Chapter 3

THREE

Willow

Every day for the past two weeks, I've seen her. My whisper . She appears at the most unexpected and inconvenient times, blending into the shadows of my life, but always just out of reach.

I'm not sure why I call her that. Except, the weird voice at the church called me the Whisper Keeper. Why, if this new thing —being— is anything other than a whisper?

Behind me in the bathroom mirror some mornings, she mimics my movements, but with a detached sadness that sends chills down my spine.

On the bus, she sits across from me. The other commuters don't notice her. Or…if they do, they don't react.

The worst part is when I see through her eyes. It's disorienting—like being ripped from my own body and thrust into hers. One moment I'm in my office at UCSF, grading papers or answering emails, and the next, I'm on a roof. Or in a park. People pass by without reacting, their faces blurred and distant. Leaves rustle. The sounds of the city are muted when I'm in her head, but not that far away.

She can move on her own. Wherever she wants to go—I think. If I'm seeing through her eyes, I'm helpless to resist—a supernatural passenger in my own doppelg?nger.

Last night, she woke me twice. Once, she was standing in the middle of the street outside my apartment, and a car drove right through her.

A few hours later, the foghorns blasted, and I jerked awake. My whisper was two blocks away—that seems to be as far from me as she can go—and the fog was so thick, it was all I could see through her eyes.

I try to ignore her. To tell myself it's stress or lack of sleep, but it's getting harder to believe my own bullshit.

God, I wish I had someone to talk to about this. I even tried calling Father Shin, but he transferred out of the parish. Sister Cecilia too.

I'd go back on my own, but I've been too scared. So I've spent my workdays locked in my office, praying my whisper will leave me alone, and searching for anything I can find about the Whisper Keepers .

So far, I haven't learned anything helpful.

Am I losing my mind? I don't tell anyone what's happening. How can I? No one would believe me. But fear is chipping away at my sanity every single day.

The rain cascades down my office window in sheets. My whisper stands on the other side of the desk, staring out at the sidewalk. Her reflection in the glass is almost solid—more real than any other time I've seen her.

I take a tentative step closer. My heart races. Shit. If I'm not careful. I'll have an episode and pass out.

"Who are you?" I ask.

She turns, her expression mirroring the confusion and fear that have been my constant companions for weeks now. For a moment, our emotions are so tightly linked, we might as well be one being.

And then I'm pulled into her world again. Cold drops of rain pelt my skin. Thunder rumbles in the distance. Lowering my gaze, my own hands—as solid as they were in my office—reach for something unknown.

"Please ." I don't have a voice when I'm seeing through her eyes. But maybe she can still hear me? "Please tell me what's happening?"

But she doesn't answer. Only walks away, leaving me stranded in this strange, whispered version of my life. Until I blink.

The warmth of my office surrounds me. I'm soaked to the bone. Rainwater pools on the floor, though the window hasn't opened in years.

I sink down to my knees, tears mixing with the rain on my cheeks. How much more of this can I take? Reality and illusion blur together, and I'm terrified that one day, the two will mix so thoroughly, I'll never find my way back.

Gabriel

The small duffel bag swings from my hand as I wander the streets of San Francisco. Despite my desire to be off the previous night, I found myself unwilling to leave the city yet. Instead, I took the credit card Maddox had given me—the one linked to Sinclair's bank account—and rented a hotel room a few blocks away.

It was only natural to begin my education about this realm in the one place I have some familiarity with. That was what I told myself as I tossed and turned in the king-sized bed.

A warm, comforting scent calls to me. My stomach rumbles. I have not eaten since last night. I should have asked Maddox how often humans partake of a meal.

The delicious smells get stronger until I find myself in front of a shop with a glowing sign in the window.

Pizza by the Slice

A man and a woman stand at the counter, and I eavesdrop as they each order a slice of pepperoni. I do the same, and after waving my phone over the payment terminal, take the thin paper plate with the slice of pizza over to a booth and sink down onto the red vinyl seat.

It is hot, almost burning my tongue. Gooey. The crust crackles as I bite down into a pillowy softness. I flick my tongue to swipe at the corner of my lips. Such an odd motion, but instinctual, somehow.

The flavors meld together. Some of the cheese tears off, leaving the dough naked save for a light sheen of sauce. It glistens and, fuck me. Why is that so appealing?

The meat is salty and rich, with a burn totally unlike that of the molten cheese. I must have more.

After two more slices, my stomach starts to feel…uncomfortably full. I push to my feet, and the man behind the counter stares at me in disbelief. "You can't still be hungry, dude. I serve the biggest slices in the city."

"Dude?" I straighten to my full height, prepared to smite the man for his familiarity. "I am an an—" Fuck .

