Page 32 of Metatron
Before I could say a word Metatron’s HALO ignited. He pointed, and a bright light enveloped them. My eyes closed against it, and when they opened, he and the president had disappeared.
The man she’d been meeting gaped. “He evaporated her.”
I hastened to reassure. “She’s alive. Just elsewhere at the moment. Tron’s giving her the proof she asked for.”
The man shook his head and muttered, “Angels and aliens. I need a drink.” He turned for the bar, a man with silvered hair, broad shoulders, and a confidence that would have appealed if I didn’t only have lusty eyes for Tron. “Want one?” he offered.
“I’m fine.” For now. I reserved the right to get royally drunk later if we survived this meeting. How had it not occurred to me that the president would be so skeptical? And what was Tron thinking, kidnapping her? I could only hope it didn’t backfire—
He reappeared with a visibly shaken president, who didn’t ask but snatched the glass from her lover’s hand, downed it, and held it out for more, which he poured.
“Well, that was eye-opening,” the president murmured. It hadn’t seemed long to me, and yet she returned with a haunted expression.
Metatron inclined his head. “Apologies for the abruptness of my actions. However, it seemed more expedient than wasting time talking.”
“Most people make an appointment instead of accosting me outside normal channels.” The president sipped her second glass of alcohol and appeared more composed than a moment ago.
I shrugged. “It’s one of those things where you’ve got to see it to believe it. Trust me, I had a hard time in the beginning too.”
She tilted her glass at Tron. “There were other ways. Pretty sure him landing on the front lawn of the White House would have gotten my attention.”
“He’d have been shot before he touched foot,” I retorted.
“He’s really an angel?” Her lover was the one to question.
Tron pivoted without being asked and flared his wings.
The president added, “I saw his spaceship and another of his kind. Angel or alien doesn’t matter. He’s definitely not from here.”
“Will you hear what we have to say?” I asked.
The president nodded. “Tell me everything.”
By the time we’d summarized the main points, the president was rubbing her forehead. “I couldn’t have a normal term, could I? Dammit.”
“So you’ll help?” I asked.
“Of course, I don’t see any other choice if what you’re saying is true. But I think we should be open with the people about it. Once they realize that asteroid is coming here, panic will hit. We need to come out strong and confident. Let them know we’re handling it. Once law enforcement can’t keep up with the crime, it will be utter anarchy.”
“We need something to rally humanity.” Metatron stated the obvious.
“This kind of threat might, if handled right,” the president murmured, her gaze lost in thought.
“People coming together to fight an asteroid?” I couldn’t help but sound skeptical.
“The common person can’t actually participate, just follow along on whatever strategy we use to break it up or shift its path.”
“There is one thing they can do,” the president’s male companion interjected softly. “They could pray. Religion could unite the world.”
The president shook her head. “I don’t know if it will happen. Maybe a few decades ago when things were less polarized. If we fight, it might be on two fronts, one trying to keep the population from imploding and the asteroid.” She fixed on to Metatron for a sharp, “How many angels did you bring?”
“A choir,” was his useless reply, as no one knew exactly what that number was.
“By choir, he means not many,” I admitted.
“We’ll need as many as can be spared if we’re going to convince other countries to coordinate with us.”
Tron frowned. “The choir has duties already.”