A Book of Dust and Breath

Chapter 25.1

Max slept the entire time the Lufthansa jet soared above the Atlantic. His body ached so deeply, so completely, he would have been hard-pressed to say exactly what his injury was. His cells were bruised, his soul battered.

In sleep, his mind re-lived the moment when Michael's legions sealed the breach. He'd been twelve blocks away, the true self of an eighty-two-year-old widow in his arms. A shadow crawler feasted upon her from the inside out, wrenching screams of hellish agony from her. Max clung to her, determined not to let the beast pull her down into the abyss.

The earth shook. Plaster rained down from the ceiling and glassware clinked together in a nearby cabinet and Max never let go.

The woman thrashed in his arms. The demon's voice shouted one final curse through her lips before being yanked away from the woman and from the room.

The soul curled against his chest and wept.

Max carried her across the void and placed her in Azrael's arms.

"I almost lost her," he admitted. "Honestly, I don't know why I didn't. I don't know why the demon left."

"The breach was sealed."

The word held so much hope Max struggled to wrap his mind around it.

"At great price," Azrael added, solemnly.

"It's over?"

"The battle is won. The war continues."

Max blinked at him. "I can go home?"

Azrael shook his head. "No good will come of this relationship, Maximus."

"The battle is over. I'm no longer needed in Moscow, right?"

"If that is what you wish."

Max was on his way to the airport within the hour.

The wheels of the plane touched down on American soil and he jerked awake.

The woman next to him smiled. "You must have been really wiped out. You slept like death."

Rubbing sand from the corners of his eyes, he shook his head. "He doesn't sleep."

She laughed, fidgeted in her seat, and said no more, but began making a show of gathering up her things.

It wasn't until he was in the airport that it occurred to him he had no way home. He found a taxi stand and slipped into the backseat of one of the yellow cars. "I know it's far, but I need to get to Blissfield. South on I-23, maybe forty-five miles or so."

The driver looked at the two crisp hundred dollar bills he'd just been given, shrugged, and pulled into traffic.

All the questions Max had been too tired to think about on the plane vied for his attention now.

What will I say to Lily?

Will she even be there?

What if she got tired of waiting and left?

What if something happened to her while he was gone?

What if the eyes in the closet were more than her imagination?

He rubbed at his beard, grown shaggy and longish with neglect during the long battle in Moscow.

Lily was safe. The companion wouldn't have left her alone.

The sun glared through the taxi window, burning the right side of his face. He slid toward the center of the seat and fished a pair of sunglasses out of his bag. "Hey man," he said to the driver. "Time zones and all. I'm a little mixed up. What day is this?"

"Today is Tuesday, sir. The first of August."

Max rubbed at his beard again. He'd been away for nearly half the time he'd been married. How could he guess what he'd find when he got home?

At last, the cab took a left onto Max's street, passed through the little downtown where girl scouts were adding water to baskets of impatiens and petunias, and followed the river beyond the place where the pavement turned to gravel. Max resisted the urge to shout at the man to drive faster.

When they finally turned into the drive he had his door open before they'd even fully stopped, but his body refused to move.

His house looked the same as ever. Exactly the same. Too much the same. The garage door was shut. The old broom rested in the corner next to the front door. The black metal number he'd never gotten around to fixing still hung crooked on the porch post.

"Is everything OK, sir?" The driver asked, no doubt anxious to get back to the city.

It was then he saw--a pair of muddy pink sneakers by the back door.

"Yeah. Yeah, thanks." Without thinking he dropped another twenty dollars onto the front seat and then he was walking up the drive, opening the door. Lily's coffee cup on the counter. A little pile of Lily's laundry, neatly folded on the kitchen table.

He blinked hard against the tears that threatened and managed to find his voice. "Lily?"

Silence and then racing footsteps and then she was framed in the doorway, hand fluttering near her heart. "You came home," she said through a weak, crooked smile.

"You waited for me." He crossed the room and held her face, brushed his thumbs over her high cheekbones and let his fingers trail down her neck.

She clung to his arms and leaned into his touch. "You're safe?" Her voice rose at the end, turning the statement into a question.

"I am now," he said and then he was kissing her and he was sure he'd never been so close to Heaven as he was when he was with her.