Page 147 of Price of Angels

Work, eyes, work!

She worked the lids open and shut, irregular blinking. They were like rusty shutters, catching as they lifted. But they were clearing, and she could make out a shape, someone sitting near her, someone in dark clothes –

And then it all came into focus. She was in a hospital, in a bed, and she dimly remembered Michael saying her name over and over before the sirens reached them. It was Michael beside her now, and his eyes were trained on her face, and they were shiny. He stood, and he came to her, and her hand was too heavy to lift but she clawed her fingers through the air and he seemed to know what she wanted, enveloping her hand with his and squeezing.

“Hey.” His voice shook. His other hand was cool at it smoothed her hair off her forehead. “Hol…”

And he smiled at her. A real, wide, dazzling white smile, unlike anything he’d ever shown her, so similar to that of his mother in the photo she’d found.

Her lips and tongue were dry, difficult to move. “Oh, you’re smiling,” she whispered.

He lowered his face over hers, so their foreheads touched, so he blocked out all the light, and his breath whispered against her lips.

“Yeah,” he said, and she felt the splatter of tears against her face, just as the drugs caught hold and dragged her back to sleep.

Twenty-Six

When she woke next, she was in a regular room, and the bed was elevated so she had a view of the flower arrangements displayed on the window ledge, the counter by the sink, the bedside table. Michael was with her, in an uncomfortable-looking chair. And a bright glimmer lay against her chest, over her gown. A necklace. A silver cross.

Battling the drugs that made her limbs heavy, midsection thumping with pain, she lifted an IV-laced arm and touched the cross at her neck, eyes going to Michael in silent question.

His poor face was haggard. He looked like he hadn’t slept, the lines pressed deep around his eyes and mouth, the shadow of a beard tracing his jaw. His shoulders were stooped and his clothes were rumpled, and all she wanted was to sit him down in front of a hot meal and rub the tension out of his back.

She was in a hospital bed, though.

And here he sat.

It was easy to think that she’d imagined his tears and his brilliant smile. So stern and unforgiving now. But she wasn’t imagining the dedication; his presence proved that.

He cleared his throat. “It was my mother’s,” he said of the cross. “She gave it to me right before she…died.” Unsmiling twitch of his mouth. “Said she named me after St. Michael, wanted me to be the protector. Lot of good it did her.”

Her throat was so dry it hurt to swallow. “I’m sorry you couldn’t save her,” she said, aching for him, the pain igniting with hot flares in her wounded abdomen.

She felt the penetrating passage of his eyes, as they moved across her face. Neither of them needed to say it: No, he hadn’t saved Camilla, but he’d saved her, and maybe that was the universe setting things to rights.

Or, Holly thought, maybe angels had to earn their wings.

“Delilah’s due any day now,” Wynn said, ensconced in the hospital-provided recliner like any good Southern storyteller. Michael had been sleeping in the chair at night, laying it almost flat. “You’ll have to come out and see the pups,” Wynn continued. “You’ll love ‘em. Little sausages when they’re born, and just a’ squallin’.”

Holly smiled. “I’d like that.”

“You can even pick one out, if you want. A little pup all for yourself.”

“That’s a nice offer, but I don’t know. I’m not sure I could keep one of those in Dog Chow.”

He laughed. “They can eat.”

The room door opened to admit a bobbing spray of white lilies, and behind them, Ava, laughing as she heeled the door closed and set the flowers on the counter alongside the others. She was dressed all in black, a red scarf wrapped tight around her throat to fight the cold, her high glossy ponytail swinging as she settled into the plastic chair on the other side of the bed.

“I passed Michael in the hall on my way in,” she said, still chuckling. “And he gave me this awful look” – she did a decent impression of one of his darker expressions, ruining it with a grin – “and said, ‘She won’t eat.’ And when I said you’d eat when you felt like it, heorderedme to shove something down your throat.” She smiled. “So if he hasn’t told you himself, he’s super worried about your eating habits.”

“I eat,” Holly said, rolling her eyes. “I had Jell-O and Corn Flakes this morning.”

“I told him nobody gains weight in the hospital. That it’ll take you a while to bounce back.”

“I’m sure he listened,” Holly said with a wry smile.

“He didn’t say anything and walked off.” Ava looked amused by the whole situation. “I think he was on his way to the cafeteria to get you a sandwich. Wait till he bumps into Mercy. That’ll really brighten his day.”

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