"and you are all she has left. You must do everything you can to stay alive for thatttle girl. You know I am right, I can read it across your face." I stood, not angry, but upset at just the thought of Jules without a mother and me without a sister. "I have to pee." I marched off toward the bathroom. "Supposed to be dead?" Jenna half shouted after me as I stalked off towards the bathroom. In the bathroom, I splashed cold water on my face and knew that I needed to quit drinking. How was I supposed to get us back to Joseph's? It would be embarrassing to have to call him to pick us up, though I was sure Agent Croft had already called him.

I dried my face and walked out the door, calmer. As I exited the small hallway that held the bathrooms, I noticed that Jenna was surrounded by a few of the guys who were previously playing pool. A sleaze-ball had taken up post next to her. I could overhear their conversation from the other side of the bar and it wasn't pretty. A tattoo-covered man had one hand on the bar and the other on the back of Jenna's stool, cornering her. His tattoos were nothing like Lucia's--with their beautiful, intricate markings and symbols of protection, strength, and wisdom. I didn't know much about tattoos, but his looked faded like prison tattoos. There were skulls and naked women tattooed on one arm and a creepy serpent on another. His hair was greasy and pulled back into a ponytail. "Miss, you look troubled," the man said and breathed in her face. "Can I help take your mind off things?" Tattman leaned on the bar where I had been moments before. "Must be some interesting thoughts you have there, miss," he said in an off-hand voice. "Excuse me?" Jenna snapped at him. I faltered in my steps to see what she would do. The man smirked at her and his cronies laughed. "You have this look on your face between horror, humor, and amazement. You know, I would recognize that face anywhere. Many of the women I take to bed end up with that kind of look." The man had no idea who he was messing with. "That look, huh? That look that says 'really--you think that little tiny pecker is going to satisfy me?' I know that bars like to serve peanuts, but trust me, peanuts don't satisfy. It takes real nuts to satisfy a woman." Jenna glanced back at her drink with a smug expression on her face. All of his friends guffawed like crazy hyenas until Tattman put his hand up in a gesture that said "shut up." I had hoped his public humiliation would send him packing. It didn't. Tattman's smile immediately turned into a frown. He leaned into Jenna's ear. "Oh, I could do some nasty things to you in my bed, little girl. Don't you dare talk to me like that." Hah! I think she might have struck a nerve with her peanut remark--must be true. Jenna smiled smugly to no one but herself and I knew what she was thinking. She had taken self-defense classes with me and Nicole when we were younger. We were women of the twenty first century and we knew how to handle a drunken pervert. Jenna was going to let him play his game. She leaned in closer. "Nasty things, huh?" As I walked around the bar to help her out, Tattman leaned down and kissed her. Passionate fury raced down my arms and my fingers sparked. Without thinking, really--hell, I was in a public place--I zapped the guy on his shoulder with electricity as soon as he let go of Jenna. Then she punched him. He toppled the bar stool and took my drink with him. He cursed the whole way down. It didn't take long before his friends crouched at his side. Jenna turned to gape at me. But honestly, we had worse problems which mostly included four muscled men ready to get physical with little ol' us. "Jesus, Gabby, what the hell was that?" I grinned. "Is it another one of those power things you were talking about?" I nodded, but hissed at her to keep her voice down. One of the guys that stood around their buddy--who was looking more and more like a bar floor mat--turned to face me. "What did you say, bitch?" Another one of the guys laughed. "She said she had powers." Oh shit, I thought. Jenna looked like she agreed. Joe-the-bartender had turned to face the commotion. "Stop it, Jackson, not in my bar and not today."

My bar? The guys didn't pay him any attention. Another guy, who had been silent, came up behind Jenna and grabbed her ass. Jenna gasped and turned quickly. When she whipped back around her face mirrored mine: rage. "Gabby," Jenna whispered, "I think it's time for us to go. Joseph will be worried." Jenna turned toward the gang of half-wit morons. "Thanks for the lovely proposition tonight, but I'm going to have to pass." I jumped in the air as someone grabbed my ass. Fury ran through my bones as I turned to face him--I was no damsel in distress; I was a walking self-defense machine. But I was too late. Jenna threw her knee right into his very sensitive area before he could even get one word across his lips. The blow sent him into a heap on the floor. Two floor mats. Jenna smiled in satisfaction and turned to me. Another guy went for the grab but he aimed a little bit higher. It felt like a powerful storm itched to unleash its wrath deep inside my body. I knew Jenna could take care of herself but she didn't notice him because she was smiling smugly at me. I couldn't help it. The storm decided to grace my fingers; lightning rushed through my veins. I breathed heavily and narrowed my eyes. Electricity shot out from my hand and sent the guy flying halfway across the bar until he landed haphazardly on a pool table. Pool balls ricocheted around the table as two stripes and one solid plopped into the pockets. Jenna gave me two thumbs up. I saw Joe talking rapidly on the phone. He hung up but not before I heard something about the police. Joseph was going to be so mad. "Holy--Gabby! You kick ass." "Don't know about the holy part, but yeah, pretty good for a corpse. We have to get out of here." I reached for the car keys. Joe-the-not-so-nice-anymore-bartender/owner yanked them up suickly I thought he had stopped time, stolen them, and restarted it. "Please, Joe." I batted my eyelashes like a crazy drunk woman. "I can't be here when the cops show up. I won't drive . . . I'll call a cab!" He frowned and the flirty exterior disappeared. "I heard what you said about you being dead . . . I think you staying here is exactly where you should be." Stupid eavesdropper! This is not good. "Gabriella, let's just go outside and call a cab . . . leave the keys or we can call Joseph." Jenna turned towards Joe. "Joe, thank you for your concern, but my sister doesn't drink very often; she's really not acting like herself. I'll just take her home and put her to bed." A growing angry mob of men--minus two floor mats and one pool table decoration--started our way again. "Is there a back door?" I asked Joe nervously. He frowned more deeply. "What did I say, Jackson? Back off," Joe ordered. Before anyone could act, the front door flung open to expose three cops, all in their black uniforms. 9 Jenna and I didn't put up a fight as we were escorted to the back of the building with the cops. At that point, we were thoroughly feeling the burn of the alcohol in our heads and, for some reason, we suddenly found everything funny. I had to wonder, as we sat in the small room, why the bar had a room much like one you'd see in a police station. There was a small table inside with a couple of chairs. That was all. They must have these kinds of problems all the time--what more could you expect from a joint called The Dive? Jenna and I sat next to each other and continued to fight off our giggles at the fact that we were being held until the cops came back into the room. They were busy attending to the creeps who touched us both. When Joseph finds out about this, he is going to kick my ass . . . for more than one reason. First, I left the house without telling him where I was going. I opened the door, saw Jenna, grabbed her, and we fled in a stolen government vehicle. That

alone left me in a heap of trouble. Second, I was about to be arrested. Possibly for assault charges or maybe for attempted murder because I was sure the fact I electrocuted two men to the point of smelling like crispy bacon would carry some weight in our situation. Third, I was supposed to be "dead." Fraud would not look good at this juncture. Well, Joseph had it coming after his little stunt with the letters. I still felt no guilt. Even under the circumstances, Jenna and I were in a fit of uncontrollable silent giggles. Joe-the-bartender didn't look too happy with us as he leaned against the far wall. No winking and flirting now, huh pretty boy? Yup, I was buzzed, absolutely and irrevocably so, when the cops give me a sobriety test--officially. I felt so reckless and it was so freeing. After being cooped up in Joseph's house with a body guard for a week, I thought I deserved a little bit of fun. This wasn't exactly what I had in mind but I'd take what I could get. Joe folded his arms like he could read my thoughts. Maybe they were just as plain as vanilla pudding on my face. Someone knocked at the door. Oh boy; I truly wasn't prepared for the cops. I'd never really dealt with city officials before and I wasn't sure if we were considered part of the guilty party or victims. Three police officers strutted in with a medic who followed in their wake. The three officers were in pristine uniforms--I'd bet their clothes could stand on their own they were so starched--though their looks had no uniformity. One was tall and thin, one short and plump, and the third was about six feet tall and as big around as the dough boy. The tall one took a seat while the other two stood behind him like sentinels. Great; good cop, bad cop. I could play this game--if I was sober, which I was not. I bit my lip to try and keep from laughing again. I stole a glance in Jenna's direction and her eyes watered under the strain of trying to keep her act together. She coughed a few times and I turned back to the officer that was perched in front of us, hoping that would alleviate any extra smiling from the both of us. He looked as serious as a heart attack. My laughter stuck in my throat. "I'm Officer Coolie. You can call me Bob." Jenna snorted next to me. Bob's eyes snapped in her direction and he frowned. While he wasn't glaring at me, the laughter came back as I did a little silent head-bob. Pun intended. Wow, I am buzzed, I thought stupidly. He finally looked back at me and I attempted to compose myself, though the officer behind him was trying to stop his own laughter which made it doubly difficult to rein in my humor. Bob pointed over his left shoulder angrily. "This is Bob." He jabbed his thumb over his right shoulder like he was stabbing something. "And this is Bob." At that moment, I couldn't hold it in any longer. Bob, Bob, and Bob? It had to be a joke. Jenna and I burst into laughter. Tears streamed down her face as we chuckled it up. Oh man, I am going to be in so much trouble when Joseph finds out about this. I knew what happened in the bar was wrong of me. I knew it, but I didn't do it for fun. The damn guy touched my sister without her consent and the electricity grew inside me. I thought it was self-defense but Joe had other ideas. Honestly, though, how could they prove I did anything? Um, excuse me officers, I shoot electricity out of my palms. Yeah. That wouldn't go over real well. Bob One's serious expression didn't falter. So, it wasn't a joke? They really were all named Bob? Bob One slammed his fist into the table as if it were a gavel, calling us to attention. "That's enough, ladies." It took every sober blood cell to keep myself from snapping to attention and saying "Yes, sir!" I was proud of my sudden self control. We both abruptly stopped our insatiable laughter, though Bob number two still had a grin the size of Texas across his face. He wasn't helping matters. Was he supposed to be good cop or bored cop? I couldn't figure it out. "We've had problems with these men before, Miss--" "You can call me Bri." I bet Joseph didn't realize that the first time I'd have to use the nickname he came up with would be to explain this to the cops. "Bri." He rubbed his eyes like he was tired. "This isn't looking good."

