Angel Dust

by Sarah Mussi

  Harry winked. ‘Don’t be shy,’ he said, ‘I won’t tell. And he’s one of us.’ He gestured at a barman who was busy closing up.

  ‘One of us?’ I peered at the barman. He completely ignored me.

  ‘Works for me,’ smiled Harry. ‘Very discreet. Now drink up.’

  How strange it all was. An angel working behind a bar? Then I caught my breath. Perhaps he was working undercover! Part of the inspection team. Lord. I turned to look at Harry, eyes wide. He handed me my flute.

  ‘But,’ I hesitated, ‘I’ve never drunk alcohol before.’

  ‘It’s quite easy,’ he said, ‘you lift the glass to your lips, tip it and swallow.’

  ‘That wasn’t what I meant.’

  ‘No?’ he said, all playful. ‘Well, I think the evening you fall in love might be a good time to start, don’t you, Lara?’

  ‘But, Harry,’ I started again. He seemed so sure I’d fallen in love. Had I? Surely not? I shuddered. That would be a terrible thing.

  ‘Larry,’ he corrected.

  But what about the sign? What if Marcus was the one?

  ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I thought you said Harry.’

  ‘You’re as bad as me,’ he laughed.

  He had said Harry. I was sure of it.

  ‘No “buts” allowed tonight,’ Larry said with a mischievous look, holding up his glass. I felt confused. I felt embarrassed. Had I really misheard his name? It would be rude now to refuse a simple drink. And if he was an Inspector, it must be OK.

  Mustn’t it?

  I thought of Heaven and all the rules. I was sure (although I’d never had the opportunity to check – believe me, in the Cloisters even mentioning manna-dew raises eyebrows) that alcohol on any kind of occasion was prohibited. I felt pretty certain of it, but as Larry filled his glass and peered at me: first through the bubbling nectar, with such teasing looks, such charming smiles; and then peeking his head around the edge of the glass as if he was hiding from the Big Bad Rule Book of Heaven, I burst out laughing.

  If there were such rules as No Alcohol in Heaven, or No Alcohol on Heavenly Assignments, they were very silly rules! There, that’s what I thought! And they’d probably been made up by old St Peter, who was the stickliest stick-in-the-mud ever, and had no authority to put them there in the first place.

  I raised my glass.

  ‘To our success,’ toasted Larry.

  ‘Absolutely,’ I said.

  ‘To your young man’s next eighteen years,’ he added. ‘And to our little bargain.’

  ‘Yes! Yes!’ I said.

  ‘Go on, then,’ said Larry. ‘Be a devil.’

  I looked at him over the rim of my glass. We ought not to joke about the Devil.

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘OK, Barbara,’ he said. ‘Be an angel, then! Whatever!’

  He drank long and deep, only stopping to say, ‘Ah, the nectar of the gods.’ Whereupon he refilled his glass again. Right up to the very top.

  I felt a bit giddy. I felt a bit naughty. Larry was a very strange Inspector – so young and modern. But he was right – I should live a little (and I had saved a life and potentially a soul – all in one go). I sipped at the edge of my glass.

  Oh my!

  My first ever taste of champagne! It bubbled! It burned in fizzy strength against my lips. I could feel it. I could taste the ice-cold, tart flavour of grape and vinegar, of fruit and of something . . . something so intoxicating and thirst-making. It was wonderful.

  ‘Good, huh?’ said Larry.

  ‘Umm,’ I agreed.

  Larry reached over, grabbed the bottle, picked up my glass and filled it up again.

  ‘I know a much more exciting way of drinking it,’ he whispered, his eyes alive with amusement. He leaned forward and whispered in my ear. ‘A champagne kiss.’

  I looked at him. I think I was shocked, despite the heady rush of wine.

  ‘Naughty but very nice,’ he winked.

  ‘What’s a champagne kiss?’ I whispered, half guessing.

  He waggled a finger in front of my face. ‘Not for angels, Tamara,’ he said. ‘Only for bad girls!’

  He made bad girls sound so exciting.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘hang out with me and everything’s fun.’ He finished off the champagne. ‘But we can’t be naughty all evening, and however many more bottles are chilling for us, we’ve business to attend to.’

