by Jane Lebak
“But—”
“Listen.” She squeezed his hand. “Mutual respect begins with you respecting yourself. You have good instincts, but he’s got a strong personality, and you’ve been passive about letting his moods dictate your interactions. God put you together because you have a lot to offer him, and you don’t have to wait for his permission. You also don’t have to abide by his refusal.”
Rachmiel bit his lip. “I don’t understand.”
“What I’m saying,” she said, “is that it’s not uncompassionate for you to take control.”
Hadriel sat on the opposite side of Martin’s bedroom while Katra’il paced. Her eyes still glared with white light.
“I can’t believe they’re just letting him walk all over Rachmiel!” It was nothing she hadn’t been saying for the past five minutes. “You couldn’t find a nicer angel, and then God rewarded his hard work with Elizabeth by making it even tougher?”
Hadriel watched as her face hardened and softened whenever she passed before the starlit bedroom window. Then, mid-stride, she flashed to Martin and touched his hair. She smiled, breathed over him, and rested her hand on his shoulder.
She whispered, “He took a boy like this, and he killed him.”
Hadriel projected understanding.
“Well, I don’t understand. Martin has my whole heart. God told me to guard him, but I’d be here anyway. Even if He told me I could leave, I’d still stay.” She pressed her head against his, then looked at Hadriel, wings arched over the boy. “I wish I could show you the interior of his soul. Every part of him calls to me. The things he thinks have his signature on them. I love watching his mind at work when he’s playing a video game or getting the computer to do what he wants.”
Hadriel leaned back against the wall. “Do you think Tabris didn’t love Sebastian?”
“He must have hated him.” Katra’il’s voice was flat. “He probably resented the boy, wanting to be free but unable to leave when it was expected he’d stay. You see how much time he spends away from Elizabeth. Without a second guardian, he couldn’t do that. He’d have been counting the minutes until Sebastian died. And then he decided to take care of it anyhow.”
“That would be...” Hadriel couldn’t think of a charitable way to say unforgivable, so he switched gears. “If you’re right, then it might explain why he got assigned to another person. So he didn’t benefit from what he did.”
“Except that with Rachmiel around, he can get away for eight or nine hours a night anyhow.”
Hadriel studied Katra’il. The light from her eyes mingled with the starlight and somehow reflected the light of time itself. He lowered the pitch of his voice. “Are you afraid of him?”
“Absolutely—I can’t let him hurt Martin!” She sat up. “I can’t imagine how Rachmiel deals with having him near all the time!”
“That’s not what I asked.” Hadriel noticed her light dimming. “I asked if you were afraid of him, not if you were afraid for Martin.”
“What’s Tabris going to do to me?”
“That’s a good question.”
Hadriel waited her out. She calmed as she thought, then shook her head. “There’s nothing he could do to me. He could overpower me in a fight, since he can hold off Miriael. But then what?”
Hadriel said, “Then what? He could hurt you temporarily, but he’s never raised a hand against any of us.”
Katra’il smiled. “Except Miriael.”
“Except Miriael. Who probably begged him to.” Hadriel laughed, and Katra’il relaxed a bit more. “So why the fear?”
“I never said I was afraid of him.” She frowned. “You’re the one who said that.”
“You’re the one reacting violently to having him here.” Hadriel nodded. “That’s fear.”
“Really?” She touched Martin’s hair. “I think it’s hatred of everything he did.”
“No, because then all of us would be equally upset.” Hadriel said, “Push on that thought.”
“But—” And then Katra’il said, “Okay, so if he could do it before, and he looks pretty normal now, other than being sullen half the time, then he could do it again.”
Hadriel opened his hands and projected for her to continue.
“And...” She chuckled. “You want me to say something, and I have no idea what.”
Hadriel folded his arms. “If he seems normal and he could do that, then what’s to say you couldn’t do that too?”
She trembled. “I wouldn’t.”
Hadriel lowered his voice. “Maybe six months ago, he wouldn’t have, either.”
