by C. L. Coffey
I relaxed the string, plucking another arrow from my quiver, marveling as it doubled in size at my touch, and nocked it in place. I took a moment to make sure all my limbs were in the correct position, and aimed. The arrow sailed through the air, but still fell short of the target.
“Don’t drop the bow,” Cupid barked at me, startling me out of my disappointment. “These days, humans class archery as a sport. It’s not for us. It can be a matter of life and death. Time you waste in lowering and raising your bow instead of reloading could cost you.”
“I don’t think that target is going to grow arms and legs and attack me,” I muttered, unable to control myself as I rolled my eyes.
“Get in the good habits now,” Cupid warned me. “You will thank me for it one day.”
Personally, I hoped that day would never come.
We spent the best part of the morning out there. Despite the ridiculously hot sun beating down on me, the heat, unlike the humidity was no problem for me, but that didn’t mean that I wasn’t gasping for water when we eventually went in.
“I’m going to take you to the weapons room,” Cupid announced, carrying his own bow while I took mine. “These will live in there.”
A few doors along from the gym was the room in question. It had two large wooden doors that opened into a cavernous room. Much to my disapproval, like every other thing in this place, it didn’t look like it was ever locked. “Has it ever occurred to you that this might be the one room in the building that might need locking up?” I asked him, staring at all the different types of weapons that littered the room.
There were enough bows that a small army might have been well supplied. They were of every size possible, ranging from ones that looked right for a six year old, to some that would be perfectly suited to someone seven feet tall.
“And what do you think we’re going to do with them?” Cupid asked lightly, his lips inching up into a smile. “Recreate a scene from Lord of the Rings? We’re not a bunch of immature teenagers.” I offered him a raised eyebrow. “Fine,” he admitted. “Some of us are teenagers. But we’re not about to start playing with weapons. Although Orlando Bloom as an elf running around the convent would be something.” He shook his head, the dreamy look disappearing. “This room is off limits to the angels anyway.”
I gave the collection of bows another look. “These are for archangels?” At Cupid’s nod I almost choked. “The archangels being yourself and Michael?”
“And hopefully you one day,” he nodded. “Although, Michael prefers swords.” He pointed up to the fireplace at the far end of the room.
When I had walked in, my attention had been caught by the bows, probably because mine was about to join them. Although I had registered that there were other weapons in the room, I hadn’t realized that the far end was dedicated to the swords. Above the fireplace, there were two swords, their blades crossing each other as if frozen in fight.
The one on the right was an almost white colored silver with a simple gold handle. The left one was the opposite. The blade was dark – a charcoal color – and the handle was black, gleaming in the sunlight that was filtering into the room. It was like looking at a black and white version of the same sword. I glanced at Cupid. “Would I be wrong in assuming the white one is Michael’s?”
“Actually, they’re both Michael’s,” Cupid informed me. “But the white one was once Lucifer’s.”
I could feel my eyes practically bulge out of my head as I stared up at the gray sword in both awe and confusion. Awe because Michael had clearly beaten Lucifer to obtain that trophy; confusion because I wouldn’t have expected it to be something that Michael proudly displayed – even if it was in a room that no one really went into. “Really?” I asked him. “I would have expected the white one to be Michael’s.”
A sad look passed over Cupid. “Swords of angels are white. They turn black when their blades are used to kill.”
My eyes narrowed as I stared up at the darker blade. Sure, it wasn’t white, but it didn’t really look black. I pushed the thought from my mind. I was a person who called a tomato a ‘tom-ah-to’ in the land of the ‘tom-ay-to.’
My bow took its place next to Cupid’s and I set the quiver down under it. We left the armory and I made to return to the gym, bracing myself for Michael’s relentless onslaught, but Cupid stopped me. “He’s in Rome meeting with Gabriel.”
I couldn’t help but feel some joy at the prospect of not attempting to kill myself on the treadmill. “In that case, I think I’m going to go shopping,” I told Cupid. “Want to come?”
