Page 21 of Calling All Angels
“Look at that,” Emma whispered. “I think she sees us, too.”
“She does,” he answered. “They don’t fear us as they do mortals.” He reached his hand out to her, and she walked up to sniff it. As easily as one would pet a dog or a cat, he reached out to scratch her behind the ears. “We mean them no harm.”
Emma’s gaze went soft, surveying the accident scene. “A shame people can’t figure out that simple skill.”
“Aye, a true shame,” he said with an accusing look at her. Though the moment he uttered those, he regretted them. His kneejerk response to her was feeling considerably less deserved than it had been only hours ago because it was clear she had no memory of him at all.
His words were met with a weary expression. “We should go,” she told him, digging her bare toe into the long grass. “I thought I would remember whatever it was I forgot if I came here. But I…can’t. I’m sorry I dragged you here.”
“I believe ’twas I who dragged you,” he said.
Emma’s eyes went suddenly wide. Her face paled. “Oh!”
“Emma?”
She touched her hand to her head. “I—I feel—”
He reached for her arm as she swayed, but then she disappeared. Completely.
“Emma?” Connor whirled around, looking for her as the fawn scampered back into the woods, but she was gone. A sinking feeling hit him squarely in the gut.
There were only two reasons for her to vanish that way. And he liked neither one.
Chapter Four
Marguerite Ciel saton the edge of the hospital rooftop ledge, her legs dangling off the side, her face to the sweet, ocean-flavored westerly breeze that came with the setting sun. From here, the Pacific stretched across to the horizon, broken only by the lines of surf that marched across the ocean like soldiers and the seabirds that circled above it. Marguerite’s dog, Enoch, sat beside her, watching the birds.
“Ahhh,” Marguerite sighed, “there is almost nothing better than this view, right here, on the whole earth. Don’t you agree?”
Connor, who was pacing across the loose-rock roof like an agitated fool, said nothing.
“It calms the mind and the heart like nothin’ else,” she went on. “I do so miss this part of life. I suppose I shall never get over missin’ it.”
Bracing his palms on the building’s ledge, Connor stared down at the people crossing the parking lot below, going back to their lives. Leaving behind whatever had brought them to this place. If only for a while. He’d come up here to clear his head. Marguerite’s unexpected visit was a distraction he merely tolerated. His thoughts were on Emma and the crisis that had just gone on in her room downstairs only minutes ago.
A flurry of doctors and nurses had swarmed around her, shoving Aubrey out of the way to do what needed doing. Exactly what they’d done was not in his purview, but they had worked on her for a good ten minutes before stabilizing her again. But Emma—the spirit of Emma—had not returned to him. He couldn’t say why, as he sensed her life was still precariously on the edge. Maybe because Marguerite had chosen now to drop in for a chat. What if that short time with Emma was all he’d have? She would either live or die and he would go on to a new assignment, and that would be that.
His chest tightened.
He would miss her contrariness. Her teasing voice. Blast him. Even the way she looked at him.
What business did he have allowing his feelings to get involved?
“That is not like you, Connor,” Marguerite said.
“Get out of my head, woman.”
She smiled softly at him. “You’re surprised. But me, no. Not really.”
“Will ye never stop stirrin’ the pot?”
“The pot stirring is for your own good,mon ami. Too much left undone between you two. It must be tied off once and for all. Or it will always bleed.”
“I’ve no wish to tie anything with her,” he lied.
“You mean,” she clarified, “with Violet.”
He shook his head. “Emma’s just…”