“But I love Martin.”
“We don’t know he didn’t love Sebastian.” Hadriel sighed. “We don’t really know anything about him, but if he’d been giving off vibes of resentment, or anger, or malice—wouldn’t someone have stepped in? It had to seem like he had everything under control.”
Katra’il frowned. “And what if the kid did something so terrible that Tabris killed him in retaliation?”
Hadriel leaned forward. “Can you imagine anything so bad that you’d kill Martin for doing it?”
She thought a long time. And finally, “I know some sins cry out to God for vengeance, but what could a kid do? Sebastian was even younger.” She looked up. “But there’s something to that. There’s no sin so awful that any of us wouldn’t be capable of it without God’s grace.”
Hadriel nodded. “And the more aware you are of that, the harder it is to stand in judgment over someone.”
“But why would God take that grace away from him?” She puzzled. “Or alternatively, why would Tabris deny the gift of that grace?”
“That’s the conundrum,” said Hadriel. “Only no one’s asked Tabris. Rachmiel’s the one with the best shot at getting an answer, and he doesn’t want to press the issue.”
Katra’il said, “Because if Tabris could do it, any of the rest of us might, too.”
Hadriel projected agreement. “And that’s what worries a lot of angels.”
She tucked up her knees. “If you ever thought I’d kill Martin, you’d take me away from him, right?”
Hadriel nodded. “I would. You seem to be pretty good at venting your emotions before they get to that point, though.”
She forced a laugh, although it sounded weak. “But I’m capable of angry outbursts, and I’m sarcastic. What if I was in a blind rage and I hurt Martin?”
Hadriel crossed the tips of his wings in front of his ankles. “What would make you that angry?”
“Sin.”
“Right. But you wouldn’t kill him if he were deep in sin because you wouldn’t want him to go to Hell. You’d want him to repent, and by then you’d have had time to get calm, and you wouldn’t be as impulsive. When he did repent, you’d be too glad to be violent.”
She shrugged. “Okay, then. Tabris didn’t do it in response to a sin.”
“Or did he?” said Hadriel. “He’s more pensive than you are. He’s a watcher.” Katra’il’s eyes widened as he spoke. “He might mull over it long enough for the kid to repent out from under him, and then when he’d be ready to act, the child would be safe.”
Katra’il whispered, “Is that what you think happened?”
Hadriel matched her tone. “It has the best chance of any theory I’ve heard.”
At that moment Josai’el appeared, and Katra’il bowed her head. “I’m sorry I lost my temper.”
“Are you calmer now?”
“Significantly.”
Josai’el projected her thanks to Hadriel, who demurred.
Katra’il said, “Should I apologize to Tabris?”
“I can’t imagine he picked up on your anger from that distance,” said Josai’el, “so apologizing would create more confusion than it would resolve. But we’re going to keep this between Rachmiel and Tabris. It’s better for now if you’re not involved at all.”
Katra’il acknowledged, and Hadriel felt her for the first time calm about receiving Tabris back into their home.
Tabris returned to Rachmiel just after sunrise, his eyes gleaming and his motions stiff.
Rachmiel acknowledged him without any warmth. Tabris projected nothing at all, and Rachmiel deflated at the thought that he was stuck for the foreseeable future with an angel who didn’t want him around—who didn’t even like him.
“Is she well?” Tabris said.
“She slept fine.”
“Good.”
Tabris left the room. On the edge of the bed, Rachmiel found himself trembling as he reached for Elizabeth. “Wake up, Sleepyhead. It’s time.” He closed his eyes, then whispered, “Elizabeth, I need you awake now. Please, for me.”
The girl stretched. As she yawned, her newly-awake sensations flooded Rachmiel, along with the head rush for the first second after she stood. Tabris said that wasn’t normal, but it had always been normal for her. The slackness of sleep drained from her as she walked to the window to look outside, and Rachmiel smiled in imitation of the sunrise. The moments of most intense connection between her soul and his happened just after waking when she hadn’t yet closed off her mind to possibility: to chance, to dreams, to God. Sometimes she prayed while waking up, and Rachmiel shivered when God touched her heart at that degree of closeness, and for the rest of the day he’d feel that fingerprint etched on both her and him.
