Chloe's Guardian (The Nephilim Redemption Series Book 1) (5 page)

CHAPTER
6

Horatius stumbled out of sight. He went as far down the row of vehicles as he could get and sagged against the tire of a parked truck. He was out of power and couldn’t let the girl see him transfigure.
I’ll transfigure, recharge and sober up
. Then he could change back and determine the best solution to correct the problem
.
He knew he'd come up with a plan. As soon as  he cleared his head and got more energy. Then he'd do it all before Satarel had a chance to perceive his location.

Horatius tried to clear his mind.
By Hades, that was some powerful beer.

He concentrated. It was difficult.
Ah, there it is
.

He erupted into his celestial form.

He barely registered his own change when Satarel materialized in front of him. There had not even been time to scan the Chatter for his father's proximity. Satarel’s flaming sword flashed. Horatius had a billionth of a nanosecond to move. And he did. He was out of the Chronos Band before the flame sliced through him.

Satarel’s henchmen were waiting for him in the Corridor. The three of them formed a triangle of fire, each at a vertex with a wall of flame between each point. Fire filled the center. Horatius shot right through it.

The canopy of fire sapped his strength. He fought to keep flying upward. Cursing, he combated the pain and depletion. In spite of his effort, his ascension through the heavens decelerated. He slowed and came to a halt. He hovered a mere second and started falling back toward the henchmen’s fire. Satarel flew in a circle outside the flaming triangle, waiting for Horatius. His murderous thoughts told Horatius his end would not be easy.

What a fool I was to help the girl
. He would lose his soulless existence because of her.

Satarel lifted his blazing blade. It would skewer Horatius. Satarel was letting it take as long as it would, surely relishing every second.

“Come on down, dear son,” Satarel said with venom. “I have missed your companionship.”

Seven flashes of light suddenly appeared around them. The fire between the three henchmen flickered and extinguished. The Pure were interceding on his behalf. A good sign for his status.

Or they just don’t like the Fallen in this sector right now.

Whichever it was, Horatius would accept it—good luck or miraculous intervention.

The Pure engaged Satarel and his followers in battle and Horatius continued to fall toward the Chronos Band. Though his speed was worrisome, he gained some control—enough to slow his acceleration through the dimensions and his reentry into time. A little.

To avoid giving Satarel even one more second to track him, Horatius transfigured back into human form in an implosion of light the very moment he materialized in the corporeal realm. But his momentum threw off his calculations.
I’m coming in too fast and too high!

He crashed down and spun across the ground, rolling head over heels in a spinout, kicking up dirt and dried weeds. A tree abruptly stopped his forward tumble and he bounced back, landing flat on his back.

Before he blacked out, he realized he had no idea where he was.

***

Chloe paced around the car, looking every five seconds down the row of vehicles where the man had disappeared. He’d been gone several minutes. She wasn’t sure how many. But she knew it was too much.
I have to leave
now.

A big rock was near her car and she snatched it up. She ran at the car and crashed it against the glass of the passenger window. The rock bounced off and flew out of her hand.

She ran after it and picked it back up. The second time, she held on tighter and really followed through.

The window cracked and crunched. But it didn’t get her into the car. And it hurt her palm. She switched the rock to her other hand.

Another try made the glass bulge. She found a two-hand-sized rock and tried again. The window broke into pieces, clicking little squares of glass everywhere. She hammered at it with the rock, ignoring the bruises on her palms. When a hole opened large enough, she reached in and unlocked the doors.

She raced around the car, opened the door and jumped in. Gravel scattered from beneath her tires. The clock glowed at her from the dashboard.
It’s going to be way too close.

Todd’s phone went straight to voicemail, the greeting broken up into scattered bits of his voice. She tried Kaitlyn, but as soon as it started to ring, the call dropped. Three more tries for Todd’s but the signal disappeared. She looked up and swerved back into the center of her own lane and sent a quick text to Kaitlyn that she was on the way, but it wouldn’t send.
Ah! Stupid phone!
She wanted to throw it out the hole in the window. Forty-five minutes to drive fifteen miles, turn in the car, and get into the airport. If she broke all the speed limits and didn’t get stopped or go off the road, she’d make it.
Please make the plane be delayed
.

CHAPTER
7

Chloe careened into the car rental drop-off twenty-five minutes before takeoff.

“I need to do an express drop off. My flight is leaving.”

The man standing at her window bent over and looked through the driver’s side over to the passenger window where a few shards of glass still clung to the frame of the window. She handed him the bundle of rental papers Tricia’s mom had left inside the car. He slowly reached for the cardboard sleeve then unfolded himself and walked around the car slower than Nana with her walker.

