Somewhere Over the Freaking Rainbow - By L.L. Muir Page 0,46

as if she’d had enough and needed to be restrained.

It worked. He flinched, if only a little.

“I am fine, Jamison. I can’t not be fine. I have no fear. I don’t need to eat, drink, or sleep.”

He looked only a little surprised. Maybe he believed as Ray had, that she was an alien, or a vampire.

“Okay. What are you?”

“What do you think I am?” She straightened.

“A monster.”

Okay. That hurt.

Skye backed up and sat down. “I’ll start at the beginning, if you don’t mind.” Her voice sounded weak, wounded. She cleared her throat. Better.

“We’ve got all night.”

She ignored him.

“In the beginning, we all resided in Heaven. Me, you, everyone. Right?”

He said nothing.

“There was a war. God’s side won, of course. And a third of the Hosts of Heaven, those who sided with Satan, were cast out of Heaven with him. Right?”

“I don’t remember.” He rolled his eyes.

She looked at him then, with all the intensity of her soul. “I. Do.”

“Hah.” Jamison snorted. When she didn’t smile, he leaned back and folded his arms. “I’m listening.”

“Trust me. A third of the Hosts were cast out with Satan. The rest of us were to come to Earth, to gain bodies and be tested.”

“Something go wrong with the plan? I don’t remember Sunday School either.”

“This part isn’t taught in Sunday School.”

“How convenient.”

“Shut up, Jamison, if you want to hear what I am.” There it was again, that unbreakable thing...breaking. But being rude wasn’t nearly as satisfying as she’d suspected.

“Okay. Go on.”

“Most of the spirits who remained were willing to come down and be tested.” She paused, not sure of the words to use, not wanting to sound stupid.

“And?”

“But there were some who let The Father know that they didn’t want to risk it, and if there was something they could do instead, instead of receiving a body and risking failure down here, then they would prefer it.”

“A Host of Cowards.” He smirked.

While Skye appreciated the fact that Jamison had lightened up considerably in the last few minutes, he didn’t have to be so astute. It was why she’d tried to choose her words carefully.

“The Final Host, actually. It’s what we’re called.”

“You’re called? The Somerleds are the Host of Cowards?”

“Jamison, don’t be a jerk. Well, don’t be a worse jerk than you’ve been all night.”

Oh, she was on a roll. Show her an unbreakable rule and she’d shatter it with a snap.

He looked a little surprised too.

“Yes, I just called you a jerk.”

“That’s not what I was thinking.”

“Oh. Sorry. What were you thinking?”

“That you’re not real.”

It was nearly as bad as being called a monster.

He shook his head.

“Sorry. Back up. I didn’t mean that. I meant I was just trying to wrap my brain around what you are.” He stood and grabbed the blanket out from under him, then, as he went to put it around her shoulders, he paused.

“What?” She put her hand to her face, expecting him to say she had something on her nose or something.

“I suppose you don’t get cold?”

She looked wistfully at the blanket, at the comfort it represented. He’d brought it to her. He was beginning to soften, to return to the boy she knew.

“No, I don’t get cold.” She looked away, though why she was embarrassed by admitting it, she had no idea.

“Sorry. Go on. I’ll try to believe you.” He sat, but put the blanket over his legs, then wrapped his arms around his knees.

“Okay. Well. The Agreement was made with The Father, that we would serve him as...angels, for lack of a better word. We are sent to, um, answer some prayers, or to help maintain the illusion of a community so those prayers can be answered by others of our...kind.”

“So are you answering someone’s prayers, or are you here to keep up appearances?”

“I’m here to answer one of your grandfather’s prayers.”

Jamison blinked a few times, then started laughing. Then he laughed so hard he was clutching his stomach. She couldn’t help but smile, even though his laughter sounded a bit manic.

“What’s so funny?”

It took a moment for him to find his breath.

“Haven’t you ever seen his t-shirt? The one that says, ‘God only answers a Scotsman’s prayers. The rest of ye are on yer own?’”

She had to laugh then. “Yes, I’ve seen it. Nurse Harmon won’t let him wear it out of his room. She says it would depress the rest of the patients.”

He laughed again, then he wiped tears from the corners of his eyes. Soon his smile fell from his face.

She realized she’d

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