Most mornings, of course, she simply awoke and got dressed. And that was all right too. He would still feel the swirl of her thoughts until she fully roused.
He’d focused on her so intently that he started when he heard her voice—and he bolted to a stand when he realized she hadn’t spoken.
God, her prayer sounded in his heart, as strongly as if she’d projected it like an angel, Grandma says I have an angel who watches me. Can you say ‘hi’ to her for me?
Rachmiel shot toward her and embraced her so tightly, and he wished he could let her sense those arms around her shoulders, his hair against her cheek. Hello yourself, sweetie. Did you know that angel loves you?
At his back, he felt Tabris standing very close. “Did you just hear—?”
Turning, Rachmiel projected his joy. He reached into Elizabeth’s imagination, but she wasn’t thinking of angels any longer, only about whether her favorite shirt had come out of the wash. “I hope she does that again sometime.”
Then he noticed the look on Tabris’s face: stunned, but more than stunned. Rachmiel sent him a question.
Tabris said, “But I heard her too.”
Rachmiel nodded, projecting, Co-guardian. Then he laughed out loud. “Ten years from now, when she’s totally forgotten everything about us, remind me what just happened. I may need it then.”
Tabris looked as if he’d needed it now. Rachmiel paused to regard him, even if curiosity might get his head bitten off one more time. Tabris didn’t notice. He was staring through Elizabeth, but not as if fully concentrating on her either. His emotions slipped through: shock. Self-consciousness. And a bittersweetness Rachmiel wanted to call love but felt instead as a denial of being loved, a discomfort that left him wanting to squirm.
Elizabeth began brushing her hair. Tabris drew near to her, and Rachmiel wondered why Tabris couldn’t meet his gaze.
“Were you going to go out again?”
“No.” Tabris sounded stunned. “No. That’s a sign, isn’t it? A sign that I’m her co-guardian.” He turned toward Rachmiel, eyes gleaming. “God doesn’t want me to leave. I’m supposed to stay.”
Eleven
After Tabris went to the pond one night the next week, Rachmiel visited Voriah in Alan’s bedroom. With the moon obscured by clouds, the angels glowed so they could see one another. In their aura, the posters of airplanes and basketball players took on a half-alive appearance. The hamsters in the cage on the dresser struggled to get Voriah’s attention, running on their wheel until Alan half-woke, and then Voriah blessed them so they’d quiet down.
Rachmiel sat on Alan’s desk, strewn with paper and colored pencils. It was the only disarrayed part of the room, and he grinned as he told God he’d have felt uncomfortable sitting where it was neat.
Once Voriah settled the hamsters, Rachmiel said, “Tabris did something strange today.”
Voriah shrugged, projecting that this was a normal state of affairs.
“Stranger than that.” Rachmiel tucked up his knees. “While Elizabeth was at school. It was really quiet because the other guardians tend to get quieter when he’s around.”
Voriah rolled his eyes, projecting, He’s an emotional black hole.
Rachmiel went still, and Voriah lowered his head. Rachmiel turned toward Alan, who had settled now that the hamsters had stopped rattling their wheel. “Is he dreaming?”
“Not yet. I’m sorry—you can tell me about today. I’ll behave.”
Rachmiel looked up, but still he didn’t speak. Tabris couldn’t defend himself as long as he wasn’t here, but he probably wouldn’t defend himself anyhow. And Voriah—half joking, but not fully—was a part of his household. His support team.
Rachmiel excused himself to check on Elizabeth.
Voriah followed. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
Rachmiel projected his frustration. “No. You shouldn’t have.”
“But you do know it’s true.” Voriah folded his arms. “It’s gotten to the point that whenever he comes into the room, you can tell it’s him by what he doesn’t project. No, don’t protest. You’re with him so much that you’ve gotten used to him, but think about how we feel.”
