Color of Angels' Souls (9 page)

No, Jeremy couldn't be mistaken.

It was … his father!

Jeremy was so shocked he couldn't even move, and could only look on helplessly at the incredible scene taking place in front of him. After having heroically chased away the pack of red Angels, Paul Galveaux, with a crazed look in his eyes, hollered with rage and threw himself at Frank Tachini, hitting him in the face again and again with all his strength.

“Bastard, asshole, son of a bitch! I forbid you to touch her, you hear me? I'll kill you! I'll kill you! SHE IS MINE!!”

Tachini didn't budge. He was completely insensitive to Paul's fury, and his fists went right through him. Paul suddenly left off, raised his eyes to the heavens and began howling like a wounded hound. He wrapped himself around Claire, like ivy around a stone pillar, and eventually ended up in a sobbing heap at her feet, covering his former wife with useless, unfelt caresses.

“Oh my God,” Jeremy uttered in a horrified whisper. “Dad?”

He hurried over and tried his best to wrap his arms around his father, but Paul ignored his desperate cries.

“He won't listen to you,” grumbled a gravelly voice, decimated by long years of cigars and good whisky. “He's completely lost his mind.”

Startled by the familiar voice, Jeremy quickly turned around.

Before him stood James Stuyvesant, his … grandfather! He had loathed Paul Galveaux, the French student who had stolen his daughter from him when she was studying in Paris, but now he seemed to be looking after him. The famous descendant of the Stuyvesants of Boston had taught Jeremy everything he knew about business. He had found a way to bring Jeremy to the States and even had him naturalized before finally shuffling off this mortal coil in style; his heart gave out on him while he was in bed with two beautiful women at the age of seventy-five. His grandfather, the banker who had made entire nations tremble when he attacked their currencies, was absolutely fuming as he contemplated the funeral, a blue cigar clenched between his teeth.

Before James had a chance to say anything else, Jeremy threw his arms around the old man. A bit taken aback, James almost fell over backward before awkwardly returning the relieved boy's affection. His grandfather was there. James would realize that his grandson was only twenty-three years old, barely a man. Jeremy suddenly felt tremendously relieved.

“Grandfather! Oh, thank God you're here … I was so lonely! So scared!”

“God had nothing to do with it,” James grumbled wryly, tilting his head sideways as he pulled away from his grandson. “Not a day goes by that I don't have to chase down your father and stop him from going to see your mother … which is exactly why we weren't there when you died. If not, you can be sure we would have been there to help you! I'm furious with him. You were my best investment, Jeremy. Ever since I died I've been giving you all the advice I can. I think you can thank me for at least half of your best business deals!”

The old man was absolutely glowing as Jeremy tried to come to his senses. Now he understood where that annoying ringing sound he'd suffered from had come from. Undoubtedly it had been his grandfather, meddling in his affairs. Again.

“Sweet Jesus!” growled James. “You had so much going for you. What a waste! How did you manage to get yourself killed, my boy? We only learned about it this morning when we stopped by the house, and then we hurried over here to find you. Did you have an accident? The damned drivers in this town! When the guy who ran you over dies, we'll have a nice little welcoming party waiting for him, believe you me.”

Of course! In the afterlife, murderers were undoubtedly eagerly awaited by their victims. Jeremy was finally able to speak.

“Uhh, not exactly, Grandfather. I was decapitated. With a katana by a … a ninja, apparently.”

As he said the words, he realized how ridiculous it all must sound.

He was right. James frowned at him. “Whoa now! Are you sure you're feeling all right?” he ventured. “A ninja?”

“Not only me, Grandfather. He did the same thing to someone else that same night—a woman named Annabella Dafing.”

For once, James was so surprised that he was unable to speak.

“You don't say,” he finally uttered. “How extraordinary! Two decapitations?”

“I know; it all sounds crazy to me too! The only good thing about it is that I found you and Dad again,” Jeremy said, filled with relief. “What's wrong with him, Grandfather?”

“He's become a wandering spirit, a Poltergeist. His death has driven him mad.”

