Winging It!: Confessions of an Angel in Training (Confessions of an Angel-In-Training Book 1)

by Shel Delisle

Running errands with Aisha was not what I’d been praying for. In truth, most of my prayers had involved avoiding Aisha for the rest of my existence. Lord, please.

  A few of my prayers went like this:

  “Help me find a successful way to help Tara (without interfering with Victor or Aisha) so that I may avoid reascension and choir duty, because that is not is not my will. Also, and if it is Your will, help me find a way to reconcile with Victor, because I have carved out a special place for him in my heart and he did not mean to cause problems by flying me around. He was only trying to please me. And so I hope You have forgiven him and that he’s released from Probation quickly‌—‌if not already, because I realize we hardly speak anymore and I may not know it. I think that covers everything. Oh… and help me to perform my duties in a way that’s consistent with Your desire and helps me to avoid my Guardian’s oversight‌—‌yeah, I know I keep mentioning the Aisha thing, but I don’t want to spend time with her. Truly. Yours in service now and forever. Amen.”

  See, even when I worked Aisha into this prayer He didn’t listen, because now Aisha and I are “supply buddies.”

  Could things get any worse?

  Um, on second thought, they probably could. But still, it’s like He wants me to suffer.

  Confession: I never wanted to be a saint. This whole go-to-Earth-thing was just so I could get my wings.

  Chapter 19

  When I open the Murphy’s front door, I look past Aisha’s shoulder at the rusted out, spluttering car‌—‌if you can call it that‌—‌in the driveway.

  “That’s our ride?”

  I’d suggested to Aisha that we bi-locate to shop, but she explained that we couldn’t exactly bi-locate the supplies. So we’ve ended up with the Earthly version of teen transportation. And a disappointing one, at that. It’s not like I expected a limo, but air conditioning would have been nice.

  Aisha gives me a pissy look. “Our chariot awaits,” she says with sarcasm and, without a word, turns on her heel and strolls to the car in her typical superior-serene way.

  Actually‌—‌and I hate to admit this‌—‌she’s pretty good at the angel walk.

  I resign myself to more torment and climb into the backseat. Our driver is an elderly dark-skinned man with short, silvery hair and long, elegant fingers that never leave the steering wheel.

  “Hello, Grace.” He smiles gently.

  Aisha starts to introduce us and I wave her off. “Look, I know he’s an Angel playing your dad or grandpop, and he knows I’m an Angel, so can we just dispense with all formalities and get this over with?”

  Aisha’s jaw drops and she stares at Angel-driver, giving him a can-you-believe-her? look.

  He laughs, puts the car in reverse and says, “We’re off to see the Wizard,” which is pretty funny.

  With the windows rolled down, the wind whips my hair around more violently than on the flight with Victor. As we cruise toward wherever it is that you buy float stuff, the old man sings along with the songs playing on the car stereo. It’s actually a decent one, the stereo that is, considering the clunker shape of the rest of the car. The songs are an eclectic mix. Motown‌—‌Aretha Franklin. Rock‌—‌U2. Standards‌—‌Frank Sinatra. He knows every word, hits every note.

  While I twiddle with a piece of stuffing that pokes through a tear in the upholstery, I admire his voice. “I’m surprised Gabriel let you get away,” I say.

  He laughs and then sings along to Led Zeppelin.

  Finally, with an embarrassing backfire, we pull into the shopping center and he snags a spot right up front. The sign over the store reads Michael’s Crafts.

  Perfect. Wouldn’t you know it? “Is this… I mean… it’s his store, right?”

  The head turns slowly and smiles at me again. “No. It’s just a coincidence. This is named after another Michael.”

  “Thank God,” I mutter.

  The man in the front seat smiles, shimmers a bit and says, “You’re welcome.”

  }{

  He’s long since putt-putted away when I say to Aisha, “You knew!”

  She grabs one of the carts. “I tried to tell you, but you interrupted.”

  She’s right. I should probably cut her a little slack. The funniest thing about this? I’d just been laying it on with the whole how-could-you-forsake-me?-bit, and then He shows up as a chauffeur. How does He do that?

