by C. L. Coffey
“You can’t see it?” Michael asked me. I shook my head and he looked as disappointed in me as he had when I couldn’t sense Joshua. Was I supposed to sense this girl too? Was I just broken?
“There are special cases,” Michael explained. “Lilly and the other Angels of Death collect the souls, taking them to wherever they need to go. Humans can’t tell what they really are – only those who are dead or near dying. Lilly is actually based in this hospital.”
“Because that’s not entirely morbid,” I said, somehow earning a glare from Lilly. There was no way she could hear me from that far away, was there?
“It’s a fact of death,” Michael once again corrected me.
“Is this my fault?” I asked in a small voice.
Michael took a long breath and pushed the door to the room open, stepping inside. The girl was older than I first thought, perhaps a college graduate, rather than a teenager as I had originally assumed.
“She has been here for some time now,” Michael assured me. “Lilly contacted me to let me know it was her time. I just came here to see if it was true.”
“To see if what was true?” I asked him, watching him as he quickly examined the girl.
He just gave me a sad smile – an expression that didn’t belong on his perfect features – and stepped back outside into the corridor. I hurried out after him, finding Lilly waiting for us. “You were right,” he told her. “Thank you for informing me.”
Lilly nodded. She turned and looked at me. “You don’t strike me as someone who would have said yes. You don’t exactly look the part. Maybe that’s a good thing,” she added. Before I could retort, she marched into the ICU and over to the bed.
“We are done here,” Michael informed me. He grabbed my hand, and before I could see what Lilly was going to do, the world went blurry and the bucket of invisible water was dunked over my head.
Michael’s office appeared all too soon. “I’m going to be sick,” I murmured again. I followed Michael's outstretched arm and dashed through the door he was pointing at.
It led to a bedroom, but I took no notice, seeing the bathroom door on the far side of the room. I charged to it, again only just making it in time. After I had rinsed my mouth out for the second time in as many hours, I gave his bathroom the once over. All in all, it was very similar to mine, only it had a bath as well as a shower. It was much less extravagant than I expected it to be.
I stepped through into his bedroom. It was much larger than mine, don’t get me wrong, but it had the similar furniture. The only thing that was different was the bed. It was beautiful. Dark wood, like everything else in the convent, but this was an enormous sleigh bed, with hand carved curves and swirls. I know there was the whole no sex rule, but I was damn sure that he would have a single bed, at least.
“Not what you were expecting?” Michael asked from the doorway behind me.
“Not really,” I admitted, unable to take my eyes off the bed. It looked really comfortable.
“How are you feeling?” he asked me.
I turned with a start. He had crossed the room and was right behind me and I hadn’t even heard him. “I’m fine.” I muttered, taking a step back. I know his movements were completely innocent, but I was feeling a little nervous with him being in my personal space.
“Teleporting will be disconcerting for Potentials who haven’t earned their wings. It will become easier when you do,” he told me, misreading my unease.
My discomfort was forgotten as I stared up at him, wide-eyed. “You mean I’ll be able to teleport like that?”
“Hopefully,” he nodded, moving past me and over to the small table that stood next to the bed. “One day it may be your gift too. Once you have your wings, it becomes easier for the angels if they have to be transported quickly.” He grabbed a large book off the table and walked back to me, offering it.
I took it off him, frowning as I read the title. “The Bible?”
He nodded solemnly. “After that, I will let you borrow the Torah.”
“Can’t I just settle for Google?” I asked him, the book feeling heavy and out of place in my hands.
“Google?” he repeated, looking confused.
He had been alive as long as he had, and he didn’t know about Google? Although, now that I thought about it, there wasn’t a computer on his desk. “Web based search engine?” I offered. “The internet?”
“We have no need for computers,” he responded. Of course they didn’t. “It is late,” he said. “You should get some rest.”
I nodded, suddenly feeling the tiredness seep through me. I thanked him again for the book and headed back to my bedroom.
The book was placed on the chest of drawers although I had no intention of ever reading it. I changed into the ridiculous nightgown, dumping my clothing on the floor as I did so, and climbed into the bed.
Sleep didn’t come easy. Although the bed was comfortable, and I was tired, I couldn’t help but toss and turn. My mind kept thinking about the girl in the hospital and Lilly, who, for some reason, made me think about my aunt Sarah.
That girl had been all alone and the only people who seemed to know she was there, was an Archangel, an Angel of Death, and me. Had someone contacted her family? Did she have any family?
My thoughts circled, always coming back to Sarah. I spent hours staring at the ceiling, wondering what she knew or what she had been told, until I finally fell asleep.
* * *
I awoke to the sun shining through my window and I was in my own bed. I sat upright, looking around at the bright yellow room that had my belongings and memories cluttering every available surface. Even the poster of my favorite television show was still hanging on the wall.
I jumped out of bed, and grew even more confused when I discovered the nightdress had been replaced with my faded England football shirt and a pair of shorts. The shirt had been my dad’s and although it was ragged and you could barely see the three lions, I still wore it to bed.
I headed for the door, pausing as I passed the mirror. Gone was the red, instead, my hair was the golden blonde it had been before I had died. Hell, I even had bed hair.
