Florian locked eyes at me. "After our walk…want to come over?"
I gasped and stared at him. Did this mean what I thought it did?
Florian's voice fell lower and softer, a bit husky. "You can stay over, if you want. I'll cook you dinner."
My soul leapt for joy as I stood transfixed, mesmerized by the forwardness of that invitation. "Yes, I do. Absolutely." Even if this was just a meal and nothing else, I accepted it eagerly.
He smiled and gave an awkward half-shrug, only now becoming bashful. "Looking forward to it."
Taking my leave of Florian, I met Solomon out on the street. At my approach, Solomon lowered his hood to reveal his tan face, dark Italian curls, and startlingly crystal blue eyes.
He nodded in greeting. "Good afternoon, Gabriel."
"Happy Monday."
We fell into step. "I thought I would swing by and see the apartment you'll be moving into today."
In the rush, I had totally forgotten that was happening today, but I knew I hadn't told Solomon about it. I held back my annoyance that Andrea and Solomon had been discussing details about me without including me in the conversation. Though surely it was unintentional, it still made me feel like a child.
"As soon as I can get permission to work, I'm going to make payments to Andrea in hopes of keeping the unit."
Solomon nodded. "I'll call the city labor office again in the morning. Two weeks isn't long, but you know how it goes."
"Thank you."
We both stopped short as a young Orthodox Jewish boy flew in front of us on a scooter, long black coat and side curls trailing in his wake. A straight top hat rested on his head, completely undisturbed by his velocity. We resumed walking.
"So how do you know that coffee shop?" Solomon asked congenially.
"That shop is run by Florian Schwarz—he's a friend I made this weekend at the festival."
"Oh, that's wonderful." We walked a while more in silence. Solomon appeared to be deep in thought. "Florian Schwarz," he repeated to himself.
"Yes. Do you know him?"
"I don't think so, it's just—oh."
Solomon stopped and abruptly turned to face back in the direction of the Schöner Himmel. I backtracked and found him staring off into another time, his sharp blue eyes sad.
"Florian Schwarz. That's it. I said that name a thousand times, one long night, praying the rosary with his mother. She was beside herself, utterly hysterical with worry."
The city around us fell away. It was like the air itself held still, no longer breathing with us. "Why?"
Solomon's gaze shifted side to side, as if examining the memory. "It was something horrible…I was newly ordained. That had been my first-time keeping vigil with a parishioner all night like that. Several years ago—that's it. A terrorist attack. And she couldn't get a hold of her son. I think it was the one in Berlin, the Christmas markets in 2015."
My heart broke, and only then did I feel my angel standing beside me, paying witness to Solomon's story without a word.
Solomon unconsciously fingered the crucifix that hung around his neck and lay over his robes. "That poor woman. Florian Schwarz. I wonder if that's him."
"It could be," I admitted sadly. "When I told him about my amnesia, he said he was a strong believer in new beginnings."
Solomon pulled out of the memory and locked eyes with me. I found eager hope there. "Is he well?"
"I think so." Though I couldn't be truly sure—I barely knew Florian—but Solomon looked like he needed that confirmation. "He's a hard worker."
Solomon scanned my face for sincerity, then stared back toward the shop another moment. He seemed to be silently praying. Then he turned away. "I have said too much. Forgive me for oversharing. I trust you'll keep what I've told you in confidence."
"Of course. I promise."
It took one trip to move my meager belongings across Augarten to the small one-room apartment. I passed out on my new bed while Solomon perused my library books. I woke to find him gone.
Chapter Twelve
That afternoon, I settled in my chair to meditate, my feet planted firmly on the floor. I am falling for a spiritual man, and I want to understand him, I prayed.
The air in the apartment lit with curiosity and I knew this presence, that of the angel who guided me. I focused the imagery: found the angel wings painted on the wall, and the terra cotta statue of the Watcher. But I didn't want the statue; I wanted my guardian angel, that voice who spoke to me.
