No Angel

by Helen Keeble

“She’s, uh, just got a crush.” Definitely time to change the subject. “Hey, has Krystal managed to catch up with you yet?” Last I’d seen her, she’d been cornered by a couple of Lydie’s roommates, begging her to teach them how to summon their own angels. The look she’d given me over their heads had informed me I was a walking dead man. “I think she wanted to talk to you.”

  “Actually, yes.” Faith bit her lip. “Raffi, can we talk? Privately, I mean. There’s something I really need to discuss with you.”

  My heart started to pound, but I managed to maintain a nonchalant tone. “Sure.” We’d been loitering in front of the chapel-turned-assembly-hall, as the drafty courtyard wasn’t a favored hangout for Michaela’s gang. Now I followed her through the arched oak doors and into the cool, silent building. It might not be a place of worship anymore, but the huge space with its soaring vaulted ceiling still had a hushed, reverent air. I swallowed, feeling small and out of place. “What’s up?”

  “That little girl isn’t the only one with a crush on you.” Dappled colors from the stained-glass-angel windows made patterns over Faith’s serious face. “But this one’s much more important. This one could change everything.” She moved closer, putting one hand on my sleeve. “I need to ask you to do something. Something very important.”

  Was it sacrilegious to make out in a deconsecrated church? And damn it, why hadn’t I flossed this morning? “You know I’ll do anything for you.”

  “Good.” Faith’s hand tightened on my arm. “Because I need you to date Krystal.”

  “Yes, of cou—wait, what?”

  “She’s crazy about you.” From Faith’s face, you’d have thought she was telling me that the cancer was inoperable. “She didn’t talk about anything else while she was helping me serve breakfast this morning. Raffi, I’m so, so sorry, but do you think you could, um, indulge her? Just a little,” Faith added hastily as if anticipating a violent protest. “To keep her happy. For me?”

  “I . . . think you might be misinterpreting that conversation,” I said, resisting the urge to beat my forehead against the stone wall. “Look, it’s nice that you want to look out for your friend, but Krystal doesn’t want to date me. Trust me on that one.”

  “You didn’t hear her! She’s never talked like that before.” Faith’s eyes were wide and worried. “Raffi, she may not be much help, but Krystal’s the only ally I’ve got. I can’t afford for her to get offended and stalk off. Please at least try to be sweet to her. For me?”

  I stared at her, a dozen objections crowding in my head. For some reason, the one that found its way to my tongue first was, “I think Krystal’s a lot of help, actually. I mean, she got me here.”

  “Yes, with an unorthodox summoning charm that obviously went wrong!” Faith gasped and covered her mouth. “Oh, Raffi, I’m so sorry,” she said through her hand. “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded. It’s not your fault you’re a little . . . “ She gestured at my shoulders to indicate my hidden wings. “Um. Defective.”

  The world was saved by a discreet cough from behind us. At least, if Krystal’s theory was right, it had been, considering that the response I’d been about to make would have destroyed any tiny remaining chance I had with Faith. “Are you two in search of some spiritual guidance?” Ms. Henbane tottered toward us between the rows of chairs. She smiled hopefully at us. “I’m the chaplain as well as the counselor, you know. It’s outside of my usual office times, but I’m always open for any students having a crisis of faith.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Henbane,” Faith said politely. “Normally, I’d come straight to you with any problem.” Her shoulders slumped. “But I don’t think these are ones you can help with.”

  “Well, I do have a Faith problem,” I said, folding my arms and glaring at her. “And maybe you can help me out, Ms. Henbane. You do Religious Education sort of stuff, right?”

  “I do indeed.” Ms. Henbane cocked her head at me. “Something on your mind, Rafael?”

  “Yeah.” Faith was never going to want to get with an angel she thought was “defective.” Which meant I had to prove that I wasn’t. I summoned my best charming smile, aiming it at Ms. Henbane. “Know anything about angels?”

  “I knew you’d come to confide in me eventually.” Ms. Henbane fussed with a teapot. “When we first met, I thought: now there’s a young man after my own heart. Do make yourself comfortable.”

  “Uh, thanks.” I gingerly lowered myself into the velvet depths of an antique armchair, unable to shake the impression that I was violating some sort of museum exhibit. Ms. Henbane’s room looked more like a Victorian parlor than an office. “But I think I should tell you straight off that I don’t do God.”

