by C Farren
I was selfish. But didn’t I deserve to be, just for once?
“Why are you a demon?” she asked.
“Why are you an angel?” he said. “Or almost an angel... I can feel a little demon in you.”
“It’s all very complicated. I became an angel because Heaven was boring. I became a demon because I was a soft-hearted idiot who thought only about other people and ended up succumbing to demon energies.”
It wasn’t really like that, but the sentiment just welled up. If she hadn’t gone around healing everyone and flitting about the place with wild abandon she wouldn’t be here now. She didn’t regret her actions, but a part of her wished she’d been more careful.
That’s the story of my life. I wade in without a thought to my own safety.
“So what horrible things did you do to become a demon?” she asked.
“I can’t tell you,” he said cryptically.
“Is it that bad?”
He ignored her question and said, “Let me take you out for afternoon tea again. It’s all the rage in Golden nowadays. Angels can’t get enough of cream tea and scones. There’s this place by the Palace Canal that you’d love.”
“Heaven isn’t a second chance for us. Besides, I’ve got enough going on in my life right now. I can’t have another complication.”
“I’m not a complication. I’m the love of your life.“
"You think you’re the love of my life? You’re so arrogant!”
“You’re the love of my life. You told me I was.”
“Does it matter what any of us told the other? We’re both dead. You’re a demon. I’m an angel. Love is for mortals.”
He smiled. “I will win you over.”
“Not with those horns you won’t.”
“I’m working on that. Why do you think I’m here? I’ve defected. I want to become an angel, and I’m already half-way there.”
His demon horns weren’t as pronounced as other demons. They were shrinking back into his head. She could also sense the angel in him. It was small, but it was there. It was actually increasing in very tiny amounts even as they talked.
“Why do you want to be an angel?” she asked.
“I didn’t want to be a demon,” he answered. He felt his horns and sighed miserably. “That was thrust upon me. But I want this. I can be a good angel.”
“I know you’re a good person, Dan. You can be an angel.”
He came closer, holding his hand out, but Fiona couldn’t bear to be near him a moment longer. She stretched out her wings and took off from the perch. She didn’t look back as she soared through the clouds, heading home.
Chapter 9
“Sorry I’m late,” said Wren, walking into Benedict’s house. She liked that she could come and go as she pleased. He trusted her, and that made a huge difference. “There was a little incident at the coffee house.”
“What happened?” he asked, concerned. Paula was singing loudly in the background. The girl was always warbling, anything from current pop songs to musical theatre to golden oldies. She particularly liked Gerry and the Pacemakers for some reason.
She told him all about Maureen and Keegan and he gave her a timely hug. It took a lot of willpower not to break down and cry. She didn’t mention that she’d been to visit Cedric. He might think it was odd.
“You should be at home,” he told her, his hands playing idly with her hair. “You don’t need this right now.”
“I think this is the perfect time to have dinner with you and Paula,” said Wren. There was something cooking in the kitchen. It attacked her nostrils like a very welcome invader. “That smells divine! What is it?”
“It’s a surprise.”
He left her in the living room as he went back into the kitchen. Paula was watching Frozen on their big TV and singing along. She had a huge plastic microphone in her hand and she was dressed up as Elsa. She was obviously wearing one of her father’s wigs as it looked a little too big for her, but she looked so cute it probably didn’t matter.
“Do you want to watch The Little Mermaid later?” Paula asked. “That’s my favorite film of all time!”
“I love that movie too,” said Wren, sitting down. “It has the best songs ever.”
“Gran says Disney princesses are bad role models for young girls but I like them. There’s no harm in dressing up, right?”
Wren smiled. “I totally agree with you.”
Paula handed her the microphone.
“What do you want me to do with this?” Wren asked.
“I want you to sing with me!” Paula announced giddily.
Wren grimaced. “I already told you I can’t sing.”
