Blood and Apples: An Annora Park Novel: Book One

Chapter Eleven: Where Angels Fear to Tread

An angel...there was an actual angel standing in Walker's foyer looking for all the worlds like the singularly most magnificent being I'd ever laid my eyes upon.  His hair was like spun gold and shone so brilliantly it was almost like staring at the sun.  It fell in a straight waterfall to his waist and was silky and so shiny looking I wanted to reach out and touch it, just to see if it was real...if he was real.  Because, God, he was so beautiful it didn't seem possible that such beauty, such perfection could actually exist.  His eyes were like twin sapphires, and like his hair, brilliant in their color.  His skin glowed, like, it actually glowed and was a pure snowfall white.  His lips were pink and pillowy and he had the most amazing cheekbones I'd ever seen on a man in my life...well, on anyone, for that matter.  His wings, sensationally glorious, were feathered and pure white, like his skin.  He was, quite simply, stunningly perfect.  He was garbed in golden armor, seriously, golden freaking armor and a circlet of same said gold was laid upon his perfect head.  Was he some sort of royalty?  I mean, was it a crown? Was he actually wearing a flipping crown on his head?
"Listen you fuck, you damn man-faced feathered bird, you get the hell outta my house right now," Walker suddenly spits out, advancing on the angel. My eyes widen and my mouth drops open in shock. I watch as the angel winces as the words leave Walker's mouth, but stands firm.
"I would prefer if you'd refrain from mentioning the underworld again, and my person, in such a manner. And less profanity would also certainly be preferable, thank you," the angel says, addressing Walker. He appears completely unruffled by Walker's crazy outburst. Then again...when talking about crazy Walker totally takes the cake, and hell, I mean, heck, we have an angel in the foyer, let's talk about crazy.
"Hell, hell, hell, damn, damn damn," Walker repeats and each times he says the words the angel quite literally winces until a fine shudder completely wracks his body.
"Okay, enough!" I suddenly say, coming up to stand next to Walker. I lay my hand on his arm gently and shake my head. "You're being completely childish, Walker."
"No, darling, you have no idea who this is...you have no idea what they can, what they do, do. They're—"
"Angels, he's an angel Walker, even someone with myopia, heck a blind person could see that. So, why don't you stop insulting the nice angel now, and we find out what it is that he's doing here in the first place, making such a dramatic entrance, by the way," and then I give the angel the stink eye. I mean, he had just interrupted my breakfast feast, after all. 
   "I'm—"
   "He's Chamuel, Michaels get, right? I'm right, aren't I?" Walker spits out, his face is still a mask of rage.
   "The foul-mouthed witch would be correct, amour, I'm Chamuel, first son to the Archangel Michael."
   Holy—
   "Warlock you feathered fuck, you know that male witches are called Warlocks."
   After a grimace crosses his face, Chamuel smiles a small sly smile.  "Oh, I do apologize. It has been longer than I can remember that I've visited Earth, so some things may have slipped my mind.  But then, you're all quite the same correct, so it's, what do human like to say, a moot point? Very much potato, potahhhtooo."
Oh Jesus!  The angel was giving it back to Walker as good as he got.  Just what we needed...the angel version of Walker.  I needed some bourbon.  Shit.  Stop it Annora, at this rate you're going to turn into a complete lush.
   "Yes, amour, you really shouldn't drink spirits.  They are quite literally poison.  And they do nothing for you but make you forget for a little while, correct.  Not really worth the pain that comes after.  But don't worry, you will never become an alcoholic...that is not in your nature.  And...yes, I can handle the temperamental territorial witch, do not worry on my behalf."
I'm staring, I know I'm staring bugged eyed, but...I just...just...can't right now.  Had this angel just read my mind? Had he really just been inside of my head and read my freaking mind?
   "I...I...I..." Oh God, stop stammering, Annora, you need to stop fucking stammering.  "You...you...just—"
   "You really shouldn't swear so much amour, and you ought not to take the Lord's name in vain."
   "Oh my GOD!" I point at him and I know my face is filled with fury.  "You are! You're reading my mind!!"
   "You project very loudly, amour."