  He pulled a small case out of his pocket, flicked it open and withdrew a pair of thick horn-rimmed spectacles from inside. Sliding them on to his nose, he peered over them with an expression of the utmost mock gravity.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘to business and to small print.’

  I looked up, confused.

  ‘Of the contract, my dear.’

  ‘OK,’ I said.

  ‘Thing is,’ he said, smiling, half-apologetically, ‘Marcus’s name actually was on the Manifest of those due to go off to the roaster tonight.’

  ‘I know,’ I said. Was he still jesting, or was he serious now? I replaced my glass carefully on the counter, the bubbles inside it bursting.

  ‘So the thing is,’ he repeated, ‘we’ve got to sort of keep the Rate of Exchange balanced.’

  The Rate of Exchange?

  ‘How do we do that?’ I asked.

  ‘Simple as a pimple,’ he said.

  I looked at him, waiting.

  ‘Send someone else in his place.’

  Serafina 6

  Send somebody in his place? A sinking feeling plummeted straight through me. I looked at Larry, alarmed.

  He grinned sheepishly. ‘It’s not as bad as it sounds,’ he said, laying a reassuring hand on my arm. He shook his golden locks in a hit-me-I-am-so-guilty way. ‘Really, it’s not.’ He pulled a grimace.

  Send somebody in his place?

  ‘I know! I should have told you before you signed and stuff, but you and Marcus looked so perfect together, and I’m such a sucker for true love.’ Larry looked at me with big blue eyes.

  I couldn’t seem to take in what he was saying.

  ‘And he looks like the kind of young man who so desperately needs a Guardian Angel,’ offered Larry, looking at me over the rim of his glasses and opening his eyes even wider.

  Cold fingers plucked at my chest.

  ‘And I could tell it would just break your heart to send him to the pits.’ Larry twisted his champagne glass anxiously in his hand.

  What was he talking about?

  Behind him the police unrolled blue and white tape, cordoned off the dance floor, spoke into walkie-talkies. From outside a siren wailed.

  ‘I just didn’t want you to have to make that choice, not at that time, not in that way.’

  But to kill another to save Marcus?

  ‘Please, Tiara, don’t look at me like that.’

  I blinked. Of course I shouldn’t look at him like that. He’d only been trying to help. It wasn’t his fault.

  ‘I got it wrong, didn’t I?’ he said.

  He’d seen how I looked at Marcus. He’d wanted the world for us. And I could tell from the way he smiled so hopefully up at me, so remorsefully through his golden eyelashes, that he was a complete romantic. He’d just been trying to help. It was churlish of me to be so abashed. But to send someone else in Marcus’s place? Yes, he’d got it wrong. Very. Very wrong. I couldn’t. I wouldn’t.

  ‘But you’ve already signed,’ Larry reminded me nervously.

  And I had already signed. I’d thoughtlessly, carelessly, criminally committed myself to a contract without taking time to understand it. I’d messed up for real. And this time it was major. And now I was going to have to illegally Collect someone to put it right. It was as good as murder. I felt my cheeks rush hot, then cold. How could I have done that?

  ‘You were flustered,’ reminded Larry. ‘I even had to catch Marcus for you.’

  Yes, I was flustered and besotted and stupid and trying to pretend I was human, I was longing to be a teenage girl and imagining I was one, when I wasn’t
and never could be. I was vain and proud and envious. And I should’ve known better! I should. I was a Seraph (albeit only a teenage Seraph in Heaven’s years – but that was no excuse); I was beloved of Heaven, a being that sat on the right hand of God. I should’ve known much MUCH better. I hung my head.

  ‘I’ll have to go and confess to St Peter straight away,’ I whispered.

  ‘Hey, hang on,’ smiled Larry, ‘it really isn’t that bad, I hope. Honestly, it’s not as bad as you think.’

  Not as bad as I think? I couldn’t think of anything worse!

  Guiltily I jumped up, turned to go, to accept my fate, confess all and be banished to Soul Recycling Duty in Purgatorium forever. I’d failed in my responsibility. I didn’t deserve anything better. It was that simple.

  ‘Please,’ said Larry, ‘just hear me out.’