Let's make this visual, and call me Ian.
My heart sped up at learning his name, which made it all the more difficult to get into my meditative state.
I heard him laugh, then the air next to the Watcher's right shoulder shimmered.
Wait a second. "It is possible for me to see you? Could I have been visualizing you all this time?"
I am here. I will not create a visual form for you. If you want to see me, you will have to do it yourself.
"If I imagine a human form, will you take that shape?" If I could see a friendly face…
If what you produce on the mental plane is solid enough, I will take it. This has to do with your own visualization training.
I smirked. "What if you think whatever I come up with is ugly? You won't get mad?"
He chuckled. No. Go ahead.
I stared at the shimmering mass next to the statue and thought of a friendly face. Solomon came to mind, then Florian. But it couldn't be someone I knew—that would be awkward.
You have the shape, now just go for different characteristics.
"Grey eyes, like mine." I spoke the traits aloud, which gave them a more solid form in my imagination. "Tall, as tall as I, so I'm not the only one." I felt him scoff. "Nicer clothes than I have, or at least no stains from gardening, or holes. Brown hair, lighter than Florian's. Dark eyebrows, but not as dark as Solomon's."
Hold the image. Make it sharp.
I struggled a bit longer, then huffed. "I can't. I keep just seeing the shimmering air. What I describe isn't real." It was lost, unformed in the imagination inside my imagination.
Then close your eyes and take me with you. Imagine me in the room with you. Say to me the things you want me to know.
I felt my butt in the hard desk chair, my socked feet planted on the wooden floor of my small apartment in Augarten. The physical sensations threatened to pull me back into the room and out of my meditative state completely. This was hard.
Then Solomon was there, praying over me, his gentle voice soothing, his hand on my head so calming. "I want him to pray over me again."
Enough to become a Christian?
"…I don't want to become a Christian, but I want Solomon to pray with me anyway." I felt that emotion bubbling up in my chest, threatening to break my focus. I was so weak; I flailed and cried for anyone to pay attention, to touch me and be kind to me, like a child. That wretchedness, that yawning insecurity overwhelmed everything.
Make me as solid as Solomon.
There.
Snapped into place was a man so tall that, from my seated position, I had to arch my neck to meet his grey eyes. Medium brown eyebrows and dark blond hair, clean shaven, put together. He wore a long-sleeved, button-up linen shirt tucked into khakis with a canvas belt, as if everything in my imagination came in shades of the same color, like an old photograph.
I stared up in awe. "Hallo, Ian."
Boring.
Though I heard his voice, the image stood frozen, as if my visualization was so shaky he could not inhabit it and make it move. I strained and his slacks changed to grey. Pulled again, and his shirt changed to a pale lilac sweater. "Will that work? I'm not sure I can manage anything more."
"Good." His voice sounded more casual now, like normal conversation. "Now return to the garden."
I imagined the breeze outside and opened my eyes to find the wall painted with angel wings. The terra cotta warrior stood to my left as always. In place of the shimmering air to the statue's right stood Ian. The wi
ngless angel leaned against the Watcher, arms crossed, his expression unamused.
I pointed to the brick wall. "Where are your wings? You're an angel, aren't you?"
He squinted at me, catching the jab. "It's your problem if you can't see them. Remember, this is all you. I don't have a physical body like yours. I don't need one, either."
His voice sounded exactly like a human voice. "I can't believe I can hear you." This was all so cool.
He brightened. "Your mental training is paying off. It helps that you do it every day."
I scuffed the cobblestones with the toe of my sneakers, hands jammed in my pockets. "Thank you for being my angel."
He yawned, giving the Watcher statue his full weight. "You don't own me—I am not yours—but I don't mind you calling me your guardian angel. You're just referring to me by my current job description."
"So I can call you Ian?" It felt overly intimate to say, even though it was just a name.
