by Bill Hiatt
“Did you just miss the last few hours? You know, the ones during which my son risked his life to save yours?” Mom asked.
Mrs. Schoenbaum looked down at the floor. “No, and I admit I was wrong to blame him. Tal,” she added, looking at me, “I owe you an apology. You proved today that Stan couldn’t have a better friend than you, but—”
“You know the old saying that a statement with ‘but’ in it isn’t really an apology?” asked Shar.
“I wasn’t going to dilute the apology,” insisted Mrs. Schoenbaum. “How could I? Tal is a hero. All of our kids are heroes, and we never knew it. That said, should they have to be? Do any of us want them in danger every day?”
“I’m not sure I agree completely…about how much danger they are really in,” said Mr. Hayes. “I had two tours of duty in the Gulf, and I know what a well-trained unit looks like. I have to say I’ve never seen a unit so well organized. Even caught by surprise, they all knew exactly what to do. They fought like it was second nature to them. They must be incredibly well trained for teenagers.”
“That doesn’t mean, however, that we approve of people their age being in danger,” Mrs. Hayes was quick to point out. Mr. Hayes opened his mouth, then closed it again, perhaps uncertain whether or not he really wanted to argue the point.
“Exactly! They risk their lives all the time!” Stan’s mother was not going to be put off so easily. “Trained or not, these are children—”
“Not all of us!” interrupted Dan.
“Children!” she continued. “Children risking their lives without parental permission.”
“You need to stop interpreting what your sons and daughters do as—” Vanora began.
“Don’t tell me what to do!” Mrs. Schoenbaum snapped.
I could feel Vanora dialing Carrie Winn authority mode up to maximum. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do, and you will listen because lives are at stake!” There was just enough magic behind the words to get the parents to stare at her, momentarily silenced.
“You have to stop thinking about what they do as going on missions and start thinking of it as self-defense. You know that Ceridwen created the Carrie Winn persona. You know that she came after Tal. He did nothing to provoke that attack. She changed him against his will. She brought magic into his life—into all of yours.
“But what do you think would have happened if she had succeeded in killing Tal and trapping his soul so she could steal the unique wisdom of one of his earlier lives? Would she have just gone away? She was running for the state senate, people! Wake up! She intended to stay. She intended to create her own little kingdom in this world—and your families would have been right here, at ground zero.
“The rulers of Annwn would eventually have been forced to intervene, and Ceridwen would have fought back. We now know she had more allies than we realized at the time. She might have won, but even if she had lost, there would have been a blood bath—and the dead would not all have been faeries.
“The same pattern repeated over and over again. Because of who Tal had become, Ares came after him. Nicneven came after him. Hecate came after him. When your sons and daughters fought, it wasn’t just to rescue others, though they did. It was to protect themselves. It was to protect you. It was to protect Santa Brígida from becoming another Roanoke!”
“I know this is going to sound callous under the circumstances,” said Mrs. Schoenbaum, “but perhaps Tal, who clearly has the best interest of all of us at heart, should go somewhere else, so the rest of our sons and daughters will be safe.”
“Let’s see how that would play out, shall we?” said Vanora, slipping into a sarcastic tone that caught me by surprise. “Let’s say Tal leaves and has no further contact with any of your sons or daughters. That doesn’t erase the past they’ve had, the bonds among them. Their safety would last precisely as long as it took for someone to decide one of them—or all of them—would make good leverage to capture Tal or force him to do something. The only thing Tal’s leaving would accomplish is to give them all less protection than they now have.”
“It takes all of us,” added Lucas. “There have been times when we would all have died if every single one of us had not been there. It isn’t just Tal, though he’s indispensable. We all need one another. We need one another to survive.”
Even Mrs. Schoenbaum was having trouble coming up with a satisfactory response to the logic she was being hit with. Mr. Schoenbaum, however, raised the question on every parent’s mind.
“I see your point—and we’ve all seen their heroism tonight—but does that mean they all have to stay in Santa Brígida forever? What about college? Careers? If they have anything remotely resembling a normal life, how can they run off at a moment’s notice to deal with some threat on Olympus…or Asgard…or Narnia, or wherever?”
“That’s a very good question,” acknowledged Vanora, “but there are ways to make the situation work.”
Honestly, I hadn’t anticipated a question like that. Luckily, she had.
“During college they’ll all be paid interns of Winn Industries, which will enable them to afford off-campus housing—too many roommate complications if they live in the dorms. In any case, each one of their apartments will be equipped with a fixed portal to enable them to move to or from Santa Brígida in seconds, so if an emergency arises, they can reunite pretty much at the drop of a hat.”
“And if this emergency happens right before finals or some other time when it would be hard to explain their absence and certainly hard to compensate for it?” asked Mr. Schoenbaum.
“In really extreme circumstances such as you describe, the blood-double spell you now know about can be used to create an exact copy of Stan or anyone else. His double can go back and take the exam or do whatever else needs doing just as well as he can.”
“Are you sure you want to go down that road?” I asked Vanora.
“We can probably avoid it, but the spell isn’t inherently evil. If one of my men will volunteer, why not use it that way?”