Finding myself grinning at my reflection, I darted out of the door, ready to charge down the stairs… only I was in the kitchen. Well that didn’t make sense. But as soon as I saw Sarah with her back to me, kneading dough, I didn’t care. I let out a cry of joy and bounded over to her, wrapping my arms around her.
“Angelina?” she questioned, turning in my arms. “Angel!” she cried, tears forming in her eyes as she returned a bone crushing hug.
We stood like that for a while, just hugging, until she pulled away and took a few steps back, the look of happiness quickly dropping from her face. “You’ve died, haven’t you?”
I blinked in surprise. My aunt wasn’t a particularly religious person but she was very intuitive. “What makes you say that?” I asked her carefully.
“You’re in my dreams, Angel,” she sighed, wiping the flour off her hands and onto her apron, before she gently cupped my face. Unlike me who still had my accent, Sarah’s had long since faded out, although it was never as strong as some of the locals. The only similarity between our speeches was that we would both refer to certain things with their English counterparts – footpath for sidewalk, for example, or we would pronounce the ‘h’ in herbs.
“This is a dream then?” I asked her, glancing around the kitchen which was exactly as I remembered it. I had suspected that was the case when I had stepped into the kitchen, bypassing the stairs and hallway, but part of me was desperate to believe that I had dreamt dying and this was real.
“You look exactly how I remember you,” she smiled, releasing me.
“You remember me with bed hair?” I asked, forcing a smile. “Thanks.”
She returned the smile with her own sad one. “Angel, you’re beautiful and don’t you ever forget that. Even with bed hair.”
“You’re my aunt – you have to say that,” I mutter
ed, even though it made me want to hug her again.
“I didn’t want to believe him,” she told me, with a sound which was akin to someone trying to hold back a sob.
“Believe who?”
“The angel who visited me,” she told me. “He told me you had gone and you were now carrying out more important work. He told me not to worry about you. It didn’t stop me looking, of course. The police kept telling me they had never found a body matching your description, and neither did the hospitals.”
“What angel?” I asked her, cutting her off.
“He said his name was Michael.”
“Michael?” I repeated, my voice raising a few octaves. “Michael came to visit you?”
Sarah cocked her head, watching me. “How about we have some cookies and lemonade and sit on the porch. I think we need to have a little chat – both of us.”
Without waiting for a response, she moved over to the oven, pulling the door down. As if by magic, my favorite chocolate and hazelnut cookies were waiting for me. Dream or not, my aunt always baked cookies for me when I was upset, and if now wasn’t the perfect time for them, I didn’t know what was. She piled them onto a plate and handed me a glass of lemonade that had appeared on the worktop.
“Come on,” she smiled, leading me outside onto the decking. She sat down on her favorite armchair, while I took the one on the other side of the small table, reaching for a cookie. Even in a dream, they were deliciously warm and gooey. I could eat these things all day. “So what happened?” she asked me, taking a sip of her drink.
I finished off the cookie, licking my fingers, and reached for another before I answered her. “It was when I went out to celebrate my birthday. I don’t remember exactly what happened, but somebody stabbed me.”
Tears were back in Sarah’s eyes as she sat the drink down. “I made a promise to your parents that I would keep you safe if anything ever happened to them.”
“I’m an angel now,” I said, hoping the news would bring some form of relief to her. “Or I’m going to be.”
“I’m not surprised,” she told me. “You always were a good child – always doing what you could to help.” I was surprised. I wasn’t evil, but I still didn’t think I was good enough to be an angel. “It was the night after that when Michael appeared. He told me it was his turn to look after you.”
I nibbled thoughtfully on the cookie. Everything that I was beginning to assume about that archangel I was already beginning to question. Taking aside his prettiness (understatement), he seemed like a general – albeit an archaic one, who was set in his ways and expected rules to be followed. Yet here I was, hearing how he had promised to look after me, only hours after seeing he had a double bed.
“I suppose he’s right in a sense,” I muttered, begrudgingly. “I’m living at the Old Ursuline Convent – it’s now the House of Michael. I’m supposed to earn my wings so that I can become an angel, and then I’m hopefully going to become an archangel, like him.”
“An archangel?” Sarah repeated, quietly.
I shrugged, devouring another cookie. “Yeah, I don’t see it either.”
Sarah quickly shook her head. “No, it’s Michael. I didn’t put two and two together before, but he’s an archangel – the Archangel!” I gave her another shrug which earned a disapproving look off her. “Michael is heaven’s greatest warrior. He defeated Lucifer.”
“Really?” I asked, surprised. He really did look too pretty to have accomplished that.
Sarah sat back in her chair, rocking it back and forth as a calm smile appeared on her face. “If Michael is looking out for you, I know you will be safe.”
“Since when do you believe in angels?” I asked her in disbelief.
“I’ve always believed, Angel.”
“You never mentioned it before,” I accused, unable to resist taking another cookie.
She grew sad again. “I tried once, but it was just after you moved here. You got angry and I decided it was best not to bring it up again.”
I blinked, struggling to remember the moment she was referring to, but I was drawing a blank. “You did?”