“Come on, grandpa,” she mumbled. She hammered the stirring wheel with her fists. “Can’t you move faster?”

When he got around to the broken window, he bent down again and peered through the hole at her.

“Well, now. Seems you must have had a little trouble, uh...” He fumbled through the packet, searching for something. She wanted to get a hold of his slow Scottish voice and rip it out of his throat. He squinted at several forms fanned out in his hand. “…Mrs.
Tao
?”

Uh-oh.
“It’s a married name, okay? We got the extra insurance.”
At least I think that's what Tricia said.
“It will cover it, right? I need to go. I have a plane. It’s leaving any minute.”

“Now, getting through security will take much longer than that. There’s going to be some paperwork here with me before you can even leave the car.”

“Please! I need to go. Can’t you just take care of it for me? I can’t miss my flight.”

He continued to stare through the hole at her for a moment. Or for an hour. She wanted to scream.

“All right then, but I’ll need you to sign a form, then I suppose I will be able to take care of it. You should leave more time for these things you know. If you don’t have the extra insurance, if I run into any problems, I’ll have to put the charge on the credit card you used to rent the vehicle. It will just be added to your bill and you will have to work out any problems you have with your credit card company. There is a Web address I can give you where you can check the status and see what kind of charge is added, if there is any charge added. It might be—”

“Just get me the form.” There was no other option. She'd have to sign as Mrs. Tao. She grabbed the extra flip-flops and jumped out of the car.

He sauntered to his station and picked up a clipboard. She snatched it from his hands.

“Where do I…here? Okay.” She scribbled what she hoped would pass for Mrs. Tao’s signature. “There. Thanks.” And she sprinted toward the doors of the airport, ignoring the man calling out that he hadn’t given her the Web address.

She ran all the way, in spite of her sandals flopping, even once she was inside.

The security lines were too long. She squeezed past everyone, snagging on their computer bags and purses. Indignant glares and profane words tried to hold her back. 

Because she had no choice, she pushed ahead. “I’m sorry. My flight's leaving. I already went through. Excuse me. I’m sorry. Please. See? No luggage here. Just extra flip-flops. Excuse me. My plane is going. Excuse me.”

She raced past a small group congregated at a desk, then ducked under a security rope. She threw her phone and Kaitlyn’s flip-flops into a bin and headed toward the metal detectors, ignoring all the complaints from other passengers.

“Miss, you must stop. I need to see your documents first. Miss, come back here!”

You don’t have to yell
. Out of her back pocket she yanked her boarding pass and jabbed it at one of the guards.
Guys, you don’t have to hover like this.

The grumpiest guard snatched the pass and inspected it. “You can't jump the queue and run ahead like you did,” he snarled at her. “That’s how you get yourself thrown to the ground.”

“I need to get to my gate. My plane leaves in—” A clock on a high cross beam down the corridor glared at her. “—seven minutes.” She had made it!

“I need to see your passport, too.”

“I showed you last time I came through, remember? I was with the blond with the viola?”

“I’ll need to see it.”

“It’s in my bag. At the gate. I’ll go get it and bring it to you, okay?”

She smiled but he wouldn’t smile back.

“You will need to follow me.”

What a relief! She was getting an escort to the gate. The security agent was talking into his walkie-talkie. He would ask the plane to wait.

He led her down the main corridor. Then turned down a side hallway. Another guard walked behind her.

“Wait. My plane is that way.”

“Come with me.” He went down the hall and opened a door. He gestured for her to go in first.

The other one crowded up close behind her. “You won’t be going to your plane right now.”

***

Three hours later they let her go. By escorting her out the front door.

All she had with her were her phone and the flip-flops. They’d confiscated the boarding pass. They sent someone to look at the gate where she’d left her bag with Kaitlyn. There was no sign of it. And they lectured her for asking someone else to carry on a bag for her. She tried to explain she hadn’t intended to have Kaitlyn carry it on, just sit with it till she returned and carried it on herself.

They looked at her like she was a terrorist. They even eyed her extra footwear—the flip-flops—as though suspecting they had something to do with a plot. Right, like she was a Flip-Flop Bomber.

They’d told her to call the U.S. consulate to apply for a temporary passport. But she’d have to wait until Monday. They were closed Saturday and Sunday.

