Secret Worlds (361 page)

Lash knelt next to him and sent a wave of calm, hoping the boy could sense his presence.

Javier wheezed as if trying to catch his breath. A pale hand reached out toward him.

“You’ll be alright, Javier. Don’t worry. I’ll hold your hand until we land. Okay?”

Javier looked at Jane. His black curls bobbed as he nodded.

Lash ached as Javier reached out his hand and placed it in Jane’s. It had been a long time since he’d seen anyone act so selflessly. He glanced around the plane, expecting to see Jeremy. Since he wasn’t there, maybe there was hope for the little girl and the others.

The plane trembled violently, and the stewardesses ran down the aisles, ordering the passengers to buckle their seatbelts. They then rushed to their own seats and strapped themselves in.

There was a loud pop followed by a screech of tearing metal. Screams filled the cabin, and yellow oxygen masks dropped from the ceiling.

Jane let go of Javier’s hand for a moment to put on her mask, and he cried. Lash leaned in and whispered, “Don’t be afraid. I’m here for you.”

Javier continued to cry out as Lash hovered over him. He looked over to Jane, whose trembling hands were placing the yellow mask over her face. When she was done, she leaned back, stretching her hand back to Javier. “Put on your mask,” she yelled.

Javier grabbed her hand and looked at her with a blank expression.

Jane gazed directly into his eyes and pointed at the floating yellow plastic. “Put it on.”

Javier nodded and frantically placed the mask over his face. There was a loud bang.

Screams were swallowed as soon as they started. Javier’s eyes widened, and Jane turned around to see what he was looking at. She gave a high-pitched shriek. Flickers of orange and red reflected off Javier’s mask, and Lash stiffened. Heat slammed his back, and he turned, ready to fight off whatever was coming to harm the boy. His stomach dropped when a wave of flames rolled down the aisle toward them.

***

Lash’s footsteps echoed in the Room of Offerings, a vast room where the archangels displayed the gifts that humans had offered to Heaven over the centuries. Paintings and sculptures lined the walls. He paused in front of a large mahogany case and stared at a tiny statuette, a likeness of Gabrielle, through the glass pane. His light eyes darkened as he took it out and brushed his hands over the smooth stone. He snapped off the head and crushed it between his fingers, turning it to dust. He placed the figurine front and center back on the shelf and smirked, knowing Gabrielle would go ballistic when she saw it.

He turned when the large oak door squeaked opened. The Archangel Raphael walked into the room, his solemn blue eyes resting on Lash as he neared him.

“Lahash.” His voice was thick with disappointment.

It wasn’t Raphael’s first time escorting Lash to the Hall of Judgment, the place where angels were disciplined for their wrongdoings and were judged worthy or unworthy of staying in Heaven. Lash never worried that he would be deemed unworthy—Raphael always saw to that.

Glancing at the headless figurine, Raphael pursed his lips but didn’t comment on it. “Michael will see you as soon as he’s finished questioning Gabrielle.”

“It’s Lash,” Lash mumbled under his breath. He hated being called by his heavenly name, but Raphael, old-fashioned in his ways and adamant on keeping traditions, insisted.

Raphael ran a hand through his blond waves of hair with frustration. He didn’t acknowledge the remark, but Lash knew he had heard it well enough. Some of the special perks of being an angel included amplified sight, hearing, and strength—the flying was an added bonus.

“Why did you do it, Lahash? Gabrielle gave you specific instructions. All you had to do was follow them.”

What answer could he give to his mentor, the one who always defended him when he decided to go his own way? He wished he could tell Raphael the truth. When Gabrielle had instructed him to save the boy, he had been happy to do it. For years, he’d been helping people who threw their lives away with frivolous pursuits; at least with a child, he thought, there was always hope. There was something about children, with their open minds and unblemished hearts; so different from the jaded, selfish adults he encountered. Saving the boy had been easy; leaving the little blond-haired girl to her fate had not.

“Gabrielle made a mistake. She must have overlooked that another young one was on the plane, so I figured, what would be the harm in saving both of them?”

“There was no mistake,” Raphael said.

“The girl deserved to live.”

“It’s not for you to decide. You know that.”