"It's just an expression. Geez." He turns and pulls another pizza out of the oven. "I need a vacation. This job is getting to me."

I hurry out of the shop. I almost told the man I was an angel. The very thing Killian and Maddox warned me not to do. Does hunger—or its opposite—affect one's intelligence or judgement?

I could call the warlock and his mate and ask. But given how much fun they had at my expense last night, perhaps that is not wise.

The sun is starting to set. I cannot stay in San Francisco any longer. I should go to New York City next. The desk clerk at the hotel said that was the most exciting place he had ever been. I will start there.

But first, I need to find an alley where no one will notice me to disappear.

A cathedral looms at the end of the block. It calls to me, the Gothic spires standing proudly against the sky. A few more minutes in San Francisco will not cause any harm.

Willow

My whisper darts up the aisle, runs through the altar, and stops at the heavy purple drape before staring back at me.

"What do you think you're doing?" I hiss. "Stop!"

"The Almighty does whatever she pleases," a deep voice says from behind me. "I have found that asking her to stop has always been rather futile."

I yelp and glance up into a pair of golden, amber eyes filled with amusement. His hair tumbles over his shoulders in waves. God, he's almost too beautiful to look at. If only I were in the mood for company.

"You know God personally?" I ask. "Because if not, mind your own business."

He holds up his hands and backs away. "My apologies. I do not have much experience talking to people. I meant no disrespect."

I snort. "I doubt that."

The man's brows knit together. "I do not lie."

"You look like a model. I'm sure you have women falling all over you."

I scoot to the end of the pew, but when I stand, my blood pressure bottoms out and my heart races. Dark spots swim in front of my eyes. Swaying, I flail my arms, desperate to grasp on to something—anything—to keep me upright.

A spicy, rich scent wraps around me like a warm blanket. I want to live in it. To stay here forever. But then my vision clears, and I'm staring up at those mesmerizing golden orbs. Only now, the amusement is gone, chased away by concern.

"Are you all right?" He sinks down onto the pew with me still held against his chest, and I end up with my legs draped over his.

Am I?

A strange man has me nestled in his lap, and I'm not trying to get away. I'm seeing ghosts—well, one ghost who looks just like me—and I came back to the place that scares me most in this world.

"You need a doctor." He shifts, and his hard length presses against my ass. I suck in a breath, trying to wriggle free.

Shit. That's not helping. He's only getting harder. He knows it, too. His cheeks take on a red tinge, and he stills.

"No. I…I don't. Need a doctor, I mean."

Not that kind of doctor, anyway. A shrink? A stay in a nice, padded cell for an undetermined amount of time? That's debatable.

"You almost passed out." The man brushes a lock of hair away from my forehead. I lean into the touch before I can stop myself. "My name is Gabriel. And you are?"

"Willow. Willow Saunders. Dr. Willow Saunders. I have a Ph.D. in Mythology and the Occult." Shit. I'm babbling now. Why can't I stop myself?

Because he's hot as fuck.

I need to get out of here. Between his addicting voice and those mesmerizing eyes, he must have a girlfriend. And I'm not looking for anything. Not now. Not when I'm terrified I'm losing my mind.

"Anyway, what happened—almost passing out—is kind of par for the course with me," I say and scramble off his lap. Thank God I don't have another episode this time.

He frowns. "Par…for the course? I do not know this phrase."

Is this guy for real?

"It means…this happens a lot. I have a medical condition. It's not life-threatening," I add when he tenses. "But if I get up too fast, my blood pressure drops and I can get dizzy. Thank you. For catching me. But…I need to go."

I run for the back door, but stop and look over my shoulder before I escape into the early evening air. Gabriel stands in the center of the aisle, staring back at me. His full lips curve into a gentle smile. In his arms, I could breathe again. If only I could have stayed there a little longer. Maybe I wouldn't feel like my entire life were spinning out of control.

Gabriel

The desire to chase after Dr. Willow Saunders surprises me. As does the ache in my cock. I have not had sex in centuries, and I'd forgotten what it was like to need .

In the celestial realm, such things are simply…not done. I have walked among among humans five times in my existence, and last fucked in the early 1800s. I enjoyed the acts, but once I left this realm, I no longer felt the same urges.

When Willow Saunders tumbled into my arms, all of those desires—and more—came flooding back. Her curves fit against me perfectly. I can still feel her soft blond locks slipping through my fingers.

"Enough," I say quietly. It is time for me to leave San Francisco. I had thought to call Azrael to meet me here so I could talk to him about coffee and pizza. But now, I think it would be best if I moved on.

I slip through the heavy wood doors and glance up and down the street. Dr. Willow Saunders is gone, and while I will treasure the memory of having her in my arms, I have many more memories to make before I return to the celestial realm.

New York is waiting.