Jeremy was reminded of something Flint had said.

“He's like an addict, Jeremy,” James said irritably. “He feeds off your mother, can't pull himself away from her, and since she's been sad and angry these past few years, he's turning more and more red. I'm very worried about him.”

It was hard to believe that, when both men were alive, his grandfather had absolutely loathed Paul … so why on Earth would he be watching so closely over him now?

“But why?” Jeremy finally asked him, as they watched the funeral continue.

James didn't pretend not to understand.

“Because, my boy, sooner or later your mother will come and join us. And if I tell her that I let your father waste away while I was partying with a few pretty Blues and some naughty Reds, she'll be on my case for all eternity. I'm just covering my bets, that's all.”

“And what if … what if I tried to talk to Dad? Do you think he might hear me?”

“I'm not sure he'll even realize that you're here, but you can give it a try.”

Jeremy nodded and walked over to his father and crouched down next to him.

“Claireclaireclaireclaireclaireclaireclaire,” he whimpered.

“Dad?”

“Claireclaireclaireclaireclaireclaireclaire …”

He repeated his litany over and over, giving Jeremy goose bumps. His heart sank.

“Papa? Please, listen to me!” he entreated, his voice thick with tears. “It's me, Jeremy: your son!”

But his father could hear nothing, see nothing but Claire. He probably hadn't even realized where they were. Overcome with grief, Jeremy rose slowly to his feet. Dying wasn't the only ordeal he would have to get through. He would also have to accept the fact that the Angels were still here, in the afterlife, attached to their families and lost loves. And that it was too much for some people to take.

“My dear boy,” James said, “I'm terribly sorry about what has happened to you.”

Jeremy could only shake his head, still too upset to talk. He had missed his father so much! Paul had been the polar opposite of James. He had been a painter. A good painter, but no genius. He had never made a name for himself in Paris, and had barely been able to keep his own family afloat, earning just enough for him and his beautiful wife to live on. It had certainly been nothing like what Claire had known as the pampered daughter of a New York billionaire. Paul had always struggled to make ends meet, and when James offered to pay for Jeremy's education, provided that he come to live in America, Paul hadn't been able to refuse. Claire had never resented him for it. She had been crazy about Paul, and when he died in a stupid accident she was crushed. That's when she decided to move back to New York to be close to her father and her son. Then she met Frank, her future husband. And Paul, an Angel now, had never left her side. Their whole love affair had taken place right in front of his eyes. The very idea made Jeremy feel sick.

James placed a firm hand on his grandson's shoulder.

“Jeremy, you have to be strong now,” he said. “I want to know what happened, why you were killed and who was responsible. Come and meet me the day after tomorrow, at eight p.m., at Rose's & Blues, a bar on Lexington Avenue. They play good music and the living seem to enjoy themselves. I have to get your father out of here before all his histrionics start to make Claire feel even worse. Normally she can't hear him, but in the state she's in …”

Jeremy was taken aback.

“But, I don't want you to leave—”

“Rest easy, my boy. We have all of eternity to talk, and it's impossible to reason with your father when he's with your mother. We really must go. It will take him a couple of days to pull himself together. He'll be much more lucid the next time we meet. I promise you.”

Jeremy began to protest but James was no longer listening. He struggled to pull his son-in-law away from Claire, and finally succeeded. James grabbed hold of his arm and literally began to drag him off.

And then the two of them flew away.

Jeremy, dumbstruck, watched them disappear in the distance. Only then did it finally sink in: the only person he knew and loved in this new world had abandoned him. He started to run after them—but ran right into a young woman.

Or rather, right
through
her. He stopped in his tracks, then suddenly felt weird and quickly jumped back out of her. He still hadn't gotten used to the idea of just waltzing right through people.

He cursed as he realized that James and Paul were gone.

Luckily, he knew where to find them. He was still shaken up by the scene with his father, and the fact that they'd left him behind, and also a bit peeved with this woman who had gotten in his way at just the wrong moment. It took him a few seconds to finally realize what was happening.

