Irish: An Angel's Journey

by David Pollitt

  Chapter 13

  The Sewanee Storm

  Irish went out around four the next morning and walked quietly in meditation in the cool mountain fog covering the campus like a layer of frosting. She felt the presence of God here and knew that God would make this a special place, a safe haven, one day to protect His children. As she walked down University Avenue towards All Saints, a sheriff’s patrol car pulled up ahead of her. He turned on his flashers for a moment and motioned Irish over. Irish couldn't figure out what was going on but followed his instructions. The sheriff got out as she approached, and he motioned her to get in. When she did, he got in after her. She sat quietly, not saying anything and waited for an explanation.

  Irish noticed that the sheriff was about thirty-five and stood at least six-four. She figured he worked out. He wasn’t overly massive, just trim and fit. She thought, with his build, he’d make a great angel.

  He turned to her and very quietly said, "I’m Sheriff Sammy Capstone. What in the world are you doing walking at four in the morning by yourself?" He took off his cowboy hat and smiled at her. It was obvious that he was only concerned.

  Irish could spot someone with a good heart, and this sheriff qualified. She smiled back at him and answered, "I’m Irish. I was enjoying the quiet, being alone, the quiet, I guess."

  "Irish! With an accent like that, it’s a little too obvious. Not exactly like any Tennessee accent I’ve ever heard. The quiet? Well, you may need to be more careful. We had a murder at one of the frat houses tonight. Seems a young man named Ralph was shot with an arrow right through his heart. Dangest’ thing I’ve ever seen. All of a sudden, this quiet place, as you call it, is quiet and dangerous."

  Irish was visibly shocked, "Ralph, did you say, Ralph?"

  "Yeah, did you know him?" asked the sheriff.

  "I know only one Ralph. Howard introduced him to me today. I have his dissertation with me, which I needed to get back to Howard. Howard was going to proof it for him."

  "Howard, well, any friend of his, is a friend of mine. Where are you staying?" He was having trouble putting the Irish pieces together; but figured, she was probably kin to someone on campus.

  "I’m staying at Saint Mary’s. Sister Bernard fixed me up." She noticed her name-dropping relaxed him a little.

  "Irish, I’m going to take you back to Saint Mary’s myself. I have to get to Chattanooga and take this arrow to forensics." He reached into the backseat and showed Irish a three-foot, black arrow wrapped in frat-kitchen plastic wrap.

  Irish felt her skin go cold, and she jumped like someone shocked her. She hadn’t seen an arrow like that in almost two thousand years. "Where did you get that? Where did you get an obsidian arrow like that?" She realized that she had said too much, and she knew exactly where and from whom it came.

  "How do you know it’s obsidian? Have you ever seen one like this before?" He wouldn’t let her touch it, and she didn’t want to. She felt the evil coming from it.

  "Yes, many, many years ago. I knew someone who made them special. He’s a very evil man. However, that was far from here. He was an assassin."

  "An assassin! You mean a hit man? How come you know so much about this stuff? You been in the Irish Mafia or something?" He was getting even more confused, including a bad feeling.

  "Irish, this is the only piece of evidence the other investigators let me handle. They kind of took over. They knew I was heading back to Chattanooga tonight and let me carry it in for them. Figured, I could get it there faster than they could, and they needed some quick answers. If you know anything at all, I’d appreciate you telling me."

  Irish remembered the man on the interstate. She thought how she felt when she saw him and now this. At the time, she thought it was Little Ahaz’s replacement. Why was the boy killed? What could Ralph have in common, except her?

  "Ralph was seen with me," she thought.

  She remembered the assassin’s name from the past. It came flooding back to her, and she said loudly without thinking, "Sint-Hades!"

  "What did you say? Did you say, Saint?" the sheriff asked, not understanding.

  "No, Sin with a 'T' on the end. Hades for hell. Got the picture? I’m sorry. I just remembered his name." She shuddered and grabbed her stomach slightly.

  "Is that something like a European name? Are you okay?" he asked.

  "Something like that. Yes, I’ll be okay."

  She felt his name was appropriate. She was afraid of what he might do if he really was assigned to stop her mission. Murder was his (M.O.). Actually murdering everything and everyone fit him better. He was personally responsible for influencing and helping with the murder of all the children when Herod was trying to find Jesus.

  "Then Herod, when he saw that he was deceived by the wise men, was exceedingly angry; and he sent forth and put to death all the male children who were in Bethlehem and in all its districts, from two years old and under according to the time which he had determined from the wise men." Matthew 2:16, NKJV

  She knew how that ended. No one ever heard from the wise men again. There was a reason. Sint tracked them down like a bloodhound. He left their carcasses to rot on the desert sand with a dark arrow through each of their hearts. She had been sent to help carry their bodies back to their respective families; but not before, she pulled a three-foot obsidian arrow from one of them. She remembered stomping it to pieces in righteous anger. Sint’s style was to kill everything around or connected to his targets to stop a righteous event from happening. That included her, now. No one was safe.

  "Howard!" she said loudly. "We have to check on Howard! I was with both Ralph and Howard today! Sister Bernard, I was with her too!"

  "Irish, are you trying to help me or confuse me? What do you know that I don’t?" He was getting upset at her circular talk going nowhere.

  "Sheriff, I’m a long way from home, just visiting. I know someone who was involved in something like the Mafia, a dark order and used black-obsidian arrows. I’ve never met him before, nor do I know what he looks like, except by reputation. I know he sports large snake-like tattoos all over his body, but he’s great at disguising himself. They say he can get anyone to do about anything he wants; he’s so wickedly persuasive. If I ever met him, I just might be able to tell if it was him."

  "You just said that you’ve never seen him before. How could you identify him? What’s the truth? How would you recognize him, anyway?" Sean was still confused.

  "I didn’t say I could recognize him, like from a picture, only tell you if it was him. I think I saw a hitchhiker who may fit the type of individual that he’d most likely look like. This hitchhiker was carrying a backpack with a bedroll that could handle three-foot arrows. His bow was probably the kind that could be broken down easily. He also has a certain persona about him that people like me can spot a mile off."

  "Oh, so you’re a psychic, right?" he asked sarcastically. "How is it that you know so much about him? How involved in this dark order were you?"

  "I just know of several people he killed, some very good people. They didn’t deserve to die, especially, that way. It was said that Sint killed them and everyone else who had anything to do with them. I’ve never forgotten it. I was very young back then, but the event was so terrible that it never left me. Yes, I’m a soft psychic. The kind of person who doesn't use the spirits but the Holy Spirit. I’m one of the best. You ought to try me sometime. Can we go check on Howard to make sure he’s okay?"

  "Why? Just because, you were with Ralph, today? What makes you so important to this Sint guy anyway?"