“Neither can I. I know everyone tells me I’m wonderful and cute but I know I can’t sing. I just do it because it’s fun.”
Wren had to agree with her there. Her own mother went to art classes for years. She couldn’t draw or paint worth a dollar, but she stuck with it because she enjoyed it. Who had the right to tell someone you can’t do something just because you’re bad at it?
“Put The Little Mermaid on,” said Wren. “Let’s sing our hearts out.”
Paula clapped her hands. “Yeah!” She giggled and pointed to the window. “Look! Gracie and Casper have come over to sing with us as well!”
The little girl opened the window and let the two cats in. They settled in with their friend, Benedict’s cat Rocky, on one of the armchairs. They were like a giant bundle of slightly purring fluff. It was so adorable it should be illegal.
Benedict popped his head into the room. “Dinner is almost ready.”
“We’re singing!” Paula shouted.
“You do know Wren’s singing sounds like an otter falling off a cliff?” said Benedict.
Paula laughed. “Don’t be horrible, Daddy!”
Benedict blew them both a kiss and left them to it. Wren’s nerves got to her as the film came on. She didn’t like to sing at all because she knew she was so bad and she didn’t want to be embarrassed, but she was determined to be like Paula and just sing for the sheer fun of it.
Half an hour later Wren, Paula, and Benedict were singing their hearts out. They sounded like the worst musical group to have ever lived, but it was wonderful. Wren hadn’t had so much fun in ages.
Benedict switched the TV off. “The dinner will be cold now.”
“Can we sing again after dinner, Daddy?” Paula asked. “Please?”
“Yes, please?” Wren begged, mimicking Paula.
Benedict smiled and kissed Paula on the forehead. “Fine. Just come on.”
After they’d warmed the dinner up in the microwave they finally sat down to eat. For some reason Wren had been expecting something fancy and posh but it was the exact opposite. He’d made spaghetti Bolognese with tiny little pork burgers in it instead of meatballs. It was surprisingly delicious.
“My mom used to make it for me when I was young,” said Benedict. He slurped his spaghetti like a little kid. It was very endearing. “Her family came here from Italy after the war.”
“Granny is a really good cook,” said Paula, eating her spaghetti like a lady. “She makes handbags and sells them on the internet. She’s very sad but I love her.”
The little burgers had a curious, herby trace to them that set off Wren’s taste buds. She’d never eaten anything like it.
“Granny was once friends with Brock,” said Paula. “Right, Daddy?”
Benedict nodded. “Yes. But we don’t talk about it.”
“We’re lucky to know so many angels,” said Paula.
Benedict had a look on his face that wanted to say more. Wren was glad he didn’t start. The dinner was going very smooth.
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” Paula asked. She looked directly at her father as she said, “I wish I had brothers and sisters.”
“I have a brother called Leo,” said Wren, noting Benedict’s discomfort. “But he doesn’t live in Snowflake Bay. I only really see him at Christmas and Thanksgiving.”<
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“That’s sad,” said Paula.
Wren shrugged. “It is what it is.”
She did miss spending time with Leo, but they each had their own lives to live. They’d been so close once upon a time. Now Wren felt she barely knew her brother. Was he dating anyone? Did he like his job? He was like a stranger almost.
“Dad has five brothers,” said Paula proudly. “I see them all the time.”
“Really?” said Wren. “He never mentioned it.”
“We don’t see Grandpa though,” said Paula. “He doesn’t like Daddy because he’s pansexual.”
Benedict hadn’t mentioned that either, but she was determined not to be upset. That’s what this dinner was for after all, for them all to get to know each other better. It was an evening for sharing.
“Dad is a tough man to love,” Benedict admitted. He stared down at his dinner, obviously lost in past memories. “He was the person I most looked up to in the world. When he disowned me... it felt like my life would never be the same.” He shrugged and continued to messily eat his dinner. “I’ve learned to live without him. Mom won’t leave him, thinking she can make him see sense, but I don’t think he will.”
