by N. D. Jones
Serwa lifted her face to the sky, not a dark rain cloud for miles, just endless hues of blue and white. She smiled, remembering a long-ago time when she would sit under the earth’s warm sky, waiting for night to fall and the arrival of her warrior. The pleasure she received from Issa’s forbidden kisses not nearly enough to last Serwa until next they met.
Back then she had been an impatient girl. Too eager. Too naive. Too inexperienced. Now, well, Serwa could sometimes still be impatient and eager, wanting to control the uncontrollable. Yet life, death, and rebirth had matured her, life lessons taught but also learned.
She was in the middle of a lesson now. Patience and faith were her co-teachers, collaborating with an annoying mix of rigor and support. Serwa could do without such life lessons--unavoidable as they may be.
Serwa stretched out her legs, the grass tickling bare calves and feet. White skirt fell to knees, matching short sleeve blouse airy, covering her retracted wings. She reclined, back going to grass, eyes to the mid-morning sky.
A half hour later, Serwa didn’t have to open contented eyes to know who’d caused the warm breeze that had drifted across her sun-moistened body.
“Hello, Nathaniel.”
Serwa opened her eyes and sat up. Nathaniel stood a few feet in front of her, bare chest wide and bronzed, large, white ancient wings powerful, even while at rest. His towering body cast a shadow over Serwa, blocking out the sun. Nathaniel’s bald head was dusted with sweat, but long legs and big feet were protected from the sun’s indiscriminate rays by black pants and a pair of black 7-Tie boots. The poor parched grass crumbled under his heavy angelic weight.
“What can I do for you?”
The Heaven-born angel frowned down at her. “You left Araceli without informing me.” His frown deepened, a crease forming between disapproving eyes. “Again.”
Serwa stood, stared up at the Hunter Angel, and prepared to tell him exactly how she felt about the overbearing shadow he’d become in Issa’s absence. Instead, she stumbled back before slamming her eyes shut. Nathaniel was burning hot and bright, throwing off thrumming waves of red and blue soul energy. She knew he hadn’t come there for this, to have a Healer Angel dissect his heart soul. Serwa didn’t want that either, but the elder angel had caverns of suppressed emotions that needed to be excavated. Yet Serwa knew— instinctually—that that journey into darkness belonged to another.
Why is he so wide open? Nathaniel’s emotional shield is normally much better than this.
Taking deep breaths, Serwa toned down her Healer’s sight. She couldn’t shut it down. But she could adjust the wattage, like turning a dimmer light switch. When it was done, Serwa reopened her eyes. She could still see the thrumming red and blue pulses surrounding Nathaniel, clinging to him like an unwanted secret. To her relief, the magical shield he normally wrapped himself in was back in place, the gaping holes in his emotional armor mending right before her eyes. Serwa couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to rattle an angel as self-possessed as Nathaniel.
Shaking her head at the enigma in front of her, Serwa said, “As you can see, I’m perfectly fine.”
A partial truth.
“Then why are you out here instead of in there?”
Nathaniel gestured with his chin to the building fifty feet behind her.
Serwa didn’t turn. She knew every hole, dint, and crack in the one-story orphanage, and every overworked volunteer, every scrawny cow, every abandoned child. The children’s ailing souls but smiling faces called to her on the most fundamental level. Motherless children. Childless mother. Two parts, neither whole.
Serwa raised her hands, palms up, and looked down at them. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.” Hands dropped and heart squeezed. “I do more than heal. You’ve seen what else I can do.” Death.
“I have.”
He motioned again to the orphanage. The sound of playing, laughing children warmed Serwa’s heart, the familiar ache of loss loosening just a bit.
“They’ve also seen what you can do, Serwa, the care you take with them when you make time to visit.”
Serwa hadn’t made time to visit the children since her attack. She had stayed away, fearing her power and lack of control.
“You were chosen for a reason, Serwa, given two Hands of Power. Life and death. It’s a weighty burden for any set of shoulders.”
A weight, at times, Serwa thought she would crumble beneath. But you haven’t. That must count for something.