  "Listen Sam," she couldn't bring herself to call someone his age Sammy. "I don’t believe a guy like Sint is here by coincidence or on vacation. That fact that I’m one of the few who might identify him isn’t happenstance either. I’m here. He’s here. What are the chances, the odds? I saw the hitchhiker from the car as I passed him. Who knows? He kills everyone related to his targets, everyone. Even, if I’m not his target, he can’t afford to b
e discovered before he completes his assignment. Don’t you think that’s reason enough to check everyone out?"

  "Okay, okay, but this all sounds like a bunch of wild guess work right now. I want a test. If you’re crazy, you’re crazy; but if you are psychic, you’d better be good at it. Tell me something that only I would know. Come on. Either you are a nut case with a great imagination, or you really are fine tuned."

  Irish grabbed his hand and peace flooded him. He pulled his hand back in surprise, and then put it out for her to hold. She put her hand into the air, not lifted quite high enough to be called a praise gesture. The Lord spoke to her and confirmed her fears about Sint. He also told her that Sam’s mother was at Erlanger Hospital in Chattanooga and was to be released in two days. He told her about his rock-hounding hobby and his aquarium with one water dragon named J.C.; two Cuban frogs, named Mud and Squat; a little fire-belly toad, called Silly; and a green anole, called Cone Head. He had been thinking about getting back because he didn’t know whether he left enough crickets for them.

  That was just enough. She dropped his hand and put hers in her lap. "I’m happy that your mother is getting out of the hospital; but if you don’t get home soon, J.C. will have eaten every cricket in the aquarium, unless Mud and Squat get to them first. Oh, by the way, when you were collecting rocks, did you ever find any of that famous Tennessee agate, the kind that the Cumberland Plateau is known for?"

  Sam couldn’t move. He stared at her and trembled, not believing what he just heard. How could she know all that? "I suppose you're going to tell me my underwear size, now?"

  "No, because I don’t care what your underwear size is." She reached over, turned his ignition key, and motioned him down the street towards Howard’s house. "Shall we go check on Howard and Sister Bernard?"

  He pulled his patrol car out onto the street, still stunned, not sure what he was doing. "Why are you here in Sewanee? With that ability of yours, why aren’t you working for the police somewhere?" he stated, his voice quivering nervously.

  "I’m here to get a job as a nanny. I thought I was working for the police. I’m helping you, aren’t I?"

  She winked at him, and he relaxed, wondering if there was a Twilight Zone show on, and he was in it. They passed the frat house with its yard full of police cars. An ambulance was loading up Ralph.

  As they approached Howard’s house, several shots rang out. Sam drove over Howard’s curb up into his lawn almost ramming the front porch. He jumped out, pulled his gun out as he ran and yelled, "This is the sheriff’s department, put down your weapon, we’re coming in!"

  Irish blinked at his comment and said to herself, "Who’s we, Lone Ranger?" She was more interested in taking care of Sister Bernard now. She figured Sam could handle this.

  Sam looked back and saw Irish running down the street towards the convent. He figured it was about Sister Bernard and stalked gravely to the front door calling out to Howard, "Howard, are you okay?"

  He heard a muffled cry of, "No."

  He rushed in staying close to the walls while he checked out the corners with swift but practiced moves. Howard sat in his favorite black, leather recliner in his bathrobe. A black arrow through his right shoulder had him pinned to the chair. In his left hand was a revolver still smoking from firing two shots directly into Sint’s chest before he disappeared in front of him.

  Right behind the sheriff’s car, six patrol cars pulled up and set up a guarded perimeter with the ambulance following closely behind. In minutes, they stabilized Howard, but not before Sam got a good look at the arrow.

  He bent down towards Howard and asked, "Who was it?"

  Howard whispered, "I don’t know; but after I shot him, he changed his appearance, and I swear I saw snake heads on the sides of his face before he disappeared. I mean he disappeared into thin air."

  Sam said to himself, "Snake tattoos. Sint-Hades. Assassin. Mafia. The psychic lady. Thin air. Too much, all way too much." This was going to make a long night for everyone. Sam walked out and looked at the roadblocks, patrol cars, flashing lights, scrambling medics, and wondered, "What's happened to my favorite little town?"

  Irish knocked on Sister Bernard’s door, and she flung it open. "I’m sorry, Sister Bernard. I didn’t wake you, did I?"

  "Wake me?" she said. "How can I sleep with all the racket? All those sirens, some kind of shots, and my room lit up like a roller coaster from all those flashing lights. What happened, anyway?"

  "Ralph was murdered earlier, but the sirens and shots were from Howard’s house. I left before I found out if he was okay." She raised her hand into the air and responded. "He’s fine, just has a shoulder wound. But how are you?"

  The Sister said, "Better, if you’re around. What is it all really about?" She looked quietly at Irish, knowing she had an answer.

  "I believe, Sister, you need some protection. I’ll guarantee you won’t be harmed." Irish brought in an unseen two hundred angels. They knew exactly what to do. They surrounded the sister and placed guards up and down the hall near her room.

  "So what can a sweet girl like you do to protect me?" The Sister sensed Irish’s true nature.

  "Sister, open your eyes and see. I’ll just loan you some friends of mine."

  Irish kissed her cheek lightly and walked out while the Sister glanced around her. She got glimpses of drawn swords, angel wings, and then they were gone. She shook her head while thinking they were just illusions and went back to bed. She woke later with the firm conviction of exactly who and what they all were, including Irish.

  She said out loud, "Thanks guys for being here." She felt a hand gently patting her shoulder, then she rolled over and went back to sleep.

      

  The Nanny

  The next morning Karen ran to Howard’s office after hearing the news. She couldn’t believe that Sewanee had such a mess on its hands. The police were still staked out around his house, and there was a buzz of activity around his nearby office. As she approached the receptionist, she got a smile and wave from Sharon, one of her best friends. Sharon was helping her get the job. Sean finally agreed to let her work as long as they could find help with the kids.

  "How’s Howard?" asked Karen.

  "As cantankerous as ever! He’s already chewed out two nurses and fired another. Erlanger can’t wait to get rid of him. His wife, Abbey, will be picking him up this afternoon. She was away at her sisters in Illinois and just got back this morning. The arrow missed anything vital only cutting through the muscle. He’ll need a lot of tender loving care. I don’t imagine he’ll mind getting spoiled for a while. He’ll milk it for all it’s worth."

  "I can take the job!" exclaimed Karen as she grinned widely.

  They did a high-five, and Sharon shouted, "Okay! When?"

  "When I find someone for the kids? I need someone who can cook, clean, take care of the kids, iron, everything."

  "Someone like that?" asked Sharon while pointing to Irish as she walked up the street towards them.

  "Who’s she? I don’t need a model, although Sean may disagree, just a nanny."