The young blond woman was crying her eyes out. But he could tell from the colors of her emotions that it was more than just sadness. He had seen the same Mists around his stepfather: guilt. She was looking on in horror as they lowered Jeremy's coffin into the ground.

Then he realized something else. The young woman was wearing a black dress and coat, a pair of large sunglasses, and a black-and-white silk scarf that covered her hair. She was standing off to one side at the ceremony, by herself. It looked as if she was hiding. As if there might be someone in particular at the funeral whom she didn't want to see her. Jeremy was intrigued. Could she have some tie with Frank Tachini? She looked very young, barely twenty years old, but traffickers hardly cared about the age of their victims. She was talking to herself, and when Jeremy understood what she was saying, quickly froze, all ears.

“Oh my God, my God, my God, what have I done?!” she moaned. “Jeremy Galveaux is dead, and it's all my fault.”

What the—?! He was taken aback, shaken up by what he'd heard. What was she talking about?!

A few red Angels were floating above her, attracted by her grief, her fear and feelings of guilt. He had never seen the girl before in his life, and couldn't understand why she felt so bad …

Then it hit him. Of course! He
had
already seen her! Her face had been etched in his mind when, filled with fear, she had fled from the murderer just after his own death. And she had only been saved by the sudden arrival of that police car … when the samurai had tripped over Jeremy's head.

He ignored the Reds and walked up to the girl. They took no notice of him.

“Why do you think it's your fault?” he asked her insistently, as if she could actually hear him. “Talk! Tell me what you mean! Who are you? You said it's your fault. What did you do? Why was I murdered?”

But in response the girl just sobbed into her handkerchief. After a few seconds, she turned away and began walking off unsteadily between the headstones. Jeremy couldn't help but grin as he noticed the sculptures of the Angels and Cupids with their chubby cheeks around some of the graves. If the living only knew …

But now he was the one who needed to know. He would follow the girl and try to figure out what had happened. Without thinking, he took one last look up at the sky, but James and his father were really gone. After a final glance at his mother, who looked like a black-and-white marble statue, petrified with grief, he set off behind the girl. She was the only link he'd been able to find with his murder, and there was no way he was going to lose her now.

She jumped into a car, nearly crashed into two poorly parked limousines, and then sped away. Jeremy had slid into the passenger seat, and contemplated her as she drove. Her nose and eyes were all red, and her face was all puffy from crying, but she was still very pretty. Luckily for her she hadn't been wearing any makeup, as it never would have stood up to such a flood of tears. The pain and sadness that she exuded smelled wonderful. Jeremy stiffened in his seat: He couldn't succumb to the temptation.

“But why did you come to my funeral?” Jeremy asked quietly, after they'd been driving for a few minutes. “Who
are you
anyway?”

The young woman began bawling again when they stopped at a red light, and he remained quiet until she got ahold of herself.

“OK, we don't know each other, but apparently it's because of you that I am now sitting here invisible inside your car, wearing this ridiculous loincloth held on by a baby pin. So I'll just have to find a way to communicate with you.”

Then she started bawling again.

“Great.” Jeremy sighed. “The only problem is you're crying so hard that you'll never hear what I'm saying, even if I yell my head off like Dad.”

The thought of his father brought back everything he had just been through back at the cemetery. The rest of their ride together was quiet, except for a few more crying jags by the mysterious driver.

Then she slowed down and turned into a parking lot. Her face still a swollen mask of suffering, she slammed her door and started to walk toward an apartment building, with Jeremy following right behind. They went up a few floors to a small apartment. It was a modest place, but very sunny and warm. Some mail sat on the table, which was covered with a pretty white embroidered tablecloth with red trim. The curtains were also a warm color, and the furniture was low and comfortable. Jeremy noticed that the walls were adorned with bland landscape paintings. The apartment itself was very tidy, and even though Jeremy felt ashamed to be spying on the young girl in her own home, he told himself that he had the right to: He needed to know what was going on. He jumped when, without warning, a little Scottish Terrier began yapping and ran excitedly up to the young woman. She scooped it up into her arms and the dog began licking the salty tears off her cheeks.