“After college,” she continued, “the fixed portals will be moved to their homes, with maybe one in their offices as well, if that’s practical. They can live life to the fullest and still be available to defend one another if needed.”
“Strictly voluntary, of course,” I added. “Anyone who wants to sever all ties is free to do so.” Vanora glared at me; I guessed from her point of view there really was no choice.
“A more comprehensive answer than I was expecting,” conceded Mr. Schoenbaum.
“So this…supernatural…thing…is going to shape the rest of their lives?” asked Mrs. Schoenbaum. I should have found her incredibly annoying right now, but it was difficult to feel too much resentment toward a mother who was protecting her son—even if she was arguably overprotecting him. She was also gutsy enough to keep talking, even when it must have been apparent by now that most or all the other parents were not backing her up anymore.
“I’m not sure I see that as completely a negative thing,” Mr. Schoenbaum said, meeting his wife’s gaze unflinchingly.
“Stan was always intellectually gifted,” he continued, “but over the past months I’ve also seen him develop in other ways. He’s more self-confident. He’s a leader.”
“You’re not suggesting violence is necessary to make someone a leader?” asked Mrs. O’Reilly.
“Of course not! And I’m not happier with the violence to which he’s been exposed any more than anybody else is. However, he has gained something from his experiences—and I believe he may continue to.”
“I’m not sure I’d believe that if an angel of the Lord appeared and told it to me!” said Mrs. Schoenbaum, though she was gradually losing intensity.
“Ah, then perhaps I have come for nothing,” said a deep, resonant voice behind me.
There was silence again, except for the sound of Mrs. Schoenbaum’s jaw hitting the floor.
I noticed Raphael had added the traditional wings to his usual brilliant-white
robe, and that he also sported a visible golden halo, which I didn’t remember from before.
“Israfel!” said Khalid happily. “You know, we could have used you earlier.”
The archangel’s laugh made me think of church bells ringing.
“Khalid!” said Mrs. Sassani, putting a restraining hand on his shoulder.
“It’s all right,” said Raphael. “I rather enjoy the fact that Khalid, in contrast to everyone else to whom I appear, always…how would you say it? Oh, yes, gives me notes. Khalid gives me notes whenever he sees me.” Raphael laughed again, and I could feel the remaining tension in the room start to melt like snow when winter ends.
“I don’t believe in angels!” announced Mrs. Schoenbaum, but much more quietly than normal for her. I heard a couple of audible gasps.
“Worry not,” said Raphael to whoever had gasped. “This is not Peter Pan, and I am not a fairy. I will not die if someone does not believe.
“My dear Mrs. Schoenbaum,” he continued, looking directly at her. “Perhaps I am as I appear. Perhaps not. Perhaps there really are no such things as angels, and I am just a message sent from God. Does it really matter?”
I half expected her to reply, but she was mercifully speechless. She actually looked a little horrified.
“Let me ask all of you a different question. Is it not a good thing for a son or daughter to be honest with his or her parents?”
Silence.
“That was not supposed to be a hard question,” Raphael said, his smile like a sudden burst of sunlight in the room.
“Yes, it is a good thing,” said Carla’s mom finally.
“Thank you, Mrs. Rinaldi. Does everyone agree?” There was a great deal of head nodding, though not all at once.
“Excellent,” said the archangel. “That is why you are here tonight. Your sons and daughters had a difficult truth they needed to share with you. Are you not glad they did so?”
“I wish they had done it sooner,” said Mr. Santos, looking at Lucas. I could see Lucas flinch a little, probably prepping himself for worse. To my infinite relief, and I’m sure to Lucas’s, his father added, “I’ve always been proud of my son, but I wish I had known how much there was to be proud of.”
“Ah, yes, it would have been best in some ways had they told you right away, but do you all appreciate why they could not?”
Nods again, as if some of the parents were afraid to speak.
“I know many of you are concerned because your sons and daughters have been at risk, and so you should be. I came to assure you, however, that what has happened to them could not have been avoided. Taliesin could have kept his problems to himself, could have run away from town, could even have killed himself.”
More of the parents gasped at that, and even Mrs. Schoenbaum looked shocked.
“Had he made any of those choices, at least three of your sons and daughters would be dead right now. Oh, and Lucas, of course, since there would have been no one to save him later on. That is at least four deaths, maybe more.
“What prevented them? Taliesin stayed and fought—and, oh yes, he gradually brought your sons and daughters into the fight not because he wanted to but because he had no choice.”
“But…but shouldn’t God have protected them?” asked Mrs. Reyes. “Why would God allow such things?”
Raphael looked confused. “But God did protect them. He gave them Taliesin. He gave them one another. He gave them other gifts as well, that they would have the ability to prevail.”
Apparently, even people who don’t believe in angels have a hard time arguing with one. I think we had most of them convinced already, at least to the extent of accepting the situation, if not actually liking it. The archangel’s comforting presence, though, swept away what few unspoken concerns might have remained. Even Mrs. Schoenbaum gracefully offered another apology and let the matter rest—at least for the moment.