  "No, she’s the one Howard was talking to about being your nanny. Look, here’s her resume, impressive, huh?"

  "She’s impressive alright. Why, didn’t I mention that she had to be over sixty and weigh at least three hundred pounds?"

  "Now, now, girl, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth," replied Sharon.

  "Okay, but who’s the gift for, my kids and me or Sean?" Karen was amazed at how startlingly attractive Irish was, even from this distance.

  "You’re bad, Karen, bad. Sean is yours, all yours. Hey, even if you did give him away, what makes you think anyone else would take him." She laughed and opened the door for Irish.

  Irish saw the girls pointing to her and wondered if this was the right family. Sharon announced loudly, "And, here’s the nanny!"

  Irish smiled and bowed slightly, "That’s me, guys. What’s up?" Irish’s Celtic voice, a voi
ce of old Ireland, almost did her in. Karen was at the point of bailing on this deal.

  Sharon introduced Irish to Karen; and as they shook hands, Karen felt the peace of God flood over her. She was convinced, in spite of what her female senses told her that Irish was perfect for her family. Sean would just have to toe-the-line, but Karen was already thinking about losing fifteen pounds starting today and not taking any chances.

  "I read your resume. You really have a lot of experience. You must have started out when you were a kid?" replied Karen.

  "Yes, my family is trained from the time we are cre…born to assist families just like yours. We are like those butlers who have children who are butlers, and so on."

  "Actually, I’ve never seen a butler as pretty as you." Her feminine jealousy was rising slightly.

  "I’ve felt my looks aren’t as important as my heart. I’m sold out to serving the Lord in any way that blesses others and glorifies my Jesus."

  Karen stopped suddenly, hearing a strong voice within her urging her to accept Irish. It was so powerful that it pulled and pushed at her at the same time. She couldn’t resist.

  "I'd love to have you help us out. When can you start?"

  "As soon as you can use me. I don’t have very many things, and I promise not to take up much space or be a bother."

  Irish smiled, and Sharon did a loud, "Okay! Go girl, go, Karen!"

  "I want to go over to the frat house and talk to some friends of Ralph and go give Sister Bernard a big hug. Just to thank her for putting me up last night."

  "Did you know Ralph?" asked Sharon.

  "Not really. Just met him with Howard, yesterday. I’m sorry about what happened to Howard. Did he say why the man tried to kill him? Did he say what happened?"

  Irish was trying to make sure she knew everything about it. She knew the gunshots were only like bee stings to Sint. It must have been the sound of the Sam’s patrol car that made him leave. She doubted he looked the same today. Who knows what he looked like, now?

  "Howard said that he got up because of some noise in the front room. He put on his robe and grabbed his revolver, which he always has loaded next to his bed stand. That’s a habit he learned from his dad who slept with one under his pillow. At least, he isn’t that bad, huh? When he stepped in front of his old chair, he saw this guy standing in front of him with an arrow in a bow. He just let it go. It hit him so hard it went straight through his right shoulder, knocked him back, and pinned him to the recliner. Good thing he was left handed. He got off two shots, but said that he would have emptied all six rounds into him if he hadn’t disappeared on him."

  "Terrible," said Irish, "just terrible."

  "Listen, Irish," said Sharon. "I have some job things to go over with Karen. If you want to run off and take care of things, we’ll be done in about an hour. Is that okay, Karen? How about you, Irish?" They both nodded in agreement.

  Irish walked down to the frat house while noticing the yellow police tape surrounding the front lawn. She stepped over the tape and stopped a student carrying his things out in a clothesbasket. He was moving somewhere else while the investigation took place.

  "Hey, can I ask you a question?" she asked and startled him more from her looks than surprise.

  "Well, I guess so. You need directions?" he asked as he put down his basket.

  "Not exactly. I’m a friend of Sheriff Capstone. In fact, I was with him when he drove up to Howard’s last night. Can you tell me if there were any strangers around yesterday?"

  Irish noticed how her height was intimidating this very short kid so she bent her knees slightly and didn’t stand quite as straight.

  He answered, "I heard Ed talking about a handyman who came by to fix up the house. We put him out in the gardener’s shed, cottage really, but no one has seen him since." When the student thought about it, he realized that no one had mentioned this guy to the police. "We forgot to tell the police. Do you think we should?"

  "I’ll take care of that when I see Sam. Can you take me to the gardener’s cottage?" she asked softly.

  "Sure, come with me," he answered. He was glad to be near Irish for some reason.

  They circled around the house and walked back to the cottage a hundred feet away. Whoever built the house built this cottage first, and then worked on the house for years while they lived in the cottage. Irish thought it seemed better built than the house.

  "Is this it?" asked Irish.

  "Sure is. Hey, I gotta’ go. Gotta’ get my stuff moved and get ready for a date tonight. Hope I’ve helped. Tell Sam hi for me, from Rusty, will you? I went to high school with his baby brother in Chattanooga years ago."

  Irish thought, "Not that many years ago."

  "Sure, I just need to look around a minute. Thanks."

  Irish slowly opened the door and looked in every direction. She didn’t need surprises and didn’t expect any. She knew that Sint was smart enough (to get out of Dodge), especially after the stunts he just pulled. As she walked around the living room, she noticed places on the floor by the couch with small piles of dark, dust like powder. She put her finger in some of it and slowly ground it between her fingers.

  She said out loud, "Old dog, you were sharpening those arrow tips, weren’t you?" She spotted something else. In the corner of the room propped up against the wall was a green backpack. She reached for it and carefully opened it as if there might be a bomb in it. She pulled out a small book and opened it. She read page after page of names. She reached again, and there was a small bottle of dark liquid. When she looked at it, she didn’t recognize it. She held it into the air and raised the other hand with the question, "What is it?"

  There was a moment of silence, and then the answer grieved Irish, "Satan’s plague."

  Irish spoke out loud, "Sint-Hades, you’re here to kill, aren’t you? You’re here to kill everyone who has anything to do with me. You don’t care who they are, do you? You’re here to stop my mission, the Godly connection. You blasted beast."

  Irish was angry over Satan’s savagery. This reminded her of the wise men again. She thought, "This poison is irreversible, not even the anointing can save the one it touches."

  "He’s really stupid," thought Irish. "He left his bag and all this evidence of his intentions. I bet Apollyon would like to kick his rear end all over hell for it right now. Unless, he didn't plan to come back and get it, and he wanted me to find it. He wanted me to know what he was up to. He made the game more complicated on purpose. He has to have a challenge, a complex game, and he needs to prove how good he is."

  "I wonder, old Sint, did you forget about Aaron?"

  He was one ace she would play hard when the time came. She wanted Aaron to get a hold of this one. She wanted to watch when it happened. This meant that the Jacobs were in great danger. She immediately ordered a thousand angels to divide themselves among the family members.