The medic shook his head at us like we were disobedient children and he was disappointed in us. "The men are fine, but I am still requesting they go to the hospital in case of any unseen damage." The medic folded his arms and frowned at us condescendingly. Jenna snorted again. "Is your name Bob too?" The medic didn't answer her, only glared. I was going to kick Jenna if she made me laugh again. Luckily, for her shins' sake, I held it in. The medic spun on his heel, turned the handle of the door, and flung it open. "I'm going to take the men to the hospital," he announced. Then he was gone. When the door shut, Bob Two chuckled and Bob Three flicked his ear furiously. Bob One sighed in exasperation. "Please explain to me what happened," he prompted. Jenna and I both went into our story, minus how I shocked Tattman. We gave each other high-fives in the appropriate places as the three cops listened intently; rolling their eyes over Tattman's pick-up line, eyebrows scrunching up when we told them about his dive to the ground, and giving angry faces every time Jenna and I highfived. Really, though, when she said the line about nuts how could you not give credit where credit was due? When we came to the part where Jenna kicked one of the guys between the legs, all three of them flinched and had identical faces of pain and hilarity. "And that was when you lovely officers showed up," Jenna finished with a flirty smile. "How did they get electrocuted?" Bob One asked. We both shrugged and then I said, "I honestly didn't know that anyone had been electrocuted until you told us." The lie was smoother than it should have been. The alcohol did one thing--it made me relax to the point of easy lying. Bob One sighed again as if he really didn't want to say what he was about to. "We are going to have to take you ladies into the station. Just to make sure we have covered all of our bases." This was so not good. "Bob, sir," I said sweetly. He looked at me as though he didn't believe my act for a second, but he gestured for me to continue anyway. "Could you call someone for me before we go?" I asked, being very sincere. Bob Three narrowed his eyes at me. He was, no doubt, bad cop. "You can call someone at the station, Miss Bri." That seemed to piss Bob One off who immediately countered his words. "Of course I can. Who do you need me to call?" Was it possible he was grateful the idiots got a little shocked? Or maybe he was pulling rank on Bob Three. I smiled at the thought. I gave him Joseph's contact information and everyone left us alone in the room--even Joe. Jenna and I were full of nervous giggles; maybe they were just alcohol induced fits of amusement. If Bob really called Joseph, I knew that we would be rescued and this whole thing would just go away. It was ridiculous that, as the victims, wewere being treated like criminals. The Bobs came back into the room a few moments later and cuffed us. That stopped our laughter immediately. Did he not call? Surely Joseph would get us out of this predicament? Or was he "getting me back" by not helping? I could picture his face now: the stern, disapproving look. I groaned, but obeyed, when they yanked me from my seat. Bob Three seemed to be pretty angry with me; he was not gentle as he pushed me out the door. The bar patrons stared at us as we did our walk-of-shame out the front door. Jenna began to sing, "Bad boys, bad boys, whatcha gunna do? Whatcha gunna do when they come for you?" Bob Two was escorting her and he laughed boisterously as Bob Three pushed me to go faster. He really hated me for some reason.

We didn't exactly get very far, though. A tall--and I mean rounding six and a half feet tall--stunning black man, in a finely tailored black and white suit, stopped in our path. He had a shaved bald head and was very intimidating. He wore black sunglasses and held out a hand in a gesture to get the officers to stop. I could smell the FBI from here. Bob Three became hostile immediately. "Step out of the way, sir." He removed a hand from my arm and I was sure he had placed it on his gun in warning. "Oh, the big-bad cop is going to get you." I laughed again. None of the Bobs seemed particularly happy at my giggling state. I had truly lost my mind at that point. Another point of alcohol--it made me act inappropriately, which, surprisingly, felt wonderful. James Bond to the rescue, Mister Black Suit whipped out a badge so fast I thought maybe I spaced out for a second. "FBI. They are currently under witness protection. They are coming with me." Wow, his voice was deep. It possibly made the ground vibrate. Impressive. Regardless, I had a bad feeling about this. His glasses hid his eyes and I immediately pictured the fire burning within. "I don't think so," one of the Bob's said angrily. "This is our prisoner--you have no right." "Prisoner?" Jenna and I asked at the same time, baffled. "Actually, I do," the tall man said as his voice grew deeper. "And if you don't uncuff them and hand them over right now, you'll know what it is like to go against someone who actually has skill with a gun." I gawked at the tall man and his words. Yeah, I was definitely impressed and scared all at the same time. "Don't threaten me, Bureau." "It's not a threat," the agent said coolly. "We don't have time for this." Bob Three pushed me forward and the tall FBI agent flung his arm out and caught the guy at his neck. Bob flew backward and hit hard against the concrete; the sound of air leaving his lungs was loud as the breath was knocked out of him. "Go badass!" Jenna cheered. Then she started to sing the Cops theme again with a slight lyric change. "Bad cops, bad cops, whatcha gunna do? Whatcha gunna do when the Bureau kicks you?" Bob Two was no longer laughing. He seized the back of Jenna's cuffs and jerked her backward hard. "Ow!" Jenna exclaimed seriously. "I said to uncuff them now," the FBI agent commanded heatedly. "I won't ask again. These ladies are important to the U.S. government and the FBI will not tolerate your insubordination." The agent bent down to grab the key from Bob Three and uncuffed me. Bob One let Jenna free as Bob Two stood frozen. We both grabbed for the other's hand. "Have a good day, gentlemen," Mister FBI said. The FBI agent put his hands on both of our shoulders and directed us toward a black SUV with all tinted glass. Now that was cliche. He opened the back door for us; Jenna and I were both reluctant to get inside. For a second, I wanted to question why she was, but then I remembered the letters. It was strange that she knew everything. Realizing we had no other options--I was pretty sure zapping another man today would not go over well with the FBI--we both pulled ourselves inside. He shut the door and strode around the vehicle and slid in behind the wheel. I felt anxious because he still hadn't removed his sunglasses and, well, it was cloudy and sprinkling slightly outside. There was no sun for him to be shielding. My friend, paranoia, had come to visit me again--strongly. Until I saw his eyes, I wasn't sure I could trust him. As if he could read my mind, he removed his sunglasses to reveal green eyes with gold flecks. Not a Shadow. I breathed out a sigh of relief and Jenna's stiffened posture deflated too. Through his expression, I could read the disappointment for our behavior. It was still better than being taken to the police station by the Bobs. I could handle that look compared to being pushed around by three

