Dancing on the Head of a Pin Read Online Free PDF Page A

empty.
    So he did what he’d been doing just about every night since Madeline’s death. He sat in the dark, listening to the quiet snoring of his dog, and allowed the memories to wash over him.
     
    Remy was at the office early the next morning. It had been at least two weeks since he’d last been there.
    Since narrowly averting the Apocalypse, the world had become a much darker place. He had hoped that humanity, overjoyed by the fact that they had been given a second chance to embrace life, would have tried to make things better, but in fact they didn’t even seem to notice. He was sure that on some level they were aware that something was up, that something had come pretty close to screwing up a lot more than a golf date, or that sixth trip to Disney. But the end of the world didn’t happen, and life continued just as it had before.
    But whether they noticed or not, the world had become a little bit darker. The approaching end of the world had churned things up—like the bottom of a deep, dark lake, the slimy silt, mud, and sediments stirred by a powerful storm above.
    Things not of this world, which had chosen— in some instances it had been chosen for them —to make the Earth their home, had become aroused by the closeness of the cataclysm, and were greatly disappointed when it had not occurred.
    Leave it to Remy to spoil a potentially good time.
    He stood in the lobby of the Beacon Street building that housed his agency, trying to get the accumulated mail out of his box. Swearing beneath his breath, he tugged on the wedged catalogues, flyers, and bills, trying not to damage them too badly as he extracted them.
    He stuffed the stack beneath his arm and climbed the stairs to his second-floor office, thinking about the angel he and Francis had found last night, and his final words cursing himself and some mysterious others for committing an unforgivable sin.
    What that sin was exactly Remy had no idea, and it ate at him, or, more precisely, it gave him something other than his troubles to think about. He would need to ask the Nomad leader when he saw him. The sudden reminder of the meeting dropped around his shoulders like a weighted scarf. Maybe I’ll just forget it, Remy thought. The Nomads will learn of their comrade’s death sooner or later.
    The air inside the office was stale and unmoving. Throwing the mail down upon the desktop, he went to the window and opened it to release the stagnant smell. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the once-lovely fern given to him by an appreciative client, now withered and brown. He picked up the pot and studied the plant’s remains, searching for any sign of green, hoping for an indication that the plant could be saved, but there was none.
    Remy sighed as he dumped the plant in the wastebasket. He was painfully aware that the once-thriving plant had died because of his neglect, a neglect that could very easily be affecting not only his office plants, but his business, as well as what remained of his personal life.
    It was decided just like that. No more bullshit. He would go and see the Nomads. First he’d straighten out the office, return phone calls and e-mails; then he’d try to find Suroth and his flock.
    But it was just so damn hard to care about anything anymore.
    Madeline had been the primary reason why he lived as a human—she was his anchor to humanity—and with her gone . . .
    His thoughts again started to wander, and he saw her the day he’d revealed his true self to her. It was early morning, as the sun came up over the Atlantic Ocean on Nahant Beach. They had been out dancing, and there wasn’t a soul around. He remembered the expression on her face when he said that he had something he wanted to show her.
    Remy smiled sadly with the memory, certain that what he had revealed had never even entered her realm of possibility. How often did the guy you were dating reveal that he was an angel of the host Seraphim? Not often, he imagined. He hated these