by Shel Delisle
Oh God! I hope it’s wasn’t Him.
The first came yesterday at 11 am. When I play the first message, it’s Michael. His voice is as stern on voicemail as it is in person.
“It has come to our attention that you violated Rule number three when you performed The Miracle of the Clover. You may not tamper with the Earth’s fragile ecosystem. The most damaging consequence from your creation is that the virulent strain of four-leaf clover could overtake the three-leaf variety, thus eliminating any luck and the sense of wonder associated with finding a four-leaf plant. The patch must be eliminated. In the future, may I suggest you use discernment and permission before undertaking any Celestial activities?”
Doesn’t sound like a suggestion, if you know what I mean. I hit delete and play the second message from, like, one minute ago.
What a surprise. It’s Michael. Again.
“Grace Lightbourne,” he starts with a voice that’s angry beyond the first message. “You violated Rule number one.”
Yeah, yeah. I know, I know. And I already felt bad when it happened. I mean, this is old news, right?
“It is Rule number one because it is the most important rule…” I hold the phone away from my ear as he drones on and on. There’s a break, and I hold it to my head again. Michael is just reiterating all the rules for me. I mean, it’s not like I forgot them. There are only four. “And you have not done any of the homework I provided to you. That needs your attention! Immediately!” End of message.
Delete. Am I supposed to call him back? He didn’t ask me to—so probably not. I jump through screens until I reach the Contact list, select Victor and press send.
“Hey, Grace!” There’s a smile in his voice. I beam in return.
“I think I need your help,” I say.
“Already?” He laughs. “What’s up?”
I take a deep breath and start to run through the messages from Michael, but then I have to backtrack and explain the four-leaf clover and the TV show and Finn with the dolls. I finish by saying, “But the good news is, I think Finn helped me figure out that my Mission somehow involves Tara’s friend Lacey. So I guess there was a reason behind it after all.”
Victor is quiet for a minute. Maybe he’s making sure I’m done talking? Then he says, “Well, what did it your Identity File say?”
“How would I know?”
“Michael didn’t send you without one, did he? Sometimes he’s a real jerk.”
I agree with Victor on this, but in this case it’s not the truth. “No he gave me one. I didn’t read it.”
Victor laughs. “Well, start there—unless you want to end up a Wingless One.”
How stupid can I be? Michael keeps telling me to do my homework. Victor’s Wingless One remark is pretty funny, though. They’re a myth for keeping us in line.
I crack up and tease, “Oooh! A Wingless One! I’m so scared!”
There’s silence on the line. I’d expected Victor to laugh with me. Finally, he said, “You shouldn’t joke about things you don’t understand.”
“Stop! You’re messing with me. Everyone knows they’re not real.”
Victor clears his throat, “I can assure you, they are very real. If you were still at school, you’d learn about them next year.”
Is he kidding me? He might be, but his voice doesn’t seem that way. That’s so strange. What if they’re real? Celestial Beings that are never to be allowed in Heaven. They either didn’t earn their wings or they were stripped of them. That’s some scary stuff.
“I won’t learn about them in school next year, since I won’t be in school next year, so why don’t you fill me in? Details, please.”
There’s a long pause followed by a huge sigh. “Basically there are two kinds. The first type isn’t very dangerous, because their flaw—a lack of love—results in apathy and laziness. But the second type should alarm you. Proud. Selfish. Angry. Filled with hate. Avoid them.”
“How will I do that? I couldn’t tell you and Aisha are Angels.”
“Listen, Grace, I gotta go. I’ve already said more than I should’ve.”
Oh, no! I want to keep talking to him. “Okay, all right, you convinced me to study. I’ll read the file after we get off the phone, but you haven’t even told me—what’s new with you?”
“Ahh! I just got two tickets to the Worthy Idols concert. I went to see Foolhardy on my last Mission.”