uniforms, all named Bob. "I'm Agent Salantro," he said softly as he turned the key in the ignition. "Like the herb?" Jenna asked with a giggle. "Yes, but spelled differently." From the rearview mirror, I saw him smirk at Jenna before his eyes darted to my face. "You can call me Patrick if it makes you feel more comfortable. I'm officially your bodyguard, Doctor, for your trip to Italy. Agent Carter sent me." A breath of relief flooded out of me. "Oh, thank god!" I exclaimed. I liked Agent Cilantro so much in that moment; I could have crushed him up and eaten him in salsa. "So when are we going to leave?" The thought of seeing Andrew again sent waves of joy through me. The feel of the alcohol subsided immediately and all I could picture was Andrew's arms around me, his lips to mine. A flush ran up my cheeks but they didn't notice. "Tomorrow," he said gently. "Tomorrow?" I repeated. The agent nodded. "Yes. It's important that we hurry. Pushing the paperwork through was more difficult than it should have been. Director Morris and Agent Carter worked hard to make this happen." "Oh." "I heard what happened to you, Doctor Moretti. There has been some speculation about why you are alive but no one has the answers. From what I was told about the Illuminator, it is paramount that you are still alive. I am honored to be given the chance to protect you." His words surprised me--Joseph must have told him I was the Illuminator because I didn't remembering telling the Director. "Oh, um, thank you." Jenna just gawked at me. "So the FBI already knows about everything?" "Most of it," I admitted. "I needed Joseph's help to find Andrew again. They still think I'm dead, remember?" Jenna nodded. "Are you going to seek out the Soul Stalker too?" I turned to her. "Are you insane? I want to stay far away from that woman. I suppose we'll have to work in secret until I am better with my powers. I'm supposed to Illuminate the Shadows, but I have no idea how to, nor do I know where to start. The Angels have the answers so I'm going to them for help." I hoped they did, at least. Of course, there were other reasons I wanted to seek out my Angels. I waved my hand toward Patrick. "And he's going to help me find the Angels." "Oh," she whispered. "Is Joseph going with you?" I nodded. "Yes. He knows where Aiden's house is and . . . I don't." Patrick spoke up in his deep voice. "We couldn't force Agent Carter to stay if we wanted to." Jenna smiled warmly. "He's so brave." I rolled my eyes. "Man, Jenna, you've got it bad." <> When Patrick pulled into Joseph's driveway, I noticed that Agent Croft's car was there already. Those FBI were good; I had to give them that much. The garage door was open and another car I recognized was parked there. The magnetic black paint sparkled under the fluorescent lights. The day was gloomy but the car was still shiny. Amazing.

"Joseph's here." I groaned. Jenna smiled widely but I ignored her and looked toward Patrick. "How mad is he?" "Mad?" he repeated. "Oh, I don't think he's mad." "He isn't?" "Definitely not," he assured me. I let out a shaky breath and dragged myself across the seat to open the door. It was locked and for a moment I panicked when I couldn't get the damn thing to unlock. "Doctor, give me a minute," Patrick said calmly. "I need to scope out the area to make sure there is no danger." He opened the door and the lights came on as the incessant dinging began. He shut the door and the sound cut off abruptly. I noticed that he kept the keys in the ignition and that made me feel better for some reason. The overhead lights faded and Jenna reached for my had. The sun had begun to set and it was quickly growing dark outside. "You have a body guard," Jenna said suddenly. "Yeah, I know. Weird, isn't it?" She nodded solemnly. It started to rain again and it was difficult to see through the tinted windows and streaming water. Suddenly, my door was flung open and Joseph was standing there with an umbrella. I couldn't read the expression on his face and I tried to convey everything into my half smile. It was an apology and "I'm happy to see you" all in one. He seized me and hugged me tightly. "Don't you ever do that again," he chided. His body stiffened suddenly and I pulled back to see what the matter was. "Jenna?" His voice was quiet, unsure. "Joseph," she said softly. I stepped back from Joseph and Patrick was suddenly there with an umbrella of his own, holding it over my head. Jenna scooted herself across the seat and Joseph held his hand out to her like he was a prince and she was a princess. They both smiled at the same time and embraced for a second. It was the way they looked at each other, the way their bodies seemed to fit perfectly together, and how they both were strangely shy all of a sudden. That wasn't like either of them and I smiled inwardly because I recognized the signs of the beginnings of love. It was exactly how I looked at Andrew for the first time. Joseph had it just as bad as Jenna. The four of us made quick work of the space between the vehicle and the house due to the hammering rain. We went in through the garage and entered the kitchen where Agent Croft sat, glaring angrily at the stove like it burned his dinner or something. "Sit," Joseph commanded as soon as the door shut. I did as I was told and parked myself across from Agent Croft at the bar. Joseph pulled out a stool for Jenna and she took a seat next to Agent Croft who had not looked up at us yet. Patrick stood behind me with his hand on the back of my stool. Joseph perched next to Jenna and turned to her slightly. "I see you got the letters?" he asked and Jenna nodded. "Then you probably know more than I do." "About that," I began but was silenced by a look that Agent Croft sent me. His gaze was literally like a heat wave. I recoiled a little and Patrick put his huge hand on my shoulder in a calming gesture. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Gabby,"--I glared but was ignored like always--"but you don't understand how hard it was for me to see you suffer. You weren't sleeping well and you'd wake me up crying and shaking. When you first came to my door, you just looked . . . lost. I felt desperate and though I am your friend, I knew you needed someone here with you that you have a history with."

I stopped him with a wave of my hand. A tear slid down my cheek and I wiped it away quickly. "Yeah, I've been torn up about everything--who wouldn't be?--but you had no right to put Jenna in danger like this." I stood swiftly and gripped the bar. "If anything happens to Jenna or to Jules I will never forgive you." Joseph's eyes darted to the bar, hiding his emotions. "Nothing will happen," he said softly. "Besides, this isn't about that. We have business to attend to." "Right, business." I lifted myself back onto the barstool with Patrick still at my back like a huge shadow. "You stole Agent Croft's car and took off without telling anyone where you were going. What were you thinking?" His voice rose substantially. "I'm fumbling around with my keys and your books and my phone rings. I couldn't get to it but before I had the chance to check, my phone it was ringing again. Agent Croft was frantic, Gabriella." He used my real name which made me flinch; he may as well have used my middle name too. "I was frantic! You took off and you are so lucky that his car had GPS on it! What were you thinking?" "I was thinking 'here's my chance to escape' as I stole an FBI agent's car," I replied sarcastically. "What do you think I was thinking?" "Hell if I know," he snapped back. "Do you think your safety is a joke?" "No but being a prisoner defeats the purpose." "It was only temporarily!" he shot back. My eyes narrowed. "I tried to be reasonable!" "So did I!" In the heat of the moment, I yelled back, defensive. "I've been trapped for days, Joseph. Then Jenna shows up on the door step as Agent Croft here is creeping around with his gun out. It was just instinct--get her out of here. I saw his keys and we ran." I took in a deep breath. "I've been frantic, too, ya know?" I was shouting. "I lost everything, Joseph. Everything," I said slowly. "It was inexcusable for me to steal his car, but it's been inexcusable for you to make me wait to go to Italy." I placed my palms on the bar and rose slightly. "My Andrew thinks I'm dead--dead," I added again for emphasis. "How much longer do you think I will let him suffer?" He opened his mouth, closed it, and repeated the movement. He reminded me slightly of an angry blowfish. He finally spoke. "I've been trying my best. You wanted help and you knew I wouldn't let you leave without protection-though I know human men aren't really going to stop the Angels, it made me feel better to know that you weren't alone." "But I was alone!" He sighed apologetically. "We're going to Italy tomorrow so you don't need to worry about any of that stuff anymore. We're going to go to Andrew." "Jenna isn't going!" I shouted angrily. His hand reached out and covered both of hers which were intertwined on the bar. "No," Joseph said quietly, "she's not." "Good." I sat back down and felt relieved. Jenna's eyes grew wide when she looked back at me. "Your eyes!" I closed them suddenly and took in a deep breath. "I know," I whispered. "Open your eyes," she demanded. "No, Jenna. You are just going to be more freaked out."