Cupid shook his head. “I’m on the front desk this afternoon. Thanks though.”
We parted ways and I returned to my room to shower and change. It was a nice feeling to be able to look through my wardrobe and have a choice in outfits. I pulled on a long length white tank top over the top of a short denim skirt.
I’d had every intention of walking into the French Quarter. Instead, as I walked past the front desk, something told me it would be a good idea to drive. I collected the keys and drove out of the convent.
Somehow, the driving took me out of the city and into the residential area of Jefferson. I didn’t really know where I was going, so I was surprised when I pulled up behind an out of place, brand new Dodge Charger, in an area which had been restored to its pre-Katrina glory. I’d reached my destination – that much I did know – but I didn’t know where I was, or why I was there.
That was until I examined the house the Charger was parked in front of. The roof, unlike the other houses around it, was covered in bright blue tarpaulin, midway through a repair, with large sheets of new plywood covering the lower half.
Climbing up a ladder, wearing only a pair of jeans and well-worn Caterpillar boots was Joshua – a long plank of wood resting on his shoulders. I killed the engine and stared up at him, unable to look away from his lean muscles and lightly tanned skin, which was gleaming in the sunlight that filtered through the surrounding trees.
I’ll put my hand up and admit I was close to drooling as I watched him hammer the wood in place. However, much to my embarrassment, he looked up, held his hand over his eyes to block out the glare of the sun, and caught me staring. Again.
While he hooked his hammer through his belt loop and climbed down from the roof, I got out of the car and sheepishly made my way over to meet him at the bottom of the ladder. “Hi,” I offered, giving him a weak finger wave as he stepped to the ground.
“Are you stalking me?” he asked me, warily.
“I wouldn’t call it stalking,” I frowned, although it probably wasn’t far from being.
“You just happen to know where I am on my day off?” he asked, reaching for a rag that lay over his tool box.
He used the rag to wipe his forehead and I quickly had to shake my head to stop from staring again. “I didn’t set out to find you intentionally. I actually set out to go shopping.”
“Shopping?” he repeated, arching that eyebrow of his. “I think you need to replace your GPS because there isn’t a store near here.”
“I don’t know what led me here, but something did,” I frowned, regretting it as I said it.
Joshua rolled his eyes at me. “Is this where you tell me you turned up to save me from falling to my death from the roof?”
I glanced up at the roof of the one storey building then down to the grass below us, before my attention returned to Joshua. This time it was my turn to arch the eyebrow. “Somehow, I don’t think the fall will kill you – your thick head would save you.”
“So you’ve come here to insult me then?”
“No!” I objected. “I told you – I don’t’ know why I’m here. Something just led me here.”
“You do realize I think that, and all the angel stuff you keep spouting is a complete and utter load of bull-”
“Joshua!” A stern voice interrupted us.
We both turned to face the owner of the voice, though, while my expression was curious, Joshua’s
was sheepish. “Sorry, ma’am,” he muttered.
“It’s not me you should be apologizing to,” the woman reprimanded him. She was tiny – I bet she hardly hit five feet – but she still had Joshua shifting awkwardly on the spot.
My aunt, Sarah, was in her mid-fifties, but the chestnut hair dye, the bob cut and her makeup meant she could usually pass for someone in her forties. This woman, on the other hand, had hair like the clouds after a light rainfall and her bright blue eyes were almost hidden beneath a sea of wrinkles. If I had to guess, I would have said she was in her seventies at least.
Although he didn’t look impressed, Joshua turned back to me. “I’m sorry if I was being rude,” he muttered. Somehow, with his hands jammed in his pockets, he seemed more like a fourteen year old.
“That’s better,” the woman nodded. “Now, what about the rest of your manners?”
“Maggie, this is Angel. Angel, this is Maggie – an old family friend.”
“Enough of the old,” Maggie chided, good naturedly.