A Concert? Over in Quadrant Three, a.k.a. Paradise, human souls can go every night if they want, but it’s totally off-limits for most Angels. The performers are top notch. Pick your decade: Frank Sinatra, Elvis, Jimi Hendrix, Michael Jackson, Kurt Cobain or Amy Winehouse. Oh sure, the Archangels who work in Paradise have probably seen one and I bet the Cherubim who work the gates have gone. But I’ll never get to go.
“What are they like?” I ask.
“Concerts? They’re incredible. Last time, I was right in front of the stage and there are a ton of lights. They had huge screens behind the band that kept flashing videos. It’s hard to explain.”
I think about the images on the walls when I was at the Temple. “I can picture what you mean.”
“Then the music, and the smells… smoke and perfume and sweat. But the best—and I mean the best—is that everyone is standing close, moving like one to the music. It’s like a pulse. You should go.”
Is he asking me?
“I mean, if you haven’t finished your Mission. The concert’s not until January. Want to go?”
“Sounds good,” I say, acting nonchalant. “Well, I’d better go read that file. See you at school.”
“I’ll look for you.”
After hanging up the phone, I want to squeal and jump up and down and dance around the room like a spaz. I wish Mercy were here to hug. Because that was three miracles rolled into one—I get to see a concert, a Full Angel wants to mingle with me, and the Full Angel is the divine, completely heavenly, holy cow, he’s gorgeous Victor. He probably would’ve never noticed me up above.
Turns out, Earth can be a lot like Heaven.
Chapter 9
For the second time tonight, I open the ugly black briefcase and this time remove the blue folder, pulling out the papers I’d dropped at the X-Changing the World check-in. It’s right there, on top, in big bold letters.
IDENTITY FILE (TOP SECRET)
MISSION: The young human boy Finn Murphy (hereinafter The Requestor) asked for assistance due to circumstances involving his older sister Tara Murphy (hereinafter The Assignment).
The Assignment has dramatically changed her behavior to her family, and especially her interaction with The Requestor. Sibling rivalry is a normal occurrence and usually healthy for human souls to work through. However, in this situation, because of the large age gap between The Requestor and The Assignment and the unequal distribution of Power and Intellect, it has been determined that this is an unhealthy situation for The Requestor.
In the past, The Assignment has held a nurturing attitude toward The Requestor, but no more. Our Maker wishes to avoid a Cain/Abel Situation. (Please refer to Chapter 2 of My Life as a Guardian to understand how this situation was mishandled in the past.)
The Assignment’s friendship with Lacey Fitzsimmons (hereinafter The Causal Agent) is the primary reason for the deterioration of said parties’ relationship. The Assignment defers to the Opinions and Influence of The Causal Agent, which has created False behavior. Your Mission is to restore The Assignment’s True Self with her family and to convince her to reveal this True Self with those outside her family.
Please confine all Celestial activities to The Assignment. The Causal Agent has her own Guardian in place. At times, these Missions may become intertwined. It is imperative for Guardians to work with and assist each other to mutually satisfy both Missions.
The Requestor? The Assignment? Couldn’t it just say Finn? And Tara? I had to read that craziness three times to make sure I had it right. Still, it would have been a l
ot easier if I’d read this from the beginning. Oh well, I did figure it out on my own.
Except the part about Lacey having a Guardian.
Is she Victor’s Assignment? I scan the page, and it outlines my pretend background. Dad’s a real estate developer and Mom is a teacher. I try to remember what I said at Wan’s. It was fine, I think. My age is listed as fourteen. Not quite sure what that means. Other than I’m still in school.
Then a section on my strengths and weaknesses catches my eye.
GUARDIAN STRENGTHS/TALENTS:
The ability to adapt to changing environments
Creative thinker
A genuine interest in Earth/Humans
A strong sense of right vs. wrong and appropriate justice
Protector of the small and/or weak
Determined
Angelic voice and athleticism
Wow. I never knew Michael thought I was good at anything. Creative thinker? That’s nice to know. And determined? It’s all surprising. The voice thing irritates me, I must confess, but Gabriel always said I should be in the choir.