“Yeah, yeah, the Boss makes the decisions.” Lash waved him off and sat down on one of the leather couches in the center of the room. He tried to follow through on his assignments, but lately it had become more difficult to accept them—even though he knew Michael and Gabrielle received their instructions from God.

Raphael sat across from him and leaned forward. “Lahash, you care deeply for humans, and that’s what makes you a great seraph. But you must learn control. You cannot make decisions without thinking them through.”

“I know what I’m doing.” Lash sank into the white leather and leaned back, lacing his hands behind his head. “I don’t agree with some of the decisions made around here.”

“You are young. You will grow to learn that the decisions we make are based on much more than what is set before us.” Raphael’s voice grew stern. “Every action has consequences that must be taken into account.”

“Come on. She’s a little girl.” Lash threw his hands up. “I gave her a chance to grow up and live out her life. What could be the harm in that?”

“More than you know.”

Lash’s face turned serious. “You should have seen her, Raphael. There was a goodness in her I hadn’t seen in anyone for a long time.”

“I’m sure there was. But you have no knowledge of what she is to become.” Raphael sat back, a faraway look passing over his eyes. “There was a time when I followed my heart. I dared to defy Michael and the others.” His eyes drifted down, a sad expression crossing his face. “I did so at great cost.”

Lash had seen that expression from time to time and wondered what had happened to Raphael to cause him such obvious heartache. He wished he could remember the first time he had met him. For some reason, there was a gap in his memory. All he could remember was waking one morning with Raphael sitting by his side.

As Raphael stood and walked to the door, Lash followed and playfully punched his shoulder. “Hey, don’t worry. I’ll get a slap on the wrist like last time.”

Raphael shook his head. “Someday your rebelliousness will catch up with you.”

He grinned. “Not today. I’m sure of it.”

As they walked down the corridor, a tall, slender angel approached them. Waves of flaxen hair framed a scowling face. “Michael is ready to see you.”

Lash smirked. “Well, good morning to you too, Gabrielle.”

Gabrielle narrowed her green cat-like eyes. “Do you not understand the ramifications of what you’ve done? Or is it that you just don’t care?”

He was about to answer when Raphael stepped in front of him. “Don’t answer that. Gabrielle, I believe it’s best to take this conversation to Michael. Shall we?”

Her eyes softened when she looked at Raphael and then turned cold. “You can’t protect him this time.” She turned to Lash, and her eyes looked him over with loathing. “Why do you even bother?” Turning on her heel, she walked toward the Hall of Judgment.

At the door, she stepped aside and stood beside Raphael. As Lash walked in, he winked at him, trying to hide his growing anxiety. Strange. In all the times he’d gotten in trouble before, he’d never been anxious. Something was different.

“Don’t sweat it, Raphael. I’ve got this covered,” Lash said. What was the worst they could do to him?

Present

Naomi Duran turned off her motorcycle and sat for a moment, watching the neighborhood kids play basketball. Three boys ran down the street while a couple of girls stood on the sidewalk, warning them of passing cars. She unbuckled the helmet strap and chuckled.

She couldn’t believe she’d finally graduated from college.

She’d come a long way from the scrawny girl who’d stood on her cousin Chuy’s shoulders and nailed the basketball hoop to the telephone pole. The scar on her knee and the smack on her bottom from her father had been totally worth it, though. She’d won the bet against Lalo Cruz, Chuy’s best friend and spent the ten dollars stocking up on Big Red soda. She couldn’t believe the hoop still hung in the same place.

Naomi took off the helmet, and dark hair fell over her face.
I need a haircut
, she thought as she brushed back the tangled mass. The last time she’d had one was almost two years ago, when her mother had lost her own hair during chemo. Without hesitation, she’d chopped off her waist-length locks and had a wig made. A year later, her hair had grown back, and her mother had passed away. She wanted to cut her hair short again, but every time she went to the stylist, it brought back memories she didn’t want to recall.

It was painful to think about her mother, and Naomi avoided it whenever possible. She’d bought the Ninja 250R motorcycle after her mom had died. The used red bike had screamed, “Ride me!” and she had had to have it. Thanks to Chuy’s mechanical skills, the bike had soon been running like new. While riding, she could push back the memory of her mother withering away in her bed, of her father drowning his grief in alcohol after her mother died.

“What are you doing sitting out here?”