“Nice to meet you,” I smiled, offering my hand.
Instead of shaking it, she used it to pull me into a hug. “It’s lovely to meet you, dear. It’s about time I met Joshua’s girlfriend.”
“I’m not his girlfriend,” I quickly corrected her, as Joshua began choking.
“Of course not dear,” Maggie agreed, although she patted my arm as though she didn’t really believe me.
“No, really, she’s not,” Joshua chimed in. “I keep telling you, I don’t have a girlfriend.”
“Of course not, dear,” Maggie told him, mimicking her actions with me on him. “Now, are you here to help?” she asked, addressing me.
“Um, sure?” I replied, wondering as I did what I was getting myself into.
“Wonderful,” Maggie beamed. “I’ll go find you one of Joshua’s shirts, and then you won’t get paint all over that lovely white top.”
She was already heading back into the house as I turned to Joshua. “What have I just agreed to?” I asked him, dubiously.
“Manual labor, darlin’,” he drawled, leaning back against the ladder. That smirk of his was back. “You think you can handle that?”
I’d had no intention of leaving anyway, but as soon as those eyes challenged me – I definitely wasn’t going anywhere. I pulled my hair back into a high ponytail and crossed my arms over my chest. “Where do you want me?”
The smirk was back. Again.
Before he could comment, however, so was Maggie, handing over a blue plaid-shirt. “Here, dear. Joshua hasn’t worn this one for a while.”
I took it and put it on while Maggie disappeared back into the house. I turned to Joshua with my own amused smirk. “Plaid?”
“Judge all you want, but she buys me one every birthday and Christmas and I’m not about to upset her by telling her I don’t wear plaid.” There was definitely more than just good looks to this guy than I had first assumed. “The paint and brushes are under the car port,” he finished, climbing back up the ladder.
I watched him go. I think he still expected me to leave. Instead, I walked over to the car port and poured the thick gray paint into a tray and attached the extension rod to the roller. “I agreed to help,” I informed him as I caught him watching me on my way to the far side of the house. He pursed his lips but said nothing, resuming the hammering.
An hour later, we were interrupted by Maggie who had come out carrying two cold cans of soda which were already sweating in the heat. Joshua descended the ladder and took the can, chugging it down in one long gulp. I was watching my very own Diet Coke commercial. It was Maggie who caught me licking my lips and I quickly turned in embarrassment to examine the first quarter of the house I had managed to paint.
“Joshua, you need sunscreen on,” Maggie announced, catching my attention. I turned just in time for Maggie to dump a bottle in my hands. “Make sure he’s well covered, dear,” she said, winking at me.
“I am capable of putting it on myself,” Joshua scowled, snatching the bottle away from me.
Maggie was already on her way back to the house. “And what about your back?” she called over her shoulder, turning enough to wink at us. Then she disappeared into the house.
“Great,” Joshua groaned, already working the lotion into his arms.
“What?” I asked suspiciously.
“She’s got the stupid idea in her head that there’s something going on between us,” he muttered. “You just had to turn up here, didn’t you?”
That hurt – far more than it should have. I blinked, turned, and marched over to the roller. I covered it in paint with more force than was necessary, sending globs of paint splashing over the dirt, and resumed painting the wooden walls.
A few moments passed and there was a loud sigh. “Angel?”
I ignored him.
“Angel?” he tried again, moving to my side.
“What?” I demanded, focusing on the painting and refusing to look at him.
“Would you do my back?”
I stopped mid stroke and stared at him in disbelief. “Work it out yourself,” I informed him, my tone icy. “I don’t think sunscreen application is covered in my job description.”
My tone surprised him, but he quickly recovered, leaning back against a part of the wall I had yet to paint. “I bet it is,” he responded, smiling. “In fact, I’m willing to put money on it being in there.”
I put the roller down and stared at him. “Really?” I asked, folding my arms across my chest. “How do you figure that?”