“I’m sorry,” said Wren.
“I hear you have relatives all over the place,” said Benedict, keen to change the subject.
Wren laughed. That was an understatement. “I have aunts and uncles and cousins all over America,” said Wren. “Some of them I barely know. Some of them I’ve never even met.”
“Your mom talks about her sisters Annie and Anita all the time,” said Benedict. “They’ve been on a world cruise for the past year, right?”
“Since when do you talk to my mom?”
“She pops into the bar sometimes and we talk.”
Wren was a little intimidated by this. Neither of them had mentioned it before. Did they talk about her? What did they talk about if not her? It was good her boyfriend and her mother got along, but she felt excluded.
“We don’t talk about you if that’s what you’re thinking,” Benedict reassured her. He had Bolognese sauce on his chin and splashes of it on his t-shirt. He really was a messy eater. “I think she’s just lonely, and she gets on really well with my girls. Don’t tell her, but I think they thought she was an elderly drag queen the first time they saw her.”
She couldn’t wait to tell her mother about it. Wren didn’t know whether she’d be appalled or flattered. It could be both.
“Does she talk about Anthony?” Wren asked.
Benedict was quiet for a moment. “She does, but she made me promise to keep it between the two of us. I don’t break promises.”
“That’s okay. I just wish she’d talk to me.”
Wren knew she’d brought this on herself. She’d been so vocal in her dislike of her mother’s relationship with Anthony, even if at the moment it was platonic (at least on her side). She should talk to Dot about it, especially given what Anthony was planning.
She put down her knife and fork, totally stuffed.
“That’s the best meal I’ve had in ages,” Wren proclaimed. She yawned, tired to the bone. “Thank you.”
Paula was also nodding off. It must be well past her bedtime.
“I think we all need an early night,” said Benedict.
I think we’re both too tired for a stay over tonight. A pity.
Wren nodded. “Maybe next time I could stay for coffee.”
He took her hand over the table and winked. “Coffee it is.”
Chapter 10
The internet was Wren’s best friend that night. She hadn’t meant to do anything when she got home apart from sleep after a hectic first day and a wonderful date with Benedict, but the land of nod proved inaccessible. Her mind was too active, too buzzing to do something. In the end she’d found herself looking up Maureen’s boss on the internet for information.
He was called Sebastian Barr. He was thirty-eight and quite attractive in a skinny sort of way. He had dark brown eyes and a smug look on his face in every photo she found. He didn’t have much of an online presence, though he did run a Facebook group about fans of Trademark Channel movies. She hesitantly asked to join it. What was the harm? Everyone enjoyed a good cheesy Trademark movie.
Gracie stretched out on the bed beside her. Wren smiled and tickled her under the chin. Her little cat made loud purring noises.
“How are you?” Wren asked. “Are you warm enough?”
Gracie meowed and started rolling on her back. The cat’s nipples were swollen, ready to give milk. It wouldn’t be long now.
“I’m excited,” said Wren. “I can’t wait to meet your little ones. I’m going to be the fussiest grandmother in the world.”
She wasn’t sure that was the right word. Did it sound weird to call herself a grandmother? Did she care?
Wren grinned. “Granny Wren can’t wait.”
A text came in on her cellphone. It was from Maureen, inviting her to a barbeque at her building tomorrow night. Wren texted back, saying she’d love to come. It would give her a chance to meet Maureen’s neighbors in a different setting and perhaps gain new insight into her friend’s life.
She looked around, realizing Casper wasn’t anywhere. It wasn’t like him. He always slept with her and Gracie every night, without fail. Something was wrong. Had he gone back to his former owner?
Wren leaped out of bed, searching around her bedroom. Sometimes he slept behind the curtains on the windowsill. Warm air from the radiator got trapped there, making it an ideal warm spot for the cats.
“Casper?” she called, opening the curtains. He wasn’t there.
