No more holes in the fabric of time and space spilling nightmare creatures into this reality . . . at least not in this news cycle. Maybe they were saving that one until the eleven o’clock broadcast.
“Are you gonna eat that last one?” Linda asked, pulling his attention back to his dinner companion.
“I’m sorry,” Remy said, tearing his eyes from the television and gazing at the attractive, dark-haired woman sitting across from him. “Something caught my eye.”
“Whatever,” she replied. “Do you want that or not?” Her fork hovered over the last cube of fried manchego cheese on the plate in the center of the table.
“No, go ahead,” he told her.
“I was hoping you’d say that.” Linda grinned as she speared the cheese, dipped it in a red sauce, and popped it into her mouth.
Remy picked up his drink, watching as she closed her eyes in ecstasy while she chewed. She opened them and giggled when she saw him staring at her.
“I feel like such a pig,” she said, swallowing and wiping her mouth with a red linen napkin, “but I could eat a hundred of those things.”
They were at Loco, a tapas and wine bar located thirty minutes southwest of the city. Linda had mentioned wanting to try it once or twice and, feeling as though he had been neglecting his lady friend of late, Remy had made reservations for a special night out.
The waitress, a lovely girl by the name of Jessica, brought out their next selection, a flatbread pizza covered in Gorgonzola cheese, sprinkled with pine nuts and basil, and drizzled with a balsamic glaze. Remy wasn’t quite sure how he was going to feel about this one, but he was put at ease with the first bite.
“This is pretty good,” he said, nodding slowly.
“You seem surprised.” Linda laughed.
“Guess I just didn’t know what to expect,” he said as he took another bite.
“Kinda like how it was with me.” She winked at him over her slice of pizza.
Remy smiled warmly, feeling her hold upon him growing even stronger. “I got more than I bargained for with you,” he said, swirling his drink in the glass, the melting ice cubes tinkling like wind chimes.
“And is that more in a good way or more in a bad way?” she asked, with a lovely tilt of her head.
He suddenly thought of Madeline. She was the love of his life and always would be. But there was definitely something about this woman sitting across the table from him, this Linda Somerset, that made Remy happy he hadn’t abandoned his human visage when Maddy had passed away.
“I think you already know the answer to that,” he told Linda as he helped himself to another piece of the flatbread.
“I know what I think,” she said, once again helping herself to the last piece. “But I’m not sure you’d agree.”
Linda kept her eyes on him as she took a large bite of the bread.
As an angel of the host Seraphim, Remy Chandler had fought for Heaven against the forces of Lucifer Morningstar. What he had seen, and done, during the Great War had soured him to the ways of Heaven, and so he had sought refuge on the world of the Almighty’s most cherished creations. Remy, then Remiel, had come to the Earth to lose himself, crafting a human persona of his very own, suppressing his true angelic nature.
After thousands of years, it was Madeline who had solidified his mask of humanity, and made it something so much more. Her love for him had made him human, and now she was gone. The fabric of his humanity had begun to fray, and he’d had little hope that it would last—until he’d met Linda Somerset. Remy was beginning to believe that there just might be some hope for him after all.
“I knew you were trouble the minute I saw you,” he said, looking at her, taking in the sight of her.
“So, is that good trouble or—,” she started to ask, holding back her laughter as he interrupted.
“Knock it off. You’re the best kind of trouble I know.” He reached across the table to take her hand in his.
He’d been fighting his feelings for her since he’d met her, that annoying voice in the back of his brain reminding him how devastatingly painful it was to lose such love.
And no matter how human Remy believed he was, he faced a harsh reality. He was immortal: destined to watch anything he came to love wither and pass from life, always leaving him alone.
“Suddenly so serious, Mr. Chandler,” she said, and he could see the beginnings of concern in her eyes. “Is everything all right?”
He smiled, but didn’t release her hand. It felt good in his, and he wanted to keep it there for a little while longer. “Everything’s fine,” he said. “No worries.”
But he was worried. Things had been getting progressively worse since the Apocalypse had been so narrowly averted just a couple of short years ago.
Remy remembered the prophetic dream he’d had just after the Hermes Building incident, when he’d spoken with a very familiar old man on a Cape Cod beach about a coming war.
Linda looked at him as if trying to see more than what he was willing to show her. “Okay, so why do you look the opposite?”
Jessica brought them their entrees—braised short ribs for Linda, a filet mignon with lobster for him; she then left to refill their drink order—another glass of Cabernet for her and a whiskey and ginger for him.
Linda continued to watch him. “Hello?” she asked.
Remy picked up the steak knife from the corner of his plate. “I’ve just been feeling a little bit guilty,” he said with a shrug as he cut into his steak. It was so tender, he could have sliced it with his fork.
“Guilty about what?” Linda asked, tasting a bit of her own meal.
“I don’t think I’ve been such a great boyfriend lately,” he said, placing the meat in his mouth and chewing. It tasted as good as it looked.
Linda laughed out loud.
“What’s so funny?” Remy asked.
“You said you’re my boyfriend.”
“Yeah? And that’s funny because . . . ?”
“You’ve never said it before,” Linda answered, looking down at her plate and suppressing a smile. “I liked hearing you say it.”
She turned her dark eyes up to him, and he just about melted.
He used to feel a nasty twinge of guilt when she looked at him like that, as if he was somehow cheating on the memory of his departed Madeline.
But Remy had come to an understanding with these feelings, an understanding that this was just another aspect of being human: that it was nearly impossible to stop loving, for without love, there really wasn’t much of a point.
Especially for him.
Without love he would be forced to return to what he really was; a warrior with the blood of his brothers on his hands, an angel that had lost faith in Heaven and its Creator.
Remy needed to love, and needed the love of another to truly live.
And really, wasn’t that the truth for just about everyone?
“I would like to think of myself more as your Lambykins, or Snugglebunny,” he said without cracking a smile as he stabbed a piece of beef and lobster with the end of his fork and popped it into his mouth.
“Interesting. I was thinking more along the lines of Honeybunny,” Linda said slyly, scrutinizing him with a careful eye from across the table. “Yeah, you’re most definitely a Honeybunny.”
Sarah, who was tending bar at Loco that night, brought them their new drinks just in time.
“Honeybunny it is,” he said, lifting his glass in a toast.
“To Honeybunny,” Linda replied, picking up her wineglass.
They each had a drink to consummate the toast, playfulness twinkling in their eyes.
“So I’m just Girlfriend, then?” she asked.
“You seemed to like it a little while ago,” he replied.
“Yeah, Girlfriend is good, but it doesn’t have the same oomph as Honeybunny.”
“True,” Remy agreed. “Maybe we should give you a more tantalizing moniker.”
“Moniker?” she repeated, starting to laugh. “Who the hell uses the word moniker? What are you, like a