Large, warm hands circled me around and, slowly, I chanced a look. I was staring directly at Patrick's massive chest. He grabbed my chin gently and moved my face up to look at my eyes. Recognition flitted across his face for a second and then his expression went neutral. "Interesting," he whispered. "Indeed, you are powerful. What I was briefed on wasn't a lie." I pulled free and turned back to the rest of the table. Agent Croft looked away quickly, Jenna gawked, and Joseph looked ashamed. "I'm sorry," he said. "Me, too." Jenna stood, leaned over the bar, and ran her finger around my eyes. "It's gone. That was sooo cool." I snorted and took my seat again. All I needed were rosary beads and you'd think I was in a Catholic church with all my ups and downs. "Now, what's the plan for Italy?" 10 Agent Croft left before we delved too deeply into the Italy discussion and soon we were in the living room just enjoying each other's company. We had established a plan and felt relaxed. Tomorrow afternoon we would be flying to Italy to meet up with a CIA agent. Director Morris really did have to pull some strings since two of his FBI agents would be leaving U.S. territory. Then, we were going to drive to the outskirts of a little town east of Naples called Avella where, apparently, my parent's house was located. Agent Croft wouldn't be joining us and for that I was thankful. He didn't care for me much and, honestly, I think my abilities scared him. Hell, they scared me so I didn't blame him. Agent Salantro, aka Patrick, would accompany us on our trip. He was a very quiet person, but when he spoke each word seemed to have weight to it. I really liked Patrick and was pleased that he would be there to say weighty things. As the evening progressed, I noticed Jenna and Joseph had officially hit it off. They attempted to be coy about the whole thing, but I saw right through it. She was the magnet and Joseph was a piece of steel. Where Jenna went, Joseph followed, even in tiny movements. At first, it irritated me because Jenna had a red-eye flight and, if things went badly in Italy, tonight would be the last time I ever saw her. But as I watched them interact my irritation vanished and was replaced with delight. I had never, ever seen Jenna react the way she did around Joseph, except when she was with Dave. Just the way she smiled was enough to know how she felt about him; it was like the sun shone from her glowing face. If I didn't make it through my "journey," and the last I saw of Jenna was when she was happy, I'd be content with it. Jenna took two Advil to help with her headache from sobering. I didn't have the same problem, luckily. For the first night in a very, very long time, I was truly happy. Patrick was like a comfortable shadow as he stood all guard-like in the room. The rest of us laughed our way through childhood stories. We found out that Jseph was a swimmer in college in southern Florida and bulked up too much to make a career of it. He was interested in law enforcement and decided to look into the FBI requirements. One of the regular cases he was involved in turned supernatural and landed him in Paranormal Investigations. Jenna sat stunned for quite some time as we told different stories that I had always kept secret from her. Joseph was still tight-lipped about many things, but he had the weight of the FBI on his shoulders and I didn't. Jenna reluctantly brought up Dave, her dead husband, and Joseph held her hand as she relived one of the hardest times of her life. When she spoke about the worst day after his death, the day she received a letter he'd written just before he died, Joseph eased her under his shoulder. He didn't run from her past and that earned Joseph brownie points. Jenna and I had both been through difficult times in our lives and that was one of the reasons why we were so close. She was more than my sister, honestly. There really was no word for what she was to me. All I knew was that Jenna and Joseph were in the same categories in my head: special, important, family. I finally understood the connection I had with Joseph. It was love, but it wasn't that kind of love--it was the wonderful bond you have with someone you truly care about and would do anything for. He was family.

When ten in the evening rolled around, Jenna had to go to the airport because Jules was waiting for her back in Oregon. We stood awkwardly in the doorway as I argued with Joseph. "It's just to the airport. Please let me go!" "No," Joseph said firmly. "Haven't you had enough fun today?" I put my hand to my forehead. "Yes, stealing a car, going to a bar, being harassed by some jerks, and getting ourselves arrested was way fun," I snapped back sarcastically. Joseph laughed and I ignored him. "I just want to spend as much time with Jenna as I can!" Jenna put her hand on my arm and I turned to her, surprised by her look of agreement. "He's right." Yup, right on cue. "What?" I made a noise of exasperation. "Don't you want me to go to the airport?!" The hurt leaked into my voice before I could stop it. She smiled sweetly in understanding. "Of course I do, Gabby." Joseph grinned broadly at the nickname and I wanted to stomp on both of their toes. "But if it is safer for you to stay here, then that is exactly where you should be. I had no idea what kind of risk you were taking by leaving earlier." I glared at Joseph and he shrugged, slightly smug. I didn't see the risk, but everyone seemed to think at any second I would be attacked and someone would find out I was supposed to be dead. "Fine!" I relented and raised my hands in surrender. Jenna pulled me into a bone-crunching hug that I reciprocated and we just held on to each other for several long seconds. "Don't tell anyone about me." "I won't," Jenna said through sobs against my hair. "It's great to know you're alive. And you're a freakin' Angel!" I laughed. "That's what they call us pesky immortals." The sweet Jenna smell--like a field full of lavender--attacked my nose as I squeezed her tighter against me. Then, we let go and I placed a kiss on her cheek. She reached up and wiped away a silver tear that had escaped my eye. "I love you, Gabby. You take care of yourself . . . and it wouldn't hurt me one bit if you continued to write to me, Bri." We both laughed and Joseph raised his eyebrows. "I love you too, pumpkin," I said. "Pumpkin?" Joseph cut in. Jenna glared at me. "It's a long story. I'll tell you on the way to the airport." Actually it was a short story that included three pumpkins, a pirate costume, and spiked Halloween punch. The tale was legendary back in Ohio. Patrick opened the front door and handed Joseph an umbrella. We all walked out onto the landing and Joseph popped the umbrella open and held his arm out to Jenna. The rush of the wind and rain swirled around my ears as she turned back to me and gave me another tight hug, crying now. I pulled her into me and tried to send as much love through the one touch as I possibly could. "Give Jules a kiss for me. Tell her it is from me, her Angel." She reluctantly pulled out of the hug. "I know you are right, about not letting me go along with you, but it is still killing me knowing that you are out there while everyone else I know thinks you are dead." She sniffled as tears streamed down her face. I sighed. "Jenna, you are my sister and my rock. I don't know what I would do without you. But you need to think about Jules right now. She needs you, now more than ever," I told her and gave her another hug. "Now get going. You'll miss your flight." Jenna wiped a tear from her eye, turned, and stepped toward the tinted-windowed, black, cliche SUV with

Joseph's arm wrapped around her. Watching her walk away was so strange. Soon they were lost like a ghost in the mist. Headlights flooded through the rain like a river. Patrick held the door open and gestured me inside just as the SUV backed away and sped down the road. There was something about saying goodbye to Jenna that made me fall apart. Everything hit me at once. It wasn't like my life was fantastic before, but it was still my life, my job, my house, my career, my family . . . it was all mine. And I had lost it all. But then I gained this amazing life filled with wondrous people. And then I lost that too. I ambled numbly to the couch and instead of being that FBI shadow that Patrick was excellent at being, he sat caddy-corner to me on a love seat. I didn't cry; I just stared forward at a huge clock decorated with bronze colored wrought iron. The second hand ticked on by in a soft, rhythmic sound. Patrick's voice penetrated the silence. "Anything worthwhile is gained through sacrifice." I leaned over, placed my elbows on my knees, settled my chin on the palm of my hands, and tilted my head toward Patrick. He had one arm draped over the back of the love seat and the other on the arm rest, absolutely relaxed, though his green, gold-flecked eyes were fully alert. "When do the sacrifices outweigh the good?" He shrugged. "Only you can answer that question, Doctor." He angled forward some. "Think of all you will achieve, all the lives you'll change, with the sacrifices that you have made." "I know." I sighed. "But that doesn't mean I can't mourn for all that I did sacrifice in the process." "Of course," he said softly. The sound of the clock ticking filled the silence and I once again watched as the hands moved around the clock. "You can call me Gabriella," I whispered and glanced over at Patrick. He smiled and, from the curve of his lips, you could tell that he didn't do that often. "Well, Gabriella, I think you are brave and loyal. From what I've read and discussed about you in our meetings this week, you are one of a kind." "Thanks," I replied sadly. "How much more will I have to give of myself?" "I don't know," he said honestly. "Will you not do everything that you can to help the Angels? When the sacrifices become too much, would you leave mankind to fend for themselves while you hold the power to save them?" "Well, no, of course not." He smiled again and it made his eyes light up. "Then it shouldn't matter how many sacrifices it takes, how long you'll have to suffer, because you'll do what it takes. And that is what Agent Carter likes about you and how he convinced the FBI and even the CIA that you are worth the risk." Patrick scooted to the edge of the love seat, took my hand right out from under my chin, and wrapped his huge hand around mine. "You are worth it, Gabriella. Just remember that." His words brought a small smile out of me. I remembered Andrew and Joseph both telling me the same thing, but for some reason hearing it from Patrick gave it more credence. "Thanks, Patrick." He nodded, rose from his seat, and went to the window. I guess he was back on duty. "Goodnight," I said as I stood and walked toward the hallway. "Everything will work out," he said without turning away. "I hope you're right." And with that, I went to bed. There were no dreams that night and I felt a mixture of sadness and elation when I woke up. Sad because I wanted my mother's memories to come back and elated because I didn't have to witness her death again. There was another emotion that had me literally skipping through the house in the morning: excitement. In less than

