A Kiss Before the Apocalypse Read Online Free PDF Page B

nervously on the ear. “Get-well place? Get-well place bad.”
    Maddie and Remy had called the veterinarian’s office the get-well place, and the dog had never enjoyed his visits there. Marlowe was not happy in the least that Maddie was in the get-well place. She and Remy made up Marlowe’s pack, and it confused the poor animal not to have her at home. No matter how Remy tried to explain that Madeline was sick and needed to be taken care of elsewhere, Marlowe could not grasp the concept. So, as he often did in instances like this, Remy changed the subject.
    “Want an apple now?”
    Marlowe snapped to attention, his missing pack member almost instantly forgotten.
    “Apple now? Yes. Yes.”
    Remy grabbed a Red Delicious from a fruit bowl on the microwave table and brought it to the counter. He plucked a knife from the strainer, cored the apple, and cut it into bite-sized pieces. Marlowe followed him excitedly across the kitchen as he tossed the chopped fruit into the metal bowl.
    “Here you go. Eat it slow so you don’t choke.”
    Marlowe dug in. “Apple good. Chew. Not choke. Good,” he said between bites.
    Remy returned to the coffeemaker and poured himself a cup. He leaned against the counter, watching the dog inhale his treat, and wondered how long it would be before Marlowe again asked for Madeline. Not the best of situations, he thought, his eyes going to the fruit bowl.
    And they were almost out of apples.
    It was after eight when Remy finally retired to the rooftop patio to unwind from the hectic day. It was getting cooler, but he didn’t notice. He sat in a white plastic lounge chair, sipping his coffee and reading Farewell My Lovely for what was probably the tenth time. Remy never tired of Chandler. In fact, he’d chosen his human name and that of his “baby” as a kind of tribute to his favorite author. There was something about the man’s prose, his keen observations of the mean streets of 1940s Los Angeles, that usually soothed the angel, but not tonight. He placed the paperback down on the patio table.
    Marlowe lay on his side at Remy’s feet, legs extended as if dropped by gunfire. He lifted his head and grumbled.
    “Yeah, me too, boy. Even Chandler’s not doing it tonight.” Remy leaned forward in his chair and ran his fingers along the dog’s rib cage. The Labrador laid his head back with a contented sigh.
    Then, coffee mug in hand, he stepped over Marlowe and walked to the patio’s edge, looking out over the city. He sipped at the cooling liquid as the day’s disturbing events replayed inside his head. Mountgomery saw him in a guise he had not taken in years.
    Remiel, an angel of the heavenly host Seraphim.
    How he hated to be reminded of what he actually was.
    The angel listened to the sounds of the city, of the night around him, knowing full well that if he so desired he could pinpoint the individual prayers of every person speaking to Heaven at that moment, but Remiel had given up listening to the prayers of others a long, long time ago. He didn’t want to be something prayed to; he wanted to be like those he walked beside and lived among everyday. Remy Chandler wanted to be human, and until today, he was doing a pretty good job.
    The door buzzer squawked below, and Marlowe climbed to his feet with a bark and bolted down the stairs, gruffing and grumbling threateningly. Remy took one last look at the city, wondering how many out there had asked for favors from Heaven tonight; then returned to the table for his book and followed the dog down the three flights.
    He pushed the response button on the wall in the kitchen, leaning in toward the two-way speaker. “Yes?”
    There was a bit of a pause. Then he heard the rustling of a paper bag.
    “Hey. It’s me. Let me in.”
    It was Steven Mulvehill, and it sounded like he had brought refreshments. Remy buzzed the man in and went to a cabinet for some glasses.
    Marlowe watched his master with a tilted head.
    “Who? Play?”
    Remy pulled