She nodded. “I tried to tell you that your parents were being looked after by the angels now. You told me the angels could go to hell.” It sounded like something I would say, but I didn’t remember saying it. She sat up suddenly. “Make the most of those cookies.”
“Why?” I asked her, instinctively scooping a few up in my hand.
“Because I’m about to wake up.”
CHAPTER SIX
Angelology 101
When I awoke, I was crying. The dream had felt so real, but at the end of the day, it was just that – a dream. I really wanted to believe that Sarah would be alright, but I had disappeared without a word.
There was a knock on the door and Cupid bounded in, full of smiles. They fell from his face when he realized that I was crying, and hurried over to the bed. “Angel, what’s the matter?”
“I just miss my aunt,” I told him, wiping my eyes. “It’s nothing, don’t worry.”
“Michael wants you down in the gym, but I can tell him you’re not up to it if you want?” he offered, squeezing my leg.
I quickly shook my head. For some reason I didn’t want to show Michael any kind of weakness. He already didn’t like the fact I couldn’t seem to run as fast as I should be able to. “Just let me get some breakfast and I’ll be fine.”
“Breakfast?” Cupid asked, laughing. “You slept through that, even when I tried to wake you. Lunch, more like it. Although you slept through that too. Get dressed and we’ll see if we can get to Veronica throw something together for you.”
“I really need a clock in here,” I grumbled, throwing the covers back.
“You mean you can’t sense it?” Cupid asked in surprise.
I sighed, half out of the bed. “Sense what?”
“Time,” Cupid replied. “All angels can sense the time. Have you not noticed the lack of clocks in the building?”
“Yeah, I have,” I told him. “Hence why I need one in my room.” So there was yet another thing I was supposed to be able to do, but couldn’t. The joy. Perhaps I was broken.
“Maybe it’s because you don’t have your wings yet,” Cupid mused. “It’s like a direct phone line.”
“Would that also explain why I can’t run like a cheetah?” I asked him, my head in my wardrobe as I pulled out another suit ensemble. I ducked into the bathroom, leaving the door open so we could talk.
“You want to run like a cheetah?” Cupid repeated. I swear I was speaking another language to English – and I don’t mean a lack of American accent.
“Michael seems to think that a four minute mile would be a walk in the park for me.”
“Oh,” Cupid called back, elongating the word. “Yeah, you should be able to put an Olympic record to shame. You’re also supposed to be stronger too.”
“I don’t think I have a problem with that one,” I told him, emerging from the bathroom. As I was certain Michael was going to try to kill me again, I wasn’t worried about a shower before a workout. “You should have seen the fight that got me arrested.”
“I really wish I had,” Cupid pouted. I followed him out of the bedroom and down to the cafeteria. It was empty.
“Where is everyone?”
Cupid shrugged. “You’re missing the man candy already?”
“Yes,” I responded dryly. “I feel that without their perfectly sculptured bodies to gaze upon, I will not be able to drum up an appetite to eat.”
“You make me want to puke,” Veronica announced, appearing from the kitchen. “They’re all mindless airheads.”
“But they’re all so pretty,” Cupid objected.
“You can have them, and I’ll be having me a little bit of Liam Hemsworth. Give him a little bit of eyeliner and he would be perfect.”
Cupid pulled a face. “Ew, he’s so young – it’s like cradle robbing.”
“Aren’t all the men a bit young, cons
idering you’re older than the dinosaurs?” I asked Cupid.
He poked his tongue out. “No fair, and for the record, we established,” he waved his hand between himself and Veronica. “That the only way to work it was by our vessel’s age.”
“Yeah, so I’m not cradle robbing, am I?” Veronica asked, rolling her eyes. “And your vessel isn’t much older than he is.”
“Fine,” Cupid sighed, melodramatically. “You have the Hemsworth. Stephen Amell is all mine.” Both pairs of eyes turned to me.
“What?” I asked. “I thought men were off limits?”
“You humans have a term for it,” Cupid informed me, one arm snaking around my shoulders while the other waved out in front of us, as though he was pointing at something along the horizon. “Window shopping.”
“You can look, but you can’t touch!” Veronica grinned.
I thought about Joshua, and sighed. “Ian Somerhalder.”
Veronica and Cupid shared a look. “Who?”
“I’m going to sit you down with a few box sets of The Vampire Diaries,” I informed them. Who, indeed.
“In the meantime, can you rustle up something for Angel?” Cupid asked Veronica.
Veronica shrugged and then leapt up onto the counter, swinging herself through into the kitchen. “Shrimp Po’boy?”
At the appreciative rumble my stomach gave, I quickly nodded. I pulled myself up onto the empty serving counter and looked at Cupid. “You never did tell me where all the man candy are.”
“Here, they’re all messenger angels,” he shrugged before jumping up on the counter beside me. “We tried for guardian angels, but those that don’t make that pay grade are messengers.”
My eyes widened. “There are pay grades?” I asked, hopeful.
“Please,” Cupid responded, rolling his eyes at me. “You don’t think Veronica’s eyeliner magically appears out of thin air, do you?”
“My clothes seem to,” I told him.
“That’s your uniform. Guardian angels have to look smart. You don’t have to wear it all the time.”