The Watcher

I wasn’t sure if it was the idea of him being six or the idea of an angel with a shaving nick, but it made me want to laugh. I stifled it—poorly.

He swallowed a bite of his food, noticing my expression. “What?”

“Sure. Demons can’t hurt you, but shaving?”

“What makes you think demons can’t hurt me?” He took another bite of his taco.

Of course they could. But if they could hurt him, I didn’t want to think about they would do to me.

I scooped some guacamole with a tortilla chip. “You mentioned something before about other Watchers. What are they?”

“Grigori. It’s the order of angels I belonged to.”

“Not anymore?”

He chewed thoughtfully. “You could say I’m in rehab.”

“Rehab? Like AA—only Angels Anonymous?”

He shook his head despairingly at my joke. “What else would you call it? Coming back to this world to live a human life.” He lowered his voice. “While I try to be an angel again.”

“Slumming?”

“There are worse places.”

“Than high school?”

That made him laugh. “Okay, maybe not.”

***

He picked up the tab for di

Still warm from his touch, I didn’t notice the cold sea air until we stepped outside and it cut through my clothes. I’d dressed for fashion, not warmth. Michael took off his jacket and draped it over my shoulders; it was warm and smelled of lightning and grass after it rains.

“Where to now?” I asked, hoping he wouldn’t say home.

“It’s too cold for a walk.” His breath formed clouds of steam as he spoke.

“I’m okay if you are.”

He guided me a few short blocks to the waterfront and piers. The tourist shops were closed now, but there was a well-lit path that led to the docks. Nearby, a group of young guys practiced tricks on their skateboards while a busker put away his guitar. Though it wasn’t a dangerous area at night, it was close enough to some of the seedier areas downtown that I wouldn’t have gone there alone.

We approached a long boardwalk lit by globe lights, our steps rhythmic on the wood below. “Damiel called you ‘brother’ earlier.”

“That’s what Grigori call each other.”

“He’s a Grigori, too?”

Michael slowed his pace. Sadness tightened the hollows of his eyes and reminded me that this being standing beside me—half-human, half-angel—was truly ancient. “He was. Before he fell.”

“You said he was a demon. How can he be a Grigori like you and a demon now?”

“He’s not like me,” he said so quickly I was afraid I’d upset him. He took a deep breath. “When you’re one of us, you don’t just fall and that’s it. Falling is a constant, endless thing. At first you feel the same, only you’re alone—no longer co

He spoke about the voices as if he’d experienced them first-hand. The idea chilled me. “What kind of voices?”

“Dark voices,” he said. “If you give in and side with them, you keep falling, which is what Damiel did.”

“What about Hell?”

“Hell is just a place. Demons that are strong enough come and go at will so they can hurt people.”

He spoke of Hell as though he knew it. Had he been there? Would Damiel be back? I wanted to ask him so much more, but the hurt and warning in his eyes had me deciding against it.

We stopped on the dock. Across the harbor, tiny lights from the streets and houses speckled the islands of Puget Sound. The ferry leaving Colman Pier sounded its horn.

Michael rested his hand on the railing, and I became very aware of his presence beside me: the deep slow sound of his breathing, the closeness of his body, and all the barriers between us. I reached for him, gently touching the backs of his fingers. As I did, I felt an electric current that made me want to pull him toward me. Afraid of the intensity of that impulse, I backed away.

Closing his eyes, he exhaled. Though he didn’t move, everything around him seemed to come alive. Light radiated from his body, its outer edge shimmering with golden white sparkles. Trying to touch the light, I reached out. It moved around my hand like phosphorescence in the night sea and tingled like warm soda bubbles on my skin.

Michael turned to me at that moment, unfocused, as though returning from somewhere far away.

“There’s something around you,” I explained. “Gold and white flashes.”

He smiled self-consciously and the light around him flared brighter. “You can see that?”

“What is it?”

“My halo.”

“All the way around your body?” I asked, thinking of those old paintings of angels with their golden rings of light. They didn’t even come close to what a real halo was.

“It used to go much further.”

“I saw you that day I went to the hospital,” I said, recalling the girl who’d been stabbed. “Then you were gone.”

He leaned his elbows on the railing. “We’re often invisible when we’re working, but you’ve always seen me.”

“And with Fiona?”

He shrugged. “Going to the dentist freaks her out, and she’s not the best driver when she’s distracted.”

I smiled at that. Fiona was always getting caught up in the conversation, forgetting to look at the road, and she did have an appointment that day. He was trying to calm her down so she wouldn’t have an accident along the way.

“Angels do that?”

“She’s your friend,” he said.

He closed his eyes again, and his halo flared and hummed around him. Stiffening, Michael said, “We should go.”

“What is it?”

“I’m on duty tonight.”

“On duty? What does that mean?”

He led us down the boardwalk. “The Grigori still watch over people, keep things safe.”

“Safe from what?” I swallowed nervously.

“Things you shouldn’t know about.”

“I’m not a child, Michael,” I snapped.

My reaction rolled off him. “I never said you were.”

We turned down the street that his car was on, and I recalled that first day I’d seen him in the park. And the pieces started to come together. “That shadowy dog—you saw it, didn’t you?”

He gave me a wary look.

“I asked and you… You let me think I was crazy!”

“I was trying to protect you. You’re not supposed to see these things. They sense fear; they live on it. The more afraid you are, the more they can materialize. They’ll drain your life force until you pass out.”

“That old man! Is that what happened?”

He nodded. “After that, you’re just meat.”

“It was going to eat him?” Bile rose to my throat over the thought of being eaten alive, but I fought it back. “What the hell was it?”

“A hellhound,” he muttered. “Scouts. Damiel sent several of them to find you.”

“He did?” I shuddered at the idea of Damiel looking for me. “You were watching me even then?”

“I only knew there was danger. I didn’t know I would see you.”

Approaching his car, he clicked the remote and the doors unlocked. Within seconds, he was opening my door.

“What about that day I sprained my ankle?” I asked.

“Then too.”

Partway through the ride home, my mind overloaded itself and shut off, and an easy silence grew between us. Though sometimes obscured by passing streetlamps, the light around Michael still glowed. His halo burned beside me, brushing and tingling my skin.

“You’ve been through a lot tonight,” he said. “You ought to sleep. It’ll help you process.”

His sweatshirt draped open at the neck, exposing the edges of his collarbones and the dip in his throat where they met. Despite everything I’d been through, all I could think about was planting kisses there. Clearly, sleep was the last thing on my mind.

Catching my gaze, his face became shadowed. “Arielle said we should keep an eye on you.”