  The small book was interesting. This was another taunt, a brag, on just how good Sint was. Here was a list of names, humans, and angels alike, that she figured he killed. The human names were staggering. There were Hebrew prophets and leaders, priests, then later bishops, cardinals, preachers, missionaries, Christian doctors and nurses. There were Christian musicians, and yes, even Christian writers. The human list only went back four thousand years, the angel list was even longer.

  She recognized some of the oldest and strongest angels from heaven. Some she knew were killed in mysterious circumstances and in strange and unusual ways so their life force was unable to revive. The terrible mixtures of dark poisons and mutilation made it impossible for them to repair and return. It gave her the shakes that someone this evil was here in Sewanee. There were two very old heir-servant angels listed. Sint’s ability to hide from even that great sin scared her. She realized that most of the reasons for his avoiding retribution was his ambiguity. No one ever knew he did all these things.

  As she continued to read, there was a surge from heaven’s throne of righteous anger.
God knew now who was responsible for all these things, seeing through Irish’s eyes. As she turned the last page, she saw her name penned with fresh ink. Under it was a note, "My greatest accomplishment." She threw the book down on the couch, and it crumbled into dust. She had fallen for his sadistic show. She had turned the last page and got the warning. She saw his greatest intention. The book served his purpose and wasn’t needed anymore.

  She found a piece of paper and wrote a note, sticking it on the backpack, which said, "Not if Aaron sees you first."

  She tried to remember any of the details about the man on the road. She remembered the backpack and a long bedroll pushed up on the top of it. "For his arrows," she thought. He also had a large tool belt hanging from his backpack. She remembered that the bedroll was green and so was this backpack. She remembered that he had a green pair of work gloves stuffed in a back pocket and green socks sticking over the tops of his boots.

  "He likes green," she said, snapping her fingers. She may not know what he looked like now, but she knew that he carried the long bedroll to hide his arrows, and his colors were likely green, even his eyes, if possible. She laid the backpack back against the corner wall and held "Satan’s Plague" into the air saying, "Back to the void," which made it disappear into an empty dimension far from any harm.

      

  Dark Chameleon

  Sint walked towards the administration building of the Sewanee Theology School. He looked to be at least sixty years old and alarmingly out of place. His black skin was in dark contrast to his white hair and beard. He was a tall black man, but he walked with a stoop and carried another green backpack with its green bedroll on top. He wore old coveralls and black brogan boots with green socks sticking over them. He scanned the campus for Irish through thick sunglasses with black, plastic frames. He didn’t think she’d spot him, and wondered if she discovered his message in the bottle yet.

  Professor Pendwight was coming out of the administration building just as Sint made it to the top of the long flight of stone stairs. The professor rushed out of the building and knocked Sint backwards and down several steps. Sint smiled while knowing exactly who the professor was and took full advantage of the situation.

  "Owww, my leg, my leg," he hollered in exaggeration.

  Pendwight stared at him, not trying to help. He said, "Oh, my word! Why were you in my way? You need to be more careful. Are you okay?" He really didn’t care but wanted to make sure this guy wasn’t planning to sue him for something. Other than that, he didn’t give a hang.

  "I don’t know, sir. Can you help me up?" asked Sint while offering Pendwight a hand to pull on.

  Pendwight reluctantly grabbed his hand, pulling him to his feet, then let go, brushing his hand off on his pant legs. Sint stood up and faked his wobbly legs and groaned dramatically.

  "Mister, I really am hurt. I need to find a doctor or something. I think I may have sprained my ankle. I can’t put any weight on it."

  Pendwight knew he was had. He was on school property and knew it would be covered easily enough by insurance, but what would stop a savvy person from suing him too. He decided to play nice for once.

  "My name is Professor Pendwight. Why were you coming into administration? Are you looking for someone?" He backed away from Sint, not wanting to be used for a crutch unless he had to.

  "I’m looking for work. I’m a handyman. Do you know anyone who needs some work done? Have hammer will travel." Sint pulled at his tool belt hanging from his backpack.

  Pendwight considered for a moment. He considered being sued, needing work done, being sued, then made Sint an offer. "I can use some help around the house until your ankle heals up. I’ll stop and get some ankle wraps for you, and I have a place to stay on a back-porch bedroom if you like."

  Sint beamed graciously, "I’d like that. I think my ankle’s feeling better already."

  Pendwight knew he was being conned, but the alternative was worse. Anyway, he could get a lot of work out of this guy for very little if he worked it right. He was also impressed by how good he felt when he pulled him up. A great sense of well being came over him when he touched him. It was as if he had found a soul mate of like kind. It wasn’t all that unpleasant a meeting.

      

  Protecting Sister Bernard

  Irish felt it was important to protect Sister Bernard. She ordered even more angels to surround the convent. Irish nodded to her small army as she made her way to the chapel where the sister was praying. The angels parted, giving way as she walked towards her.

  "Sister Bernard," she whispered as she knelt beside her. Sister Bernard nodded, kept to her prayers, but reached out to hold Irish’s hand and felt the peace flow over her.

  "Your friends are greatly appreciated," she said quietly. Still kneeling, she asked, "Do you know them all by name?" then gave Irish a knowing smile.

  "Some, a few, they’re mostly guardian angels. I know almost all the powers, the real big ones with swords, but there are too many guardian angels. You had a nice group with you already." Irish put an arm around her shoulder and hugged her sideways.

  "I never imagined meeting an angel. I thought I’d have to wait until heaven. Something important is happening here, isn’t it?"

  She looked directly into Irish’s eyes, and Irish took off her contacts, which showed her the glory of her rainbow colors, then she spread her wings and put them around the Sister.

  Sister Bernard gasped in surprise and clapped short gleeful claps from excited enjoyment. "You’re so wonderful to look at! I had no idea there were so many colors, like a great rainbow. They move around you like, like…"

  "Like an aura, a covering," helped Irish.

  "Yes, yes, exactly. Yes, something important is going to happen here at Sewanee, now, and sixteen years from now. Once I leave, I’ll be back. I hope you’ll be glad to see me then too."

  "You can count on it. Is there any way that I can help?" asked the Sister.

  "Yes, for the next week or two, stay close to your room and the chapel. A dark angel named Sint will try to kill you if he can. He plans to kill everyone having any connection to me. You can’t even trust your friends. He can become any shape and be anyone he wants. Please, Sister Bernard, as much as I want you to join us in heaven, I want you to live a full Godly life. Look at those I've given you." All around the chapel and filling it from front to back, she saw angels.

  "I want to give you the services of Joseph, one of my favorite powers. Sint will think twice before taking on Joseph. He would wade through these others with some difficulty, but this angel mountain here will not be that easy."