“You’re my Guardian Angel,” he shrugged. "You’ve got to protect me.” When I didn’t comment, he smirked. “I’m sure that includes protecting me from getting skin cancer.”
At the sight of my mouth dropping open, the smirk became decidedly smug. “I thought you didn’t believe I’m your Guardian Angel?” I accused him, narrowing my eyes.
“I don’t,” he shrugged. “But you do.”
I really wanted to wipe that smug look off his face. I didn’t though. Instead, with a low growl in the back of my throat, I snatched the bottle from him. “Turn around.” Grinning, he did as I said, placing both hands on the wall to brace himself.
I don’t know why, but all of a sudden I was nervous. Chewing my lip I began rubbing the cream into his surprisingly firm muscles – across his back and up over his shoulders. He was tense. I could feel it in his shoulders and I didn’t think it was because of my touch. If anything, he relaxed back into my hands and I found myself working the sunscreen into his back and shoulders perhaps a little more enthusiastically than I should have.
It wasn’t until he made a low moan that I dropped my hands and cleared my throat. “All done,” I announced, clearly.
He turned slowly, closing the distance between us and looked down at me through hooded eyes. Those damn bedroom eyes were back and they had me chewing nervously on my lower lip. When I realized he was staring at that, I cleared my throat and quickly leapt away. “This sun is going to dry the paint out,” I told him as I bent down to check the state of the paint.
When I stood, he was next to me again. “I make you nervous.” It was a very sure statement – no hint of a question in sight.
“You confuse me,” I corrected him, standing my ground. “Or at least, that’s what you think you’re doing.”
“And what is that supposed to mean?” he demanded.
“You spend half your time trying to get me to leave, and the other with no concept of personal space,” I told him, indicating to the fact there was barely a foot between us. “I don’t know what’s happened to you, but you’re going to have to learn to trust me.”
He stared at me for a very long time. I couldn’t work out what was going through his mind, but he finally, wordlessly, backed away and climbed back up the ladder. I took a deep breath and rubbed the back of my neck. Sometimes I wished so much to know what was going through his head.
CHAPTER TEN
From Painting to Pearly Gates
Hours later, I had finished painting the main body of the house and had started painting an undercoat on the window frames. I had been lost in my own thoughts as I focused on the thin beams of wood and not getting paint on the glass, that I didn’t notice Joshua approach me.
“Maggie’s cooked a chicken. Would you like to stay for dinner?” he asked me, watching me work.
“No, thank you,” I told him, politely. “I'm not hungry.” That was a lie. I was starving, having missed lunch. Of course, my stomach decided to tell him that and grumbled loudly.
“You’re not hungry?” he repeated, amused.
I pulled a face. “Fine, I'm starving, but I'd rather wait and eat later than give Maggie any more stupid ideas.”
“Just come in and have something to eat,” he sighed. “Call it payment for painting if you need to.”
“Payment?” I repeated, feeling offended. “I didn’t come here seeking payment. I didn’t help with her house seeking payment!” I cried, thrusting the paintbrush at him. I'd had enough. If I had been chasing after him for a date, this would have been embarrassing enough, and the fact was, I might as well have been.
It might not have been a romantic relationship I was after, but I was after a relationship with him. I was spending time with him in an effort to get him to accept me and I was spending my free time painting a house, of all things. If I didn’t knock this on the head, it would get out of control until I was driving around, collecting his dry cleaning – or something equally desperate.
I was reaching for the door handle when he slid in front of the car to stop me. “Why did you come here?”
“Will you move?” I asked him, impatiently.
“Why did you come here?” he asked again.
“You know, I'm just going to go around, get in the passenger side and slide across,” I pointed out. Then, in a move which had me questioning if he had the supernatural speed, his hand shot forward and grabbed the car keys out of my hands. “Hey!” I objected, trying to get them back. He just held them above his head where I couldn’t reach them. “Real mature,” I snapped at him. “How old are you?”