For a moment she seems to be in shock. “Who—who are you? Where am I? What’s happening?” She yanks back the blanket and clutches her chest with frantic hands, almost clawing. “I was—I was shot, he shot me in the chest, I was dead, I was—”
There is no trace of the violence she suffered. Now, her skin is clean, scrubbed free of blood, and perfectly unblemished. Her lounge getup of lingerie is gone, replaced with a short, soft white nightie.
She looks up at me again, her wide eyes searching mine. “Am I… Am I dead?”
I smile softly, reaching out to lightly touch her face. The bruise on one side of it, made first by her boss when he slapped her and worsened by the pistol-whip of the man who murdered her, is healed, along with the teeth she lost with the second hit.
“Shh,” I whisper, and she stills, gazing at me. Her heart, racing so wildly just moments before, calms. “You are not dead, Sazahn. You were, but I restored you.”
Her heart speeds up again. “I don’t understand. What do you mean? I was dead? Where am I? Does my sister know? I don’t understand, I—”
I take her hand in both of mine. “I will explain everything to you, dearest. Please calm yourself. There’s nothing to be frightened of.” I gesture toward the table. “Food and drink so that you may regain your strength. Aren’t you hungry?”
As if hearing that word reminds her, her gaze fixates on the table, and I can hear her stomach growl.
I press a kiss lightly to her knuckles. “Nourish yourself, my sweet, and I will tell you everything.”
Sazahn pulls the platter of fruit onto her lap along with a pastry. I pour her a glass of wine and set it within reach. She lifts a piece of dark golden pineapple, swollen with juice, to her lips, closes her eyes, and takes a slow bite. The juice runs down one side of her mouth, to her neck, and disappears into her cleavage. It’s all I can do not to pin her to the bed and lap up every spilled droplet.
“It’s like nothing I’ve ever tasted before,” she says in a hushed, reverent voice, eyes still closed. “I haven’t tasted fresh fruit since…”
“Cynthia graduated from the police academy,” I offer. “And there was a celebration at headquarters. That was eight years ago.”
Sazahn’s eyes fly open. “How did you know that? How do you know me?”
“I know everything there is to know about you, Sazahn,” I tell her. “I know when and where you were born. I know what your childhood and teenage years were like. I know how hard you’ve had it, the terrible things you’ve dealt with over the years. I know the jobs you’ve worked, the things you’ve had to do just to get by…”
She lowers her gaze and the piece of pineapple.
She’s ashamed. I lean toward her, using a gentle finger to tip her face back up. “Do not be ashamed, sweet one. Never be ashamed of fighting to survive. Never lower your head when reminded of the choices you made to ensure your life continued, that you had food to eat, money to see to your Earthly needs. You are a princess, and you will never bow to man. Do you understand?”
Her cheeks darken, and she nods. “You said…Earthly needs. Are you…an alien?”
I smile, amused with my sweet one. “Do I look like an alien?”
“Well…not in the commonly accepted depictions we usually see. But we have no way of knowing what’s out there.”
“True enough.” I hand her the glass of wine. “Quench your thirst. To answer your question, no, I am not an alien in the commonly accepted sense, as you said. My name is Gaderel.”
“Gaderel,” she repeats quietly, peering at me over the rim of the wineglass.
The sweet, curious way she says my name with childlike innocence touches me, a deep part of me I locked away so many, many years ago.
There once was another who said my name in that way too.
I draw a breath. “I was once of the choir of the Grigori.”
“The…choir?” She knits her brow. “You’re a singer?”
She’s breaking through the black walls surrounding my spirit with every charming word. “Not exactly, no. A choir describes an order of angels.”
Sazahn coughs, spluttering on her wine. She claps a hand over her mouth, staring at me.
I wait. It’s been a very, very long time since I revealed myself to a human, but I haven’t forgotten how small and fragile, inside and out, they are. It takes time and patience to learn them, know them, and for them to accept the truth.
She lowers her hand. “Are you… Am I… Insane?”
I tilt my head back and chuckle softly. “No, sweet Sazahn. Both of us are far from that. Truth can be very difficult for humans to accept. Your knowledge and beliefs are limited to what you can see and feel, hear and smell and taste. Angels—specifically, my order—have walked among your kind since the creation of mankind.”