Divinity (41 page)

“Evolution of spirit, girl, not the kind of evolution you just pictured. Monkeys? Really?”

Evolution of spirit. Julia liked the sound of that. Perhaps there would be enough evolution that humans would no longer consider themselves separate races, either. The thought made her smile.

As though he was reading her mind, and he probably was, Michael reached out and took Julia’s hand. “You are further along than you think. You will make a good Second.”

Julia lifted her chin, setting her shoulders back. She wasn’t certain she was ready to leave this world behind, but she knew that, when the time came, she would do what she must.

“So be it.”

“She’s even one of us,” Gabriel said, standing at his usual place in the clouds, overlooking Julia in her kitchen.

“I am not certain I understand why you avoid her, Brother.” Raphael laid her hand on his shoulder. “You would only make her heart lighter if you would join her from time to time. The way Michael does.”

“She needs to come to terms with her human emotions, Raphael. She needs to stop viewing me as her father, and start viewing me as…”

“As what? A co-worker?” Raphael’s melodious laugh showered him.

“I do not see the humor, Sister.”

“Gabriel,” Raphael said seriously, “how is she supposed to stop viewing you as her father? You stand watch over her at all times. You have rattled the heavens to help her, to guide her, always keeping her unaware of your presence. She will not stop seeing you in that way any sooner than you will stop treating her like a daughter.”

Gabriel’s wings ruffled down his back, eliciting a deeper smile from Raphael.

“Someday,” he said gruffly, “she will understand we must have a different relationship than what she envisions.”

Raphael’s eyes softened, and she leaned in closer to Gabriel.

“Or someday you will,” she whispered.

EPILOGUE

I
SABEL’S
driver came around and opened her door for her. The rain bounced off the umbrella he held over her. It seemed fitting, she thought, to have such a dreary day for her return from Rome. Her private audience with the Bishops of Rome had been a disappointment and a complete waste of time.

She had used the clout of her husband’s name to arrange the meeting, and had been greeted with all the pomp and privilege to which she was accustomed. By the time she left, she felt lucky they hadn’t locked her away in an asylum.

They told her she should be ashamed for believing that her son was the reincarnation of Adam. They told her she should repent for bringing her lies to the doorstep of the Church and laying them at the feet of the Pope himself. They had threatened to charge her with blasphemy and have her excommunicated from the Church.

They had demanded to see the documents she claimed Alex had written, of course, but she hadn’t been able to produce them. Now Isabel wondered if they would have simply tossed them into a fire if she had brought them. She was glad the journals were safe with Julia.

Since the airport in Rome, she had had the feeling that she was being watched, and couldn’t stop looking over her shoulder. As she stepped out of the car, she peered over the roof down the long driveway. Nothing. She would have seen headlights from quite a distance without the lights of the city to diffuse them.

Clutching her purse to her side, she walked in her usual stately manner toward the house—her shoulders back, her head held high. She wouldn’t let the Vatican’s dismissal get her down.

A hissing noise caught her attention and she swung her head to the left, seeking the source. There on her lawn were what looked like two imprints. The grass was dead in two circles that were bigger than her feet, and in a larger area around the two spots everything was wilting right before her eyes. She gaped, incensed that there were blemishes on her otherwise perfectly manicured lawn.

Every raindrop that fell on the dead grass turned to steam with a hiss, disappearing into the air as though the patches were hot.

And fresh.

S
PECIAL
T
HANKS AND
A
CKNOWLEDGMENTS

T
o
my daughters: Kate, who is my heart, and who always inspires me to be a better person and a better writer; Cara, who gives me spirit, and whose spirit touches all who know her; and Maria, who gives me joy, and who is my biggest fan and movie-poster-maker, and whose faith in me never wavers. To Michael, for everything you are, everything you are to me, and everything you help me become.

To Jeanne for more things than I have room for on one page, whose life and passion inspire everyone who knows her, especially me.

To Naomi, whose friendship and humor play an integral role in my every day, and whose stones have played an integral role in this book.

To Jamie, my agent and my friend, for believing in me and my story, and for walking beside me on this incredible journey.

To all of my workshop partners from The Muse and beyond—Michael, Gretchen, Tammie, Jane, Sheri, Rebecca, Kelly, Hyla, and Tim—whose collective and separate feedback and insight helped shape this book and gave me room to spread my own wings.

To my editor, Owen, who walked right into the heart of the story and found all I had hidden there. To Vikki, who loved my story enough to take a chance on it, and to the team at Spence City for working so hard to make
Divinity
happen.

To Regina at Mae I Design, whose beautiful cover captured the spirit of the book so well.

And finally, to my sister Melissa, who blesses my life with her friendship and her beautiful children, and who has shown me that forgiveness is truly divine.

C
OLOPHON

T
his
book is typeset in Baskerville, a transitional serif typeface designed in 1757 by John Baskerville, Birmingham, England. It is positioned between the old style typefaces of William Caslon and the modern styles of Giambattista Bodoni and Firmin Didot. The Baskerville typeface is the result of John Baskerville’s intent to improve upon the types of William Caslon. He increased the contrast between thick and thin strokes, making the serifs sharper and more tapered, and shifted the axes of rounded letters to a more vertical position. The curved strokes are more circular in shape, and the characters are more regular. These changes created a greater consistency in size and form.

A
BOUT THE
A
UTHOR

M
ichelle
L. Johnson was born in Ohio and adopted by Canadians. They traveled all over North America, and when they weren’t on the road Michelle could be found with her nose buried deeply in the pages of a book.

With all of her travels and adventures, she hopes to bring some of her unique perspective to the pages and to entertain others the way all of her heroes have for her.

When she’s not hanging out with her feathered friends, she’s busy being a literary agent with Inklings Literary Agency.

She says wherever she hangs her coffee mug is her home, and right now that’s a toasty warm Jacksonville, Florida with her happy Cocker Spaniel and her small family.