  Sister Bernard kept looking up and saw a seven-foot angel looking more like a large, square bull. He put his hand out towards her to help her up, and her head came just to the top of his waist.

  She heard a deep baritone voice, "Glad to be of service, Sister Bernard. Old Sint won’t get by me. He’d probably like to take on less protected prey. Other than a handful of us, including Aaron, Irish’s own, I’m probably one of the few who can handle him. He's not as formidable as Dar-Raven, but he's ten times as sneaky."

  Sister Bernard shook her head in disbelief, "If you’re with me, I doubt that even Goliath would have a chance."

  "Goliath, that dog. He was lucky it was King David and not me or Aaron who took him out. He lost his head; but if it had been either of us, we wouldn’t have left as much as a toenail behind. I'll tell you a secret. Goliath had a twin brother called Lahmi. He had six toes and six fingers just like Goliath. Would it surprise you to know that Elahnan, who killed Lahmi, was really one of us?"

  "So, are you going to tell me that Tachmonite, Adino, and Eleazar were angels, too?" she shot back at Joseph.

  "Well, not exactly angels but close enough," laughed Joseph.

  "You're kidding! Nephilims? Good Nephilims?" she responded in surprise.

  "I said that Elahnan was one of us. I didn’t say how much one of
us he was. Yes, light Nephilims. Now, you'll suspect anyone you meet over seven-feet tall, right?" he chuckled again and watched her considering what he said.

  "Irish, I had no idea everything in heaven was so large. Maybe my immortal body will grow a couple of inches once I get there. What do you think?" she said, turning towards Irish.

  Irish laughed and motioned with her hand, dismissing the angels, then pulled her wings into herself: no telling who might walk in. "Yes, that will be up to you. Your new body can have whatever height you deem necessary. How’s that?"

  "Comforting! I’d hate to think I would end up having neck pain from looking up at everyone." The Sister pretended to be grabbing the back of her neck and looking upward in exaggeration.

  "I’ll be close. Keep our secret, Sister."

  "I will. When you’ve finished with your assignment, come by and visit some more, won’t you?" They hugged again, and Irish disappeared, showing up a block from Howard’s office.

      

  Meeting The Nanny

  Irish walked with Karen the several blocks from the main drag towards their home. She had already called Sean from the real estate office about Irish and her new job. The kids where busy cleaning their rooms for their Irish inspection. As they made it to the door, the kids rushed out, and Dish hung off Karen’s leg. They both grabbed their mom's hands in a joint show of bashfulness.

  Irish looked expectantly for Sean since she knew he was a spectator at All Saints during her Hora dancing. (The Lord had told her about it only minutes ago.) Irish didn’t know exactly how she would handle this if he recognized her, but she'd just have to manage. She didn’t want to change her looks just to avoid recognition, but it was too late now anyway. She morphed only three other times, and that was to grow old with her minister and missionary husbands, but those were absolute exceptions. Maybe, he was so wrapped up in her dancing that he didn’t get a good look at her.

  Sean opened the door and stood with his mouth wide open. He stepped back into the house and closed the door in their faces. Karen looked strangely at Irish and said apologetically, "Sorry, excuse me a minute, will you?"

  She went inside while leaving the door ajar. Irish knew she was recognized. Karen stepped close to Sean and pointed her finger into his chest, "What’s wrong with you, Sean? You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

  "Not a ghost, an angel," he answered.

  "That’s it! I knew she was too pretty for this family! I knew it! If that’s the kind of male-testosterone response that I’m getting from my own husband, then it won’t work! It just won’t work!"

  He grabbed Karen by her shoulders and said to her, "No, that’s the angel from All Saints! She's the one I saw dancing! I can’t ever forget her as long as I live!"

  "Her? An angel? That’s Irish! She's got a resume, not wings. Get a hold of yourself and act like a normal human being for a change. You’ve been reading too many of those angel books. Give it a rest, will you?"

  She pushed her finger into his chest again and walked back onto the front porch. Irish was on the front porch swing with the kids—their ice having been broken.

  "Irish, I want you to meet my husband of fifteen years, Sean. Sean is going to seminary here. You probably haven’t read any of his books, but he fancies himself a writer. Right, kids?"

  She pushed Sean towards Irish, and Irish reached out to take his hand, shaking it gently. He felt the rush of peace and swore to himself that she really was an angel; but right now for peace sake, Karen needed to win.

  "I’m very familiar with them all, Karen," she answered.

  Karen thought she must be either a good liar or an angel for that kind of comment. It was certainly a good (PR) move. It caught Sean completely off guard. How could he refuse an angel; and especially, an angel who had read all his books? He decided to back off a little and wait to see what happened. Irish walked past Sean into the house. He held his breath as she slipped by him, not knowing what to expect. Karen took her upstairs to her room. It was more like a separate apartment than a room. Luckily, from her window, she could see up and down the street from both sides. She threw a small duffel bag on the bed, supposedly full of her things, just for effects.

  "I’m ready to start. What do you all want for supper?"

  Karen looked surprised and relieved, "You sure work fast. The kids are very taken by you. Thanks for helping us out. Oh, by the way, not that you’ll get a big head, but my husband thinks you’re an angel. That’s the writer’s imagination for you, isn’t it?"

  Irish answered, "Well, if I’m an angel, I’m your family’s angel. How’s that?"

      

  Dilemma Snapshot

  Robert, Maggie, and Judy sat at the supper table while little Keel slept in a bassinet nearby. They ate in complete silence. This was the first family supper in over a month. Judy prayed the Thanksgiving break to come fast. Just getting away for a while may be the break that Robert needed. He pulled within himself even more lately and didn’t even attend church with them. His anger was all consuming, and his hurt was grinding him to powder.

      

  Just A Date

  Sam pulled in front of the Jacobs' house. As he approached the front porch, he heard the kids laughing. He knocked crisply, and Irish answered, smiling happily when she saw him.

  "Hey, Sheriff, you just in the neighborhood or on official business? Come on in. You know the Jacobs' kids, don’t you?"

  "Hi, Dish, Chad," he replied. Dish ran up and jumped into his arms.

  "I like the policeman man. Don’t you, Irish?" She hugged Sam again, and then ran off upstairs to find something else to do.

  "I don’t ever think I’ve ever seen that girl walk anywhere. I’d like to have half her energy," he replied while shaking his head in amazement.

  Irish finally answered Dish’s question truthfully, "As a matter fact, I like him a lot."

  Sam blushed from the compliment. He pushed some Lego's out of the way and sat down on the couch. "I wanted to ask you some questions about this assassin guy. I know you can’t leave with the kids here, but can’t we go to the back deck for a minute to talk?"