twenty-four hours I would be in Italy with Aiden, Andrew, and my other Angels. Of course, everything would grow exponentially harder, but I'd be with those who could help me, be there for me, and guide me. I packed my suitcase with vigor and rolled it down the hallway and into the kitchen. When I entered, Joseph was taking a huge bite of pancakes while Patrick drank from a steaming coffee mug. The whole kitchen smelled delicious and I went straight to the coffeet and the clean mug next to it. "Is this for me?" I asked. "Sure is, Gabby. Drink up." I twisted around to see Joseph's smug smile distort as he chewed his food. "I think I like Zinger better," I muttered. Patrick choked on his coffee. I walked toward him and patted his shoulder lightly. "You okay?" Patrick nodded and I sat at the bar where Joseph scooted me a plate piled high with pancakes. "Are all of these for me?!" I eyed the stack carefully and counted. "Six? I can't eat all of this." Joseph reached his fork across the bar, stabbed two of the cakes with his fork, placed them on his plate, and poured syrup over them. "You should have seen the massive pile Agent Salantro ate earlier." Patrick shrugged wordlessly. "Ignore him," Joseph said. "He ate twenty pancakes." "You're full of it!" I accused. "I was hungry," Patrick said over his shoulder as he rinsed out his coffee mug in the sink, dried it, and put it away. I gave him five big gold stars for cleaning up his mess. "Glad to see that you are packed, Doctor." He looked down at his watch. "We've got to leave earlier than we had previously planned. There was a wreck on the interstate this morning and part of it is blocked off. There is a delay, but going around will take just as long." I nodded because I had a bunch of food in my mouth. When I swallowed I asked, "Do you know this CIA agent we are meeting with in Naples?" "Not well, but he is aware of the case. It's a stipulation when we leave the country. But don't you worry, Doctor, we'll make sure you get back to your Angels," Patrick assured me. "What did I tell you, Patrick? Call me Gabriella." "Gabby," Joseph pretend-coughed. I threw the stick of butter at him and he dodged it. It slid across the floor and smacked against a cabinet. We burst into laughter and I reached over the table and hit Joseph's arm. He held his bicep like it really hurt, even though I barely tapped him. "Watch out for this one, Agent. I saw her put an immortal flat on her ass." Joseph snickered and Patrick raised eyebrows at me. "She was going to murder me!" I defended. "Just giving you a hard time," Joseph said with his hands up in surrender. "Gabriella," Patrick cut in as he bent toward my suitcase, "is this all you have?" I nodded. He picked it up, left the kitchen, and the front door opened and closed. "So, what do you know about Patrick?" I asked Joseph. There wero FBI agents that came to mind, making me a little wary of trusting someone I didn't know. Karen was very sweet and kind to me and turned out to be the Soul Stalker. Literally someone who stalks souls. Then there was Jeff Vittorio, who hurt my wrist and was cast out by

the Elders. He obviously didn't stay gone forever since he ended up accomplishing what the Soul Stalker failed at: killing me. Honestly though, I wasn't sure how much I could trust the Elders either because of their easily manipulated minds. I really liked Patrick and I didn't want that blindsiding me down the road. "He has an outstanding record with the FBI and he works strictly with the paranormal. He usually doesn't work with others, but he specifically asked to join this case. He seemed to be particularly interested in you." Joseph shoved another fork-full of pancake into his mouth. "You did come back from the dead like Jesus," he mumbled through the mouthful of food. I dropped my fork and it clamored loudly against the plate. "Please don't use that comparison. I . . . I'm not Jesus, okay? I woke up in a damned morgue; I didn't miraculously make my way out of a sealed cave!" Joseph swallowed his food and laughed. "Contrary to popular belief, I can't actually do anything," I continued, latching onto his humor. "I doubt I could walk on water." Joseph stared at me for a moment, another fork-full of food held close to his mouth. I could almost see the wheels turning in his head. "Want to take a trip to the beach?" he asked eagerly. "Seriously, enough with the Jesus jokes." "I know, sorry, but who else can I compare you to? It's not like I know anyone who rose from the dead." "I don't know." I sighed. "Anyway, that's all you know?" Joseph opened his mouth to speak but was cut off. "That's not why I'm interested in this case," Patrick said as he strode into the kitchen. "How'd you hear--oh, never mind." I took another bite of breakfast while I waited for him to explain why he requested my case. He didn't. I chased my breakfast down with the rest of my coffee as I watched Patrick. He was like one big tall muscle that made circuits around the house. I gave up when he left the kitchen. I washed the dishes as Joseph went back to his room to pack. 11 We loaded into the car and buckled our seatbelts. Patrick drove while I laid my feet out across the backseat, enjoying the sunshine compared to yesterday's rain; not like the ultra-dark tinted windows let much in. Joseph fidgeted with his sun visor so he could look at me through the mirror. We laughed and joked the majority of the drive until we hit the interstate and immediately ascended upon the long line of bumper-to-bumper traffic. Joseph groaned. "We were expecting this, Agent." Patrick tapped his thumbs against the steering wheel to the beat of the low music that came from the stereo. I patted Joseph on the shoulder. "Don't you know the rules of passenger etiquette?" "Scream when we're about to hit another car?" he joked. "Well, the number one rule, my dear Joseph, is you can't complain about other drivers on the road unless you're the driver." "I like that rule, Doctor," Patrick agreed. "It's Gabriella," I said at the same time Joseph said, "It's Gabby." I sighed, resigned. Jenna had officially embedded the nickname "Gabby" into Joseph's brain forever. I leaned back against the door and picked out a book that was in the Barnes and Noble bag on the floorboard next to me.

The cover didn't look familiar, but the title did. I opened it up and started to read the book anyway. It was about a werewolf boy and his struggle of loving a human girl. A deluge of memories overwhelmed me and I felt like I would drown in them. Andrew reading the books at the library; our banter as I teased about the same werewolf boy in the book in my hands; the way Andrew made my heart race and my blood boil. Everything was so vivid that I lost my vision for a moment and the noises around me disappeared. The memory changed and distorted until all I could see were my Angels being attacked at my parents' house, the scattering of clear marble-like stones across the marble floor, the rush of Shadows. I came out of the strange . . . whatever you want to call it and gasped for air. "Gabriella?" I heard distantly as I panted. My name was being called over and over but I was still grasping for reality and couldn't quite respond. There was a blast of electricity that exploded out of my body, the screech of tires, and the jerk of something around my torso. My head slammed against something and my vision came back to me, as if a hypnotist snapped his fingers and I woke up from a trance. The car moved slowly for a moment before it stopped completely. The annoying dinging sound a vehicle makes when the door is open and the vehicle is still on was going off. Both Patrick and Joseph's doors were open but they were missing from their seats. "Joseph?" I called out as I put my hand to my head, dazed. There was a sore spot at my hairline and it was wet. I pulled my hand away and looked down at the blood. It wasn't silver, but it wasn't red either. It was a strange shimmering, pink-tinged mixture that made my heart thud forcefully against my ribcage. My door opened and I fell backward, my seatbelt catching me. Joseph was at my ear. "Are you okay? Oh shit, your head." "I'm fine," I assured him. "Sure ya are, Zinger." The nickname surprised me and I gave a low chuckle. Joseph reached over and unbuckled my seatbelt. I rested against him for a few seconds. I recognized Patrick's deep voice. It grew louder along with a voice I didn't recognize. "Really, it's no big deal," the guy said. "That's what insurance is for." "Is she okay, Agent?" Patrick asked, holding his hand up to sthoever was talking from coming closer. "I'm fine," I repeated. Joseph's chest shook with laughter. "She's bleeding, but she'll be okay." "Can she walk?" "Guys, thanks for the concern but I'm fine." I rose up in my seat and swung my legs around so I could climb out. Joseph held his hand out and I took it gratefully. When I was on my feet, he let go and my knees went out from under me. Patrick caught me, moving so quickly I blinked up at him a few times, confused. He had this look on his face that I couldn't quite place. I'd say it was concern, but it was a deeper emotion, one I couldn't quite understand. "Thanks," I said softly. "I--" he cut himself off and his eyebrows came together. "I'm sorry. I wasn't paying attention and I just ran right into another car. It's all my fault." "It's okay. I'm--" "Fine?" Joseph chimed in. "Obviously not. You need to be checked out by a doctor." "I am a doctor." I rolled my eyes at him, but that didn't deter him from his train of thought. "Not that kind of doctor." "What is 'that kind of doctor' going to say when they see my shimmering pink blood, Joseph?" I changed my voice

