Authors: Amber Hughey
She felt a brush against her arm and turned to see Gabriel retrieving his own coat.
He cocked his head as she stared at the brown coat. “Your friend’s?”
She slowly nodded, then reached out to grab it. “Yeah…she just got it. I can’t see her leaving it behind.”
He shrugged and slipped the leather trenchcoat on, carefully arranging it around his wings. “She’s probably still around. Somewhere outside. Lots of trails around here.”
“Without her coat?” she asked doubtfully.
He glanced at her as he pulled the coat tight, starting to leave the room. The small size made him feel claustrophobic as the other angelus filed in to retrieve their own items. “Perhaps she has another way of keeping warm?”
She sighed and followed him out, her own coat hanging from her arm, forgotten in the worry. “Maybe.”
“You have a ride home?”
Startled by the question, she dropped the keys she’d just pulled out. “Y-yeah,” she stammered. “I drove us here, but if she’s left with Vince, I guess she can get a ride with him.”
He smiled as he escorted her to her small car. “Then have a wonderful evening, Miss Walker.”
She returned the smile as she climbed in the car, watching him walk to a bright yellow sports car. Shaking her head at the dirty thoughts that ran across her mind, she started home.
With the hazy afternoon sun shining through her bedroom window, the bright ray of light hit Amalia in the face. Her world turned into a world of white bursts and glowing objects. Rubbing a hand across her eyes, she glanced around the room. A year ago, it hadn’t been just her living here. She’d been living with Eric, her sort-of-fiancé. He’d plastered the wall of the small garage with NASCAR pictures, his obsession drifting into the house as he couldn’t bear to cover old pictures with newer ones. One of her great stress-relieving moments was being able to tear and break every one of those damn ugly posters and frames.
Of course, she surmised, if she hadn’t caught him in
this
bed with the neighbor down the road she probably wouldn’t have done that, so it was clearly his fault that she’d destroyed his things. Everyone but Morgan, Sam and Vicki had exclaimed, “that just isn’t like you, Amalia!” Apparently they hadn’t known her as well as they thought.
And they’d never stopped to consider that the dog probably had more than one bitch on the side. She’d found later that he was having relations with at least two others, and she was pretty sure each one thought that ‘she was the only one’.
“At least I didn’t marry that bloody git,” she said unconsciously copying Gabriel.
Morgan had been adamant that she would find Eric, make him pay for hurting her favorite cousin, then bury him. And not, she had proclaimed loudly over Captain Morgan, necessarily in that order. Sam had heartily agreed, even trying to ferret out Eric’s current location. Shaking the memory of that drunken haze out of her head, she smiled as she thought about her fantasy of Eric, living under a bridge somewhere. Preferably with herpes. She finished the satisfying thought with a nasty laugh that startled the cat on the end of the bed.
Sitting up, she pushed the heavy comforter to the end of the bed, grabbed the wooden headboard and pulled herself backward, grabbing each post of the double bed in each hand, enjoying the feel of the silky wood. The only thing that stopped her from destroying the entire bed in the process of purging after of his indiscretion was the knowledge that Donovan had handcrafted the bed for her. He’d lovingly sanding the entire frame, and hand carving the delicate scrollwork set into the head and foot boards. Nothing could make her destroy any thing Donovan had touched, so she’d settled for destroying the mattress and any fabric that covered said mattress.
She’d much rather think about last night, she decided with a perfunctory nod. Gabriel could have
been the title character of the last bodice-ripper she’d read, she thought with a laugh. Tall, dark and handsome. Not to mention a great conversationalist. The night couldn’t have been much better, she decided. Before nodding off, she’d been wondering what he looked like without a shirt…probably just as delicious as he did with a shirt. The way it had clung to him when they danced made her wish she’d taken him up on his offer of a ride home.
When she heard claws scrabble on the wood floor, she started to drag herself out of bed before the writhing bundle of fur could joyfully bounce on her bladder. She pushed Lucy away from her as she tried to shut the door to the bedroom. She got it most of the way shut before Lucy pushed it back open with a pointed nose, and expelled a pointed huff of disapproval and annoyance, a trait that seemed bred into the little dogs.
