A Hideous Beauty Kingdom Wars I Part 28

My head was spinning. I wanted to walk out the door, take a flight to Was.h.i.+ngton, D.C., do a book signing, take Christina to dinner, and revel in my Pulitzer Prize achievement. I wanted a normal, everyday, boy-makes-good ending to the story of my life. All this was giving me a headache.

"Your father didn't tell your mother the truth until after you were born," Abdiel said.

"And then he killed himself. Seems to be the standard reaction to the news, doesn't it?"

"Are you going to kill yourself, Grant Austin?"

"Would you miss me?"

Abdiel didn't answer.

"No wonder my mother hated me," I mused. "Explains why she acts like she does. And it certainly explains why my whole family is whacko."

"The circ.u.mstances behind your family's life are only a partial explanation as to why your family is whacko," Abdiel said.

I grabbed my head to try to stop the spinning. "How do I know any of this is true?"

"You know. You can feel it."

"You mean like back at the library when you threw a tantrum and disappeared. Neither the professor nor Sue Ling felt the force of your leaving. I did."

"And you felt it with Semyaza."

The sudden mention of that name stunned me for a moment. "You mean Myles Shepherd."

"His name is Semyaza."

For a moment I was there, back in Myles Shepherd's office, reliving the experience. "But with you in the library, it was just a ripple. It wasn't like . . ."

Abdiel stood to imposing height. A ray of light erupted from the center of his chest.

"Oh no," I heard myself saying, "here we go again."

Abdiel's clothing transformed to folds of pure color that curled, then swirled around him, until he became a dazzling white hurricane of radiance.

I heard the sound of a thousand wind chimes, with harmony so clear it brought tears to my eyes. My entire body vibrated in harmony with the sound while ripples of pleasure swept through me repeatedly of such magnitude that I giggled and laughed like a fool. So overwhelmed was I by the sensation that I dropped to my knees.

"No," Abdiel said. "Do not bow."

That was the difference between them. Abdiel reflected the glory. Semyaza sparked it, only to feed off it.

Abdiel returned to normal . . . or to human . . . or to . . . I don't know. I was beginning to think I didn't know anything anymore.

"Do not bow," Abdiel said.

"Sorry to disappoint you," I said, "but I wasn't bowing. I thought I dropped a penny."

Abdiel laughed. I finally got a laugh out of him.

It took me a few moments to catch my breath. Even then, when I opened my eyes a riot of color a.s.saulted me. Whenever I inhaled, I inhaled an explosion of odors. The tips of my fingers tingled with everything I touched.

"Question," I said.

Abdiel took his seat.

"Do Semyaza and . . . well, the forces of Lucifer. Do they intend to kill the president?"

"It appears so."

I nodded. "All right . . . now for the million-dollar question. Will I be the one to do it?"

Abdiel studied me for a long moment. "Only you know the answer to that question, Grant Austin."

"What do you mean?"

"You are a creature of free will. You choose what you do."

"Part of my human side."

Abdiel started, surprised by the comment. He said, "Like humans, angels have been created by the Father with free will. How else would you explain the rebellion?"

I was thinking out loud now. "So they can't force me to kill the president."

"But they can persuade you, or trick you. Do not underestimate their powers of deception."

He spoke as someone who was speaking from experience.

"Can I stop them?"

"You can try. You will fail. In fact, I would estimate your chances of success as infinitesimal. After all, they have been doing this sort of thing-"

"Yeah, I know. For millennia."

"That is correct."

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"You and your side. The good guys. You could stop them, couldn't you?"

"Why would we want to?"

Today had been a day of being stunned, but this comment was the capper. "What do you mean, 'Why would we want to?' We're talking about the president of the United States!"

"A weak and feeble man who has given in to his l.u.s.ts and sold his soul to Lucifer."

"What about the fate of America? We're talking about changing history, altering the course of America!"

Abdiel's lack of concern was infuriating. He looked like he was about to yawn. I wanted to grab him and shake him until he came to his senses. "The events of the next few days will unfold as they are meant to unfold. They will not alter the outcome of the larger conflict. All is in the Father's hands."

I was on my feet again. "Well, excuse me if I don't share your optimism! This is my president and my nation and I don't take kindly to the fact that a bunch of rogue angels are messing with it! I'm going to stop them!"

"As you should. Each of us must fight our own battles."