Chuy emerged from the small white house, the screen door slamming shut behind him. She couldn’t believe how much her cousin had changed. He used to be a skinny kid with bad acne. Now, he was all muscle, thanks to his job at the Cruz Moving Company. Hauling furniture on a daily basis had filled him out nicely, though Naomi would never admit it aloud. He already had his ego stroked on a regular basis by a number of the neighborhood girls that flocked around him.

“I’m enjoying the silence before I have to face the loud mob we call family.” She tossed her leg over the seat and locked her helmet to the bike.

“Let me push that death trap for you.” He leaned over her motorcycle and flexed his muscled arms at her. “Check out my guns. They got bigger.”

She rolled her eyes and pushed him away. “Ew, Chuy. You need a shower.”

Chuy grinned. “What’s wrong? Is your nose too good for Eau de Mexicano? Some of us have to work for a living. Not all of us can be college graduates like you.”

Naomi snorted. Chuy teased her whenever he was trying to hide his true feelings. He was like an older brother, always looking out for her, especially after things got rough with her father.

Sometimes, she was jealous of the special relationship Chuy and her father had, but she couldn’t blame her father for taking Chuy under his wing. After all, his own parents had been killed when he was five. Their grandmother had raised Chuy, her hawk-like eyes forever watchful that he wouldn’t fall prey to any of the neighborhood gangs. If Chuy ever had a problem, however, it was her father who’d been there to put him in his place.

“You could’ve had your own business by now if you hadn’t dropped out after the first semester.”

“Can you blame me? Learning about Socrates wasn’t gonna help to pay the bills.” Chuy popped down the kickstand.

She eyed him carefully. It was a sore spot for him. He had wanted to stay in college, but even with financial aid, he couldn’t afford to cover tuition and support their grandmother, too. At the time, her father was struggling to keep his own job and couldn’t help out, either.

“Okay, okay. I’ll give you that. You’re really smart, you know.” She poked him in the arm. “I couldn’t have gotten through Algebra without your help.”

“Not so loud.” Chuy looked around nervously as they reached the front steps of the house. “I got a rep to protect.”

“Oh, the horror! I wouldn’t want anyone to think you’re intelligent.”

Naomi heard music coming from a distance. The neighborhood kids stepped to the side and watched the black Mustang as it turned the corner. Mirror-like rims turned slowly as the car rolled down the street. On the car’s grille, bright LED lights lined the horse logo like a bluish-white halo.

“Really, Dad. Depeche Mode?” Naomi asked when her father, Javier Duran, stopped the car in front of her.

“You know you like it. You used to dance to it all the time when you were little.” Javier stepped out of the car, then took her in his arms. “Congratulations, Mijita. You looked beautiful this morning in your cap and gown.”

“Thanks, Dad.” Naomi loved it when he used the Spanish term of endearment.

“Did you hear us? We clapped for you.” Javier opened the trunk of the car and took out a grocery bag.

“Yeah, Dad. I think everyone heard Chuy’s air horn.”

“Hey, I had to stir things up a bit in there,” Chuy said as he grabbed the remaining bags from the trunk. “It was so boring we were falling asleep.”

“Mission accomplished. The chancellor almost had a heart attack.” Naomi walked to the front of the car and traced the light around the running horse. “You finished installing the lights. Looks good.”

Javier beamed and patted the hood of the car. “You should see it at night. It looks like the horse is coming right at you.”

She laughed. It had been a long time since she’d last seen her father so happy. “Dad, you sound like a teenager.”

“Life’s hard, Mijita. You have to enjoy it when you can.”

“Yeah, we can’t all be serious bookworms like you, Naomi,” Chuy said. “Besides, you’re twenty-two, not eighty-two. Live a little.”

If only she could. There was a time when she had been able to act her age. During the first couple of years in college, she’d gone to a slew of fraternity parties. But everything had changed during her junior year, when her mother was diagnosed. Unlike other girls her age, she had had no interest in dating, even when her had mother prodded her. She had a feeling that her mother had been hoping that Naomi would find someone to lean on once she was gone.

After she’d died, Naomi hadn’t had time to grieve because she’d been busy taking care of her distraught father. In fact, if she hadn’t promised her mother that she’d graduate, she would have dropped out of college.