Totally straight-faced, Raphael said, “Truth be known, I actually came for the cake. There will be cake, will there not?” he asked Vanora, whose turn it was to look horrified. “Angel food, if you have it, please.”
Needless to say, Vanora had kept her human staff far away from the ballroom, but someone must have been on duty, because a wide variety of desserts suddenly appeared, each luscious enough to make someone gain weight just from looking at it.
“I didn’t realize archangels ever joked,” I said to Raphael as we stood in line. He had insisted on being at the end.
I got another one of those sunburst smiles. “Humor is one of God’s greatest gifts.”
“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but this appearance is…unlike your normal procedure, isn’t it?” I asked.
“Not as much as you might think,” Raphael replied. “I would have been hard-pressed to justify intervening earlier, but it was easier to defend once you had basically won—the battle and the hearts of the parents—anyway. The letter was already written and sealed, the envelope addressed and stamped. All I did was take it to the post office for you.
“Should you ever need to do such a thing again, you may find that allowing people to sleep longer afterward could produce better results. No matter how information is presented, it takes time for the human mind to truly accept it.”
“To paraphrase Khalid, we could have used that hint a little earlier.”
Raphael laughed again. “I cannot give as much advice—or as much help—as I would like. You know that.”
“I’m just grateful for what you can give.” Looking around discreetly, I was struck by how much Raphael’s arrival had changed the mood. The parents were asking questions driven by curiosity, even excitement, rather than by fear. What else could Khalid do besides fly? What was it like for Stan to have King David inside of him? How long had Gordy trained to handle his sword so well? Were the former Greek gods as they were portrayed in the myths, or were they different? Where did Eva get that silver bow? How long had Carla been able to cast spells?
“This is devil’s food!” said Raphael in mock outrage when he finally reached the buffet table.
“I…I…” started Vanora, though she relaxed visibly as soon as Raphael laughed again.
“I took you for someone who realized that everything is not always what it seems,” said the archangel, eyeing the cakes.
Vanora immediately looked nervous again. “Sometimes perhaps we are better taking reality for what it seems.”
I thought it was an odd time to philosophize, but Raphael didn’t seem to mind. “Aye, sometimes—if one’s motives for giving such advice are pure.”
I missed the rest of the conversation because Michael came over and started asking me questions in that urgent way people his age do, muttering with a big bite of devil’s food cake in his mouth.
***
I was pleasantly surprised by the fact that we actually got through graduation without any further supernatural problems, and my friends in general were happier than I had ever seen them. Apparently, letting their parents in on the truth had been the right thing for all of them.
What would life have been, though, without at least one mystery to solve? After the eventful night we had told our parents the truth, the guys found time to tell me about Michael’s theory that Magnus somehow had a soul. I couldn’t imagine how he possibly could—but Michael shouldn’t have had one either, and we knew he did. As soon as I had time, I paid a visit to Arianrhod, who, though skeptical at first, confirmed Michael’s guess—or perhaps intuition.
“Never would I have believed such a thing possible,” said the Celtic ex-goddess.
Well, that made two of us.
“What does this mean?” asked Magnus after we had gotten back.
“Well, I was already pledged to help you get a body anyway,” I thought back. “Now we have another reason for doing so.”
When I told the guys that Arianrhod had verified Magnus was now a separate being, the first to react was Shar.
“Now that he has a soul, I hope he knows he has a
lot to atone for—if he wants to stay out of Hell.”
“Gym Rat, I didn’t know you cared,” thought Magnus sarcastically.
“I don’t,” said Shar, but I couldn’t help noticing he smiled a little, despite himself.
“Maybe he already has atoned…a little bit, anyway,” said Eva. “He did give us a lot of help, and he was willing to die rather than follow the order to kill me.
“Maybe,” she added after an awkward silence, “that’s how he got his soul.”
I half expected Raphael to pop up and tell us, but he didn’t. I would have to remember to ask the archangel the next time he dropped by.
I was surprised when Mom asked if Magnus wanted to move into the other guest room after he had a body.
For once, my alter ego was speechless. No, not my alter ego anymore, my…what exactly was Magnus to me now? My…brother? Some kind of family, anyway. I guess the Order could cook up another set of documents for an additional cousin. Mom seemed to be thinking of him as family when she made the suggestion.
“Thank her, but tell her I politely decline,” thought Magnus. “I think I want to live on my own for a while, figure out who I am.”
“Well, the offer is always open if you change your mind,” Mom said, obviously having heard his thought.
“Don’t tell anyone!” snapped Magnus. At first I thought he meant about my mom’s offer. I couldn’t quite figure out why he would care if anyone knew about that.
Then I realized he had something else on his mind.
I hadn’t picked up on it at first, but when Magnus heard Mom’s offer, he had done the mental equivalent of shedding a tear.
I didn’t bring the subject up again, and neither did Mom, but since I couldn’t find a suitable body right away, Magnus was living with us—in me—whether he wanted to or not.
Magnus certainly wasn’t complaining after graduation, when we had the best party ever for Dan, Shar, and Gordy, even though all the parents were there with us, and even though it wasn’t the kind of party we could put shots of on Instagram.
After all, how many people get to have their graduation party on Olympus?