His expression softened. "Your soul knows my true name, but we shouldn't delve into that." He elbowed the Watcher as if the statue were a rambunctious drinking buddy at a rugby game. "Don't want to set him off."
The angel's words told me more than he might have noticed. "We…we're friends, you and I. My amnesia kept me from piecing it together. I know you far better than I realize. In fact…we're close. You and I are best friends." With every fiber of my being, I knew this to be true. Butterflies took flight in my stomach. I was overjoyed to have someone who knew me.
He stared, a wall thicker than the brick boundary of Augarten behind his eyes. He clenched his jaw and swallowed but said nothing.
I ran a hand through my hair, the pain of that revelation lacing through me like a whip. Here before me was someone important, and I couldn't even remember him.
I glanced between him and the statue. "So you're really not the Watcher."
Ian lifted an eyebrow. "Do I look like a terra cotta statue to you?"
"No," I said with utmost respect. "You are an angel. I'm sorry to misunderstand."
Ian nodded at the statue. "Maria was on point for many Western occult traditions. The Watcher at the Threshold is a downward-facing projection of your Higher Self, put in place to keep you away from spiritual practice before you are truly ready. If anything, he looks more like you than me, because you are the one who put him there."
I scrutinized the statue. "Why do I imagine my Higher Self to look so scary? Isn't he just…my soul?"
Ian smirked. "He's quite the mug, isn't he? But he serves a vital purpose. You have made some mistakes, and the risks are high this time around."
This time around… "I know that he is guarding me against intense spiritual practice, because anytime I get too deep into a meditative state, he draws his sword. If I made some kind of mistake, my guess is that I somehow melted my brain and gave myself amnesia, and the Watcher is guarding me from doing that again."
Furthermore, going overboard in my enthusiasm felt like something I would do, if I knew myself at all. Especially when it came to the mystery, to the gods, and to Florian's prayers that had hooked me from the very moment I’d laid eyes on him. I itched to know everything I was missing. I wanted to find the people who knew me, even if those people weren't human.
Ian hummed. "We can work with that."
The angel's cryptic statements never definitively confirmed my speculation.
"So, if I stick to simple meditations, can I really recover my memories? Even if I could just see the man I'm holding in the mornings right before I wake up." Each time, he felt so sweet, but when I fully woke, his absence tore at me.
Not only that, but I was very rapidly falling for Florian. Yet if I had someone waiting for me, I did not want to betray them. Assuming this man even wanted to see me again, that there was no domestic violence issue, or something else in the way, to explain why he wasn't searching for me.
Ian pursed his lips, shoved his hands in his pockets, and leaned against the statue. He regarded me the way a bored child might gaze upon his elderly pet goldfish who was overdue to die.
I squirmed. "Do I have the cart before the horse, somehow?"
Ian nodded, narrowing his eyes at me. "With broken wheels on the cart, and you've shot the horse."
I winced. He stepped forward and cupped his hands around my face, and I looked at him, my chest filled with longing. "Why can I not talk to Florian's gods?"
A shadow passed behind Ian's eyes. "I'm afraid that is permanent, at least for this lifetime."
I gasped. "You mean I'll never be able to, even if I recover my memories?"
"You won't recover your memories, Gabriel. Best to accept that now and move forward with me."
My breath whooshed out of me as if he had punched me in the stomach. "What do you mean? How am I supposed to know who I am? What about my family?"
The angel released me, turned around, and slowly paced the length of the path leading in from the front gate of Augarten. "All about who you are can be found by looking inward, and what you have left of your family is already here with you."
This was all too much, and I found myself crying, though I knew not why. Tears spilled into my hands, either sadness at what I had lost or gratitude at what I had gained, or both. Losing the idea of my family knowing me but gaining an angel who spoke to me.
Ian met my gaze, pain written on his features.
"I'm sorry," I said, choking on my words. "I need to be a human for a moment." That was the only thing I could think of to tell him as my emotions ravaged me.
