Jake thinks back. “No,” he says. “The security it brought me—the peace—it’s addicting. But, Canaan, I may not be as much like Marco as you think. First off, he’s with Olivia, whose intentions are already suspect. And you didn’t see Marco when he touched it. He lost it, completely freaked out. The halo didn’t bring him peace. Not even a measure of it.”
“We don’t get to choose how others respond to God or His gifts; we can only pray they’ll be open. And, Jake, we may serve the Prince of Peace, but He is also a warrior.”
They’ve had this discussion before, and Jake rehearses a phrase he’s heard Canaan say many times. “War may end with peace, but it rarely starts there.”
“So we exercise faith, Jake. Faith that God has a plan and that His will is perfect.”
With a pang that has him looking away, Jake considers the missing engagement ring and can’t stop himself from wondering, Is God’s will always perfect? Always?
He doesn’t want to talk about that now. Not with Canaan, whose faith can’t be shaken. Jake tips his head to the sky, willing the tears to stay put.
There’s not a cloud in sight, hardly any wind. The sun bounces off hundreds of city windows, turning the urban setting into a trove of gemstones. But Jake needs to get back to Stratus. To Brielle.
“Are you staying?” he asks.
“For a while. There’s been some activity at Henry’s place. Not demonic, but I’d like to see what’s going on.”
Jake opens his driver’s side door and drops into his seat. He shifts, feeling something beneath him: his phone.
Canaan lowers his face to the window. “Drive safely,” he says. “I’ll call soon.”
But Jake’s ill. His hands shake, and he can’t quite focus on the message before him.
Canaan yanks the phone from his hands and reads.
And then, without discussion, he crouches next to the car, and Jake watches the Terrestrial swallow his guardian. A blink later and Jake is lifted from his seat and secured against Canaan’s chest. If he were to open his eyes, he’d see the city of Portland passing below them in a conglomeration of light and color, but his eyes are closed in prayer.
He utters nothingness, pained fears, desperate pleas, terrified gibberish.
Is today the day?
The day he loses Brielle?
33
Brielle
Anything?”
“No,” Kaylee says, her fingers jumping like spastic crickets over the smooth face of her phone. Her slippered feet are drawn up, crossed on the toilet seat, her back curled against the tank. She looks small.
She looks scared.
I want to say something to reassure her, but I could use some comforting words myself.
Where is Jake?
“You girls done in there? I need to pee.”
“We’re done,” I say, opening the door and stepping past Dad into the hall.
I bump the beer he’s holding. It sloshes down his hand and onto the blue carpet.
“It’s not even nine o’clock, Dad.”
He casts a quick glance at Kaylee, but she looks away.
“Just leave it, Elle,” he growls.
“You know I won’t.”
I’m steaming, but Dad closes the bathroom door and the conversation ends. Kaylee follows me to my room and crawls up onto my bed while I pace.
“You okay?” she asks.
“I will be.”
“What’s that mean?”
I don’t answer. I’m too busy plotting. Kaylee’s phone vibrates with a low purr.
“Who is it?” I ask, lurching to a stop.
She reads the screen, her face a smear of pink mascara and resignation.
“Delia.” She sighs. “I left the faucet on. Flooded the bathroom. She’s not very happy about it.”
“Lucky thing you’re here then.”
“Yeah. Lucky me. Palpable father-daughter tension and invisible demons.”
She has a point.
Another sigh from Kay. A big, fat, end-of-the-world kind of sigh. “Since I seem to have nothing, Elle, what about you? How’d that whole praying thing work out?”
I start walking again, back and forth, searching for words. For the right words. I know I’m supposed to be a good example—supposed to know what to say—but I don’t. I don’t know anything. And Dad’s beer—the one he’s holding right now—feels like the final straw. Not the one that breaks me, but the last one I’m willing to suffer.
“I’m glad I prayed,” I say, “and I’m going to keep praying, because I don’t know what else to do.”
“Where are you going?”
I don’t answer. I’m afraid saying the words out loud will dampen my resolve.
“Elle?”
I fling open the door and step into the hall. Three steps more and I’m in the kitchen. I grab the plastic trash can as I pass it. Three more steps take me to the door