“Issa was also chosen for a reason. I need my Guardian Angel back on active duty. At the rate he’s going, the Virginia and D.C. rogue demon cells will be dismantled before the end of the year. But he won’t be satisfied, won’t feel any better than he does right now. Trust me, I know of what I speak.”
Nathaniel and Issa were alike in too many unhealthy ways. Both needed healing, yet neither was willing to ask. Their faith crudely coated in layers of icy pride.
“I’ve begun an investigation into what Issa uncovered while tracking Ethan O’Leary.”
Issa had told Serwa about Angels Against Angelkind. A long-distance conversation that had morphed into an argument over his extended stay in the human realm.
“There’s been a development in California. I have enough Hunter Angels at my disposal, but I need my best Guardian Angel by my side, someone I can trust while I hunt in the dark. Stalking angelic prey is dangerous business I take no pleasure in engaging.”
Who knew her near-fatal attack by a power-hungry fire demon would unearth a sinister plot against Araceli?
“Go to Virginia. Go to Issa and heal him.”
“Heal him?”
Serwa turned away from Nathaniel. Ten children ran about the dusty, rugged grounds of the orphanage, their clothes faded from wash and age.
“It’s not that easy,” Serwa threw over her shoulder.
Nathaniel moved to stand beside Serwa, her head barely reaching his shoulder.
“It is easy. You’re a Healer. Issa is in need of healing. Just heal our Guardian Angel and bring him home. It’s what we both want, what Issa requires.”
Nathaniel spoke so blithely about taking away Issa’s free will. As if to force a magical healing upon Serwa’s husband wouldn’t cause a different set of problems. But what did an unmated angel know of such things? The bond between mates left no room for well-intentioned betrayals of trust. Issa either asked for and accepted Serwa’s help, or he didn’t. She wouldn’t steal from her husband. Not even the guilt tearing him and them apart.
Ignoring Nathaniel, Serwa peered down at the little girl who had approached while she’d been distracted. The girl wore no shoes, but the blue dress she did wear was a size or two too small. Knobby knees peeked out from under the dress and a toothy smile grinned up at Serwa, bringing with it the radiance of a blue African lily in full spring bloom.
“You’ve grown, Korley.”
Serwa itched to caress the four-year-old’s dimpled cheeks. But she was as much a Death Angel as she was a Healer Angel. What right did she have to touch such fine, delicate skin? What if she wasn’t as healed as she believed herself to be? What if—
Korley’s chubby arms lifted. Tiny fingers reached for Serwa.
Her heart stilled, body froze with longing and fear. She never touched the children she tended to. Serwa always maintained a polite distance. Healing and giving, but never touching and taking.
“Pick me up, Serwa Angel. Pick me up.”
Serwa’s mind sharpened then blanked. Words were suddenly beyond her. The motherly desire she’d locked away scratched at the bars of her bleeding soul. Desperate for guidance, Serwa sought out Nathaniel. She turned to him.
The Hunter Angel was smiling down at Korley, a heart-breaking longing she’d never seen before in his golden-brown eyes.
Too much like Issa. Too much like me.
“Your Hand of Death is not what you fear,” Nathaniel said, eyes still on Korley. “Besides, you know it doesn’t work that way. A Death Angel's will must accompany the
touch. For you, Serwa, you no longer even need to touch your prey. Your will alone can kill.” He looked at her. “You would never harm an innocent. I don’t have to convince you of this because you know the truth of my words.”
She did. So why had she erected a wall between herself and the children?
“Pick me up, Serwa Angel?” Korley asked again, a pleading, almost longing tone to her voice.
When was the last time someone held or kissed the child? Made her feel special and precious simply because she existed?
Forcing the lump from her throat, Serwa bent, touched Korley with trembling hands, and lifted the child. Holding the tiny, squirming girl at arm’s length, Serwa stared into eyes so brown they reminded her of chocolate amber.
Afraid, but no longer able to resist, Serwa pulled Korley to her chest, settling the girl firmly against her. The weight was negligible but oh so wonderful. But it didn't feel nearly as good as when Korley rested her head upon Serwa’s shoulder. The lemon-fresh scent of innocence and faith wafted from the child and to Serwa's nose, a glorious smell.