   "I don't project my inner, private thoughts, the thoughts that are like, you know, inside my head at all, you, you...you...presumptuous—" I can't even finish the thought I'm so mad.  I look at Walker and see that he's smirking.
   "Now do you understand," Walker says.  "They're all total assholes, but the Hosts are the worst, especially the royal ones.  This one here, he's probably the worst of the worst."
   Chamuel sighs, before sliding his eyes over to where Garrett has been standing completely still and silent.  "And greetings to you, Goodson, son of Goodson.  It is good to see you looking so well.  Thank you for taking care of our Annora so well these many years."
   Garrett looks flummoxed.   "You...you...you know who I am?"
   "Of course.  Even if you weren't attached to my amour I'd know who you are.  We keep track of the good ones, you know...and you are definitely a good one, and pure of heart, Garrett Goodson."
    I watched as Garrett's face just transformed from stunned shock to brilliant beauty as a largest smile I'd ever seen from him spread across him face. He was clearly completely in awe of the angel. Of course, he hadn't had said angel rooting around in his mind, had he.
"I will try not to do this rooting you talk about, amour, but it will be difficult, as it is just a normal form of communication for me. And I do it, almost as easily as human's breathe."
"There you go again," I growl, "You were in my head again. You need to stop. My thoughts are MINE! Do you understand? They are mine, and mine alone! What you're doing in incredibly intrusive and so very rude, I barely know where to begin with how rude it is."
"I apologize, amour, again, it is as I said, I will do my best to stay out of your thoughts...even if you project them."
   "No! You will not try you big armored doofus! You just WILL! You WILL stay out of my head!"
   Garrett looks appalled! "Annora," he hisses, "don't...uh, don't insult the pretty angel. And hey, did you just call him a doofus? Who even says that anymore?"
   Garrett was right! Who did say that? Certainly not me! I'd been thinking more along the lines of fuckface (Walker's friendly phrase) but somehow doofus just came out. I mean heck I hadn't said doofus in oh...oh...wait, I'd never said that word before. What the heck? I turn accusatory eyes toward the angel. Did he do something...more? Did he do something more than he'd already done?
   "I told you amour, it's not becoming of a lady of your stature to swear as you do."
   "Excuse me?" Hadn't I just told this idiot to stay out of my mind? He had no right to be the swear police of my thoughts! "Soooo even AFTER you said you'd work on staying out of my thoughts you invaded them, and what? You "heard" me call you a ass-solutely fuc-fantastic faced angel in my head you somehow magicked me into calling you a doofus instead?" Oh my lord! He'd done it again! "STOP STOP STOP it right now you big overgrown golden ape! You stay out of my head, and stop putting words in my mouth!" I'm so angry I'm nearly crying now. Walker wraps me in his arms and I don't miss how the angels eyes narrow dangerously and his hands clench around the sword he's holding...wait...wait sword? He's holding an actual freaking sword. "You...you uh, have a sword," I say dumbly. I'm feeling completely out of sorts and I hate the feeling.
   "I AM the leader of The Host amour. What sort of commander would I be if I didn't have a sword. And what a sword this is." He lifts said sword up and smiles brilliantly, in fact, his smile is SO brilliant it's nearly blinding.
   "Can you Uh, tone that down a little?" I ask, shading my eyes from his brilliance.
   "Oh oh I do apologize amour I forget myself at times. It has been such a long time since I've been around your kind...and theirs." He tones down his brilliant glow and immediately I'm able to stare at him again. Gah, he really is too beautiful to be believed! "This is A'Juriel, an archangel sword a sword with a blade like none other! Forged first for my father and then so blessed to me, I am now it's wielder and keeper." Chamuel smiles serenely at the sword. "We have seen many a battle together, and dispatched many a foe," and he shoots Walker a pointed look. He'd better not be getting any ideas. Heck if anyone was going to kill Walker, it would be me. And I was FAR FAR from done with him!
"Why are you here?" I finally ask the question that has been on all of our minds—well, maybe not Walkers.
"I know why he's here! And it won't work you feathered duck!" Walker shouts. "I'm doing nothing wrong and my mother and her Coven have done nothing wrong. Black magic isn't necessarily evil and we certainly don't need the Host called down upon us."