  He put his hand again on mine; the bar lights swirled, the champagne sent a few tiny bubbles up my flute. I watched them peak and pop. The giant disco ball started to turn. Light sparkled off it, sparkled off the bucket, sparkled off the bottle, off the ice cubes and the glasses, but I wasn’t sparkling any more.

  ‘Please?’ begged Larry again.

  ‘Why?’ I said reluctantly, knowing I should get up immediately and go and confess.

  ‘Thing is,’ he said, ‘it’s not such a big deal, you see . . . but I’m not sure I can say this . . .’ He mumbled, seeing my blanched, worried look.

  ‘Just say it,’ I sighed.

  ‘Well,’ Larry took a huge breath, ‘I know this may sound a bit heartless, but Marcus wasn’t the only one who got shot this evening.’ I looked up at him, trying to fathom what he meant.

  ‘You see, his best pal, Joey Bigga, got shot too and . . .’

  What was he suggesting? That I send Joey Bigga in his place? I couldn’t believe it! This was too much. Condemn Marcus’s best friend to the fiery pits? How awful. How heartless. How two-faced.

  It was outrageous.

  ‘Please hang on,’ pleaded Larry.

  I looked at him in complete shock. A new terror was forming. Why was he pleading with me to listen? If he was an Inspector, he’d order me to. I was confused. Maybe he wasn’t an Inspector at all. No Inspector would ever even recommend swapping souls like that, would they?

  ‘Who are you?’ I said.

  ‘Imagine . . . you really must let me explain. Let me do a little reconstruction – repeat the scenario. Please?’

  ‘You’re not an Inspector at all, are you?’

  ‘Pleeeease.’

  But before I could demand to know exactly who he was, Larry launched into a full explanation.

  ‘Joey and Marcus are shot, both are bleeding to death; both are sinful creatures, both partners in crime, equal in guilt.’ Larry nodded at me, keen to get me to concur.

  ‘I suppose,’ I agreed.

  ‘The paramedics arrive. Joey happens to be closer to the exit. They attend to him first. Then they call up a reserve team for the other victim. Voilà! Disco! Joey lives. Marcus dies. Is that fair?’

  ‘But that’s was what was scheduled to happen,’ I said dully.

  ‘Chance, luck, fate, ill fortune! If Joey had crossed the room a few minutes before the Crow and his crew entered, Marcus would have been closer to the exit, and he would have got the emergency first-aid treatment before Joey.’

  ‘But,’ I said, sighing, folding my wings in around my sides. ‘Joey didn’t.’

  ‘I know,’ said Larry, ‘believe me. I know, and I feel so bad about it. And by the way I’m an Independent Celestial Advisor. I broker all sorts of Heavenly deals.’

  ‘I see,’ I said. I didn’t see anything – except that there were further huge embarrassing gaps in the Cloisters’ Angelic Curriculum.

  ‘I really feel very bad about the Rate of Exchange,’ he said. ‘But it’s beyond my control. Now if you could have placed your deal earlier, I could have spared you the un-pleasantries.’

  ‘So you’re a Business Angel,’ I said.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘but someone’s got to broker loans, manage repayments, work out interest levels. Someone’s got to be ready to sue for compensation in the Halls of the Dead.’

  I sighed. Of course. I should have realised Extensions were far too simple to be true.

  ‘Look, next time call me first. With a bit of time there could have been more choice. Here’s my card: Claim Souls Direct.’

  More choice? Did he mean he could have selected some other poor unfortunate being to send to Hell?

  ‘None of it’s personal,’ said Larry dejectedly, ‘but business is so cut-throat these days. Other celestial dealers would have demanded much tougher terms. It’s no wonder I don’t make any profit.’ He put his head in his arms.

  He sounded so upset. I put out a hand and laid it on his shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, this isn’t your fault. I shall take the blame,’ I asserted very magnanimously.

  Larry looked at me through grateful eyes. ‘I saw you and Marcus together. I saw a glimpse of a glorious future for you both. I love happy endings.’ He sighed and looked sadly into his glass. ‘I never had a chance at a happy ending.’

  There was something in his voice, something broken and immeasurably moving that cut straight to my heart. He wasn’t just giving me any old sales patter. He really meant it.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered. ‘All I did was cause a bit of chaos; get the kids to cluster a bit more around Joey, so there was a clear path to Marcus when the meds came in. You really shouldn’t blame yourself. It was the paramedics who decided which one to save.’