  "Sure, but you didn’t answer my question. You’re certainly on business; but maybe, just maybe, you came by to see Miss Irish?" She winked at him, and he blushed again.

  "Maybe," he whispered as they walked out to the deck.

  "You know, Irish, a local sheriff doesn’t have much clout with a murder investigation. I mean, the real cops move in and take over, and I just sit on the sidelines mostly watching. I don’t mind; but if they knew about that ability of yours, they’d be all over you. Especially, since you seem to know something about this guy, which I still can’t imagine how. You’re a real mystery, Irish. A real, pretty mystery," he commented as they sat together in the back-deck swing.

  "Sam, I love helping people. Look what I do for a living. That’s why God put me on earth. Just because I have the inside track on certain things, don’t pull away from me. I may be a mystery, but I still want to help. If you need something, tell me. If I can’t help, I’ll tell you. My extended family has many connections all over the world. They know just about everything on everyone who matters. I can’t go to family gathering without things coming up. By coincidence or not, this Sint guy came up a long time ago. If it wasn’t so unusual, I may not have remembered, but things like obsidian arrows don’t actually pop up everyday. Maybe God put me in Sewanee to give you a little piece of the puzzle on this guy." Irish put her arm through his as they swung easily back and forth.

  "I’ve been thinking about that. Just dumb luck, I guess." He felt so comfortable with her that he didn’t want this to end.

  "I don’t believe in dumb luck or fate. I believe in God putting the pieces of the puzzle together with the help of people like you and me." She squeezed his arm tenderly.

  Dish came running out onto the deck carrying some artwork. "You see what Irish and I did?"
Dish handed Sam the white construction paper with pictures of angels, one with multi-colored wings.

  "Hey, angels, right?" he said. "How come these angels have all those colors on their wings? I thought angels had white wings and halos."

  "No, no, there are lots of different kinds of angels, Irish says. Some have bright colors and live with families on earth. They are heir-se…"

  "Heir-servants," completed Irish.

  "You do say, Dish. Well, have you ever seen an angel before?" asked Sam.

  "No, but daddy has. Daddy says that Irish is an angel, but Mom doesn’t believe him. Daddy says he saw Irish dancing in the church. She was covered with lots of pretty flowers." Dish turned and ran back inside, but Sam never said anything for a minute.

  "So you have an admirer. An angel, now that’s what I call a compliment. So you danced in the church, do say?" He laughed when he said it.

  "That’s what they say," replied Irish, snuggling closer to him.

  "Well, since you’re a dancer, how about going with me to a dance this weekend? How about it? It’s out at Saint Andrews School, a real fiddling show."

  "Sam are you asking me out on a date? Is that why you came by? You’re pretty sneaky. I thought you wanted more information on Sint. Or to have me tell you if Mud and Squat need more crickets."

  "Irish, do you know more on Sint?" he asked, bypassing her Mud-and-Squat comment.

  "Green," she said.

  "Green what?" he asked.

  "He likes green, like green socks, green backpacks, green everything if possible. I also don’t think he’s done killing, and he’s still here on this mountain."

  "Now that’s what I call some neat information. Just how do I put out an APB on anyone and everyone wearing green?" He laughed heartily, and Irish punched his arm in protest.

  "That’s not fair, Sam. I just gave you a good piece of information, and you’re laughing at me. See if I give you anymore."

  "Now, now, girl, settle down. I’m just funning with you." He stood up to go and felt the wash of Irish’s peace leave him when her arm dropped away. "You didn’t answer me. Want to go to the dance?" he asked again.

  "Sure, but I need to be back to tuck the kids in by ten."

  "Ten o’clock? I feel I’m back in high school. But, you've got a date. Early it will be. You’ll just have to teach us all about this angel dancing, right? What kind did you say it was?"

  "I didn’t. Sean did. You’ll have to ask him. But what kind of dance did you say this was?"

  "The band plays just about everything. I’ll let you pick your own dancing music. Green you say," he laughed again, and Irish shook her finger at him.

  "Watch it, now!" she shot back.

      

  Pendwight’s Handyman

  Sint continued to get mileage from his ankle injury for a couple days before digging in and actually doing some chores. He fixed everything from a broken screen door to loose crown molding. He hadn’t ventured out yet but was getting ready to. He needed to know where Irish ended up. He heard the professor talking with someone on the phone about Sister Bernard recently taking in a pretty lady. Everyone was talking about how beautiful she was; and finally, the professor mentioned that Sean Jacobs hired her as his nanny.

  "That Jacobs guy must be the luckiest man on earth. He already has a gorgeous wife, now, this nanny. Everyone says she's a knockout, go figure. I don’t like the man myself, with all that bogus writing he does on the scriptures, a real fundamentalist, and a fanatic. Must think he’s a Billy Graham by the way he writes."

  Sint listened intently and got more information from that one statement than anything he learned since his arrival. The professor was using him as his personal captive audience, sounding board, from his complaints about school, students, the Word, and church. This professor was one of Sint’s favorite people. There wasn’t any reason to kill him. He was already doing more damage than a legion of dark angels, and Sint loved it.

      

  Writing For God

  Sean still couldn’t convince Karen about Irish. She got angry every time he mentioned his angel opinion so he stopped. He figured that if she was an angel, his family could have worse help. He accepted it after a couple of days, especially when she started cooking. She was a true artisan of the kitchen. It made them all feel like they were on a cruise. It was beyond delicious. It was magnificent.

  He came home from school between classes one day, and Irish had baked multiple cakes and desserts with the kids, then displayed them out on the kitchen table, and there was a large turkey in the oven. The house smelled great; and unbelievably, the kitchen was always clean, the beds made, the clothes folded, and his shirts set crisply with light starch on hangers in his closet.

  "Irish," he commented, "you must take a shower when we’re all asleep. I never hear it running. It’s not broken, is it?"

  He seldom looked directly into her eyes. Something about her made him too nervous. He'd think about her at All Saints, and goose bumps would pile up on his skin. He knew who she was, and he felt humbled by her presence, in spite of what Karen thought. She had to be the same one. He wanted to ask her about heaven and about the little girl who was with her. He knew she wouldn’t 'fess up so gave up on the idea.

  "Oh, if it was broken, I’d fix it for you. No, I’m okay. Take care of all sorts of things like that when no one else notices, I guess."

  She thought she might want to take a shower tonight to keep him from suspecting anymore than he did. She knew that he hadn’t given up on her angelic nature, but he was probably getting used to her by now.

  "Aren’t you writing a new book? What’s it about?" she asked, knowing the way to a writer’s heart is asking about his work.

  "Oh, it’s about forgiveness, but I haven’t touched it in the last week or so. I’m close to being done, though. Just have to edit it a couple more times, and it’s all done. I’ve got too many exams coming up. Decided to finish it after Thanksgiving." He pulled out a plate and shoved a big piece of pecan pie onto it, scooping up some ice cream for topping.