  I take a cart and follow Aisha back to an aisle stacked with large rolls of brown paper. “Wouldn’t it have been a lot easier to manifest this stuff?”

  Aisha rolls her eyes. “So, you changed a three-leaf clover to four leaves and a wool sock to a mitten. Not too complicated, huh? What do you suggest we use?”

  She makes me crazy. “Um. Maybe stuff in the Murphys’ recycle bin.”

  When Aisha laughs, it’s annoying, like when those fake eyelashes flopped around. “Right. Good idea. What should we change the plastic milk container into?”

  No idea. I shrug. She’s tossing little cans of powdered paint into her cart: blue, emerald green, and yellow, yellow, yellow for the road.

  Aisha holds a tube of red glitter. “What do you think? Ruby Slippers?”

  Apparently I’m the last one on Earth to know the movie.

  “It’s perfect,” I tell her in a chagrined way. “I watched it with Tara and Finn over the weekend.” Aisha gives me an appraising look. “Tara sang along with Dorothy on that rainbow song. She has a beautiful voice. But it’s weird‌—‌she’s been hiding it.”

  Aisha tosses the glitter into my cart. “I know what you mean. That happened to me too. I was on hand when Grandma Moses started painting and she was in her seventies, so it’s not like Tara’s singing has been buried that long.” Aisha stops and scratches her head. “It’s funny, Victor and I crossed paths on that Mission too. He was guarding the art collector who discovered her painting in a drugstore window.” She pushes the cart to the next aisle and starts loading up on packages of every colored tissue paper.

  “Is that when you got to know him?”

  Aisha laughs. “Heavens, no! Victor and I were trainees together… eons ago.”

  Is she exaggerating? Or was it really eons?

  I load up my cart with tissue paper. “What’s this for?”

  “Float flowers.”

  Piling the packages into my cart is hypnotizing; there’s a zoned-out, dreamy feel. I’m comfortable with Aisha for the first time and what’s really weird is we’re both silent. It’s almost like I’m not in control when I say, “I know it bothers you that Victor’s been nice to me. That he…”

  Likes me better than you? I’m totally at a loss for the right words.

  “Well, I am your Guardian.”

  “Yeah, but that shouldn’t get in the way of, I mean…” I hesitate. “I can understand if you feel jealous. I know we’re not supposed to feel that, but hey, it bothers me that my roomie Mercy has a new friend. We’re all flawed, except Dad, right?”

  Aisha laughs and shakes her head no, no, no. “Me? I’m not jealous!”

  Huh? “You said you’d seen Victor act like this before. I know you two have a history.”

  “Right. We have a history, but not that kind of history. I keep forgetting you haven’t done all your training. No special attachments‌—‌not Angels or humans‌—‌for Full Angels. It’s forbidden.”

  “It is? Why? It wasn’t on my list of rules.”

  “Angelic Code of Conduct. It’s part of the second-semester training. See, this is why skipping made it harder for you. But that doesn’t really answer your question, does it?” Aisha pauses. “The reason attachments‌—‌Angel or human‌—‌are off-limits is that they get in the way of doing your job. You already know that Missions can sometimes overlap, but most of the time they don’t. It’s not just Guardians‌—‌it’s all Angels. And I’m sure you can see how attachments could be a distraction.”

  I can see her point. It could cause a disaster if a Virtue was supposed to keep planets from colliding and
suddenly she got sidetracked by daydreaming about her boyfriend. But how could I be so wrong about their history? “So what did you mean when you said Victor had acted like this before?”

  “You’re right that Victor and I have known each other a long time, but there’s never been anything between us. It was with my roomie. Her name’s Cherish. We were all Angels in Training together, and Victor and Cherish were…” It seems like Aisha’s not going to say anymore but then she blurts, “Anyway, Victor’s biggest flaw has always been his fascination with the sensory. He immerses himself in all of it: taste, touch, scent. I could never believe when He allowed Victor to become a Guardian because it put all that temptation in reach.”

  I love all of those things too. Will that be a problem for me?

  “The three of us were on our first mission and Cherish…” As Aisha begins this part of her story, an image forms in my mind. It’s like watching a movie, like Aisha is showing me her memory.