  “Ah, I knew we were kindred spirits.” Ms. Henbane offered me both an encouraging smile and a rose-patterned teacup. “Neither do I.”

  “You don’t?” I took a gulp of tea, nearly swallowing the dainty slice of lemon floating in it. “But you’re the R.E. teacher. Aren’t you a Christian?”

  “Goodness, no.” Ms. Henbane fussed with something on a side table. “Technically, I’m a Satanist. Macaroon?”

  I sprayed tea all over the proffered plate. “Sorry?”

  “It’s quite all right,” Ms. Wormwood said graciously. “Let me get you a ladyfinger instead.”

  “No, I mean—you’re a what?”

  “A Satanist,” Ms. Henbane said with perfect equanimity, as she discreetly hid the now-soggy macaroons under a doily. “Oh, I don’t mean that I go out sacrificing goats in the dark of the moon,” she added, catching my surreptitious glance around to try to spot any demonic altars amidst the china shepherdesses. “I believe in a supreme deity, but I also believe that He is doing such a terrible job that He doesn’t deserve our worship. By strictest definition of the word, that rejection of the Creator of the universe makes me a Satanist.” She sniffed in disdain as she seated herself on a wingback chair. “Not that I’m convinced that Satan would do much better. If you want something done right, you have to do it yourself. Can I tempt you to an iced ring?”

  I stared into the box of assorted biscuits. They were pink. Pink biscuits did not seem very Satanic. “So . . . you don’t go around trying to summon demons?”

  “My word, why on earth would I need to summon a demon?” Ms. Henbane said, raising an eyebrow. “Now, you wanted to know about angels?”

  I guessed Ms. Henbane was the Satanic equivalent of people who only go to church at Christmas. Nonetheless, I found myself clutching my teaspoon, just in case I needed to defend myself against sudden demonic attack. “Uh, yeah. Have you ever heard of angels with more than two wings?”

  “Certainly.” Ms. Henbane went over to a large oak bookcase and plucked out a leather-bound tome. “They’re categorized in De Coelesti Hierarchia, the foremost authority on angelic matters. As a matter of fact, multiple wings are one of the identifying traits of the highest orders in the celestial hierarchy.”

  I perked up. “Really? You mean like archangels?”

  “Actually, archangels are part of the lowest sphere.” Ms. Henbane turned pages as she spoke. “Ordinary angels, archangels, and principalities are all in the third sphere. Above them in the second sphere are the types of angels called powers, virtues, and dominions. And above them, highest of all, are the angels in the first sphere. Thrones, seraphim, and cherubim. They all have multiple wings, as you can see.” Turning the book around, she showed me a woodcut.

  “Uh,” I said, squinting. “I don’t see any angels.”

  “Right there,” Ms. Henbane said, pointing to a freaky thing that looked like a couple of spoked wheels jammed together and set on fire in some horrific bicycling accident. “That’s a throne.”

  “Riiight.” Were those eyes all around the wheel rims? “I’m pretty sure that’s not what I am. I mean, what I’m looking for.”

  “In which case, let us go on to the seraphim.” Ms. Henbane turned a few pages, displaying another illustration, this one entirely consisting of folded wings. “Th
e highest of the high, the mightiest of the mighty. They radiate burning light and continually sing praises to the Creator. They cover their eyes with one pair of wings, their feet with another, and fly on the third pair.”

  “Too many.” And unless seraphim were meant to sing really badly, I was pretty sure I wasn’t one of those either. “Don’t suppose you’ve got anything with exactly four wings?”

  “Why, yes,” Ms. Henbane said. “The cherubim. They’re warriors and protectors. In fact, it was a cherub who was sent to guard the Garden of Eden with a flaming sword.”

  I sat up straight. That sounded more like it. “And they’ve got four wings? You’re sure?”

  “Certainly.” Ms. Henbane flipped to yet another woodcut. “In fact, they’re the only type of angel that do.”

  I took the book from her eagerly. “Great! That’s just what I’m—”

  I stopped dead.

  “They also have four heads,” Ms. Henbane said happily, as I stared at the illustration in horror. “Ox, eagle, lion, and man. Oh, and they’re covered in eyes.”