  Irish got a sinking feeling. She knew that it must be done before Thanksgiving to meet God’s deadline. "If you need help editing, I’m pretty handy with the grammar and could help out. Why don’t you let me help clean it up for you?"

  Sean felt resistance to turning his manuscript over to a stranger, even one he suspected was an angel, but it was too enticing. After all, it just needed the nuts and bolts tightened, as he called it, including the special who-what find-replaces.

  "If you want to try, go for it. Just don’t change any of the sentence structure or meaning. I write in a clumsy, backward style, but it’s still mine. I want it to always sound like I’m teaching a class when I write it. I just wish someone had written this book for me years ago. It would have saved me a lot of pain and grief."

  Irish sighed in relief. She knew if she could get a hold of it, she’d have it done in a day. She'd have to slow herself down to a human pace for show. The next day, when Karen left and Sean was in classes, Irish pulled up the text on the computer and started. It was in pretty good shape, but her keen eyes, as different eyes, gave her the objectivity to proof better than he could. She worked at lightening speed for two hours and had the first edit done. She cooked lunch; played Monopoly with the kids; cooked the supper meals beforehand and spent the next couple of hours editing it again. The second edit was even faster. She dared him to find a mistake; except, she left a couple harmless ones on purpose for ego reasons. She printed a complete copy and put it on his desk for him to review.

  He reviewed it for several hours after his last class of the week. He was so impressed that he made some minor changes and drove to a Kinko’s in Chattanooga to copy some books off his master. Once he got them home, he did his infamous spiral binding and read it as if he had never seen it before. He was pleased and thankful.

  That evening, Irish overheard Sean talking with Karen, "You
know, Pendwight started in on me again. He suggested that I find a more practical vocation than wanting to become a priest. He said his new handyman knew more about scriptures and had more common sense wrapped up in his bedroll than I had in my huge, uneducated, fundamentalist brain."

  Irish turned suddenly when he said "bedroll" and barged in just after he finished. "Pendwight has a handyman with a bedroll? What color is it?" Irish’s voice was louder than normal, and it surprised them.

  Karen answered, "What kind of a question is that? What color is it?"

  Irish was insistent, "It’s important. Call him now and ask him."

  "Me, us, call that jerk. I can’t stand to even be around him, never the mind asking a stupid question like that," exclaimed Sean.

  Irish wasn’t letting up. "Well, Mr. Jacobs, tell your kids to cover their ears for a second." They didn’t know why Irish was so insistent, but they obeyed.

  "The man who killed Ralph and attacked Howard had a green bedroll. He left a green backpack at the gardener’s cottage, had a tool belt, was a handyman, and liked fooling around with three-foot arrows. Get it? Three-foot bedrolls?"

  Karen jumped up and yelled, "Stop it, you’re frightening us! Where did you learn about that stuff? I didn’t hear about all that."

  "Mommy," said Dish, hearing anyway, "don’t you know that Irish’s boyfriend is Sam, and she’s going to the dance with him?"

  "Oh, Irish, that’s how you know," she relaxed and went to the phone to call Pendwight.

  "Professor Pendwight, this is Mrs. Jacobs. I have a stupid question for you. Yes, all of Sean's questions are stupid, but this is worse. Just tell me. What color is your handyman’s bedroll?"

  Everyone heard him laughing over the phone. Even Chad and Dish were embarrassed. They also heard him yell, "Hey, Haley, what color is your bedroll? Green, okay, it’s green, now leave me alone," and hung up.

  Irish knew it was Sint. Haley, like Hades, "Cute she thought, but too close."

  "Can you send the kids upstairs for a little bit?" The kids groaned and ran upstairs, getting back on their X-Box.

  "Listen, I want you to promise not to let any strangers in your house until I talk to Sam tomorrow. This has to be handled right. If someone spooks this guy, who knows, more might get hurt or killed!"

  "Why don’t you call Sam tonight if you’re so sure of yourself?" asked Karen.

  "Not to worry, this guy isn't in a hurry. He’s on a mission and won’t leave until it’s done. He's a true, crazy fanatic."

  "What’s his mission?" asked Sean.

  "You don’t want to know. Trust me, he’ll be handled. I’m working with Sam on this. To tell the truth, I have an ability to see things others can’t. He’s relying on some that ability to catch this guy."

  Sean felt cocky, "Oh, sure, I’ll bet you can see things." He didn’t finish saying, "Because, you’re an angel, but no one else believes me."

  Irish didn’t say a word. She ordered even more angels to protect them.

      

  The Green Trap

  Sint pulled out the white pages of the telephone book and fingered down the list for the Jacobs' address. The call bothered him, but he knew it was only guesswork. It was just Irish playing detective. A green bedroll, how important could that be? That night, Sint slipped out and made his way through the quiet neighborhoods until he was across the street from the Jacobs' house. He saw Irish in the top bedroom window watching. He knew there was a small army of angels around them, that was a given. He felt, when the time came, these angels might be expecting him in angel form or someone obvious. He'd give them something they wouldn’t expect. He'd show them just how good he was.

      

  Putting God’s Puzzle Together

  Saturday morning Irish grabbed some of the completed books from the table and asked Sean, "Do you mind if I try to get your books in the bookstore? I know they don’t want anymore spiral stuff, but I think I can convince them. What do you say?"

  "Yeah, I called yesterday, and they said they wouldn’t take any. They said Pendwight came by to personally show his disfavor about my stuff. Kind of hard to fight against clout like that."

  "Well, I have friends in high places, according to you, right?" Sean was surprised that Irish was almost admitting his suspicions.

  Dish came running down stairs, "Daddy, daddy, look. I was helping Mom do some extra cleaning. Look what we found in Irish’s shower!" Dish handed her dad two small feathers as soft as a downy duck and so white and illuminating that they made him feel good to touch them.

  Sean looked at Irish’s surprised face. She knew she shouldn’t have taken a shower last night. Why didn’t she just run the water? "You know Irish, I agree. You just might have higher friends than I do," then winked at her as he watched her face relax from his acceptance.

  "Dish, just put them in your jewelry box. Keep them for good luck. Maybe, they’re from pillow stuffing. They probably got stuck to Irish’s feet when she wasn’t looking."

  Irish turned around from his vote of confidence and walked out the door with his books. As she neared the bookstore, she changed her mind and walked to Howard’s house. She knocked on his door, and his wife Abbey opened it, then recognized Irish from the rumors and Howard’s description.

  "You must be Irish, come in. Maybe your company will calm down my private grizzly bear." She smiled pointing at Howard sitting in his black leather chair with a large tire patch over the arrow hole.