Amalia sighed and pointed towards the open door. "Out, Lucy." The sheltie paused in the doorway, giving her one last disapproving glare before throwing herself out of the bedroom, through the hallway, and through the pet door, slamming it open with a thud that resounded through the hallway.
Standing up and stretching, she felt the cat wind his way around her legs. She was pretty sure she’d felt him on the bed last night, but since he hadn’t tried to wake her, she hadn’t minded.
Normally, she didn’t like him sleeping on the bed with her, as he always tried to take over the fluffy pillow that she snuggled nightly. Walking over to the closet, she grabbed a pair of black slacks and a pinstriped grey Oxford shirt. Making a face, she bent over and grabbed a pair of matching black shoes, noticing the charcoal dress haphazardly lying across her hope chest under the window.
Setting the clothes on her bed, she grabbed the dress, holding it up to her. She could smell the faint scent of cinnamon. Maybe from dessert, she thought absently. A small dark feather fluttered to the floor. Leaning over and grabbing it, she hadn’t noticed it last night. Must be one of Gabriel’s, she mused. Twirling it between her fingers, she watched the light catch the incandescent fibers, turning the feather shades of silver and pewter. Carefully placing it on her dresser, she hung the dress up in the back of the spacious closet. It was a silk and satin ball gown, and it was the only dress she had like
that
, but it was always a hit when she was able to wear it.
Walking back to the middle of her bedroom, she stood lost in the thoughts of last night’s events. Gabriel, the dancing and conversation, and other than that, there wasn’t that much else that she thought was worth remembering. She gave a disgusted noise as she walked towards the bathroom. She’d gone for so long without actually fantasizing about a guy that it felt odd to her to be dreaming about a stranger.
Granted, an extremely handsome stranger, who’d appeared to be as interested in her as she was him, but still…
Amalia stood in front of the mirror and recalled the waltzes she’d shared with Gabriel. With a giddy grin, she turned the water on and washed her face, only stopping her morning ritual to unplug her phone and check to see if the wayward Sam had texted. Frustrated, she set the phone back down when the only text was one from her cousin about her work schedule.
She pulled all of the bobby pins out of her up-do, letting the thick hair fall to the small of her back. She started to brush it, and was startled when her cell phone rang, screeching "I'm Sexy and I Know It" at full volume. She laughed as she picked it up, mentally thanking Morgan once again for one of the quick pick-me-up-pranks that she was known for pulling on unsuspecting family members. Morgan had changed it about a week ago, when they’d gone to see the latest slasher film, and since the day after, when she’d finally gotten a call, she hadn’t wanted to change it back.
She giggled as she remembered when Morgan had changed her uncle’s ring tone to “Baby One More Time”, making sure she called him in the middle of a PTA meeting during Morgan’s senior year. Last she heard, the principal who’d been at the meeting still laughed about it.
She glanced at the caller ID, but didn't recognize the number. She hesitated before answering, "Hello?"
"Is this Amalia?" a woman's voice came over the speaker, sounding unsure and somewhat afraid.
"Yes," she said cautiously. "Who's this?"
"I'm Maria O'Mara-Samantha's mother," the woman replied quickly. Amalia strained to hear the woman’s quiet voice even though her volume was turned all the way up. Now that the woman had identified herself, the voice was familiar, even if it was a bit hoarse.
"Oh, how is she?" Amalia asked, wondering how Sam’s night with Vince had turned out.
"We were wondering the same thing," Maria answered slowly. "She never came home last night. She didn't call, either. We were hoping you knew where she was. I knew something would happen…her going to party with those…
things
.” The woman spat out the word, telling Amalia clearly just how she felt about the angelus population.
Amalia's heart dropped. "I don't. Last night, she left before dinner. I thought she was spending the night with another of her friends. She didn't say anything to me. I'm sorry, I just checked my phone but she never called or sent me a text," she finished.