  It’s a busy street bazaar with vendors of spices, fruit, silk, pots and pans. A goat trots right between two of them. She’s right. This was eons ago. Victor looks at Cherish like he’s hungry. She looks a little like me, with light brown curls. “Meet me later,” he says and dashes away. Aisha pleads with Cherish, “Don’t. Don’t go,” and then the memory fast-forwards to a room where Cherish is sobbing. Her chest heaves and she sounds wounded. Aisha hugs her tightly and rocks her back and forth. “It will be fine. He forgives,” she says over and over.

  “It was all too much for Cherish.” Aisha’s eyes tear up. “She decided she couldn’t be faced with the temptation of Victor all the time. She asked for reassignment as a Principality and usually works as a Muse. But she would have made a really good Guardian. She was a lot like you.”

  It’s painful to think about Mercy having that kind of heartache. I never saw Aisha as a friend, but now I can see that she’d be a good one. “You think I’ll be a good Guardian?” I ask in a small voice.

  Aisha smiles, and there’s not a glimmer of spite in it. “Yes, I think you will. Actually, I can’t believe how well you’ve done in such a short time. Even when you weren’t studying, you were still picking things up quickly.”

  A huge weight lifts from my shoulders. “Really? Because I’ve been a little worried.”

  “About?”

  “Messing up the Mission worse than I already have. The chapter on Repercussions in My Life as a Guardian freaked me out a little. What if something horrible happened to Tara? Or worse, Finn? I couldn’t stand it.”

  “Oh. Yeah. That chapter on Repercussions is pretty scary. But you shouldn’t lose sleep over it. It’s really rare. A lot of things have to happen for the blame to rest entirely on the Guardian. The fact that you’re worried about Repercussions is a good sign.” Aisha shrugs. “You should be fine.”

  “So you don’t think I’ll end up as a Wingless One?”

  “Heaven forbid! You need to… be careful… with Victor. You know what I mean?”

  All of this‌—‌Repercussions, Wingless Ones and no Angel attachments‌—‌is way more than I ever considered when I thought about skipping school. “I think I do. You’re actually a pretty good Guardian.”

  Aisha laughs. “Thanks. And you will be too. But you should know‌—‌as an Assignment‌—‌that you’re a major pain in the butt!”

  Confession: It’s true. I’m a pain.

  “Anyway, I hope I never have to be your Guardian again.” She hesitates. “And by the way, it still bugs me that you got a cell. He moves in mysterious ways, huh?”

  Even though it’s not very funny, it makes me laugh. “See? You are jealous of me! Did you ever ask him for a cell?”

  Aisha scrunches up her forehead and then her eyes fly open.

  “Try that,” I say.

  }{

  We lug the bags of stuff to the trunk of the car. There’s a different driver this time, but it’s the same clunker. As I settle into the backseat, I ask, “Are you? Nah, you’re not Him, right?”

  “Does it matter?”

  This cracks me up. Of course it matters. I’m practically slapping my thigh with the side-splitting thought of it until I notice both he and Aisha are straight-faced.

  “Ha, ha… ah, ah… ah…” I stop. On second thought, I guess it doesn’t matter. Everything would work out so much better if we treated everyone like they were The Big Guy.

  }{

  Armed with all this newfound wisdom, I don’t know what to make of Victor’s sudden appearance next to my study carrel in the library the next afternoon. I’d picked an out-of-the-way alcove to help me stay focused. Should I be cautious after hearing about Cherish? I think so. Still, Victor looks mighty nice in those jeans.

  But I should treat him with love and respect and reverence.

  I revere those jeans. Stop it, now! I wrestle with my own mind, uncertain which side is winning.

  He smiles and lays his backpack on the shelf of the carrel that faces me. “I heard you and Aisha reconciled.”

  “We’re good.” I twiddle my pencil. “She’s, um, different than I thought.”

  He pulls the chair out to sit down. “Yeah. She’s all right. A little serious, but all right.”

  As Victor makes slow, feline movements, stretching and then pulling books from his bag, I bury my nose in the American History book and try to focus on the details about The Underground Railroad. This will be so distracting. Help me!