With no destination, she wandered down the walkway. She stumbled to a bench isolated in an oasis of grass. Crumpling onto the seat, she tried not to cry. The tightness in her throat made that hard. But all the other crying she’d done in the last three hours had done nothing to help. She was still a girl stranded in a foreign country without a passport. Or her boyfriend. Or any money.

She pulled out her phone.
Finally, it has four bars
. A call to Todd went straight to voicemail.
Of course
.
He can’t answer. He’s on the plane
. They didn’t like people to talk on cell phones on the plane. It made them crash or something.

Who should I call?
Anyone but Mom or Dad
. But she couldn’t think of who could help. She scrolled up and down her contact list, searching for someone, but none of her friends could do what she needed.
Okay, then. There’s no choice. Mom
. Mom could send her some money. It would be a lot easier to talk to her than to her father. Besides, she didn’t have his cell number.
The new one he got after he moved out.

She pushed a button and the ringing started.

After five rings, Benji, her four-year-old brother, answered.

“Who is this?”

“Hi Benji. It’s Chloe. Put mom on the phone.” Her voice cracked.

“Chloe is gone. She went to Scott’s to play cello.” And he hung up.

Chloe redialed as fresh tears leaked down her cheeks.

“Who is this?” he said.

“Benji, don’t hang up. This is Chloe. I
am
Chloe. I need to talk to Mom. Where is Mom?”

“You with Scott?” His preschool had a boy named Scott who he got confused with Scotland.

“No, sweetie. Scott’s not here. Listen Benji.”

“Super Why’s over. He put a watermelon in the swimming pool. And it went—” He made some funny sounds that faded away from the phone.

“Benji, come back. Listen. Where’s Mom? I need her. Go get her. Don’t hang up. Just go get Mom.”

“Cleo got Clifford all wet. Can I watch Clifford? Nana says I
can
not watch. It’s time for
her
show now. Can I?”

“Sure. If you go get Mom. Go find Mom, will you?”

“My truck broke. But it didn’t break. But the wheel fell off. Hunter pushed me down. It went—” More noises fluttered into the phone.

“Listen to me.
Please.
Go. Get. Mom.”

“I’m going to be a cowboy today. Tomorrow I’m going to be a army man.”

“A cowboy, good. Benji, be a good cowboy and get Mom for me.”

“Nana wants to talk.”

“
No
! Don’t give Nana the—”

“Hello?” Nana’s scratchy voice answered.

Chloe sniffed up a bunch of tears, trying to get a hold of herself. “Nana, I need Mom. Tell Benji to go get her.” She shouted each word, one by one, hoping Nana had her hearing aid in and was having a coherent moment.

“Hello?”

Benji was in the background making train noises, but he was fading out. Then Nana’s voice became distant while she spoke to Benji about his shoes and socks. Her voice and the TV cut in and out like the phone couldn’t pick up all the sounds.

“Pick up the phone, Nana. Benji, can you hear me? Benji? Nana?
Mom
?”

Chloe waited and listened. The TV continued to cut in and out around the open air space in the phone. Now and then Nana laughed or shouted out dollar amounts.

“Is anybody there?” Chloe wailed. “Pick up the phone!” The broken sounds popped in and out. “
Pick up the phone
.”

Loud rustling muffled the other noises.
Finally
. Nana was picking up the phone. But then electronic tones cut into Chloe’s ears like hot pokers.

“Nana, stop pushing the buttons. Listen to me. It’s not the remote. Nana, it’s the phone. Talk on the phone!”

Then it went dead.

She pushed the speed dial for home again, shaking so much it was hard to hold the button down.

It was busy.

Seven more times, and it was still busy.

Frantically, she called her mom’s cell. After the first ring, it popped over to voicemail. Her phone wasn’t on. As usual.

The home phone was still busy.

She tried Todd’s phone again. Just in case the captain had said it wouldn’t make them crash to answer their phones just then.

No answer. Probably a good thing. She didn’t want to be responsible for bringing a plane down.

Because there was absolutely no other option, she would try her father’s office, just in case he was working on the weekend.

Voicemail.

“Dad, it’s me, Chloe. I’ve got a problem. Now, don’t get mad. I missed my plane and, and—” The sobs kept her from going on. She tried to get a few words out, but her weeping was out of control. She got out “passport” and “stay” and “alone” but couldn’t form a sentence. Her phone beeped in her ear. A flash of hope shot through her.
Someone’s calling. Mom must have gotten the message. Or maybe it’s Todd!

She looked at the phone. She stared at it in stunned disbelief. It was dark. Blank. Still. She pushed “send” several times. She shook it. Nothing. It was dead.
The battery is dead!