He quirked an eyebrow. “What say you, Julia? Do we have a deal?
“Yes, sir.” At this point, tired and half-dead, I didn’t care. If the devil offered to help me, I’d make a deal.
Immediately, Eve tackled my wound. First, she pressed a bunched cloth into my good hand and directed it over the wound. Back at the suitcase, she prepped her supplies, and when I saw her threading a big-ass needle, I turned my head toward the fire. I doubted she carried any anesthetic.
Minutes passed, and I turned back.
Eve sat there looking down at me, her expression sad.
I couldn’t summon enough energy to think about what her expression meant, so I asked, “What is it?”
“Evangeline is mute,” the man said. “Aren’t you, Eve?”
The girl broke eye contact with me and nodded, scooting closer and helping me roll onto my side. She removed my hand from the wound and cleaned it. A towel appeared before me, and Eve put it up to my mouth.
“A gag is optional,” the man said. “Eve’s sensitive to screaming. I am not, so screaming is welcome.” He laughed, the sound musical, like a piano duet, uneven, complicated. It wasn’t a man’s laugh nor a woman’s. It was both and neither, and my heart pounded. I feared him, though he’d done nothing but help me. I shoved the towel into my mouth.
Eve sutured my arm. Although she worked quickly, it was pain unlike any other I’d ever experienced, and I whimpered through most of it. All my life, I’d played sports. I’d fallen many times, scraped my knees, twisted my ankles, scraped my face, and even broken my arm. I hadn’t cried then, but today nearly brought me to tears multiple times. When Eve finished, I sighed in relief.
Sniffling, I sat up. The closed wound looked ugly, but better than a bleeding one. Eve smiled, a kind, gentle smile that didn’t reach her brown eyes. Before leaving, she bowed to the man, who tipped his head, then watched her ascend the steps, his gaze lingering long after she closed the door upstairs.
From among the clothes Eve brought me, I grabbed the white sweater and managed not to whimper as I pulled my injured arm through the sleeve. “I’ll be going, then.” I stood to leave. Too fast. Vertigo came, and I stumbled onto the couch across from the man. Blinking my eyes open, I caught the man smirking.
“Have tea,” he said. “Eat dinner. Chicken soup, if that makes you think you’ll heal faster. There’s roast beef and potatoes in the oven. Help yourself.”
“Thank you, sir.” I needed to find my dad, so I wouldn’t be staying.
“Welcome, dear.” Yawning, he stretched and stood. “It’s late.” He proceeded into the hallway. I leaned forward to see around the corner. He was shrugging on a long black leather coat and a hat and slipping on leather gloves. “Nothing good ever happens after midnight,” he said and winked at me. “Did your mom ever say that?”
The mention of my mom made me want to see her so bad, hear her say it was gonna be okay. “Yeah, she did, and I should get going too. Gonna go find my family.” But instead as I stood, I didn’t head for the door, but headed for the kitchen, where soup and a roast with potatoes awaited. Wasn’t I leaving? No, my mind supplied. You should eat and rest.
The man left, the front door clicking closed behind him. I ate, rested, and dreamed of an angel with golden wings.
Chapter Three
I awoke on the leather couch and pulled up the sheet over my nose, my eyes peeking over the pile of blankets on top of me. Confused, I searched my surroundings. The Chesterfield couch, the teacup still on the table, the fireplace.
The throbbing pain in my arm reminded me of last night’s events. I’d really hoped yesterday was a dream or some sort of concussion-induced illusion, but my bicep beat with its own heartbeat. I checked the wound. No blood soaked the dressing, and the pain would go away soon. I just had to get through it and the rest of…whatever this might entail.
The house still slept, and, slowly this time, I sat up. Next to the couch, I found boots. Shivering from the cold, I slid my feet inside them. Overnight, the fireplace had burned out. I searched for my backpack, and when I couldn’t find it, I sat back down and waited for Eve or the man to come downstairs in this ordinary townhome where an extraordinarily weird man lived.
But he was a man and not an angel, and I intended to ask him what was going on and how…how things had changed. He might know where I could find my parents.
Minutes passed, and I grew antsy. Having nothing to do, and presuming nobody would come down anytime soon, I walked to the kitchen and made a cup of coffee. Someone had woken up before me and put away last night’s dishes. Probably Eve. Maybe she went scouting for food.
I leaned against the sink and sipped the coffee, the vision of the beautiful angel not leaving my head. There was something different about him. I knew that the same way I knew this house was empty. Nobody slept upstairs. I should leave.
The door opened, and I rose, expecting the man or Eve.
Strangers stood at the door. A man and a woman with two kids. Beside them were suitcases. A pink cupcake pendant hung from the house key in the woman’s hand. Confused, I frowned.
“Who are you?” the man asked, stepping in front of his family, clearly shielding them. Oddly, he resembled the man from last night, but both his eyes were green, and he wore a beard. The man from last night had one brown and one green eye, both colors striking in their depth.
I put the coffee cup down on the table. “My name is Julia. I…I
