Home > Covet (Fallen Angels #1)(12)

Covet (Fallen Angels #1)(12)
Author: J.R. Ward

Jim had to agree as he sat up and accepted the handkerchief Byron held out. While he stemmed the bleeding from his nose, he couldn't believe he'd exploded like that at those castle doors, but then he was always shocked afterward.

Nigel eased down on his haunches. "You want to know why you were chosen, and I believe you have a right to know."

Jim spat out the blood in his mouth. "Now there's an idea."

Nigel reached over and took the bloody handkerchief. The instant the cloth made contact with his hands, the stain disappeared, the white fibers as pristine as they had been before they'd been used to stop a red geyser.

He gave it back for further use. "You are the two halves together, Jim. The good and the bad in equal measure, capable of great reserves of kindness and profound depths of depravity. Thusly, both sides found you acceptable. We and...the other...both believe that when you are presented with the seven opportunities, you will influence the course of events according to our values. We for the good, they for the evil - with the outcome determining the fate of humanity."

Jim stopped mopping up his face and focused on the Englishman. He could dispute nothing of what had been said about his character, and yet his brain remained scrambled. Or maybe he had a concussion, thanks to Colin, the knuckle-cracking motherfucker.

"So do you accept your destiny?" Nigel said. "Or does all end here?"

Jim cleared his throat. Begging wasn't something he was used to. "Please...just let me see my mother. I...I need to know she's okay."

"I'm so sorry, but as I said, only the dead may pass to the other side." Nigel's hand came to rest on Jim's shoulder. "What say you, man?"

Byron came in close. "You can do it. You're a carpenter. You build things and you rebuild things. Lives are constructions just the same."

Jim looked at the castle and felt his heartbeat in his busted nose.

If he took everything at face value, if everything were true, if he were some kind of savior, then...if he walked away, the only peace his mother knew was gone. And as attractive as he might find the emptiness and timelessness of nonexistence, that was a cold exchange for where she was now.

"How does it work?" he asked. "What do I do?"

Nigel smiled. "Seven deadly sins. Seven souls swayed by these sins. Seven people at a crossroads with a choice that must be made. You enter their lives and affect their path. If they choose righteousness over sin, we prevail."

"And if they don't..."

"The other side wins."

"What is the other side?"

"The opposite of what we are."

Jim glanced over at the table with its white linens and sparkling silver. "So...we're talking about a bunch of ass-scratchers sitting on Barcaloungers watching Girls Gone Wild and drinking beer."

Colin laughed. "Not hardly, mate. Although that is an image, indeed."

Nigel glared at his buddy and then looked back at Jim. "The other side is evil. I shall let your mind summon the appropriate reference, but if you should want a place to start, you have but to think of what was done to your mother and know that those who hurt her enjoyed it."

Jim's gut clenched so hard, he leaned to the side and dry-heaved. When a hand smoothed over his back, he had a feeling it was Bertie. And he was right.

Eventually, Jim's gag reflex cut the crap and he got his breath back. "What if I can't do this?"

Colin spoke up. "I shall not lie - it is not going to be easy. The other side is capable of everything. But you shall not be without resources."

Jim frowned. "Wait, the other side thinks I'm going to be a bad influence? During the crossroads of these people?"

Nigel nodded. "They have the same faith in you that we have. But we had the advantage of reaching out to you."

"How'd you manage that?"

"Coin toss."

Jim blinked. Right, because...that's how they did it at the Super Bowl.

Focusing on the gates, he tried to see his mom not as how he'd left her on that kitchen floor, but as these princes said she was. Happy. Relieved of burden. Whole. "Who are the seven people?"

"For the identification of this first one, we shall give you a bit of help and make it obvious," Nigel said, getting to his feet. "Good luck."

"Hold on a minute - how will I know what to do?"

"Use your head," Colin cut in.

"No," Bertie said, cradling his wolfhound's face, "your heart."

"Just believe in the future." Byron pushed his tinted glasses up on his nose. "Hope is the best - "

Nigel rolled his eyes. "Just tell people what to do. It cuts down on the conversation, freeing up time for more worthwhile pursuits."

"Such as cheating at croquet?" Colin muttered.

"Will I see you again?" Jim asked. "Can I come to you for help?"

He didn't get an answer. Instead, he got another jolt that sure as shit felt like two-forty...and abruptly found himself shooting through a long, white hallway, the light blinding him, the wind blasting him in the face.

He had no idea where he was going to end up this time. Maybe it was back in Caldwell. Maybe it was Disneyland.

With the way things appeared to be going, who the f**k knew.

Chapter 6

As night fell, Marie-Terese gripped the handle of the nonstick pan and slid a spatula around the edges of a perfectly round pancake. The thing was just ripe for the flipping, a pattern of little bubbles forming on its creamy surface.

"You ready?" she said.

Her son smiled from his supervisory stool on the other side of the countertop. "We're going to count, right?"

"Yup."

Their voices joined together in the three, two...one. Then with a flick of the wrist, she sent the pancake flying and caught it dead in the center.

"You did it!" Robbie said as the sizzle rose up.

Marie-Terese smiled through a stinging sadness. Seven-year-olds were spectacular with approval, capable of making you feel like you were a miracle worker over the simplest of victories. If only she deserved the praise on the big stuff. "Would you get the syrup, please," she said.

Robbie slid off the stool and padded over to the fridge in his slippers. He was wearing a Spider-Man T-shirt, a pair of jeans, and a Spider-Man hoodie. His bed had Spider-Man sheets and a Spider-Man duvet, and the lamp he read his Spider-Man comics by had a Spider-Man shade on it. His previous obsession had been SpongeBob, but back in October, as he'd prepared to leave six years old in the dust, he'd declared that he was a grown-up and that henceforth gifts should be of the webbed-crusader variety.

Right. Got it.

Robbie pulled open the fridge door and grabbed the squeeze bottle. "Do we always gots to do as much grammar as we did today?"

"That would be 'have to' and yes, clearly it's needed."

"Can't we do more math?"

"Nope."

"At least I gots pancakes for dinner." As Marie-Terese glanced over at him, he smiled. "Have pancakes."

"Thank you."

Robbie hopped back on the stool and changed the channel on the little TV next to the toaster. The mini-Sony was allowed to be on during breaks from schooling, and the biggie Sony, which was in the living room, could be on Saturday and Sunday afternoons and nights after dinner until bedtime.

Sliding the pancake onto a plate, she fired up another one, pouring the Bisquick in with a ladle. The kitchen was too small for a table, so they used the overhang off the counter as one, tucking stools beneath it and sitting at the stretch of Formica for every meal.

"Ready to flip number two?"

"Yup!"

She and Robbie counted it down together, and she executed another Flying Wallenda with the pancake...and her beautiful angel of a son smiled up at her like she was the sun in his world again.

Marie-Terese delivered his plate to him and then took a seat in front of the salad she'd made herself earlier. As they ate, she glanced over at the stack of mail on the counter and knew without opening it what the bills would add up to. Two of them were big boys: She'd had to put both the private investigator she'd used to find Robbie and the law firm she'd hired to get a divorce on a payment plan, because $127,000 wasn't the kind of thing she could write a check for. Naturally, payment plans involved interest, and unlike credit cards, default wasn't an option: She was taking no chances that P.I. or those lawyers would try to find her. As long as she paid on time, there was no reason for her current location to come to light.

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