  Harriet Tubman had a top-notch Guardian, I’m sure, though I probably can’t put that into the essay for Gindi. He thinks eliminating God from government is the separation of church and state. Doesn’t he know that can’t be done? Omnipresence and all that. I mean, that’s what Powers do all day long‌—‌help governments and leaders. It’s like Gindi wants to eliminate an entire class of Angels. Victor was so dead-on when he called him a wanker.

  Victor peeks over at me. “How’s Tara?”

  “I’m making progress. Thanks for asking.” I concentrate on the book. At its height, 1850 to 1860, some estimates of 100,000 slaves escaped. Wow! She helped so many out of hell.

  “Cody’s getting used to the idea of his dad dating Ms. Sands. He really wanted his parents to get back together.” Victor’s brown eyes soften. “Hard to find out that wasn’t going to happen in front of the whole school.”

  Great. Now why’d he have to say that? Caution just flew out the window.

  “I’m so sorry I abandoned my Mission and it messed with yours.” I clasp my hands like I’m praying. “I’m glad it’s going to work out. Are you off Probation?”

  “As of yesterday. How ‘bout you?”

  “Michael released me after Aisha and I went to Michael’s. Ha! I know the name seems more than coincidental, but I have it on very good Authority that the store has nothing to do with him.”

  “Then we should celebrate our return to Favor.” A smile eases onto Victor’s face.

  “Okay, how about a strawberry shake at the Jukebox?” I have dreams about those.

  Victor’s smile lingers. “I was thinking of something bigger. Like… let’s experience autumn. The leaves have changed. We could cozy up in front of a woodsy-smelling bonfire and sip tangy apple cider with a comforter thrown across our laps.” Victor’s face changes as he describes our retreat. He looks tranced out.

  “I don’t think that happens in Florida,” I tease.

  “We’d bi-locate to the Smoky Mountains or maybe Vermont. We could go now, leave a part of you behind to study and come home later tonight. I love walking through pumpkin patches.” His face gets dreamy again. “The air this time of year is…” He kisses his fingers.

  Tempting.

  This is an understatement.

  Spending any time at all with Victor is wonderful, but what he’s just described sounds exquisite. I think of Cherish. And Aisha’s story about them. And, in the end, it’s Victor’s out-of-this-world expression that snaps me back to my world of the library and books and homework and divine Missions. “I really need to s
tick close to Tara and keep studying. I mean, I’m still training and everything.”

  Victor’s smile and his dreamy look fade. His voice is resigned. “Okay, Grace. That’s probably wise.”

  Oh. Did I hurt his feelings? “Maybe another time.”

  He runs a hand through his hair and his smile flickers. “Let me fly you over the ocean before you go back. Remember, I promised you. Don’t make me go back on my word.”

  I’m cornered. It would be a huge transgression if Victor did that. “We’ll go,” I agree in a soft voice. With that, I’ve just given my word, too.

  Chapter 20

  From: glightbourne@halo.hvn

  To: mbeamkind@halo.hvn

  Subject: I’m still here

  My Dearest Mercy,

  After your last letter, I wondered if I’d ever find the courage to write you again, but things are getting better. So, thanks for thinking of me.

  My assignment Tara and I are involved in this Earthly high school activity called Spirit Week. Which has a completely different meaning from what we’d expect. But none of that is really important. What is important is that Tara will perform in a skit and she’ll be in the starring role. She will finally be out of Lacey’s shadow. And the girl can sing. Like, she could be in Gabriel’s choir or something. Seriously.

  On top of that, she’s cooking up a little romance with this kid named Cody. He’s in charge of the skit and he’s Victor’s mission and he’s the coach’s son of this game they play here called football. So that’s given her some confidence too.

  PLUS, I’ve been studying. Hard. I’ve even gone to the library. The other night, Victor tried to tempt me to goof off, the little devil, but I just stuck my nose back into my books! You’d be proud of the new me.

  Anyway… that’s what I’ve been up to. You’d almost think I’m training to be an Angel or something‌—‌Haha! Get It?

  Well, gotta fly. I know that’s your joke. And yes, it’s only an expression, but I do feel closer. Just a flap or two away.

  Yours in Bliss,