Ian pushed his hands into the pockets of his trousers and regarded the far wall, his voice falsely neutral, clearly holding something back. "Angels cry too, especially guardians."
I scoffed, distracted from my grief. "Why? If I had wings, I'd fly away from whatever caused me pain."
He barked a laugh and glanced at me. "That's why I'm the angel in this pairing."
Dragging the back of my hand across my eyes, I swallowed the rest of my grief and collected myself. "I trust you. A guardian angel would not sabotage his charge—that's counterintuitive to your job description."
"That is true," he answered with a smile in his tone.
"And you can't be anything other than a guardian angel. You aren't a demon, at least. You wouldn't have made it past the holy water Solomon said was used to consecrate Augarten when it was built."
Ian's eyes lit up. "Indeed. And you've got that banishing ritual Florian taught you, which goes a long way."
That piqued my interest. "My amnesia is like a mental block. Is this block what is keeping me from the gods?"
He cocked his head to the side in thought. "Sure."
I joined him, needing to pace as well. It helped me think. "But this doesn't stop me from turning inward, per se, right? Even with the Watcher statue there, I can still have a spiritual life…I just cannot pray to anyone." Far better than nothing, but still, it felt so lonely.
Ian shrugged with a nonchalance that came off as forced. "You could pray to me?"
I stopped. "Why would I pray to you, when I could just talk to you?"
He blinked. "What do you think prayer is, Gabriel?"
I scratched the back of my head. "Fair enough. Sorry about that. And…"
He waited while I summoned the courage to restart.
"Thanks for being here," I said, my chest aching with loss. "Thanks for being here with me."
He huffed, scuffing his shoe on the path. "You're welcome, Gabriel."
"One more question?"
He regarded me, his dark blond eyebrows rising.
I took a deep breath to calm myself. "Just before I wake up, at the tail end of my dreaming, I feel someone with me, a man I'm holding. Is he you?"
His eyes widened a moment. Then he crossed the path and took my hand. I stared down at my hand in his, a curious tingling skittering across my skin, but not the solid feeling of another human touching me. More like a thin piece of cloth, somehow made of gifts from the sun.
"Did it
feel like this?" he asked softly. "This is what I feel like."
I tried to remember the feeling of the man in my arms in the mornings. He felt real, real in a way only another human could be. "I don't think so…"
Ian's smile held no sadness, only love. "Then it wasn't me."
I sighed in frustration. "If he isn't you, then how can I find him if I can't recover my memories? Why isn't he searching for me?"
Ian frowned and leaned forward to stare me right in the face.
I swallowed, searching for answers in his grey eyes and coming up empty. "What is it?"
The angel flicked me on the forehead, hard, and I jolted back into my apartment.
Chapter Thirteen
That evening, I spotted Florian pacing his circle and settled onto a park bench a respectable distance away, intending to wait for him to finish. However, as soon as I sat, Florian looked up and waved. Smoothing my sweaty palms on my trousers, I stood and mentally coached myself to keep it cool.
I made it to the circle. "I hope I didn't interrupt you."
Florian brushed the comment away. "Not at all. Come on, let's get into the maze. It's been a while since I've zig-zagged through here."
We entered the section of the garden lined with trees.
"My friend, the priest, is helping me feel my way through religions in an attempt to find out about who I was before."
"Oh? Any luck?"
"Not so far. I must not have been a believer of any of the Abrahamic faiths, even though I believe in angels. Catholicism, Islam, and Judaism don't feel familiar to me, yet atheism is an even worse fit. How could I work in a garden all day and not believe that plants have souls?" Plus, I could see magic, plain as day.
Florian's smile was tender. "That tells you something though—you believe in souls. Your comment brings up an interesting question: I wonder whether people who work with machines in a completely human-built environment all day are more likely to be atheists. Their world is filled with nonliving things, so they assume everywhere else must be the same."
"Hmm."
Florian turned when we reached the entry at the far side of the garden and took the path along the perimeter. "Any elucidating dreams?"
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