"You're alive," I breathed. "I've been so worried. So worried I'd never see you again."
He smiled that gentle smile of his, and I saw more lines around his eyes than I'd seen before. "God didn't want to separate us quite yet," he said.
I looked down at the boy. I'd figured Andrew was feeding him or something, but I realized then that the priest was actually giving him last rites. The boy wore no shirt, and I could see on his neck and in his armpits the tell-tale dark pustules that had given the plague its name. The plague usually did what it was going to do in about a week, but from his emaciated look, you would have thought he'd been dying for years. His eyes were fever-bright, and I didn't know if he even knew we were there.
Bile rose in my throat, and I averted my eyes. Standing up, I told Andrew, "I'll let...I'll let you finish this and wait outside." I left the house, going out to where it was warm and things weren't dying.
A while later, Andrew found me. I didn't ask if the boy was still alive. Instead, I said, "How many of them live? Out of all the ones you stay and risk your life for, how many of them actually survive?"
He shrugged. "Three-quarters. Sometimes half, if they're very young or very old."
"Half," I repeated flatly. "That's not very good."
"If one more person lives because of me, then that's very good."
I looked at that confident, serene face and sighed. "You're so damned frustrating."
He smiled. I sighed again.
"What can I do to help?"
The smile disappeared. "Don't make light of this, Cecily."
"I'm not. Tell me what to do."
And that was how I found myself playing nurse in a small town in backwoods England. Honestly, there wasn't anything glamorous one could do to fight the plague. It was all about basics, keeping the people clean and supplied with as much food and water as they could take in. The rest was in the hands of their immune system and - if you believed Andrew - God. When my patients began declining past the point of no return, I usually stopped helping. I couldn't stand to watch and left them to Andrew and his prayers.
But sometimes I'd see people come back around, people whom I'd given up on, and then I could almost believe there was a higher power at work. At least, I believed that until Andrew got sick.
It started slowly at first, a fever and aches, but we both knew what that meant. He ignored it and kept working until the symptoms began compounding. Finally, he couldn't fight it. Neglecting my other patients, I devoted myself fully to him.
"You should help others," he told me one day. His skin was pink and blotchy, and he was starting to get the dark spots around his lymph glands. Through all the sickness and fatigue, he was still beautiful to me. "Don't worry about me."
"I have to worry about you. No one else is." It was true. Andrew had helped so many, but no one had come to his side, despite the fact that plague survivors tended not to catch it again.
"It doesn't matter," Andrew told me, voice frail. "I'm glad they've survived."
"You will too," I said obstinately, even though the signs were starting to suggest otherwise. "You have to go on so you can keep doing your annoying good works."
He managed a smile. "I hope so, but I think my time in this world may be drawing to a close. You, though..." He looked at me - truly looked at me - and I was astonished at the love I saw there. I knew he'd been attracted to me, but I'd never expected this. "You, Cecily...you won't get sick. You will go on, strong and healthy and beautiful. I can feel it. God loves you."
"No," I said sadly. "God hates me. That's why he lets me keep living."
"God only gives us tasks he knows we can handle. Here, take this." He touched the gold cross around his neck, but he was too weak to take it off. "Take it when I'm gone."
"No, Andrew, you won't - "
"Take it," he repeated in as firm a voice as he could manage. "Take it, and whenever you see it, remember that God loves you and knows that no tragedy you face is ever too much for you to bear. You are strong. You will endure."
Hot tears spilled down my cheeks. "You shouldn't have done this," I told him. "You shouldn't have helped them. You would've lived if you hadn't."
He shook his head. "Yes, but then I wouldn't have been able to live with myself."
Andrew lingered a few more days after that. I stayed with him, but every moment of it was agony. I hated watching what happened to him and was more convinced than ever that there really was no benevolent power looking after humans.
He died peacefully and quietly, much as he'd lived. Another priest came to administer last rites when it happened, and Andrew's final conscious moments reflected hope and absolute faith in what would come next. I stayed to make sure the funeral arrangements were taken care of, not that there was much fanfare or anything. There were no viewings or fancy funeral halls in those days - at least not for men like him.
I soon left England for the continent, and after a while, the pain of his death began to take on a new form. Oh, I still missed him - still burned and ached and felt like part of me had been ripped away. But added to that, guilt was starting to create a pain of its own. I felt like I should have taken better care of him. I should have insisted on him leaving with me when the plague came. Or maybe I should have gotten my hands dirtier while helping him tend the sick; it might have kept him away from whomever had infected him.
Florence was a beautiful city, on the verge of the Renaissance when I got there. Yet even while living amongst all that splendor and art, Andrew's death tormented me for many years, the pain of guilt and missing him digging into my heart. It never entirely went away, but it did lessen - it just took a really, really long time. As Hugh had said, a long life simply means having more time to mourn.
CHAPTER 21
Five minutes after Seth left, I realized I'd made a mistake. Not about refusing him - that was the right thing to do. But I shouldn't have let him walk out like that. It was no way to end a fight.
I was still angry after all these years that Andrew had died helping those people. I was still pained by his loss. To this day, I believed my stand in the garden had been correct, but nonetheless, I'd always regretted the separation that followed. Anger and pride had come between us, keeping us apart until it was almost too late. Even disagreeing with each other, we shouldn't have stayed away. We should have talked and tried to find some compromise.
I refused to let this fight foster more bad communication and confusion between Seth and me. I wouldn't let it take away from the time we could have together. I had to fix things. Resolved, I grabbed my coat and purse and headed out the door after him.
I half-walked, half-jogged down to the bookstore, where he'd left his car, but it was gone. I'd missed him. I stared at the empty parking lot for a few moments and then went inside. I'd finally bought Carter's stupid Secret Santa present and had left it in my office earlier. But when I went back inside and stuffed the gift in my purse, I found I didn't have the will to head back out. Instead, I sank into my chair and buried my face in my hands. How had things gotten so muddled with Seth and me? Had the shooting really given him such a new perspective on life? Would this have happened anyway?
Yasmine's signature suddenly filled the room, and I looked up just in time to see her and Vincent materialize in front of me. Immediately, Seth left my mind.
"Hey, Georgina," Vincent said. "I got your mess - "
"I know about Nyx," I blurted out.
Astonished silence hung in the air. I couldn't say for sure with nephilim, but I knew angels were rarely caught by surprise. Yasmine clearly had been.
And, being an angel, she didn't try to deny anything about Nyx. She simply asked, "How?"
"Because she's using me to do her dirty work." Their looks of amazement grew. "Only...I'm not exactly sure how she's doing it."
The two of them glanced at each other, then back at me. "Start from the beginning," said Yasmine. "That's usually the way to go."
And I did, first telling them about the dreams and the energy loss. After that, it was on to my weird knowledge of tragic events and the residual feelings of Nyx's activities. Finally, I explained how Erik and Dante had pieced it all together, linking what was happening to me with all of those unfortunate news stories.
Yasmine sat down in a folding chair, tipping her head back as she thought. It was kind of like what Vincent had done in the hospital while ruminating. I wondered if it was one of those unconscious gestures couples sometimes picked up from each other. "Hmm...brilliant. That's how she's doing it without us finding her."