Free Dark Halo (An Angel Eyes Novel) by Shannon Dittemore Page B

over. I pray that fear wouldn’t find a permanent home in Stratus. That the dreams finding their way into the minds of my friends and neighbors wouldn’t be tainted by darkness. I pray that Dad would choose God and love instead of hate and doubt. I pray for all kinds of miracles.
    When I open my eyes, Kaylee’s there, sitting on the floor with a tray of s
    “You did good, Kay. This is the best dinner ever,” I say, staring at my s’more and trying to decide just how best to bite it.
    “All they have in the fridge is, like, a hunk of cow and some spicy hot wings.” She swallows and continues, “There’s got to be something in that Bible of yours about an angel eating hot wings. I mean, come on!”
    I laugh, a hand clamped over my mouth to keep the crumbs inside.
    “Tell me I’m not right,” she says.
    But I can’t tell her anything, I’m laughing so hard my stomachaches. Finally, lying on my back, happy tears streaming down my face, a s’more half-eaten in my mouth, I hear it: the sound of rustling paper. It’s soft, muffled. And if my ear hadn’t been pressed against the chest, I doubt I’d have heard it at all.
    I hack and sputter, forcing myself to swallow the bite in my mouth as I sit up and spin around. I lift the lid off the chest and shove it all in one motion. It falls to the ground with a dull thud .
    A bundle of off-white pages have been added to the chest. I snatch them up. They’re folded in half and in half again, the square of paper looking far more docile than the blood-crusted weapon next to it.
    “What is that?” Kaylee says.
    “I don’t know. Pages of some sort. They look like they’ve been ripped from . . .”
    But Kaylee’s not looking at the paper in my hand. Her eyes are trained on the dagger. I lean past her and grab the lid. It’s awkward with her in the way, but I heft it back in place, shutting the past away.
    “Do angels always keep bloody swords in their trunks?”
    In spite of the heaviness surrounding us, I snort.
    “I guess that didn’t come out right,” Kaylee says, lacking all of the humor I’ve come to expect of her.
    “It’s not Canaan’s, Kay. The Throne Room put it there.”
    Her face goes white. “Why?”
    “I think they were warning us about Damien’s return.”
    “That’s Damien’s?”
    I nod.
    She picks at the polish on her thumbnail. It takes her seventeen scratches to eliminate every last blue sparkle she’d painted on.
    “He said he’d killed you once before. The other day make you whole.”oute, in your living room, he told your dad he’d killed you before and he wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.” It’s painful watching someone else dissect the events of yesterday, but I let her do it. I know she needs to understand. “This is how he did it, then. At the warehouse. This is how he killed you, isn’t it?” Before I can answer, she presses her fingers to her eyes. “I remember . . .”
    “What, Kay? What do you remember?”
    “Rain. And blood. All over your shirt. All over your hands.” She lets her hands fall away and starts picking at her other thumbnail. “But I can’t . . . Why can’t I remember more?”
    “Doubt,” I tell her. “Denial. They make us feel better about the things our brains refuse to believe. Once they’ve taken root, they take on a life of their own.”
    “You’re saying I’m in denial about the warehouse?”
    “Not all of it, obviously, but the angels, the demons? Yeah, I’m guessing you chose denial.”
    She moves on to her index finger, scratching, scratching, blue chips flying. “I believe, though. Now I do.”
    “I’m glad,” I say, pulling her into a hug. “You have no idea how glad I am.”
    “Do you think I’ll remember?”
    “I don’t know, Kay. Maybe.” I wish I had time to sit and really explain everything to her. Wish I could open the Bible and show her the stuff Jake’s shown me. Well, really, I wish Jake was here to do that; he’s so much better than I am at the Bible