since you first learned of it. So here I am.”
It was true. Ever since she’d seen Grif’s wings flare from his shoulders in a rising wave of black smoke, and tasted forever in his kiss, she’d wanted to know more. She looked continuously for signs that angels walked among the living. She could admit now, under that roiling, marbled gaze, that she even searched for signs that she was favored. After all, she thought, staring back at the Pure, who didn’t want to be one of the Chosen?
“I like you, Craig. You’re what we in the Everlast like to call a Blender,” Frank said, the swirl in his monochromatic gaze slowing to match his tone. “You might as well mix your faiths in a cocktail shaker. You bend dogmas to suit you instead of bending yourself to fit a dogma. You believe in God and angels, but you also believe in Satan and demons and ghosts and spirits and astrology and witchcraft and the evil eye and dousing. A Blender could say their Hail Marys on the weekend, then consult the Ouija board during the week, with equal faith in both.”
“I’ve never played with an Ouija board.”
“I know. Out of the same openness of faith.” He paused. “Dennis is a Blender, too. That’s why you can both so easily mix eras, combining your love for the past with the demands of modern-day life.”
Kit brightened a bit at his use of the present tense. Surely he wouldn’t use it if Dennis were destined to die?
“Griffin Shaw, on the other hand, was an Apostate.” His mouth curled, the word a bitter pill on his tongue. “They believe only in what they can see and touch. The hard-core ones actively work to disprove the existence of God and angels and anything that is divine. The irony is that Apostates are actually closer to the angels than anyone. They’re the ones who’ve already been touched by a miracle or a near-death experience. Yet it was so traumatic that not only do they not remember it, they harden their hearts to anything remotely mystical.”
“Grif is a Centurion,” she said, sticking up for him out of habit.
Frank huffed. “And he still doesn’t believe in miracles. I ask you, who else has ever had a second chance in the earthly realm? Who do you know that is both angelic and Chosen? Griffin Shaw is one of the greatest miracles there is, yet he doesn’t believe in himself.”
“I believe in him.”
“Why? He doesn’t believe in you.” He held up a hand at her indrawn breath. “No, don’t get mad. You’re the girl who seeks out the truth at any cost, are you not? You value it above all else?”
“I wouldn’t say ‘all else.’ ”
“And would you tune me out just because it’s not what you want to hear?”
Kit took a deep breath and couldn’t help but ask, “What do I not want to hear?”
“Griffin Shaw will discover who murdered him a half-century ago. It is destined. It is why we have indulged his return to his fleshly nature. But . . . it’ll do nothing to bring the two of you closer together.”
Tears immediately filled her eyes, even though the words weren’t a surprise. It was only surprising to realize that it was something she already knew.
“He is not of this time, Katherine. He is only in it.”
“He is Chosen,” she pointed out. “Like me.”
“Like you said, he is a Centurion. And you—”
“A mere mortal.” She put her head down, and closed her eyes. “I know.”
Frank was silent for so long that Kit thought he’d left. But when she glanced up, Dennis’s gaze was still grainy and swirling and foreign. “Have you ever wondered what would happen if Shaw and you did live out your lives together?”
She’d dreamed of it.
Kit thought she saw sadness visit the churning eyes. “You would age, he would not. Eventually, it would worry you. As you know, living on while those around you die can be a special sort of hell.”
Kit wrapped her arms around herself. “Why are you doing this to me?”
He surprised her by reaching out and touching her shoulder. Dennis’s fingertips were ice-cube cold. “You have a gift, Katherine. An ability to see the bright side of every situation despite your insistence on, and knowledge of, the truth. You’re cheerful by nature, and that is good. But the real reason you live so fully in the present, while still celebrating the past, is that you have the certainty, the knowledge,