Thirteen
Page 24
We took the phone and left.
We headed for a coffee shop. Easy enough to find in the French Quarter. I’d withdrawn cash near the sports store—Lucas had deemed it safe enough, as long as I promptly left the immediate area after I used the machine. I’d given some to my mother so she wouldn’t be wandering around with empty pockets. “Remember I used to do that?” she’d said. “Always made sure you had a few dollars in your pocket?”
“I thought that was for emergency phone calls.”
“You’d only need a quarter for that. I just … I remember when I was little, I liked having some money on me. Made me feel safer.”
I’d never thought of it that way. Even now, I wasn’t really sure what she meant. I guess we’d had very different childhoods. I didn’t know much about hers. Just that when she’d left it behind, she left behind everyone in it.
We picked a narrow shop that advertised slow-drip coffee. I had no idea what that was, but it sounded promising.
As we went in, Mom pulled out a five and said, “My treat.”
“Not with that.”
She looked at the menu board and stared at it a moment. Swore. Then took out a ten.
“You go sit down,” she said. “I’ve got this.”
“Okay, I’d like—”
“Mocha with whipped cream and sprinkles.” She grinned. “Right?”
I wanted to say yes. Damn it, I really wanted to, but my expression gave me away.
“So what you drank at twelve is not what you drink at twenty-one, right?” she said.
“Mmm, no. Sorry. But if you get a chance to meet Adam, you can buy him a mocha. He loves the sweet stuff.”
Her smile softened. “I hope I do get a chance to meet Adam, baby.”
I blushed, and remembered our kiss after the bomb blast. Did he mean it that way? God, I hoped he meant it that way, even though it was a completely inappropriate concern under the circumstances.
I took a deep breath and started to say I’d have an espresso, then remembered where we were and changed it to café au lait. Not my usual drink, but there’s something about New Orleans that makes it the only choice for caffeine.
I went out the side door and found a table in the alley. Mom arrived a few minutes later, with two café au laits and an assortment of baked goods.
“I figured you must be hungry. I know I am.” She sat down. “Which feels really strange. Took me a minute to figure out what it was.”
“You don’t get hungry, I take it.”
“Nope. Never tired either.” She took a long drink of her coffee, then closed her eyes and shivered. “Damn, that feels good. I’ve spent ten years drinking coffee in the afterlife, feeling like there’s something missing.”
She took a cranberry-studded cookie from the selection, and I bit into a red velvet cupcake. She waved at my choice, “Some things don’t change.”
I smiled. “Yes, I still have a sweet tooth. Just not for coffee. Okay, let’s check out this cell phone.”
She took it from her pocket. I held out my hand. She hesitated then put it back into her pocket.
“Not yet,” she said. “Jaime’s safe. We’re safe.” She took a sip of hers. “So tell me about Adam.”
I blushed again and shook my head. “Nothing to tell.”
“Oh, there’s plenty to tell.” She tilted her head, studying my face, then gave a wistful smile. “I’ve missed so much, haven’t I?”
I wanted to say no, she hadn’t, not really. But that was silly. Nearly half my lifetime had passed since her death. I imagined what it would have been like if she’d been there. What would I have told her about Adam? Would I have sought her advice? Or would I have been terrified of it? Worried she’d say he was too old for me? That she might tease me and tip him off?
Except, if she had been there, the point would have been moot, because there would be no Adam in my life. No Paige. No Lucas. No werewolf Pack. No interracial council. No Cabals, except maybe the Nasts, and only because we’d be hiding from them, my mother trying to keep me safe, which meant keeping me away from the Nasts.
No Adam for me. No Kristof for her. A completely different life for both of us.
A better life?
It felt disloyal to admit that this life was better for me. Painful to admit it was also better for her. But it was. I’d said earlier that I wanted to ask if she was happy. Now, looking over at her, I didn’t need to. I’d always thought of my mother as a free spirit, loving to wander, needing to see everything, do everything, be everything. But now, as I looked back, I didn’t see wanderlust. I saw an anxious restlessness that had kept her up at night, when I’d sneak in and find her staring out the window, only to turn and announce we had to leave again. There wasn’t anticipation in her voice on those nights—there was regret.
She was different now. Grounded. Centered. She was still constantly in motion, fingers rubbing her coffee cup, gaze surveying the alley. But it wasn’t anxiety, just my mother’s usual watchfulness.
“Tell me about you,” I said. “About your new job. Being an angel. That’s gotta be cool.” I grinned. “Considering the size of that sword, I’m guessing angelhood isn’t about playing harps and listening to prayers.”
“It’s not. Glorified bounty hunter is more like it. We go after anyone and anything raising hell where they shouldn’t be. Imps and demi-demons, hell-dimension escapees, general afterlife shit disturbers.”
“Which explains why you were hot on Leah O’Donnell’s trail. So that happens a lot? Souls escaping hell?”
“Not like that. If they do escape, it’s from a minor, temporary hell dimension. More like a holding cell for folks who need a time out before they’re ready to join—or rejoin—afterlife society. And they’d escape into the afterlife or some other realm on our side of the veil. It takes serious mojo to come here, which is why the Fates should have guessed Leah’s escape wasn’t an isolated incident.”
“But you like the job?” I said. “You seem to be okay with it.”
“The job’s fine. It’s the deployment I could live without.”
“Deployment?”
“Ascended angels are celestial soldiers. Career soldiers. We live in the angel realm, like a soldier lives in barracks. Every now and then we get leave, but otherwise, it’s a calling, not a nine-to-five job.”
