An Angel's Ascent

by Christina Worrell

  I had an antique broker coming for lunch shortly. I'd already ordered small sandwiches from next door, and was hoping the sword and dagger he had for me were the ones I’d been searching endlessly for. I’d found a reference to them in a book some years ago and only recently stumbled upon the set. The man refused for some time to sell it to me. I have connections to book dealers and when he found this out, he decided a visit was in order. Yay for me… my connections were quite surprising considering my age, and the length of time I’ve been in business.

  The bell rang, and I looked up. Michael was here to take out my trash and help me with some heavy medieval armor I’d bought recently. I get shipments in at various times, sometimes twice a week or as little as once a month.

  He was a good kid and refused to take my money when I offered to pay him.

  “Hi Angel, how are you today?” he asked, walking up to where I was rearranging a candle display. People tended to finger the displays. It apparently was an uncontrollable urge with adults as well as children. Who knew?

  “Busy as always, and you?” Michael was a sweetie, and if I had to take a guess he had a huge crush on me. As if it wasn’t already obvious.

  I have to elaborate here though that throughout my thoughts I may sound a little biased maybe even conceited, it might be a trait others say I need to work on, but deep down, I don’t think I am. After the loss of my mother during the time I was an orphan, I quickly learned to praise and acknowledge my accomplishments like she would have. In this cruel world, you can’t do that enough, or the turmoil and utter pandemonium of everything happening around you could break your soul and change you for life.

  “Did it come in yet?” he asked, helping himself to a soda. I was feeling a need to kick him for scaring me so badly the night before.

  “Yep, it’s in the back; the delivery guys cried the whole time they were here about how heavy it was. Think we can do it?” I joked with him. My small frame amazed people when they saw how strong I was, well people other than Michael. I could lift two hundred pounds without breaking a sweat, repeatedly. If I didn’t know better I’d say one of my parents were not human. What a thought…

  “Yeah, not a problem, I lift weights remember...” he said smiling. I tried hard not to laugh. I could just imagine him flexing his muscles. He probably was mentally. I didn’t think he was conceited, laughing at my humor.

  “I hadn't noticed,” I said smiling back. I always teased him. Actually, I had noticed. It was hard not to. He was cute by any standards but was just barely eighteen, and I know twenty is only two years but older is older. I was, in my opinion, out of his age range. Again, I waited for the right one. Michael was great, but not that great. I wanted to see stars or swoon or something. I was starting to think this little town would not be the place where I’d find that.

  No stars here, but definitely good eye candy.

  He was painfully shy around most girls his age, and I admit we females are evil at times to the opposite sex. I was pretty sure he’s still a virgin like me. Nothing wrong with that, in my opinion, but obviously, it was unheard of to most of the people our age. It was like a plague I guess. Girls were wanted when they were innocent but guys were avoided at all costs. I felt sorry for him, wishing I could set him up with Raven. They’d make each other very happy. If only he’d notice her. Something told me I’d have to break his heart someday, and it’d probably break mine as well. I'd never see him as more than a friend, or maybe like a brother.

  I showed him where the armor was, still packed in its crate. He started opening them while I made room up front by the door. The front of my store was for the medieval items like the daggers and such, the back of the room for books, and an open room to the right was my witchcraft supplies. My cash register and laptop sat upon a small desk behind the armor and weapons. Through the witchcraft room was another door that held my storage and new orders, always locked of course.

  “Angel, I uh, was wondering if you were busy Friday?” his face was red and splotchy.

  I stalled by tripping over an imaginary something and landing on my butt. I didn't want to hurt his feelings, but well, how do you say no? I hated hurting people. I seemed to do it any ways on a weekly basis.

  “Are you alright?” he asked rushing to me, genuine concern written all over him and bombarding me emotionally.

  “Yeah, clumsy that’s all.” I said, pushing him away. Knowing everyone’s true feelings made it hard to stay friends with someone when they felt about you differently than you felt for them.

  He helped me up and kept an arm on me anyways, steadying me. Touching people increased the empathy. It had taken many years to realize I was an empath. I was just now learning about the touching and that in large crowds it was overpowering. Sometimes the overflow of emotions from large groups of people could be intensely crippling. I stayed away from anything more than a small shopping center when it was possible.

  To put this in a more personal perspective imagine being around a large number of emotionally charged people at a convention, concert, or political debate and unwillingly sucking up every single individual person's emotion inside yourself in a single moment of time. Yeah, so like I said, ‘crippling’ to say the least.

  “Why do you ask? I mean about Friday?” I had to face this.

  He seemed to lose his courage and looked away. I guess he felt there was no way back though, because he went ahead and explained.

  “Well this bands coming to the club Deaths Door, and I don’t want to go alone. I don’t mean as a date, unless you want to, but as friends... they’re a good band...” He’d go on if I’d not interrupted just then.

  “Yeah I’ll go, as a friend. I'm not dating right now with this business taking up all my time. I need to get out sometime anyways. I’ve been stuck in this building way too long. What’s the band’s name?” I really did; I was going to go crazy if I didn’t. Suffer from some kind of youth dementia or cabin fever, which is along the lines of sensory deprivation that can drive even the strongest minds insane. I didn’t need to be the demented book seller on the block, so getting out and having some fun was necessary and quite possibly immanent. My mind and body needed it.