The biggest shocker on a list filled with revelations. Athleticism. Seriously? How can I be athletic when I always feel so clumsy? Maybe it’s just when compared to humans? .
I scan the weaknesses section. Rebellious. Okay, I can see that. Lacks adequate study skills. Well, yeah. But it’s such a waste of time. Lacks ability to foresee consequences of actions. Too impulsive.
Wait a minute! I foresaw that I should be a Guardian and skip the stupid training, didn’t I?
Temperamental.
Now Michael’s starting to piss me off.
Tendency toward arrogance.
Who does he think he is? The Boss?
And finally: It is uncertain whether Grace Lightbourne possesses the ability to sacrifice herself in a meaningful way.
Hmm. I’m not sure what he means. What kind of sacrifice is he looking for? I flip through the rest. There’s another page and a half of stuff in this file. Ugh. I’ve done enough for tonight, and so I shove the Identity File back into the case and look for a better spot to hide it. Top shelf of the closet, behind the linens looks good. It’s the same spot I used for my imitation wings in Heaven.
Chapter 10
I'm so not into exterminating the clover. “I could have sworn I had weed killer,” Mr. Murphy says, moving a bag of fertilizer off the shelf.
The two of us stand near the far wall of the hotter-than-Hell garage. “Ah-ha!” He grabs a container and reads the back. “This should do it. Says right here it kills all kinds of vegetation.”
I take the plastic jug, which has a short hose and trigger dangling from it.
“You don’t have to do this,” Mr. Murphy says with a hint of guilt. “Tara’s been after me to get rid of that patchy spot for a long time.”
I smile at him. “No biggie.”
What Mr. Murphy doesn’t realize is I have to do this. Michael made it clear—there’s no allowing my four-leaf clover to survive. It could blossom into some kind of freaky variation on kudzu. Which would be totally bad PR for Guardians. No way do I want to be the source of that, so I search the backyard, finally finding the place where I performed my one and only miracle.
Cringing, I release a single stream of poison. Then stop.
I can’t do it. Kill my own creation. But I have to.
Bending over, I gently pick one piece. It’s whole, with four perfectly formed leaves. It almost looks like it has wings. Lucky! I tuck it into my pocket as a reminder , then go back to work, flinching every time the poison hits the clover.
After a few minutes as an executioner, I’m into the routine. It’s surprising how quickly your heart can harden. Tara and Lacey wander onto the patio and watch me from a distance.
They’re dressed almost identically: short shorts, bellies exposed, flip-flops, big hoop earrings, super-straight long hair. They giggle and whisper and again, it reminds me of the Hierarchy in Heaven. Sweat drips down my neck. I’m dressed in old clothes and I couldn’t feel more removed from my Assignment if the Red Sea separated us.
Surprisingly, Lacey speaks to me. “Tara tells me you know Victor. Aisha, too. “
I’ve been on duty for a week and haven’t made much progress. Maybe this is my chance. I give the patch of clover one last shot. “Yeah. I met Aisha at the park, right after I arrived. And Victor helped me out a couple of times.”
“Helped you?” Lacey asks.
“You know, to find my classes. And then when we talked the other night.” I open the screen door and move closer.
“You talked to him the other night?” Lacey tosses her pale hair over her shoulder and Tara mimics the motion.
What’s really strange is I stop short of flipping mine too. It’s almost like her presence demands it. “Yeah. He gave me a little advice and then said we’d go to some concert.”
Lacey gasps. “Not the Worthy Idols!”
“I think that’s the one.”
Lacey gives Tara this raised-eyebrow look. “Do you think you could introduce us to Victor?”
“Sure.”
It seems like she’s about to say something else but stops herself when Mr. Murphy wanders through the sliding glass door. He holds out his hand to take the jug from me. “Thanks for doing this.” Then he says to Tara, “You might want to change into something grungier.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“I’m teaching you how to change a tire this morning, remember?” Mr. Murphy’s brow and jaw are firm.