We headed for a coffee shop. Easy enough to find in the French Quarter. I’d withdrawn cash near the sports store—Lucas had deemed it safe enough, as long as I promptly left the immediate area after I used the machine. I’d given some to my mother so she wouldn’t be wandering around with empty pockets. “Remember I used to do that?” she’d said. “Always made sure you had a few dollars in your pocket?”
“I thought that was for emergency phone calls.”
“You’d only need a quarter for that. I just … I remember when I was little, I liked having some money on me. Made me feel safer.”
I’d never thought of it that way. Even now, I wasn’t really sure what she meant. I guess we’d had very different childhoods. I didn’t know much about hers. Just that when she’d left it behind, she left behind everyone in it.
We picked a narrow shop that advertised slow-drip coffee. I had no idea what that was, but it sounded promising.
As we went in, Mom pulled out a five and said, “My treat.”
“Not with that.”
She looked at the menu board and stared at it a moment. Swore. Then took out a ten.
“You go sit down,” she said. “I’ve got this.”
“Okay, I’d like—”
“Mocha with whipped cream and sprinkles.” She grinned. “Right?”
I wanted to say yes. Damn it, I really wanted to, but my expression gave me away.
“So what you drank at twelve is not what you drink at twenty-one, right?” she said.
“Mmm, no. Sorry. But if you get a chance to meet Adam, you can buy him a mocha. He loves the sweet stuff.”
Her smile softened. “I hope I do get a chance to meet Adam, baby.”
I blushed, and remembered our kiss after the bomb blast. Did he mean it that way? God, I hoped he meant it that way, even though it was a completely inappropriate concern under the circumstances.
I took a deep breath and started to say I’d have an espresso, then remembered where we were and changed it to café au lait. Not my usual drink, but there’s something about New Orleans that makes it the only choice for caffeine.
I went out the side door and found a table in the alley. Mom arrived a few minutes later, with two café au laits and an assortment of baked goods.
“I figured you must be hungry. I know I am.” She sat down. “Which feels really strange. Took me a minute to figure out what it was.”
“You don’t get hungry, I take it.”
“Nope. Never tired either.” She took a long drink of her coffee, then closed her eyes and shivered. “Damn, that feels good. I’ve spent ten years drinking coffee in the afterlife, feeling like there’s something missing.”
She took a cranberry-studded cookie from the selection, and I bit into a red velvet cupcake. She waved at my choice, “Some things don’t change.”
I smiled. “Yes, I still have a sweet tooth. Just not for coffee. Okay, let’s check out this cell phone.”
She took it from her pocket. I held out my hand. She hesitated then put it back into her pocket.
“Not yet,” she said. “Jaime’s safe. We’re safe.” She took a sip of hers. “So tell me about Adam.”
I blushed again and shook my head. “Nothing to tell.”
“Oh, there’s plenty to tell.” She tilted her head, studying my face, then gave a wistful smile. “I’ve missed so much, haven’t I?”
I wanted to say no, she hadn’t, not really. But that was silly. Nearly half my lifetime had passed since her death. I imagined what it would have been like if she’d been there. What would I have told her about Adam? Would I have sought her advice? Or would I have been terrified of it? Worried she’d say he was too old for me? That she might tease me and tip him off?
Except, if she had been there, the point would have been moot, because there would be no Adam in my life. No Paige. No Lucas. No werewolf Pack. No interracial council. No Cabals, except maybe the Nasts, and only because we’d be hiding from them, my mother trying to keep me safe, which meant keeping me away from the Nasts.
No Adam for me. No Kristof for her. A completely different life for both of us.
A better life?
It felt disloyal to admit that this life was better for me. Painful to admit it was also better for her. But it was. I’d said earlier that I wanted to ask if she was happy. Now, looking over at her, I didn’t need to. I’d always thought of my mother as a free spirit, loving to wander, needing to see everything, do everything, be everything. But now, as I looked back, I didn’t see wanderlust. I saw an anxious restlessness that had kept her up at night, when I’d sneak in and find her staring out the window, only to turn and announce we had to leave again. There wasn’t anticipation in her voice on those nights—there was regret.
She was different now. Grounded. Centered. She was still constantly in motion, fingers rubbing her coffee cup, gaze surveying the alley. But it wasn’t anxiety, just my mother’s usual watchfulness.
“Tell me about you,” I said. “About your new job. Being an angel. That’s gotta be cool.” I grinned. “Considering the size of that sword, I’m guessing angelhood isn’t about playing harps and listening to prayers.”
“It’s not. Glorified bounty hunter is more like it. We go after anyone and anything raising hell where they shouldn’t be. Imps and demi-demons, hell-dimension escapees, general afterlife shit disturbers.”
“Which explains why you were hot on Leah O’Donnell’s trail. So that happens a lot? Souls escaping hell?”
“Not like that. If they do escape, it’s from a minor, temporary hell dimension. More like a holding cell for folks who need a time out before they’re ready to join—or rejoin—afterlife society. And they’d escape into the afterlife or some other realm on our side of the veil. It takes serious mojo to come here, which is why the Fates should have guessed Leah’s escape wasn’t an isolated incident.”
“But you like the job?” I said. “You seem to be okay with it.”
“The job’s fine. It’s the deployment I could live without.”
“Deployment?”
“Ascended angels are celestial soldiers. Career soldiers. We live in the angel realm, like a soldier lives in barracks. Every now and then we get leave, but otherwise, it’s a calling, not a nine-to-five job.”
