No Enemy But Time (A Brandywine Investigations Universe Story) by Angel Martinez Page A
Authors: Angel Martinez
Ads: Link
was unexpected, but Zack's human mother, a devout Catholic, hadn't survived long after the birth. Her prayers for an angel to guard her baby had been fervent and powerful.
Some part of him had known, from that moment to their first kiss nearly eighty years later, that he was doomed. Michael's fall, white-hot agony and despair, followed swiftly after that kiss. Without Zack, he would have descended into madness and vengeful hate as so many of the fallen did. Gently, carefully, Zack had coaxed him back from the darkness, had reversed their roles, and made himself the protector.
Zack never said it, but Michael knew he had bought this house with Michael's happiness in mind. Oh, yes, he made noises about wanting to be closer to his father and wanting to live at the beach, but the little house surrounded by trees, with a creek singing in the backyard and a sunny garden, had been what Michael needed.
He loved Zack for that, loved him more for it, if that could be possible. He squinted up at the sun trying to shove through the clouds. Rain wouldn't stop the bird count but it might make it a miserable process with wet sneakers and soaked clothes.
He should be home soon, though, and it's just started to drizzle.
The honeysuckle leaves rustled in the wake of a body moving through them. Michael leaned forward, trying for a glimpse of the creature. Bird, he thought at first, but it pushed forward in a straight line instead of flitting about. Small snake, perhaps? He parted the leaves and found himself eye to eye with a little green frog, its back peppered with black spots.
" Rah rah ," said the frog.
Michael laughed, fascinated as its throat distended to the point of translucence for another rah . Slowly, he stretched out a hand, fingers extended, and held his breath as tiny feet took tentative steps onto his skin. Settled on his palm, the frog continued to sing its strange song of miniature terrier yaps.
"Hey, who's your friend?" Zack spoke softly near his ear.
His sudden appearance made Michael twitch, and the frog leaped away. "I wish you wouldn't do that. Mr. Silent Feet."
"Sorry. I forget sometimes." Zack peered into the honeysuckle vines. "Barking tree frog. We don't get many around here. Pretty rare find."
"He's so cute." Michael settled back on his haunches. "How did it go?"
"Noisy, as usual." Zack flopped down on the grass next to him and rested his head on Michael's thigh. "Good weight gain in the Red Knots overall. Sanderling count is up a little from last year."
"Every little bit, right?" Michael stroked his fingers through the windblown thatch of Zack's midnight hair. A hint of saltwater clung to it. He must have gone in after the cannon nets, but then, he always did. The birds calmed in his presence, and the bird project folks were glad to have him there.
"Every bit." Zack kissed his fingers and sat up abruptly. "You're so cold. No shoes. No jacket. It's not summer yet."
"I was only doing a little weeding. Haven't been out that long."
"You're shivering." Zack tugged on his hand. "Come on. Inside. I could use some warming up myself."
Shivering? Michael stared at the fine tremors running along his arm. "I… yes. Of course."
Before heading in, Zack stepped around the wood screen to the outside shower. Every beach house seemed to have one, and after a week, they'd both seen the sense in it. Water shoes sailed over as the shower pattered on concrete, while damp T-shirt and shorts landed on top of the shower wall. Michael retrieved everything with a little smile before heading inside, knowing Zack would follow once he'd rinsed off the sand and the worst of the salt. His Greek god had no shame and would clomp into the house in nothing but a pair of garden clogs.
Once the warmth of the house enveloped him, tremors wracked Michael's body, ripples of chill just under the skin. He leaned against the wall, arms wrapped tight around his ribs as he fought hard shivers. I must've been colder than I thought. After a few
Some part of him had known, from that moment to their first kiss nearly eighty years later, that he was doomed. Michael's fall, white-hot agony and despair, followed swiftly after that kiss. Without Zack, he would have descended into madness and vengeful hate as so many of the fallen did. Gently, carefully, Zack had coaxed him back from the darkness, had reversed their roles, and made himself the protector.
Zack never said it, but Michael knew he had bought this house with Michael's happiness in mind. Oh, yes, he made noises about wanting to be closer to his father and wanting to live at the beach, but the little house surrounded by trees, with a creek singing in the backyard and a sunny garden, had been what Michael needed.
He loved Zack for that, loved him more for it, if that could be possible. He squinted up at the sun trying to shove through the clouds. Rain wouldn't stop the bird count but it might make it a miserable process with wet sneakers and soaked clothes.
He should be home soon, though, and it's just started to drizzle.
The honeysuckle leaves rustled in the wake of a body moving through them. Michael leaned forward, trying for a glimpse of the creature. Bird, he thought at first, but it pushed forward in a straight line instead of flitting about. Small snake, perhaps? He parted the leaves and found himself eye to eye with a little green frog, its back peppered with black spots.
" Rah rah ," said the frog.
Michael laughed, fascinated as its throat distended to the point of translucence for another rah . Slowly, he stretched out a hand, fingers extended, and held his breath as tiny feet took tentative steps onto his skin. Settled on his palm, the frog continued to sing its strange song of miniature terrier yaps.
"Hey, who's your friend?" Zack spoke softly near his ear.
His sudden appearance made Michael twitch, and the frog leaped away. "I wish you wouldn't do that. Mr. Silent Feet."
"Sorry. I forget sometimes." Zack peered into the honeysuckle vines. "Barking tree frog. We don't get many around here. Pretty rare find."
"He's so cute." Michael settled back on his haunches. "How did it go?"
"Noisy, as usual." Zack flopped down on the grass next to him and rested his head on Michael's thigh. "Good weight gain in the Red Knots overall. Sanderling count is up a little from last year."
"Every little bit, right?" Michael stroked his fingers through the windblown thatch of Zack's midnight hair. A hint of saltwater clung to it. He must have gone in after the cannon nets, but then, he always did. The birds calmed in his presence, and the bird project folks were glad to have him there.
"Every bit." Zack kissed his fingers and sat up abruptly. "You're so cold. No shoes. No jacket. It's not summer yet."
"I was only doing a little weeding. Haven't been out that long."
"You're shivering." Zack tugged on his hand. "Come on. Inside. I could use some warming up myself."
Shivering? Michael stared at the fine tremors running along his arm. "I… yes. Of course."
Before heading in, Zack stepped around the wood screen to the outside shower. Every beach house seemed to have one, and after a week, they'd both seen the sense in it. Water shoes sailed over as the shower pattered on concrete, while damp T-shirt and shorts landed on top of the shower wall. Michael retrieved everything with a little smile before heading inside, knowing Zack would follow once he'd rinsed off the sand and the worst of the salt. His Greek god had no shame and would clomp into the house in nothing but a pair of garden clogs.
Once the warmth of the house enveloped him, tremors wracked Michael's body, ripples of chill just under the skin. He leaned against the wall, arms wrapped tight around his ribs as he fought hard shivers. I must've been colder than I thought. After a few
Similar Books