Tara makes a can you believe this? face at Lacey. “We can do it later, Dad. I’m going to CVS with Lacey. Grace is going to come with us, right, Grace?”
“Not until you learn how to change a tire, you’re not. Listen, you’ve put me off twice already. If you think you’re just going to get your license and start driving without learning some of the basics, that’s not gonna happen.”
This seems a lot like the whole chariot thing in Heaven. But I do get why humans would want some wheels. No chance for wings.
“This is so, so,” Tara sputters, “so lame.” She spins on her heels and charges into the house.
“You’re dressed for it,” Mr. Murphy says to me.
I’m sticky, sweaty and gross from the murder I committed. “For what?” I ask.
“Do you already know how to change a tire?”
He’s kidding, right?
}{
Mr. Murphy is wearing the same goofy, floppy hat he wore on the day they picked me up at the X-Changing the World registration. His pale, knobby knees jut as he bends down to show me how to put the jack close to the tire. “You have to make sure these two points line up. See?”
Tara and Lacey stand behind me, totally ignoring the instructions.
Lacey whispers. But not too quietly. “She said just buy what you want and let us know how much it costs. So, I went to Abercromie and…” The last part trails off and I can’t hear it.
“You are so lucky,” Tara says. “My mom would never let me pick my own clothes. And an unlimited budget? Hardly.”
I crank the extension that raises the tire off the ground and try to focus on my eavesdropping.
Now, Lacey’s voice takes on a snotty tone. “ ‘Ethan needs me more than you, Lacey.’ ‘Ethan has appointment today, Lacey.’ Ethan, Ethan, Ethan. Her world revolves around that kid.”
The wheel nuts are too tight, so Mr. Murphy takes over for me. He grunts as he loosens each one and I try to tune back into my Mission. Tara did what her dad asked—put on a pair of old shorts and a holey tee, but she hasn’t gotten anywhere close to the car, so I’m not sure it mattered.
“My mom’s the same way with Finn. It’s because they’re the babies.”
I line up and mount the tire, then spin the nuts until they’re what Mr. Murphy called finger-tight. He takes over with the wrench again to make sure everything is completely secure.
Lacey whispers something I can’t hear.
�
�What was that?” I mutter to myself.
A warty-looking duck waddles across the Murphys’ driveway and quacks, “She said, ‘It’s like they forget that they have another kid.’”
“Thanks,” I say to the duck, and Mr. Murphy’s head spins toward me.
“Grace, why did you quack at that duck?” he asks.
“To be polite.” I pause. “They like it when you speak to them in their language.”
A big ha! bursts from Mr. Murphy. Then he lowers the car and shows me how to remove the jack. He winks at me and turns to Tara. “You’d better hope you’ve got Grace with you if you ever get a flat.”
“I was watching,” Tara whines. “Good job, Grace.”
Lacey is grinning fiendishly. “Yeah. Good job.” She whispers something to Tara that I miss. It’s too bad the duck is long gone. He can’t clue me in on what was said. Then she says to me, “Hey, you’re coming with us to CVS, right? After you clean up and everything.”
Hurray! Time to complete my mission. Who knew it would be so easy?
Well, actually, I did.
But I’d temporarily lost faith in myself. Now, their acceptance of me feels like being embraced by Seraphim. Except Seraphim don’t actually have arms, but you know what I mean.
}{
Cars zoom by us, the gusts from their speed ruffling against my bare legs. CVS is on the other side of the busy six-lane street. When there’s a gap in the traffic, we dash to an island of grass in the sea of cars and wait for a break from the other direction.
Just before the lull, Tara steps down. A pick-up races toward us at light speed and I throw my forearm into her chest, knocking her down as it whizzes by.
Whoo-hoo! I just saved her life. That should get me my wings.
“What the—” A horn blares, drowning out Tara’s curse. She sits half on, half off the curb. What would Michael make of that language?