"Walker Romanoff, you have always been a difficult one. We've tried to reach you on so many occasions and still you persist in your resistance. We have long since given up on you. If the lord of below wishes to have you at the end of your mortal term. He's welcome to you. You've made us all too weary. Rest assured I shall not speed the way to the unholy one, though. So arrogant to assume - but you always have been, haven't you, arrogant! — so arrogant to assume I'm here for your unredeemable soul. No. I'm here for an entirely separate reason all together. You are an unfortunate side effect of such interaction."
Why did I have the distinct feeling he was referring to me and my unkept bed head look right about now.
"Well, You can't have her!" Walker shouts.
"Walker please, can we take this back to the kitchen?" And food?
"Oh yes, I'm horribly sorry I interrupted your breakfast," Chamuel says and follows us into the kitchen. He looks left then right and frowns. "This is the least offensive room you have in this...house of yours Walker Romanoff?"
"Just Walker, no one calls me a Romanoff, not even Annora darling."
"Then I shall. You see we are getting along better already," the angel says. And I want to smack my forehead. First Garrett and Walker, now Garrett and Chamuel the angel, what was next in this train wreck?
   "Fine, you can call me Mr. Romanoff." Walker spits out.
   Chamuel sighs.  "Too much of a mouthful. No if you don't like Walker, I'll call you Romanoff, or Roman, your choice."
   Hey, Roman wasn't so bad, clearly Walker didn't agree because he made a moue of distaste.  "Call me Romanoff, if you call me anything at all. But it would suit me just fine if you'd refrain from speaking to me at all."
   "Touchy. Touchy." Chamuel laughs.  "Looks like you prepared a feast."
   "Yeah, and you weren't invited!" Walker snaps.
   "Walker!" I admonish "There's more than enough here if Chamuel chooses—"
   "You are all too kind and generous, my amour, but I don't require human sustenance, I merely appreciate it." Chamuel smiles. "I'm assuming that you, Romanoff, prepared this lovely spread for our Annora? Who knew you have such culinary skills?"
"Right? Who knew," I say, taking another mouthful of food. It's cold. Ugh. But oh well, it still tastes delicious, better than delicious, and heck, I've had so much cold food in my life that a little cold breakfast now wasn't about to kill me. Wait...wait...why did this angel keep saying our Annora I wasn't anyone's anything...except maybe Garrett's partner (and that was in question these days, what with how he was feeling about me, and Walker, and me with Walker, I mean...working with Walker). "Why do you keep saying our." I ask.
"Pardon?" Chamuel says. He's staring so hard at me, it's like he can see the inside of my head. Hell, knowing him, he can.
"I'm not repeating myself. I KNOW you understood every word of what I just asked you." I finish chewing some hash and take a sip of the liquid gold, aka, Walker's mom's magic coffeee supreme.
Chamuel sighs. He actually sighs. "That conversation is better left for another day, my amour.  Trust me."
"First off, it takes more than a dramatic entrance and calling me a few annoying pet names, for me to know someone. And thus, trust them.  So no, I don't trust you.  Secondly, I know French.  Amour means love. And you keep saying it in reference to me. I'm no one's love. And if I were, I'd certainly not be yours, an angel I've known for barely more than a minute, who happened to interrupt my breakfast...oh and now my food is cold."
"Another reason he's an asshole, darling," Walker says. "And the list just keeps on growing..." He begins to take my plate and I glare at him and put my hand on his to stop him.
"Take that plate and you die," I hiss. Then swallow. "Sorry...that was uhhhhh a bit much. I just meant, I'm still eating, Walker. And it's fine. I've had cold food before. Actually it's better than fine. This food is seriously amazing, Walker. And again, thanks for cooking for us."
"I was just going to heat it up my dear girl," Walker says with a small smile.
"I know, I know, I assumed as much. But heating it up will take too much time, and I want to eat now, I'm hungry," I laugh. Really, it's fine. You can heat up Garrett's food if you'd like though."
Garrett shakes his head. "Ahhhh no, man, I'm good, thanks. I'm with Annora. Being a cop, you can't believe how many times I've been interrupted and gone back to freezing cold food. I'm good, man, thanks."
Walker looks unconvinced, but nods his head. "If you say so." He glares at the angel Chamuel. "You destroyed my darlings breakfast."