Behind me, the door latch rattled. The door opened. The maid walked in, surprised again that we were still . . .

That I was still here.

Abdiel was gone.

"I come back?" she asked.

"No. We're . . . I'm on my way out."

Her gaze fixed on the floor, she stepped back to allow me to exit.

As I pa.s.sed her, I said, "I hope Nuria's fever breaks soon. The best medicine for a sick child is a mother who loves her."

"Senor?" the maid said, astonished.

The maid's arrival was a blessing. I needed to get out, to walk. With nowhere in particular to go, I stepped out the hotel's front door onto Broadway. Horton Plaza, an open-air shopping center with colorful and interesting multilevel pa.s.sageways, lay directly across the street. Some people can get lost in a crowd. I prefer open s.p.a.ce and plenty of it.

That gave me an idea. I turned west. A few blocks later I walked into Emerald Plaza, a hotel and business center. At night its neon-green lights circling the tops of a series of towers of varying levels are a distinctive landmark in the San Diego skyline.

I crossed the highly polished tile floors to the elevators in the tallest tower and pushed the highest b.u.t.ton. Minutes later I stood at the top of one of the tallest buildings in San Diego overlooking the bay, and beyond that, the Pacific Ocean.

The view was similar to the view from the airplane as we were coming in for a landing-the bridge, Coronado Island, the bay with sailboats.

Wind whipped through my hair and brushed my cheeks. With my heightened senses it felt positively exhilarating, which gave me an idea. If I had any sense at all I'd find an upscale restaurant and order the biggest steak on the menu.

Leaning against the guardrail, I breathed in the ocean air and tried to clear my mind. I closed my eyes.

When I awoke this morning, my thoughts had focused on ways to tell the professor that I didn't think much of his fantasy world of angels. Now I was one.

I still wasn't convinced. It was easy for Alice. Fall down a hole and you're in Wonderland having tea with the Mad Hatter. I was still in the world . . .

. . . that isn't what you think it is.

I looked over the edge of the building. Maybe this was Wonderland.

Standing over Broadway Avenue from on high reminded me of another scene. This one from the Bible.

The way I remembered it, the devil took Jesus to the highest point of the temple with the wind blowing through their hair like mine was now.

The devil taunted Jesus. Prove yourself. Throw yourself down from here. If you are who you say you are, surely your angels will catch you so that you do not hurt yourself.

I leaned over the edge and looked at the street below. Why had I remembered that story right now? Was someone trying to tell me something?

I guess one way of proving I had angel blood in me would be to throw myself over the guardrail. Would one of my relatives swoop down to save me?

Cars backed up at the lighted intersection. Pedestrians crossed the street in front of them.

Who would most likely come to my rescue? Surly Uncle Abdiel? Or evil Uncle Semyaza?

CHAPTER 21.

Instead of throwing myself off the Emerald Plaza tower, I took the elevator down. Returning to the U.S. Grant Hotel, I entered the lobby and headed for the elevators.

The concierge hailed me.

Then, looking past me, he hailed two security guards. In quick order they flanked me.

"Is something wrong?" I asked them.

Now the concierge made a phone call and within seconds two Secret Service agents appeared. It's easy to spot Secret Service agents, they all look alike. It's easier still to spot them when you've spent an afternoon with them in a tiny interrogation room. My hand moved involuntarily to my backside.

"Agent Cunningham. Agent Phillips," I said.

Phillips, the one with the rogue curl that made him look like Superman, smoothed it back. It instantly fell to his forehead again.

A bellboy appeared with my luggage. He was instructed to set the bags down in front of me.

"Am I checking out?" I asked.

"I'm sure you'll have no difficulty finding alternative lodging, Mr. Austin," Agent Cunningham said.

There was a seating area off to my right. A television was tuned to a live news report from North Island Naval Air Station. The picture showed Air Force One landing.

The president was in San Diego.

Agent Phillips said, "The concierge has been kind enough to call a taxi, and these two fine gentlemen will escort you to it."

One security guard grabbed my bags. The other grabbed my arm.

"Wait!" the helpful and efficient concierge called from behind the counter. He turned to some files behind him and retrieved an oversized white envelope. "This was delivered to Mr. Austin a short time ago."

He rounded the end of the counter and on long spindly legs danced his way toward us. He held out the envelope to me. Agent Cunningham intercepted it and opened it.

"That's my mail!" I cried. "That's a federal offense!"