Leviathan

Aaron opened the back door of the car, exposing Gabriel. “Hey Gabe,” he said, “somebody wants to meet you.”

The old woman kept her distance, but crouched to peer into the car. Gabriel panted happily and wagged his tail against the back of the seat. It sounded like a drumbeat.

“What did you call him?” she asked, removing her funky shades, giving him a lesser version of the scowl from the yard.

“Gabriel.”

“That’s a good name.” She stared into the car. “What happened to his leg?” she asked, pointing at the nasty wound.

“Oh, he got bit by a—a possum, I think,” Aaron said. “That’s one of reasons why we’re looking for a place to stay. The leg needs to heal a bit before we move on.”

“That ain’t no possum bite,” the old woman said with a shake of her head. She leaned into the car and let Gabriel sniff her bony, callused hands. “What bit you, boy?” she asked, petting his head.

“I think it was called an Orisha,” Gabriel woofed.

“Would you look at that,” she said with a genuine smile. “You’d think he was trying to answer me.”

“He’s very talkative,” Aaron said, giving Gabriel a thumbs-up behind the woman’s back.

“He housebroke?” she asked, still rubbing the dog’s velvety soft ears and stroking the side of his face.

“Of course he is,” Aaron answered, holding his indignation in check. “And he doesn’t bark or chew. Gabriel’s just an all-around good dog.”

She emerged from the car and gave Aaron the once over. “Well, you don’t look like a Rockefeller, so it’ll be a hundred dollars a week, with meals—but you have to eat with me. This ain’t no restaurant.”

“That’s great,” he answered cheerily. “It’ll be nice to have something other than fast food for a change.”

The old woman studied him for a minute, then turned and began to walk up the path into her yard. “Don’t go thanking me yet,” she said, placing her sunglasses back on her face and removing the work gloves from her pockets. “Never told you if I was a good cook or not.”

She stopped suddenly and turned back to him. “Since you’re go

“It’s Aaron,” he said with a smile. “Aaron Corbet.”

“Aaron,” she said a few times, committing it to memory. “I’m Mrs. Provost—used to be Orville, but after my husband died in seventy-two, I figured I’d go back to my maiden name. Never cared for much he gave me, especially the name.”

She continued on her way up the path, tugging the gloves on her hands as she walked.

“Well, are you?” he suddenly asked her.

She stopped and turned around with that nasty scowl decorating her face. “Am I what?” she asked, a

“Are you a good cook?” he asked with a grin.

Try as she might to hold it back, Mrs. Provost cracked a smile, but quickly turned around so Aaron could not see it for long. “Depends on who you ask,” she said, picking up the pruning sheers from the steps leading to the front porch. “My husband thought I was pretty good—but look how he ended up.”

“It’s nice,” Aaron said as he walked into the room and looked around.

The theme was grapes. There were grape lamp shades, a vase with grapevines painted on its side; even the bedspread had grapes on it. It was kind of funky, but he thought it was cool. Gabriel hobbled in and immediately found a place to lie down beside the queen-size bed where the warm sunlight streamed through the window.

“Is that where he’ll sleep?” Mrs. Provost asked.

“The floor is good, but sometimes I like to sleep with Aaron,” Gabriel barked.

“Is that where you’d like him to sleep?” Aaron asked with a sly smile.

“He can sleep wherever the hell he wants,” she said, moving toward the closet. She opened the door and pulled out a white comforter adorned with grapes. “Just thought if he was going to sleep on the floor, he might be more comfortable lying on this.”

As she approached, Gabriel got up and let her place the downy bedspread in the patch of sunlight. “There you go, boy,” she said, smoothing out the material. “Give this a try.”

And the dog did just that, lying back on the comforter with a heavy sigh of exhaustion.

“I think your dog’s tired,” she said, reaching into her blue jeans pocket. She handed Aaron a key on an i-love-maine chain. “Here’s your key. It works on the front door, too, which I lock promptly at nine o’clock every night.” Mrs. Provost moved toward the door. “I eat supper at six,” she said as she walked out into the hall. “If you like meat loaf, I’ll see you in the kitchen. If not, you’re on your own.”

“I like meat loaf,” Gabriel yipped from his bed as the old woman closed the door behind her.

“Is there any food you don’t like?” Aaron asked, kneeling down to check the injured leg.

“Never really thought about it,” Gabriel replied thoughtfully.

“Tell you what,” Aaron said, patting his head. “Why don’t you give that question some serious thought while I go see if I can find Camael.”

“Will you be all right?”

“I’ll be fine.” Aaron climbed to his feet and walked to the door. He was just about to leave when Gabriel called.

“Aaron, do you think we’ll find Stevie here?” Aaron thought for a moment, trying to make sense of odd feelings that were still with him. “I don’t know. Let me poke around a little and we’ll talk later.” Then he left, leaving his best friend alone to rest and heal.

Aaron strolled casually up Berkely Street, taking in his surroundings. He turned left onto a street with no sign, committing landmarks to memory so he wouldn’t get lost. Lots of quaint homes, nicely kept up, many with beautiful flower gardens more tame than Mrs. Provost’s version of the Amazon rain forest.

At the end of the nameless street he stopped to assess his whereabouts. There was still no sign of Camael, and the bizarre sensation he’d been feeling since arriving in Blithe continued to trouble him. It felt as though he’d had too much caffeine after a late night of studying. He knew he had the ability to interpret this strange feeling, but he didn’t know how to go about it. There was still so much he had to learn about this whole Nephilim thing.

“You will need to master these abilities,” Camael had said during their ride to Blithe. “Sooner rather than later.”

Aaron found the angel’s words somewhat a

He recalled a moment not long after they’d first left Ly

Something rustled in a patch of woods behind him, and Aaron turned toward the noise. He noticed a glint of red in a patch of shadow, and then, as if knowing that it had been discovered, a raccoon slowly emerged from its hiding place. This is odd, Aaron thought, watching the animal. I thought raccoons are nocturnal. He recalled how he’d hear them late at night through his bedroom window as they tried to get into the sealed trash barrels.

The raccoon moved closer, its large dark eyes unwavering. It was moving strangely, and he wondered if it was rabid. “Is that it?” he asked aloud, knowing instinctively that the animal would understand him. “Are you rabid?”