“I’m thinking about how he feels.”
“You’ll have to trust me that everyone else is wondering how he feels too.” Voriah’s eyes gleamed. “And then we wonder how the rest of us feel, because he also dampens the other angels’ emotional auras. That’s why he stops conversation.”
Rachmiel’s eyes narrowed.
“You of all angels should know that, since you’re the most sensitive to everyone’s projections. Doesn’t it feel like you’re muffled whenever he’s around?”
Rachmiel grudgingly agreed that an emotional black hole was an apt description.
Voriah projected laughter, and teasing. “Now unless I’m mistaken, you had a story to tell.”
Voriah vanished. Rachmiel followed, and they were back in Alan’s room. “You’re terrible,” Rachmiel said.
“But I can make you smile.” Voriah chuckled. “Okay, so Tabris did something unusual today. Proceed.”
“Elizabeth was learning fractions,” Rachmiel said, “and she had a hard time figuring out what they were. Music is more up her alley, although I guess math plays an important part in that as well. She’ll be an amazing piano player if she applies—” He caught himself. “Sorry.”
Voriah leaned forward. “Don’t be sorry! It’s been too long since you just got on a roll about her. I’m not about to cast any stones at you in the mad-about-your-charge department.”
Rachmiel met his eyes, and he relaxed. “My point was, she didn’t understand fractions. So Tabris...taught her.”
Voriah’s eyes widened.
“He showed her, in her mind, what it meant to have a fraction. I can’t explain it. But that’s what he did.”
Voriah spoke slowly. “I’ve helped Alan understand new concepts.”
“Not like this. I’d tried helping her understand. He taught her. He conceptualized it for her and then said her name repeatedly, that he knew she knew it, and her head snapped up, and she did.”
Rachmiel felt Voriah’s surface thoughts spinning, while below that simmered amazement. Finally Voriah said, “He’s new. She’s not used to him yet, not enough to ignore him as totally as she can you.”
“Maybe.” Rachmiel shook his head. “But I think it was his technique. The other angels in the room looked like they were waiting for me to do something, as if he were killing her or trying to make her insane.”
“I wonder which would be worse?”
Rachmiel’s heart pounded. “I don’t want to find out!”
“I didn’t think you did. I also don’t think he’s going to drive her around the bend. At least not more than fractions would.” Voriah rubbed his chin. “So what did you do?”
“I thanked him. What else could I do? He’s taking Elizabeth very seriously.”
Voriah puffed out a quick emotion, one that dispersed before Rachmiel caught his meaning. The earlier feeling crept back up on him: that Voriah was part of Tabris’s household, and they shouldn’t be fighting each other. He projected a question.
Voriah said, “He’s like the British honor guard. Yeah, you could call that taking her seriously. Hardly taking unless you ask him to. Never defending himself to the other angels. That’s intense.”
Rachmiel’s mouth twitched. “Is that what he was like before?”
Voriah shrugged. “You’d have to ask Mithra. I can’t imagine it’s something he could do for ten years at a shot.”
The hamsters began moving around the cage again, and Rachmiel watched them nose through the bedding. “Do you think he’ll burn out?”
Voriah projected concern.
“One of the symptoms of burnout is irrational anger at the person you’re caring for.” Rachmiel wove his fingers around one another. “Which might explain what happened.”
Voriah projected agreement, then added, “And since prayer is one of the preventatives for burnout...”
Rachmiel shivered. “What can I do about that? He’s not likely to accept a suggestion to back off.”
“Didn’t Josai’el tell you to start taking control? Maybe that’s how to start. Do whatever it takes to make him decompress.” Voriah shrugged. “I figure that’s why he’s going out at night. And you can ask leading questions without being critical. I don’t need to tell you that. Empathy is your nature.”
Rachmiel snapped, “How do you empathize with an emotional black hole?” before cringing at his own words.
Voriah flashed close to him. “I think you pray about it.”