  Chapter 16

  Raf, you’re a guardian angel!” Krystal looked like she wanted to smack either her own forehead or, preferably, me. “You can’t just quit because you’re worried about sprouting extra heads!”

  “It seems like a bloody good reason to me!” I lowered my voice as a couple of girls went past, heading into Ms. Wormwood’s classroom. We were meant to be in there ourselves, but I’d yanked Faith and Krystal aside to give them the bad news. “You didn’t see the picture. I am not risking turning into a monster.”

  Krystal rolled her eyes in exasperation. “I can’t believe you’re taking some stupid old book this seriously.”

  “Actually,” Faith said, “I’m pretty sure my father had a copy of De Coelesti Hierarchia. He used to tell me bedtime stories about the angel hierarchies, saying that seraphim and cherubim were watching over me.” She frowned. “I admit he left out the bit about all the eyes and heads. He probably didn’t want to give me nightmares.”

  Krystal groaned. “Faith, you are not helping.”

  “Oh. Right.” Faith turned her big blue eyes on me, summoning up a reassuring smile. “Raffi, no matter how many heads you grow, we’ll never think of you as a monster.” She reached out to pat my hand.

  I recoiled from her. “Don’t touch me!” Faith looked hurt. “Sorry,” I muttered. “Nothing personal. It’s just that every time I’ve gotten close to you I’ve ended up with weird new body parts.”

  “But you have to close the Hellgate with her!” Krystal practically yelled. “This is too important for you to get squeamish now!”

  “He has to what?” Faith said.

  “Just a stupid theory Krystal came up with,” I said quickly. “Look, I’m not abandoning you, okay? I’ll still try to get rid of Michaela. But that’s it.”

  Faith smiled at me, though she still looked a bit perplexed. “That’s all I ever asked, Raffi.”

  “Getting rid of Michaela won’t solve anything, you idiots!” Krystal yelled, her hands balling into fists. “The Hellgate will still be here, and a new Michaela will come along to try again once we’ve left the school. We have to close the thing!”

  “That’s what I’m going to do,” Faith said, brow furrowing. “You know I am. Why are you so upset?”

  Krystal moaned, running both hands through her hair in agitation. “We,” she said, seizing Faith’s wrist, “have got to talk.” She shot a glare at me over her shoulder as she dragged Faith into the classroom. “And then we are going to talk, Rafael Angelos.”

  “Not if I can help it,” I muttered. I slouched after them, pointedly taking the seat farthest away from Krystal’s corner. She was whispering urgently to Faith, with many hand gestures that left little to the imagination as to what she was talking about. I was glad I couldn’t see Faith’s expression. I slumped farther down in my seat. I wasn’t sure which would be worse: if Faith didn’t believe Krystal’s theory or if she did. One way, I would continue to be rejected in favor of some dick with a smooth writing style. The other way . . .

  I wanted to be with Faith. I really did. But I wasn’t willing to get mutated into some freak-show attraction. The wings were bad enough, but at least I could fold them up. What would I do with extra heads?

  Of course, if Krystal was right, and I didn’t get with Faith . . . it could mean the end of the world. I didn’t know exactly what demons would do if they got loose, but I was willing to bet it wouldn’t be good. A demon possessing a St. Mary’s girl, most of whom came from rich, powerful, well-connected families . . . it could end up anywhere. Imagine a demon in charge of the police, or the stock exchange, or the government. Or—I thought of my dad, and my stomach contracted—the army.

  My morose contemplation of the wall was abruptly interrupted by a close-up of Michaela’s cleavage. “What are you up to?” she demanded in a tone that did not go at all with her flirtatious expression. “Why was Krystal Moon yelling at you just now?”

  “Get out of my face,” I growled. I was so not in the mood for Michaela at the moment. “You may have surprised me in Peer Assessment, but you can’t keep up the pretense that we’re dating. I’m not going to let you undermine Faith that way again.”

  “You’ll do as I say, or—,” Michaela started.

  I slammed a hand down on the desk, making her jerk back. “No! I have had it with girls telling me what I have to do!” I’d spoken too loudly. I flushed under our classmates’ stares, sinking back down into my seat. Nonetheless, I folded my arms and glared at Michaela, still filled with rebellion. “You can’t order me around,” I muttered. “Not you or Krystal.”

