"Okay, let's sit," I said finally.
We did so, he in one of my client chairs, myself behind my desk. Ishmael was wearing a light-colored sweater and slacks. Both were unremarkable, although both looked good on him. He sat collected and at ease, his hands folded loosely in his lap. He looked at me calmly, staring into my eyes, although sometimes his eyes would shift to take in other aspects of my face. A small part of me wondered what my hair looked like.
"So," I said, "they call you Ishmael."
His eyes, which shone like twin sparks of emerald fire, flashed brightly with mild amusement. "Yes, they do."
I watched with interest as the bright streaks of light that seemingly only I could see, the bright streaks that illuminated the night world for my eyes, flared brightly the closer they got to him. Flared, and then disappeared into him. As if the being seated across from me was the source of the light.
Or perhaps its destination.
"So, why are you here, Ishmael?"
He sat perfectly still, perfectly composed, perfectly at ease. He nodded once before he spoke. "I'm here, in part, to tell you that my service is no longer needed."
"And what service is that?"
"The protective service."
My cell phone chimed. I had a text message from someone. At this late hour, it was either from Fang or Kingsley. I ignored it. Truth be known, I kept waiting to either wake up or be told that this was all some big practical joke.
In the meantime, I noted that Ishmael's thoughts were closed to me. In my experience, only other immortals were closed to me, as I was to them. And yet, he seemed to have read my mind.
I tried an experiment and thought: You're in the protective services because you're a guardian angel?
His bright green eyes, which had been regarding me serenely from across the desk, widened a little. "Yes, Sam. But we don't call ourselves guardian angels."
You can read my thoughts.
He smiled. "Of course."
To date, only Fang had access to my thoughts, and even then his access seemed limited by my willingness to let him in. Kingsley, a fellow freak, did not have access, nor did I have access to his. Same with the few other immortals I had encountered, who were all closed off to me.
"So, there are others like you?" I asked.
"Of course."
"And what do you call yourselves?"
"We are watchers."
I nodded. "And what do you watch?"
"I watch you, Sam."
"Just watch?"
"Watch and protect and guide."
"Then you've done a shitty job of it," I said suddenly, thinking of my attack seven years ago.
Ishmael kept his eyes on me. After a moment, he said, "I was with you, Sam. Always with you."
"Even while that animal attacked me?" I couldn't help the anger in my voice.
Ishmael said nothing at first, although he slowly raised a hand to his face and rubbed his jaw. He continued to stare at me. Even his minor movements were fluid and hypnotic. "Perhaps you wonder why you were not killed that night, Sam."
"Actually, I do."