  I felt too ashamed to follow his logic. How could I blame it on the paramedics? Here I was drinking champagne, in a nightclub, after having not Collected the soul that I was charged to Collect, after having signed an Extension Contract, without having read the small print. And now I was being talked into sending the best friend of the boy I’d pledged on my Holy Oath to watch over – to Hell. How could I blame all that on the paramedics?

  I despised myself.

  I was the worst, sloppiest, most despicable kind of angel ever.

  Suddenly Larry looked like he’d swallowed a hedgehog. ‘Christmas!’ he said. ‘It’s a bit late to get upset now,’ and he gestured behind me.

  I turned. I saw Joey stretched out. The paramedics were giving up. One of them started to lift the thermal blanket up, to cover Joey’s face. Another was unpacking a body bag.

  Joey was already dead!

  What the Hell was I going to do now?

  Serafina 7

  Joey was dead. How could that be? Hastily I scanned the room to see if another Angel of Death had arrived. Nobody.

  It was quite extraordinary. Joey had died all by himself.

  ‘Why don’t you go and give him a nice send-off, Kiara? That’ll make you feel better. It really wasn’t your fault,’ urged Larry.

  I should go straight to the Pearly Gates. I should tell St Peter immediately. I knew I should. But if I left Joey’s soul unattended to, the demons would get it. I could see they were back already, greedily stretching out their diabolical tentacles towards him.

  I could hardly believe he hadn’t been provided with an angel. How could I abandon him? Leave his soul for those foul spectres to suck up? He was Marcus’s best friend, for God’s sake! I wouldn’t leave a dog for those shades to feast on. I had to decide. Joey was Passing Over right now. I could see his soul hovering, peeking out from his body, scared, shocked, alone.

  ‘Probably be a good idea to help him out,’ repeated Larry, nodding at the wisp of grey bobbing up from the stricken corpse.

  What else could I have done? How could I have forsaken him?

  ‘If you leave him to the beasties, you’ll be in even worse trouble,’ whispered Larry.

  I thought about it. He was right. To switch Joey with Marcus, for somehow I knew that’s exactly what had happened, then condemn him to Hell without a chance to repent and leave him unattended to, and allow Lucifer’s hordes to get him first. It was unforgivab
le, like being drunk behind a wheel and hitting someone and driving off at top speed and not reporting it. The Superiors at the Cloisters had certainly told me about that kind of wickedness. The sin of neglect. The sin of cowardice. The sin of being self-serving. No, I must help him. I had to do my best to put right the wrongs I’d created.

  So I got up off my bar stool and hurried to Joey’s side. The paramedics had already given up. Police were everywhere: taping off the dance floor, inspecting the corpse, chalking round the body. Obviously they couldn’t see Larry or me.

  Without a second thought I took up a fighting stand. Those demons as sure as Hell were going to get it. They crept forward, vile things. First I sent a volley of thunderbolts at them. Then I shook my tresses and summoned the great airy storms of Elysium to sweep them away. They turned tail and fled.

  Then I caught the grey wisp in my arms. Joey Bigga’s soul. I would help him for Marcus’s sake.

  ‘Hey Joey,’ I called softly.

  It turned and, seeing me, began to tremble like a naked child.

  I unfurled one wing and sheltered it. I allowed it to recollect itself, to know that it was going to be protected. It grew stronger and more defined under my touch. At last it managed to shake itself free of its body (always those last few wisps) and assume the full size that had been Joey. It clothed itself in the memory of its garments, and started to look again like Joey Bigga. Yes, Joey in his leather jacket, his designer sunglasses, his jeans and high-tops.

  ‘I’ll look after you,’ I said, filled with pity – for as I spoke Joey hunted about him. On his face was disbelief, astonishment that all the good times had ended, surprise that the reckoning hour had come.

  I took in his measure. Yes, Joey’s soul was not overly large. He’d done a few good deeds in his life, but nothing remarkable – just little acts of friendship mostly inspired by self-interest. My heart eased a bit. There wasn’t one spotless wisp of pure white on his soul. Perhaps Larry was right. I hadn’t made such a huge blunder. Joey was damned anyway, and the world was well rid of him.