"Well, if you hear from her, please, call me. You can reach me here," Maria said, her voice sounding close to tears.
"I will," Amalia promised. She hung up the phone, disturbed at the revelation that Sam never made it home, but she couldn’t help but think that this was just another of one of Sam’s unannounced adventures. She reminisced about the time Sam had disappeared for two weeks, only to return with a tan, a smile, a story about a cute islander, and a bunch of pictures of a small Caribbean Island she’d called home for her short stay. Hopefully this was just another one of those adventures, but the way her stomach dropped, she wasn’t so sure. As a police officer, she’d learned to trust her gut, and this time, her gut was telling her it wasn’t an innocent adventure. Especially if Sam hadn’t told her mother. That really wasn’t like Sam…she’d always told her mother if she was going somewhere, even if she hadn’t shared
where
she was going.
Her brow furrowed as she dialed another number, relieved to hear the bright voice on the other end. “Hey Morgan, I got a question.”
“And that would hopefully be, ‘How do I get this delicious stranger out of my bed?’”, teased Morgan.
With a laugh, she shook her head and responded, “Alas, no. I didn’t go home with him.”
“Why the hell not? It’s been over a year, Lia. Time to move on. Get your slut on.”
“I am
not
going to get my slut on, Morgan,” Amalia giggled, “I’m leaving that for you.”
“Touché,” Morgan giggled back. “So, what brings you calling me at this early hour?” She must have glanced at a clock, because then she continued, “Okay, maybe not quite so early. What’s up?”
“Sam’s missing,” Amalia said, her voice turning somber. “Her mom just called, and she never came home. She didn’t call. She doesn’t know where Sam is.”
“Shit. Is she sure Sam’s not out having fun without us?”
“Without you, you mean,” Amalia replied drily, “Yeah, she’s pretty sure. Anyways, if you hear from her, let her know that her mom’s looking for her, okay?”
“Sure. Listen, I gotta go. There’s someone on the other line,” Morgan said quickly, not waiting for a response before she hung up on Amalia.
With a frown, she called Lucy in and fed her as Kohl, the tiger-striped cat wound his way around her legs. She fed him too, got her own breakfast of a bowl of Fruit Loops, and then sat down in front of the TV. Turning it on, she found it was still tuned to the National Geographic Channel.
It was another special about the virus, which they had dubbed the ‘renati’ about six months ago, which could either destroy humanity or promote it, as the show claimed. She frowned and made her way into the kitchen to rouse up a light snack after eating half the Fruit Loops and finding them too sweet.
Wanting some salty chips and finding none, she settled for a banana, and lost half of it to Lucy.
The scientists, the show claimed, were currently working on an immunization for the virus. Not only that, it continued, but also for a reversal from previously infected humans. Amalia wondered if that meant that Vicki could be human again if her marriage failed. Not that Amalia hated Owen, she just disliked him. Greatly.
Okay, maybe she hated him, she admitted to herself. For the little amount of time she’d spent in his company, she’d quickly come to the realization that he was a pompous ass, arrogant, and she was pretty sure he didn’t like humans any more than he liked Gabriel – which wasn’t saying much. The thought of the latter brought heat to her cheeks, making her quickly shelve those fantasies.
Loosely paying attention to the show, she heard another doctor stating that
she
didn’t think that the process could be reversed, and even if it could, it would kill the person during the transformation. A male professor refuted the woman’s points, leading Amalia to tune them out as they bickered back and forth about whether a full reversal would be possible.
When a question was asked about possible attacks on humans to change them against their will, she only tuned back into the special. An angelus councilor took center stage, assuring the audience that the angelus were
not
changing people against their
will, nor in planned ‘attacks’. Instead, the councilor stated, each human was chosen individually, and must fully accept that they might not survive the transformation. She went on to add that that they
must
be in a relationship with an angelus in order to be considered for the transformation that the renati might give. Amalia wished they’d give more information, like who regulates the process, what happens if an angelus breaks the rules, but she was disappointed when the lead-in to the next show never mentioned those points.