to mimic one of a concerned doctor. "I'm sorry ma'am, you appear to be suffering from a mild case of Pretty Pretty Princess syndrome? Have you ingested any magical woodland faeries recently?" I tapped my fingers on the top of the car. I could tell he was trying not to smile. "Oh, and I suppose you've examined your share of supernatural head trauma cases?" He raised one eyebrow at me and then pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and began to practically shout orders at someone. I was sure he called someone at the FBI headquarters instead of a regular ambulance. Patrick let go of me but kept his arms outstretched, as if he were about to catch me again if I went down. Luckily, I felt like I could understand the concept of gravity again and my head began to clear. Patrick quickly pulled a handkerchief from his suit and wiped away the evidence of my blood before the guy, who I assumed spoke to Patrick earlier, came into view. He wore faded blue jeans low on his waist, and a purple polo shirt with a white shirt underneath. His hair was in perfect disarray and his face was pierced many times. He had both hands covering his mouth, his brown eyes wide. I was sure his mouth probably had a piercing or two, also. For some reason, I was too busy thinking about how funny it was that Patrick carried an actual handkerchief with him to speak. Purple shirt guy removed his hands from his mouth and I was right; his lip was pierced and, when he spoke, you could see a tongue ring. "Oh my god!" he screeched. "What?" I asked, suddenly feeling self conscious. My hand automatically went for my forehead as I remembered my strange looking blood. I felt around my hairline but I wasn't in any pain and I couldn't find the source of the blood; actually, there was no blood at all. Joseph walked away as he argued with someone on the phone, trying his best to keep the conversation private from the guy I assumed Patrick rear-ended. Patrick, on the other hand, grabbed my hand to stop my movements and gently tugged my searching fingers away from my forehead. He brought his massive hand up to my face and bent down some so he could look. Actually, he had to bend over a lot since he was so tall. His palm cupped the side of my head like a basketball while his thumb rubbed across my hairline. "Gone," he whispered, baffled. "I thought they informed you in those meetings that I was . . ." I looked over to the nervous guy. I lowered my voice. "I thought you knew that I healed quickly." His eyes stopped their frantic search of my face and darted to my eyes. He looked confused and I wasn't sure I understood why. "I knew," he answered suddenly before he let go of my face and straightened. Without everyone blocking my view, I finally saw the damage. The vehicles had obviously been moved to the side of the road. Steam rose from the engine of the black SUV with a hiss, and the back of the small green Toyota truck was bent at the funniest angles. The sickly sweet smell of antifreeze was thick in the air. There was some plastic on the interstate from the broken lights, and some chipped paint, but for the most part the vehicles were intact, though damaged thoroughly. Two state troopers pulled over behind us with their lights flashing and climbed out of their vehicles. They were both dressed in grey uniforms with large black hats. One had a small pad of paper like a reporter would carry while the other had a clipboard with paper that flapped in the wind produced by the passing vehicles. Before they reached us, an ambulance and three black Cadillacs pulled in behind them. A passerby might think we were doing something illegal and expect to see drug-sniffing dogs. I sighed, sat back down in the backseat of the SUV, and waited for the crowd to gather around. Joseph walked back toward me, snapping his phone shut, and shook his head. "Nope! Get up. We're going to the ambulance. Don't worry, they're our men." "I'm--" "If you say 'I'm fine' one more time I'll make you ride coach to Italy," Joseph teased. "I just want to be certain, okay? Just humor me."

"Not coach!" I gasped in mock horror and then held my hands up in resignation. "Okay, okay. I'll go." "Atta' girl." He pulled my coat out of the backseat and draped it over my shoulders as he led me to the ambulance. There were a group of suits speaking rapidly with the two state troopers who looked absolutely haughty. I was sure there was some kind of power struggle going on but I didn't care to get involved in it. I was busy dealing with enough power struggle crap in the Angel universe to worry about something as small as a state trooper versus FBI agent squabble. I sat on the back bumper of the ambulance next to the purple polo shirt guy. A stunning blonde paramedic began to clean my forehead. "I have to say that this is a first." She smiled sweetly at me. "It's a first for me, too," I replied, though I was sure she was talking about the healed cut and I was referring to the ambulance. Patrick walked toward me and Joseph. "The tension is so high over there I thought I would suffocate." "Why do you think I wimped out and acted like I needed medical treatment?" Joseph replied with a smile. Purple shirt guy looked up at Patrick and grinned. He had his left hand out which was cut and the medic had moved on to him. "You must be important," purple shirt said to me, interested. "Huh?" I replied stupidly. "To cause such a stir for just a fender-bender." "Oh, right." I shrugged in nonchalance. "Someone"--I nodded my head towards Joseph--"tends to overreact a bit, that's all." Patrick loomed over us. It was hard for him not to loom because he was so tall. His shadow blocked the sun from my eyes and I was grateful. "Hey Patrick, how's the weather up there?" I asked playfully. "Doc-Gabriella?" His forehead crinkled in confusion. "You're so tall I figured the temperature might be a degree or two cooler." I laughed and guy in the purple shirt laughed along with me. Patrick smiled and it was blinding; his teeth were white against his rich, dark skin. Purple shirt guy held out his unhurt hand. "I'm sorry I didn't introduce myself earlier. I'm John." Patrick shot his hand out and they shook. "I'm Agent Salantro." "Like the herb?" John asked as his tongue piercing clinked against his teeth. I choked on a laugh and Joseph bumped his shoulder against mine. It was nice to be back to shoulder bumping, our thing. "Yes," Patrick confirmed. "But spelled differently." I wondered how many times he had to explain that to people. He should probably just tell people his first name instead. Much simpler. "Well, if you don't mind me saying"--John smiled shyly, his cheeks turning pink as his voice went up a few octaves-"if I got hit in the rear-end by a guy as hot as you every day, my life would be perfect." Patrick blinked for a second as he stared down at John. "No offense," John added quickly. "You are just a very beautiful man. I'm sure you don't 'swing' that way, so I'm not hitting on you . . . okay, maybe I am. Anyway . . ." Patrick's lips twitched like he wanted to smile at the man but suppressed it. He nodded once, twisted around, and

walked away. I patted John's leg sympathetically. "Don't let it bother you, John. He's pretty quiet." He turned his head to look at me and smiled broadly, his eyebrows moving up and down. "He totally wants me." Joseph and I burst into laughter and even a small female chuckle came from the front of the ambulance. The blonde medic hopped down to patch up John's hand. "He sure does, dear," she said to him. When she finished, she said, "You and Gabriella are both fine to go." She looked toward Joseph and blushed. "Do you need any care, Agent?" Joseph shook his head. "Nope, I'm great. But if any of the suits ask, tell them you checked me out." He winked at her and the blush turned from rose to almost crimson. I smacked Joseph's shoulder playfully when we stood to go toward the crowd of people. "Stop flirting!" He grinned. "Why?" he asked innocently and literally waggled his eyebrows. "Because . . . Jenna likes you and if you break her heart I'll cut yours out!" I threatened him, half playfully, half serious. He put both of his hands to his chest and gave me an expression of horror. "I wouldn't dare." "Better not!" When we came upon the crowd, they suddenly dispersed. One agent stayed behind and handed keys to Patrick before he made himself scarce. Patrick shook the keys. "We've got a new ride. Someone should be by to pick up the SUV sometime today. We've upgraded to a new Cadillac." Patrick and Joseph started walking toward one of the black cars behind the ambulance. "Um, hey guys. What about our stuff?" I asked, not moving. "Already been transferred," they both said at the same time, not even faltering in their strides. I ran to catch up but again, my sudden burst of speed surprised me and I was suddenly ahead of them. "Been working out, Zinger?" Joseph shouted as I flew by. I slowed. "I didn't mean to run that fast. It comes and goes and I never expect it." It wasn't like I could suddenly run some insane, superhero speed, but I bet I could run a two minute mile. Record breaking, I was sure, but not supersonic speed or anything. "You'll get the hang of it," Patrick said seriously. "Freak," Joseph teased. "You're just jealous," I taunted. "Maybe," he relented. "So, Patrick," I said casually. "What'd you think of John?" His serious face, if possible, grew more serious. I was thinking of nicknaming that face his "weighty face" because he usually said something full of meaning afterward. Joseph, smartly, didn't say anything about it. The three of us opened our doors and sat down like we were synchronized swimmers. Once in the backseat, I bit my lip as I tried to stifle my giggles at Patrick's expression. Patrick and Joseph stared straight ahead, looking toward the interstate. Patrick hadn't started the car yet. I glanced at my watch. "Um . . . guys? We kind of need to get to the airport before our plane leaves." Joseph's