  Michaela’s eyebrows rose at my tone. Then she froze. Slowly, her head turned from me toward Krystal, who was still arguing with Faith in the back corner. Without another word, she made her way over to her own seat next to Suzanne, though she kept glancing back at Faith and Krystal.

  I groaned and buried my head in my arms. That was all I needed, Michaela deciding that if she couldn’t dominate me, she should go after easier targets. I had a nasty feeling I’d just painted a bull’s-eye on Krystal’s forehead. Even if it wouldn’t solve the Hellgate problem, I had to get those knives off Michaela and get her expelled. Stat.

  Problem was, I still had no better plan than trying to seduce her. And, in a fit of temper, I’d just ruined my best chance of doing that. Lifting my face an inch from my arms, I cast a glance around the classroom, wishing there were someone I could talk to about this besides Krystal and Faith. I needed help. I needed advice. I needed—

  “Sex education!” Ms. Wormwood declared, striding into the classroom and beaming around at everyone.

  No. NonononoNO.

  “I know, pets,” Ms. Wormwood said as a chorus of mixed groans and sniggers filled the air. “But this is part of the curriculum, and some of the most important knowledge you’ll learn at this school.” She clasped her hands, gazing at us all earnestly. “I hope you’ll all help me make this class a warm and supportive environment in which to explore your developing bodies.”

  I fought an intense urge to take cover under my desk while the entire class, as one, looked at me. Even Michaela did it, with a raised eyebrow and slight amused twist to her lips.

  “Ms. Wormwood?” Krystal had her hand in the air. “I don’t think I’m comfortable discussing this with a boy present.”

  I was going to buy her a dozen red roses.

  “Krystal isn’t comfortable with having a boy present for any of it,” Suzanne stage-whispered to her friend. “Just as well, really.” Krystal went scarlet but didn’t back down. Make that two dozen red roses.

  “I thought some of you might feel that way, pet,” Ms. Wormwood said to Krystal. “I know that this is a difficult subject to discuss in mixed company, which is why,” she gestured at the door, “I’ve asked Ms. Vervaine to join us.”

  The cadaverous teacher stepped in, looking as if she was being forced at gunpoint. She held a DVD ca
se in front of her like a shield. “Film,” she croaked, brandishing it at the class. “You will watch it.”

  “Indeed you will,” Ms. Wormwood said. “While Raffi comes with me.”

  “What?” I yelped. “I mean, please, can’t I watch a video too?”

  “Pet, Saint Mary’s was a girls’ school until this term.” Ms. Wormwood was already halfway out the door. “Our educational videos are rather useless if you don’t have a uterus. Come along now, don’t be shy!”

  A video on Things Man Was Very Definitely Not Meant to Know or a private date to put condoms on cucumbers with Ms. Wormwood? Talk about a rock and a hard place. But I didn’t really have any option other than to follow her. The door swung closed behind me, cutting off Ms. Vervaine in the middle of saying, “Anyone excused on religious or—”

  I wondered if Ms. Wormwood would buy a sudden conversion to strict Catholicism. Then again, the thought of corrupting the virtue of a good religious boy might excite her even further. I took a deep breath, commanding myself to get a grip. Krystal and Faith were right. I was reading way too much into Ms. Wormwood’s over-friendly manner. Okay, this was no doubt going to be excruciatingly embarrassing, but she wasn’t actually going to risk her job by getting inappropriate with a student.

  “Here we are!” Ms. Wormwood proclaimed, holding a door open and waving me through. “We’ll have our lesson in my office.”

  My attention was instantly riveted by the item of furniture that dominated the small room. It was a sofa. With a leopard-print fake-fur blanket.

  “Nice and informal,” Ms. Wormwood purred, closing the door behind me with a very ominous-sounding click. “And very private. Completely soundproofed, in fact. Don’t worry, everything that happens in here is in complete confidence.”

  I scrambled to put the sofa between us. “Uh, Ms. Wormwood, actually I’ve done lots of sex ed lessons before, at my old schools.”

  “Oh, I’m sure there’s plenty more for you to learn,” Ms. Wormwood said, seating herself and patting the cushion next to her invitingly. “Especially from an . . . experienced woman.”