  I patted my backside getting any dust or dirt off. Michael’s eyes flickered to that area, and then he looked the other way. A brief flare of desire shot through him, which made me blush.

  “Well, Undead Ones.”

  “I don't think I’ve heard of them; they're good?”

  “Oh yeah, they’re bad ass!” He said with enthusiasm, an adjective he no doubt picked up from yours truly with her special book worm vocabulary. A light shined from his eyes. Music must have been a passion for him, as it was for me. He was suddenly uplifted emotionally. Usually he was on the depressed side.

  He told me about the band while we manhandled the armor to the spot I wanted it. It took about twenty minutes.

  “I know you close at ten Fridays, but I was going to go at seven or so, is that cool?” he asked when the last of the customers had left. I dropped the latest bundle of cash in my safe as I answered him.

  “Sure, want to meet here? It’s only a few blocks, so we can walk. Good exercise right?”

  He nodded, smiling.

  “Alright then seven Friday and, oh!” I said and then ran to the back. I pulled out the books he had ordered and laughed inwardly to myself. I hoped he hadn't ordered these to get closer to me. They were beginner books on witchcraft. Trying to picture Michael doing spells was just plain crazy.

  “I’ve been curious since I first came here. I’ve had some weird dreams lately, and thought these might help me.” He said as I walked back to the front.

  “I got a book I think might help you a lot if you want to borrow it.”

  “Sure, thanks,” he said.

  I went upstairs and quickly unlocked my door going straight to my living room where I normally read. It was lying exactly where I left it. I grabbed it and returned in less than two minutes. That is the awesome thing ab
out living alone… no one to move your things.

  “I’m still reading it. There’re a lot of useful things in it. Take your time, I read several books at once.” I’d read most of it, so I was fairly sure it was tame enough for him. Besides, I doubted he’d even read them. Much less attempt any of the things inside.

  “Alright thanks, see you Friday. Call if you need me!” he told me as he left, smiling like it was Christmas.

  I waved and went back to work. It was only Monday, so I had a few days still. I’d have to get someone to close for me, even if I closed early. I needed time to get ready.

  Dressing Goth, believe it or not, takes time. Every detail, no matter how trivial, adds to the enchanting mystery of it. Makeup alone would take forty-five minutes or more. I had plenty of clothes so often I’d either give them to my sisters in the coven or lend them never to be seen again. I was not upset with this because I could mentally envision my overflowing closet that held a cascade of black shirts, dresses, skirts, and pants either hanging or tossed onto the floor in a hurry, like a Gothic Niagara Falls.

  I was just finishing up the tarot cards when the door chimed. I glanced at my watch and realized my meeting would be early, but I was prepared.

  The dealer came in and introduced himself politely, and as I took the case a spark of deja vu hit. I glanced inside at the beautiful set and saw that it’d been cared for impressively. To my delight, it was the weapon set I wanted. I’d been searching for it all over the net and in several countries. I had to have this, even if the barter ended with me paying well over what any regular antiques dealer would. I was truly happy. I managed to bring the price down by over five hundred dollars in the end though. Considering what I ‘d put into finding it so far the set was worth every penny. Hell, it was worth more than my home to me.

  “I’d hoped to pass it down a few generations but alas, my wife has not conceived. So I decided that you being an antique collector of immense reputation, young or not, I thought that you’d take great care of it,” he said sadly. Mr. Forbes twiddled with his hat, creasing the brim repeatedly. He was an eighties man it seemed, fashionable and art crazy.

  Forbes was short and probably in his early seventies. He dressed from another era, and when he looked off into the distance, most likely in remembrance of something, his despair was great. Regret tingled along my spine briefly, before he snapped back to the presence and smiled. If I ever wrote someone’s biography, I knew his would top the list. I imagined lost secret love, a brief sordid affair that ended badly crushing several hearts. I was losing my mind… empathic abilities always varied depending upon the person and their greatest emotion at that current time. If I ever saw Forbes again the setting may be more pleasant.

  “I plan to keep it, not sell it and feel that these artifacts were made just for me. I’ve paid thousands just to find it. With all my work, I'd be pretty upset to lose it.” If he only knew what I’d been through to get them.

  I offered my sandwiches and the trimmings with lemonade. He accepted the iced lemonade with a lemon slice on the rim, happily, but declined the rest. He was in a hurry it seemed.

  “Well, I’m glad we are both satisfied. I have a long trip home and see you’re busy as well here. Take care and keep in touch. I may come across more interesting items,” the man smiled, finished off his drink quickly, and gathered his briefcase. He’d given me the papers stating its legitimacy, dating back several hundred years. Its Internet picture showed it looked new despite the age.

  I’d have believed I’d been scammed had I not been an Empath. I could sense his loss at having to part with it… and there was something else…. We shook hands again, and I caught death. Ah, that explained so much.

  My heart hurt at such a strong, sentimental figure being snuffed out. He’d not want my pity or sympathy, and I never shared my ability with anyone.