Korley twined baby soft fingers around Serwa’s braids and wrapped her legs more snuggly around Serwa’s waist.
Serwa held Korley just as tightly, accepting the child’s special brand of healing magic.
Breaking the rules, Serwa conjured a small white and black stuffed panda bear. She handed it to Korley.
Smiling, the girl tucked the gift into the pocket of her dress. “Thank you, Serwa Angel.”
“You’re welcome, little one.”
Angels weren’t supposed to cater to humans in such a way. God believed that would make humans more dependent on angels and less on themselves. But Korley was but a child. Every child deserved a toy to call their own. As Korley deserved to have a mother and father to call her own. Parents who would love and protect her. Parents who could afford to keep her.
Lost in the warmth of Korley’s embrace, Serwa forgot about Nathaniel and had taken several steps toward the orphanage when she heard him ask, “Did you see it all?”
See it all? Ah, my Healer’s sight.
Korley shifted in Serwa’s arms. She grabbed the panda bear from her pocket, gave it a sloppy kiss, and held it to Serwa’s lips, wanting her to do the same. Serwa obliged and kissed the stuffed animal. Satisfied, Korley returned the bear to her pocket and relaxed in Serwa’s arms.
“I can’t stop the sight, Nathaniel, but that doesn’t mean I probe beyond the surface without permission. That would be an invasion of privacy. I wouldn’t do that to you or anyone else.”
Nathaniel’s sigh of relief was audible and deep, a distressing sound that cried out to the Healer in Serwa.
With effort, she ignored the healing magic that had flared to life, sensing—as always—when it was needed. Needed but not wanted.
“Thank you, Serwa.” With a soft take-off, the Hunter Angel was airborne, leaving the ground and Serwa behind but taking his pain and secrets with him.
Serwa started for the orphanage again, conjuring a toy in front of each child—a soccer ball, jump rope, doll, bicycle... Squeals of delight followed, blanketing the humid day with the rich laughter of children.
Serwa sat on the open porch of the orphanage, Korley having abandoned her for a rocking horse. She watched the children, seeing her long-lost girls in each of their smiling, cheerful faces.
Looking upon them, Serwa had to admit that she could never go back. It was time she stopped torturing herself and Issa with a dream that would never manifest. Four hundred years and no pregnancy. Not his fault. Not mine. Never seen a pregnant angel. Why would I be different? Because I prayed, begged?
It was past time for Serwa to truly allow herself to move forward. To stop feeling guilty about having been given a second chance, for finding happiness in a new life that didn’t include her daughters. Time for the Healer and Death Angel to finally accept that letting go of a mother’s pain did not mean she no longer loved and missed her twins.
As for Issa…well, she wouldn’t compel him to her side the way Nathaniel had suggested. Serwa would give her husband more time. Patience and faith, she told herself. Patience and faith.
Korley ran up to Serwa and plopped onto her lap. “I’m glad you came back, Serwa Angel.”
So am I.
Serwa kissed Korley’s caramel soft cheeks, then tickled her tummy until the girl howled with laughter. Serwa laughed, too, wishing Issa was there with her.
October 2012
Richmond, Virginia
Issa finished removing the last of his Hunter’s weapons. He carefully stored each sword and knife in its designated place, pretending he wasn’t acutely aware of Serwa lazily taking in his humble dwelling.
He wasn’t ashamed of the place, Issa had to remind himself. But he’d taken no time or care in decorating. It was just a place to rest his wings while he’d hunted Ethan O’Leary, the demon always returning to his city and mother.
Serwa had arrived at his apartment twenty minutes ago, but Issa had sensed her presence in the human realm hours before. In fact, he knew every time she came to this realm, their mate bond as strong as ever. Yet she had never sought him out. Issa inexplicably hurt each time she hadn’t. But he was the one who’d asked her not to come there. To give him space to work things out in his head. And she’d done exactly that, until tonight.
“What do you think?” he found himself asking, an unfamiliar wrench of insecurity bubbling to the surface, his cool voice the only thing not giving him away.