"You heard her yourself, Romanoff. Nothing not even my angelic presence could've ruined the magnificence that was, is, your breakfast." He turns now sad eyes in my direction. 
   Great.  Great.  Had I truly somehow mortally offended the pretty angel?  I hadn't meant to.  I was just telling the truth.  I didn't know him, therefore I didn't trust him.  Hell.  I'd known Walker for nearly a decade maybe longer and I STILL was getting to trust him.
   "And that is what hurts my heart, amour.  Knowing that you don't trust me, it pains me in a way I didn't even realize possible for a being such as I.  Though I suppose it doesn't hurt to know you think me pretty." He finishes with a sad smile on his face.
I drop my head to the table and bang it twice.  It really wasn't going to make a lick of difference how many times I told this intrusive angel to stay out of my head, he just was going to delve in anyway.  That much, at this point, was very clear to me.
   "It truly bothers you, doesn't it?" Chamuel finally asks.
   I lift my head.  "If you're referring to the fact that you just read my mind willy-nilly, and disregard every single one of my boundaries, and in invade my privacy, then yes, it really bothers me."  I can tell this is still something that Chamuel struggles with.  I try to see it from his perspective.  If this is how all angels communicate, mind-to-mind, then of course it would be as simple as breathing, for him to just pick up my thoughts and answer to them, as if I'd spoken with my mouth instead of my mind.  But still, I couldn't quite get over the true 'lack of privacy' this caused, and not being an angel, I wasn't used to having anyone, or anything just reach in and pull out my thoughts like they were gum balls in a machine.
"I truly will try to be better," Chamuel finally says. "If it is something that will help with the trust building, then I shall try very hard, my amour to not do this, 'invading your mind,' thing." He sighs, "Just know, that I do not do it, as you think, to upset you. It truly is natural for me. I have a very difficult time NOT picking up your thoughts and answering to them. To me, it is like you've spoken the words from that beautiful mouth of yours."
"I kinda got that," I mutter. I choose to ignore the fact that he just called me his amour again, and said that my mouth was beautiful. "I really need to know what is going on here, though." I address him.
"Chamuel." He says softly. "Please address me as such. It would please me so much to hear my name from your lips, amour."
Okaaaaay then. I nod, slowly. "Chamuel. Okay. Chamuel, I really need to know what is going on here. In fact, I think we all would like to know why you showed up, and so...suddenly." I don't miss the brilliant smile that crosses his face, and the slight shiver that wracks his body when I say his name.
"I am the leader of The Host. We are in charge of dispatching the worst of evils in the world. When it is clear that our presence, our help is required, we come. You have a..." his eyes begin to glow and narrow, "...foul creature that preys upon the human masses. You will not be able to catch this creature without my help...therefore here I am."
I drop my fork. "Our murders? You're here because of the serial killer?"
"Serial killer..." Chamuel chuckles, "What an odd name. But yes, I'm here because of the creature that is killing your human beings."
"Why don't you stop all the other murders?" Garrett suddenly bursts out. His cheeks redden when he realizes what he just said.
Chamuel inclines his head. "Fair enough question, Garrett Goodson. It is not our 'job' to police the mortal world. That is your job, correct? We do not get involved in every single mortal altercation, we cannot...there are..." he seems to search for the right word, "...there are rules that even we must follow. However, it is as I said. The Hosts are called down and are dispatched for the worst of evils. We have battled the underworlders for eons. And we can intervene on the mortal plane if the evil that invades your earth is tied to underworld evil, or goes against the natural order. What is occurring now most certainly fits those parameters. Therefore, we are able to intervene."
"And it just had to be you?" Walker spits out. "You couldn't have sent any of the others. It just had to be you that came?"
Chamuel grins. "I AM the leader. I am the most suited to this job." He casts a quick look over my way before turning back to Walker. "My father personally dispatched me here. And..." he smiles that brilliant smile of his again, "...I have a very personal involvement in this." He laughs, "...Soooo you see...I'm here to stay. Do not worry, you will be glad for it very soon."
    That would hopefully be before the two of them killed each other—wait, the angel was already dead, right? God what a clusterfuck. And I stuff a huge piece of egg into my mouth.