She crept out onto the upstairs landing. Someone was talking. Curious, she tip-toed up to one of the spare bedrooms. The door was slightly open.
“What did you get up to today?” Brock asked. “Anything exciting?”
“I did my business in the wrinkly woman’s back yard,” said another voice. It was a male. She didn’t recognize it. “She saw me and threatened me with a long stick but I ran. I am good at running.”
“I used to be a runner. I often dreamed about being on the Olympic team before I signed up for the army. I could’ve won Gold.”
“I run after squirrels. I hate squirrels. They think they are so clever.”
The voice sounded familiar, though she couldn’t quite place it. But why would Brock have someone in his room who did such vulgar things like doing their business on someone’s garden? Why did he have a man in his room so late at night? He wasn’t gay. Or was he? Maybe he was bisexual.
She pushed open the door a little more and peered inside. Brock was sat up in bed, shirtless. His impressive muscular chest and six pack gleamed like sculpted marble. Wren couldn’t help but blush a bit. She had an irresistible urge to touch his skin, to make sure it was as sweaty and perfect as it looked.
Stop it. You’re dating Benedict.
“Stop it,” said Brock, giggling. “It tickles.”
“Your sweat tastes nice,” said the other voice.
There wasn’t anyone else in the room, let alone another person licking him. The only other living thing was her missing cat, Casper. He was sitting on Brock’s shoulder, running his tongue up and down the angel’s cheek.
So that’s where he is!
She felt a little jealous. It didn’t take long for the cat to abandon her for someone else.
“The Wren-woman is watching us,” said the voice.
Brock’s eyes locked on hers and she fell forward into the room. She got a mouthful of carpet.
“Are you spying on me?” Brock demanded. He got out of bed and stared reproachfully at her. “That’s not right.”
He was wearing nothing but a pair of shorts that were so tight they left little to the imagination. She couldn’t help but be hypnotized by them.
“Stop staring at me like I’m a piece of meat,” snapped Brock. He started to pull on a dressing gown quickly, as if afraid Wren would get another look at his underpants. “What are yo
u doing, invading my privacy like this?”
“I was looking for Casper,” said Wren, standing, trying to regain some dignity. “And who are you talking to? Is he hiding under the bed?”
Casper came to the edge of the bed, looked up at her, and said, “He was talking to me, Wren-woman.”
The cat was talking.
The cat was talking...
Wren laughed nervously. “Am I... am I dreaming? Did I have another nervous breakdown?”
The cat started to clean his whiskers before he said, “You are not dreaming. I am not dreaming. I cannot say the big man is not dreaming.”
She walked up to Casper and kneeled down on the carpet. She stared into his face. His whiskers twitched once or twice as she mentally dared him to speak again.
“Say something else,” Wren commanded. “Go on.”
Casper licked her nose and said, “You taste like cheese.”
She gasped and almost screamed. She really wasn’t dreaming or having a breakdown or was high on something. This was really happening, and there was only one explanation she could think of to explain this madness.
“Are you doing this, Brock?” she asked the angel.
“It is a gift of mine,” Brock admitted. He had his dressing gown on now, thankfully covering up his beautiful body. “I can make animals talk, but only male animals. Animals see things others can’t or won’t. It’s easier to get the truth of a person’s life from their pet.”
“The two of you have been talking about me behind my back all this time?” Wren said, annoyed. “That’s not nice.”
Casper looked at Brock. The cat said, “At first we talked about you, but now we are sort of friends. Do not tell anyone I am friends with him. He is a bit stupid.”
He talks without contractions. Weird.
Wren stood and sat on the edge of the bed. This was a lot to handle. She could take angels and Heaven and all that, but not talking animals. That was too much. Talking animals belonged in Disney movies, not in her spare room.
I need more sleep.
“I’m going back to bed,” Wren announced, heading for the door. “Today has been the longest day of my life and tomorrow will be even longer. Good night.”