Serwa’s heart-quaking winter-brown eyes turned his way, settled on his face, and saw straight into his soul. His wife knew him too well, but she simply smiled, shrugged, and said, “You’ve always been an organized and tidy person, Issa.”
True. But what she meant was that his apartment was Spartan—a wooden chair, desk, and coffee table were all the furniture he had in the living/dining room.
“It’s just an apartment, like most found in this part of Richmond.”
“Your apartment.” Serwa turned away from him, moving to the only window in the room.
Issa hadn’t missed Serwa’s emphasis on the word “your.” He didn’t want to argue with her over this again. But she made no further comment, just continued to stare out the window. At what he did not know, for the view below was nothing more than a dark, depressing alley. Perhaps she stared beyond the dreary development, seeing the Richmond skyline in a way that only a Healer Angel could. Auroras of light, shimmering red and blue, a light display of charged, dysfunctional photons. Issa often wondered what Serwa saw when she looked at him. Was he one of the photon emissions in need of her healing? Probably. Most assuredly.
Issa sighed and walked toward his quiet wife, taking her fit waist in his arms and snuggling his forehead against the sensual line of her neck. She smelled so good. Like home and heat. She felt even better. Like loyalty and love.
“Thank you,” he said, then kissed a warm spot on her exposed shoulder. The black silk gown she wore was sleeveless, the material dipping in the back to accommodate her knee-length wings. Their restoration had been a painful process Serwa had suffered in silence, refusing to allow Issa to see her cry, adding to his “irrational guilt” as she’d called it. But he’d known, heard her soft cried in the middle of the night when she’d thought him asleep. She would weep in a nursery that had yet to welcome a child, a babe to fill the void left by the deaths of their girls. Something else Issa had yet to do right, the bearing of such fruit hundreds of years behind him, a hollow ache where fatherhood had once been.
“Thank you,” he repeated, face hidden against the thickness of Serwa’s hair. The coils were shiny and twisted in intricately woven braids, cowrie shells interspersed, adding to the overall alluring effect. Thank you for accepting the unacceptable, Issa silently added. Thank you for supporting me, even though you don’t agree. Thank you for staying. Thank you for loving me.
He kissed her shoulder, and she settled her back against his durable chest--a strong woman. She always
had been, even when she thought she wasn’t. In many respects, Serwa was stronger than Issa--her faith immeasurable and true.
“How was the White House?”
“Not much has changed. President Obama sends his regards.”
Issa smiled into his wife’s hair, enjoying her unexpected visit and nonchalant attitude. Both Republican and Democratic presidents had invited Serwa to the White House over a dozen times. Her healing efforts, intelligence, kind nature, and supermodel looks made her a sought-after figure for paparazzi and politicians alike.
“Serwa is the perfect image for our kind,” Nathaniel had once told him. “Humans love the idea of one of their own ascending to the rank of Angel.”
Serwa had been awarded her fifth Presidential Medal of Freedom for saving nearly a hundred people from Ethan O’Leary’s terrorist attack. She had refused the honor. Several times, in fact. But the celebration had moved forward, the press primed and ready to catch the first glimpse of a fully healed Serwa.
She hadn’t disappointed. Issa had known she wouldn’t. He’d watched her on his television as the clouds parted and birthed the Healer. Serwa had glided down and over the White House lawn, unfazed by the exuberant cheers and applause. In that moment, she’d reminded him of a painting he’d seen of Queen Nefertari, Lady of Grace—regal, stunning, formidable.
Yet it was duty to her and nothing more. The smile she’d donned for the cameras and presidential family was real, but the twinkle in her eye, a telling barometer of her happiness, was sadly missing. He’d cursed himself and waved the television away.
“I healed Evlin O’Leary.” It was an admission that didn’t surprise him. “Not completely,” Serwa added, “she wasn’t quite that deserving.” She paused when he twined his fingers in her hair, twisting braids around them, kissing the delicate contour of the ear he revealed. She shivered but spoke again, voice steady if not breathy. “I only removed her physical discomfort. The psychological, much deeper ache of her heart remains.”