shoulders trembled like he was withholding laughter too. There was just something about Patrick's discomfort with the whole situation that made it more hilarious. I held my breath to contain the giggles that begged to explode out of me. No one responded in any way for several seconds. Suddenly, Joseph burst into laughter, unable to contain it any longer. The car slightly shook with it which made everything exponentially funnier for some reason. Patrick turned his head slowly, his eyes narrowing at Joseph. "It's not funny," he grumbled. "And you call yourself an FBI agent," I teased Joseph as my own laughter joined his. "I lasted longer than you!" "Still not funny," Patrick replied dryly. His weighty face made it funnier for some reason. "Yes, yes it is," I disagreed through my fits of laughter. "I mean, seriously, did you see him?" I hiccupped as I tried to rein in my almost-snorting giggles. Joseph chimed in. "Yeah, Agent." Joseph's voice went up an octave to imitate our new friend. Or should I say Patrick's new friend? "If I got hit in the rear-end by a guy as hot as you every day . . ." he trailed off. I fell over sideways in my seat at that juncture. What was the point in sitting up straight when every time I did I collapsed in giggles again? Patrick, on the other hand, didn't find it very funny at all. Go figure. "It's not his sexual preference that bothered me," he replied coolly. We waited for him to expand on what he meant but he didn't. Instead, he turned the key in the ignition, put the car in drive, and flipped on the turn signal. We eased into traffic and, instead of inching our way through traffic when we were already late, Patrick flipped a switch and a siren began to blare as lights flashed all around us. He was such a cheater, but it wasn't like I was going to complain. As we flew through almost standstill traffic, I was thinking that I should look into this whole flashing lights/siren business. It was like we were a modern day Moses, parting the sea of cars. "Gabriella?" Joseph broke the silence first. "Yes?" I answered warily because he used my full first name. "What happened before we wrecked?" "I'm not sure. Why did you buy that book about werewolves?" I asked, curious since it wasn't on the list of books I gave him. "I don't know. It seemed like a good idea at the time. The other books were fantasy type books and you being you and all . . ." he trailed off. "Well, I started to read it and suddenlymembered that it was a book I picked up at a library in Idaho when I was with Andrew. I read the first little bit of it when we were at the library." "You guys went to a library?" Joseph asked, skeptical. "Well, yeah. Andrew was really confused. He'd been dead for a few hundred years and--" "What do you mean a few hundred years?" he cut in. "Whatever information the lab in Italy sent us was incorrect. Andrew remembers being alive in Europe in the 1700's," I explained. "Sorry, I thought you knew." "I did." I had a feeling his question had nothing to do with the time period, though I wasn't sure what it was about. "Sorry, continue." I gave him a confused expression before I continued. "Anyway, he wanted to go to a library to 'catch up' and so I took him to one and while he read a huge pile of books, I read the one about werewolves."

"I see," he said. "That doesn't explain what happened earlier." "The memories of that night came back so vividly that it was like I was there again, but then I was suddenly back at Aiden's and the Angels were being taken away by some Shadows." I shivered under the . . . vision? Thought? Dream? "It was so real, intense, and my anger and fright must have triggered the electricity. I didn't hurt you, did I?" Joseph shook his head while he flipped the mirror down again to stare at me, his dark eyes searching my face. "You scared me because you screamed and I turned to find out what was wrong. You shot electricity but it didn't go into anything--it was like a big ball of energy." Patrick cut in. "I saw it in the rearview mirror and instead of looking where I was going, I was watching you. I'm sorry." I opened my mouth to speak but Joseph spoke first. "You're fine. Yeah, yeah, we know. Don't make me switch your seat to coach. Now, explain to me why your blood was almost pink, like a silvery pink." "I can only guess that . . ." My heart strummed in my chest. Was I becoming human again? Was my blood becoming as faulty as my powers? Fear gripped me at the thought. "I don't know," I concluded quickly. "We'll get it all figured out when we get to Aiden's," Joseph said soothingly. "If he doesn't have the answers, I hope the Timeless book does," I added. "The Timeless book?" Patrick asked. His voice made it sound like he knew exactly what the Timeless book was and the question was more of a "why do you have it?" "Yes," I said slowly. "It contains information that could help me with my journey." A thought came to me suddenly. "Joseph, I also need to get those keys back, especially the one that I had no idea where it went to." "The one you had in the Divine Library?" he asked. "Where?" "Zola's prison," I said. "Remember how I found out the Soul Stalker was keeping her prisoner?" "Yes," he said slowly. "How do you know that?" I gave a humorless chuckle. "You're going to think I'm insane." "No doubt," Joseph joked. I rolled my eyes at him. "I woke up in the morgue and I saw my mother. She was a ghost and only appeared for a few seconds, but she told me that the other key went to Zola's prison." "So," Joseph began but stopped for a second. "You are definitely insane." I kneed the back of his seat. "Ow!" Patrick laughed and the sound seemed so rare, almost precious, that I absorbed it in like a comforting blanket. "Well, Gabriella," Patrick said, "I guess we know the first thing on our agenda will be to find out where this Zola's prison is and to free her." "Bingo!" 12 Honeysuckle Dream> The FBI are fancy pants. We arrived late to the airport so the SUV was taken away by the valet. As Patrick picked our luggage up from the curb, Joseph handed me a passport. Wow, saying the FBI were fancy pants was putting it

mildly--they were miracle workers. I flipped open the passport and gaped. They had my driver's license picture with the name Briella Branson printed on it. I stared at Joseph in disbelief but he just waved it off; his FBI face on in full force. Once inside, the fanciness of the FBI did not fail. As we walked through the airport door we were met by three airport security guards that escorted us to the check in counter so we would make the flight. While my fake passport was not questioned, there was a hold up due to the fact that both Patrick and Joseph had guns on their persons. As the airline security stood by us with their oh-so-serious expressions, I watched in amazement as Joseph unloaded his weapons. I say weapons because it wasn't just two guns; there were two guns, one knife, and a taser. To say I was surprised would not do any justice to the shock I felt, as if I myself had been tased. Where had he been hiding all of that stuff? Joseph put the taser down on the white table in front of the security people and one of the guards looked a little green. Patrick followed suit and it was the same deal. By the time they were both done there was a small arsenal of weapons spread before me; it was as if I'd been transported into some late nineties alien movie, complete with black suits and sunglasses. Joseph and Patrick began to disassemble their guns with speed and precision while the rest of us stared at them. When they were done, the security people placed the disassembled parts in fancy cases with locks on them. I probably looked like someone had hit me upside the head with a stupid stick as my mouth hung agape. When they finished divesting themselves of several pounds of combat-worthy artillery, they turned back to me. Patrick's expression was as serious as ever. His gold-flecked green eyes shone through his hard facial expression as if they were smiling at me. Joseph out-right grinned, nothing subtle about it. Behind them, the line of security guards seized the weapon cases and walked through a restricted access door. We still had to go through the regular security check points but all went smoothly, except for the fact that our plane was a few minutes from leaving. Whoever invented flat escalators should receive a big fat kiss. Walking briskly felt more like gliding on skis on a steep, snow-covered mountain. Our gate came into view as we brusquely marched down the long stretch of gates. As we passed by windows, the sun gleamed off of Patrick's head and I had an overwhelming urge to rub it and make a wish. I gave a small chuckle and Joseph looked behind him, smiled broadly even though he had no idea what I was chuckling about, and grabbed my hand to guide me to the lady that was taking tickets. "You're lucky, I was just about to close this shop up," the lady said to us as she took our tickets, ran them through a machine, and handed us our ticket stubs. "Thanks for keeping it open," Joseph replied. We all rushed down the hallway as cold air filled my lungs. My nerves suddenly came alive and I stopped midstride, which made me trip. I grabbed onto the railing next to me to steady myself and held my chest because my heart felt like it was trying to escape. It made my breathing harsh and turned my knees into jelly. The weight of the sensation was like being placed into a vise to slowly be crushed. Patrick suddenly stopped and whipped around. "Gabriella?" His voice was low and rough, but his panic was clear. "What's wrong?" Joseph followed behind him quickly as a look of understanding flashed in his eyes. "I'm sorry, I forgot about what happened last time you flew." "There's no Andrew to save me this time," I barely whispered as I melted into a pile of anxiety on the floor. They both reached out at the same time to catch me, but Patrick was first. "I can promise you that you will be safe from harm." Joseph nodded solemnly behind him and said, "I'll be there with you and I know exactly how you feel. Remember, there is no Lucia to open a portal for me this time--we're in the same boat . . . or um . . . plane. We'll get through this together." My eyes grew wide. I hadn't realized that Joseph had explained that much to the FBI. At my reaction, he gave me a similar look-of-panic face, like he hadn't meant to say it. We both quickly looked toward Patrick whose expression of concern hadn't changed. I thought that Joseph gave good FBI face, but Patrick blew him out of the water.