  After seeing Mr. Forbes out I took my new set to the back to examine later, when I’d touched the box, I felt as if this set belonged to just me. Like it had always been mine, and was now home. Interesting I thought, if touching the box made me feel this way. I wondered how touching the actual weapons would feel. It’d obviously have to wait, as I heard the chimes announcing more customers. I sighed and went back to work. I had to make some calls, so it would be late before I could even think about it.

  The afternoon went fairly well. I called Raven, and she agreed to close for me Friday. She had plans to go out but said she needed the money more.

  Getting feelings through machines were nearly impossible. I’ve tried before and eventually given up. I got whatever was given. Being an empath was not superhero stuff like in movies and comics, but more like a talent. Like chefs, mechanics, babysitters, accountants, and vets or scientists. Some people were just made to be better at things than others. The talent was not conjuring one up, but understanding correctly what and why one was given.

  I closed the shop as usual at seven and went upstairs. I had more work to do, so I couldn’t open the box of weapons. Groaning, I ate quickly so I could meet the girls again to hunt for more evil things.

  We decided to meet halfway. I took my time knowing they were probably hunting shoes this time or something. I laughed out loud at their silly natures. There were times when I felt at least ten years older than all of them. More like a teacher, or older sister than a friend. More like what people called ’old souls, whatever those were.

  Arriving at our meeting point clarified my assumption. They’d not shown up yet, making me wonder if I should just start telling them thirty minutes earlier.

  Hearing a sound in the alley made me spin about quickly. Investigation time it seemed. My impatience was a bad quality, something that needed major work. Sweat trickled down my back as I stepped quietly and steadily around trash, debris and boxes. The county really needed to enforce better laws when it came to stuff like this.

  The alley was dark and small, with few doors or windows in the surrounding buildings, those that existed were all boarded up or broken.

  Some of the buildings dated back to the early nineteen hundreds, if not earlier than that. Most on these blocks were abandoned because no one came here anymore. Store owners had moved a few streets over to the slightly better side of town.

  I eased slowly through the small and filthy alley, pulling my sword out and keeping it close to my body so no one saw it. Even if there was no one out here I couldn’t be too careful. I checked behind boxes and crates as a rat manifested from the dumpster causing me to indignantly squeak and jump. Scared-cat Angel, I hissed at myself. I can take on demons but jump at the sight of a rat.

  Sighing I moved a bit of trash with my foot while checking in an open doorway. There was nothing there but more trash. My fear was almost gone.

  I was just about to turn and head back when two men stepped out of the shadows. One was tall and hairy, while the other was short and ugly, almost comical in a way, both smelling of a city dump. I would not laugh though. Smart-ass I may be; I won’t lie, but I was also street smart. I couldn’t get any emotions off of them, but that’s the way it worked sometimes, that, or they had shields as I called them. Well, also drugs could affect the brain, making them sluggish and slow to everything.

  The tall toothless one wore a sleeveless army jacket stripped bare of any patches or pockets and hanging in threads around the shoulder and neckline. His beard was matted, and flies dove in and out making me nauseous. His beady eyes told me all I needed to know.

  His shorter buddy was not as filthy. He could have passed for a janitor. His teeth were still there, albeit rotting out, and he was going completely bald. He had a scar that ran the length of his bulging nose.

  “Look who came to play with us,” the tall dog-faced one told his friend. Thankfully, I was up wind. Their emotions were tricky to identify, something akin to egotism and guts. Confidence that was the word I was searching for. Maybe they were drugged out, and that was why I could not sense them as well as most others.

  They had mud or
blood on their hands and pants. Their shirts were black, so I was unable to tell. They fidgeted and stumbled, making me worry they would fall on me or possibly contaminate me somehow. I would need a very hot, very long shower after this.

  “Here Chicky, come to daddy…” dog boy called. I rolled my eyes and put my hand on my hip. Boy they were seriously demented if they thought I would just walk right up and climb onto a platter or something. These two could not have finished middle school if they actually thought I was going along with their plans. Apparently, they had not met someone like me.

  “I don’t think so ass hole.” I laughingly insulted them. One was getting angry. I had to open my mouth. Not that I couldn’t take them, this was going to be super easy.

  “No need to get feisty bitch.” It seemed the short one had a mean temper. I would take him out first if his buddy didn’t.

  The nearest one lunged at me and missed. I moved out of his reach and kept moving when he righted himself. I didn’t have to do this long; I knew. He’d either tire or fall. His buddy thought he would jump in as well and ended up tripping his friend up, just like I assumed he would. One knocked the other senseless, and I finished the job up. I didn’t kill them, but I did check to see if the stain was blood or dirt. My empathy came in handy. It usually told me when my foe would strike. So all I had to do was ‘listen’.

  The stain was brown like rust and came off easily so I left them to sleep off their encounter. They’re so high they probably wouldn’t remember me at all. Or just figure they tumbled with the rats.

  I called a friendly deputy that I usually reported things like this to.

  “Carlos great your there, this is Angel. I got two dirt bags here on the corner of Pretoria and Main, down the alley next to the old television repair shop. They tried to assault me. I doubt you guys would be happy if they succeeded with the next female who came this way.”