  "Are you being cranky, Mr. Howard?" she asked sarcastically.

  "Irish, Irish, my goodness! Am I glad to see you! I’m so glad you got with the Jacobs. See, I’m useful for something more than selling real estate, aren’t I?"

  "Actually, that’s why I came by. I want to make you useful again. Since you're already cranky, it might help. I need your holy, cranky, priestly ways on a special project." She went over to him and placed her hand on his shoulder, and he felt her peace and grace flowing over him.

  "Sure, but I’m still out of commission for a couple more weeks, and I'm supposed to stay still. It’s driving me crazy, but tell me what you need, and let’s see what I can do." He grabbed her hand and held it tenderly.

  "I have three of Sean's new book, Forgiveness, and I want them in the bookstore. It seems Pendwight made a butt of himself, exerting his influence so they won't take anymore of them. Actually, he just made it worse. God needs them in the bookstore over Thanksgiving week. I need your help."

  "That’s a tall order. Now, God wants his books there, right? If God wants them there, then why doesn’t He help you get them in there, Himself?" He patted her hand in emphasis.

  "He is, through you," she smiled, and there was a crystal-clear moment when he understood. He also understood that there was more to Irish than just another pretty face. He felt a strong compulsion to do it.

  "Wait a minute!" exclaimed Abbey. "He can’t go anywhere! He has a hole in his shoulder that isn’t healed yet. The doctor said he shouldn’t move around for another couple of weeks. Why do you think he’s driving me crazy?" She moved to the other side of Howard and shook her finger in his face.

  "Well, Doctor Irish says he can come with me," Irish replied; and with a deliberate movement, she pushed his bathrobe back exposing a large bandage with blood spots on it where he had tried to do too much earlier.

  Abbey protested, "What are you doing? Leave my Howard alone!" Howard held his hand up for silence, and then made the sign of locking his mouth shut and throwing away the key. Abbey submitted reluctantly. How she hated that keep-quiet gesture.

  Irish pulled off the bandage, exposing a terrible stitched wound the size of a half dollar. It looked red, inflamed, and tender to the touch.

  "Do you know what you’re doing?" asked Howard nervously. Abbey got weak-kneed and sat down on the couch. Something within her restrained her protest.

  "I’ve been doing things like this for thousands of years," she answered.
>
  Howard’s head popped up and his mouth fell open at her revealing announcement. He stared at her intensely and watched as her eyes seeped rainbow colors from around her contacts.

  "I bet you have." He shook his head in disbelief, but believing, and started laughing, repeating, "I bet you have."

  There was a flinch of pain as Irish placed a flat palm on his wound. It was only for a second until he felt the warmth of God’s Spirit moving from her. He groaned and Abbey jumped up and ran to him.

  "You’re hurting him, crazy woman!" she yelled.

  "No Abbey, she’s not. It feels wonderful. Touch her hand over my wound, please."

  Abbey shook all over in empathy pain but reached out and put her hand on top of Irish’s and felt it too. She felt the warmth rushing through her own body. There had always been some lower back pain from a terrible car wreck years ago. It disappeared. There was just a hint of Alzheimer’s disease, but her mind cleared to an exactness of her teens. Howard felt his body mending. He felt the power of Irish’s touch so deeply that he would never be able to put a price tag on it. She lifted her hand, and new skin was growing over the healed wound. The stitches fell into Irish’s hands just as the last new skin grew into place.

  Abbey fainted, and Howard picked her up, then put her on the couch. "I guess I don’t have to guess anymore about what you are? If God needs my help, who am I to refuse."

  He practically skipped to his bedroom to get dressed, full of new, Godly energy. He came out wearing his black priest shirt with his white collar, which he hadn’t worn since retirement, and he had on a heavy, silver crucifix, which was more Catholic than Episcopalian. He reached for Irish’s arm and took the books from her, and they marched, not walked towards the bookstore.

  Felix Gather was the bookstore manager, the one Irish met when she first arrived in Sewanee. He was glad when she left that day. When he saw her arriving, he fled to the backroom, not wanting to put up with her sass. Howard saw it and followed him.

  "Felix Gather," he said loudly so everyone in the bookstore, including students and employees, could hear, "I've something you’re going to do for me!"

  Felix turned around and put his finger to his lips, saying, "Sssh! Not so loud, Howard."

  "Don’t you sssh me, Felix!"

  He got even louder than before. "I hear you’ve been listening too much to one of our local, pagan professors. I’m here to set things straight on behalf of those of us who are believers. I have three copies of Forgiveness written by Sean Jacobs that you’re going to put on display out front by your cash register. You’re going to display them and take forty percent just like you do for anybody else. I also want a check for these right now. This isn’t going to be a consignment deal." Howard shoved the books into Felix’s hands and grabbed him by his shirt collar, then pulled him towards the front counter.

  "I don’t have to take any books if I don’t want to. These are spiral bound. Our customers are classier than that. They require perfect binding. I’m not going to do it!" Felix pulled away from Howard and threw the books on the floor.

  Howard wasn’t through. He pulled his shirt open and announced, "The same God who healed my arrow wound also wants these books in this bookstore."

  Everyone gasped with the knowledge of his healing, and they heard about his incident. It was the talk of the town. Irish stood back by the door and watched Howard do his work. It looked like his dramatics weren’t working.

  Irish came up to Howard, much to Felix’s disdain, and whispered something to Howard and finished with, "I give you permission."

  Howard pointed directly at Felix, whose stubborn face was set like a rock in defiance of Howard’s exhortation, and said, "I’m giving you five seconds to pick up those books. If you don’t, you’ll understand the meaning of pimple. One, two, three, four, five."

  Felix had his hands tightly folded across his chest and watched as pimples started appearing over his arms and covered them up to the edges of his short sleeves. His face broke out with terrible, teenage acne that looked gross and hazardous to his health. He ran over to a display mirror and stared aghast. He was monstrous, covered so thoroughly with sores and zits that no skin could be seen.

  "I give! I give! Okay, okay! Help me, Howard! I’m sorry! I give!" His pathetic cry was heard all over the store. He ran over to pick up the books and threw others off a plastic stand while replacing them with Sean's books.

  He turned to the cashier and said, "Pay the man, now!"

  Felix ran back to Howard, "Help me, Howard, help me!"

  He looked deliberately at Irish, and she nodded "yes." His pimple madness left him instantly. He ran back to the mirror, then to the back of the store to hide. His embarrassment was becoming worse than the pimples.

  Irish looked at Howard and said, "That went rather smoothly." Howard rolled his eyes, and they left walking arm in arm back to his house.

  "I’ll tell you, Irish. I felt like Elijah dousing down the altar with water! What a rush! What fun!"

  "Elijah felt the same way. He told me so," replied Irish.

      