One of the flight attendants looked down the hallway to see what was taking so long. "Oh my!" She rushed toward us and started asking Joseph so many questions that I missed half of them. "Is she ill? Has she been in a foreign country in the past ten days? Is she pregnant? Does she need a glass of water?" The woman rambled on like a broken record of concern. "She's scared of heights," he explai coolly. No need to call paramedics. Nope, no reason at all . . . I hoped. The flight attendant let out a breath of relief as she switched her weight from one foot to the other. Then she gave a noise of impatience. "We can't hold the plane much longer, sir. We need to go." She waved her hand wildly behind her because we obviously didn't know there was a huge plane at the end of the extended hallway. "You're going to have to board the plane or return to the gate." Patrick, who stayed kneeled at my side, rose to his full height. His six feet, six inches filled the hallway like a massive bear rearing up. I watched as the flight attendant's head followed his growing frame until her head was almost all the way back. "A few minutes will not hurt anyone, miss. Have some compassion. The last time this young lady flew her plane crashed and she was one of the only survivors." I noticed Joseph had walked a little way down the hallway and was on the phone again. His hand dove in and out of his hair as he paced angrily from one side to the other, which was a very short space. He snapped the phone shut and within ten seconds the door to the airport opened and a medic ran down to us like Satan himself was at his heels. He dropped down to where I was at the same time Joseph did. "The flight attendant is right, we can't hold up this plane. What happened last time was awful, I know." Joseph's hand drifted over my cheeks like a calm wave to quiet my nerves. As soon as his hand moved away my panic rose to double and I struggled to keep tears out of my eyes. I was having a panic attack. "The medic is going to give you something to calm you down. Is that okay, Gabriella? I don't want to do anything against your will." I nodded, my eyes closed. I hated the thought of being sedated, but I'd do whatever it took to get on the plane . . . to get to Andrew. My breathing slowed as I waited for the medic to give me instructions. "I need to get to your arm. Could you lower your coat some?" I did as he asked. The medic was definitely full of anxiety and I opened my eyes to see his worried face. He seemed to be concentrating on a stain in the carpet. I touched his arm lightly. "Don't let Mister Overreaction make you nervous." I nodded my head in Joseph's direction. Funny how I was trying to talk the medic down when I was the one having the anxiety attack. There was silence as the man gulped. "It's not Agent Carter," Patrick said, his voice as deep as the ocean. "It's me." "Just think of him as a genie and you'll be fine," I said. Everyone started to laugh, even Patrick. The medic, before I knew it, had wiped my arm with an alcohol swab and stuck me. It was over in seconds but I still winced in pain. I hated needles. When the medic reached for a band aid, I grabbed it from him, opened the wrapper quickly, and slapped it over the tiny drop of silver blood that had escaped; I couldn't let him see my blood. "I'm ready to get on the plane," I said as I raised my hand for someone to help me up. The medic took his gloves off ad held his hand out. "But the medication hasn't had time to start working." "I know," I replied sweetly as I stood. He let go of my hand and I pulled my coat up to cover my arm again. "I am hoping it will be working by the time the plane takes off." "Right." He nodded, then stared up at Patrick, apparently asking permission to leave--man this guy was truly afraid of Patrick.

The flight attendant gawked at us as Joseph put his arm around me and led me to the airplane. My legs still resisted each step, but as soon as Joseph touched me, I was calm again. "Who are you guys?" I heard the flight attendant ask Patrick. "FBI," he revealed. The plane was huge for a domestic flight. No, that wasn't the right word. It was massive. First class had these amazing seats that could lie all the way back with warm blankets, as if they microwaved them first, and the attendants severed you free champagne. There was only one problem: they were all full. Trust me, the irony was not lost on me. "You jinxed us . . . again!" I accused Joseph. "Again?" His eyebrows rose. "Yeah, remember when you told me the plane wouldn't crash?" He nodded. "It did," I reminded him, like either of us really needed the reminder. He gave a low chuckle, in between humor and mirthless, and turned to face the flight attendant that was behind Patrick's massive frame. "Miss? We have seats A1 through A3, but they are all taken." He moved his hand back and forth to the three people in our seats. Each of them looked up with big innocent eyes. The flight attendant bent sideways to see us around the mountain in the middle of the aisle. "Everyone must show their tickets to me to sit in first class and these passengers all had valid tickets. We have some coach seats available." I snorted and Joseph glanced at me before his eyes flickered back to her in slight anger. "We paid for first class seats, and we will sit here. Do you really want to put Agent Salantro"--Joseph's hand waved up and down the huge man between them--"in coach? Where would he put his legs . . . or his head for that matter?" "Just because you are FBI doesn't mean you can bully me into--" I cut in, the drugs gliding through my veins like silk over my skin. "Agent Carter can do amazing things with his phone." I gave her a face, my eyes trying to send a message. Just fix it. "There isn't anything I can do. You were late to the plane and held us up. We can't give you seats that are already occupied by ticket holders." The flight attendant huffed angrily. The other attendants seemingly decided to stay out of the disagreement. Some were watching with amusement, and I could have sworn that I saw two males exchanging money like they were betting on the outcome. "I thought you liked your job," I said sweetly to the attendant. Joseph gasped. "Gabriella!" "Sorry," I said to him, not sorry at all. My body felt like it was floating on a cloud through calm currents of clear air. "It's the drugs." Kind of. Before anyone could say anything, Patrick turned around and stood to his fullest height--he sure knew how to use his body to intimidate people--and the attendant backed away a few paces so we could see her just outside the cockpit's door. I wondered if she was going to escape to the cockpit. "Offer these three passengers a refund or kick them off the flight. Either way, we are sitting in our designated seats. We're on FBI business; lives depend on us reaching our destination." Patrick flashed his FBI badge like that would make his words more threatening--it probably did. "These tickets were bought with government money and I would really hate to make a call to my superior." Joseph chuckled softly in my ear and whispered, "The government doesn't allow us to purchase first class . . . we paid extra. Shhh."

It was official; the drugs had finally taken full effect and everything was fantastic. I felt like I was a swan with beautiful sleek feathers, flowing smoothly through a still, calm lake. Maybe I'd just fly to Italy. Wow, these were good drugs! I smiled broadly. "Agent Carter," I spoke loudly, "I think you need to make that phone call." Without missing a beat, Joseph reached for his miracle working phone but hadn't even flipped it open when the attendant paled slightly and bent at the waist to whisper to the three people in our assigned seats. Maybe it was my placid state, but I could swear there was something wrong with the three she spoke to. They had dead-looking eyes and exhibited signs of a group of hypnotized audience members at a magic show. What was even stranger was the fact that they all nodded at the exact same time, both whispered back in complete synchronicity, and the attendant didn't seem fazed in the least. Like robots, the three lifted from their seats and filed past us wordlessly. Joseph sat in the seat next to the window, looking proud of himself, and patted next to him for me to follow. I took my seat, my smile growing to the size of something unnatural. "That was weird, wasn't it? Right? I'm not going crazy," I tried to convince myself. Patrick's eyebrows arched like someone had hooked them, his face as serious as ever. I glanced toward Joseph and odd giggles erupted from my mouth. "That was weird," Joseph replied seriously. "How do you feel about flying now?" The plane had begun a nice rhythm against the landing strip with a tha-thump, tha-thump, tha-thump. There was something itching in the back of my head, like a nightmare just beyond sight, but the happy-drug had turned my insides into velvety goodness. "I feel . . . like I should sing!" Joseph's head hit the headrest as he sighed heavily. "I should have asked him to give you a sedative instead," he whisper-teased. I elbowed him. "If you'll hand me my book"--I pointed toward the carry-on bag we all three shared--"I'll read it and be quiet. And I'll be really happy about it." Joseph made sure not to bring along the werewolf book--in fact, I bet he threw it away--just in case there was another "incident" and I made the plane go down. The thought didn't bother me; I was content and grinning, literally from ear-to-ear. There was definitely something wrong with me, but I decided to ignore it and just read. The title of the book was Whisper Wings and was obviously about angels. My interest was piqued and I submerged myself into the book until I became the leading character. Then I fell asleep. <> There were wings that spanned fifteen feet in each direction with feathers that flexed and whispered lightly in the breeze. They were attached to a man who, regardless of the obvious wings, was angelic in nature. He had richly tanned skin and his chest and abs were knotted with muscles. His jeans looked faded and comfortable, which was surprising to see on my Angel. The Angel's face was in shadow, but I could see his golden eyes burn through the darkness and right into me. I knew who it was just by the way my body reacted to his presence. Electricity simmered around my skin and left my body in a rush as the current closed the distance between us. The blue sparks turned a brilliant and stunning white as they swirled around his feet right before they soared and surged around him. He glowed with the power I sent down the electrical line like a hot piece of metal. He rocketed into the air, his wings giving two languid strokes before he landed only a foot away. He looked at me with the most tender expression as his wings slid around my body and enclosed us in their warmth. I felt all my muscles relax as I stared into his captivating eyes. My breath hitched and he brought his lips down to mine, gentle, sweet, like honeysuckle. Suddenly, a hand thrust into his enclosed wings, seized my shoulder, and yanked me out of his grasp. Terror shot through my body as my eyes flew open and my heavenly dream was ruined by Joseph attempting to wake me. "Hey, Gabriella," he said quietly. "We have another plane to catch." I groaned. "I was having a good dream."

As my happy-drug wore off, I began to feel the opposite. I was sluggish and the fear was back ten-fold. This short flight would be nothing compared to twelve hours we were about to spend over the ocean. As we waded through the thick crowd in the JFK airport, Patrick led us and parted the great sea of people. Joseph p