The Garden Gate

by Christa J. Kinde

  “Only one,” Abner reminded.

  The Gatekeeper sighed and gazed off into the distance, lost in thought.

  Abner’s gaze cut to Marcus, who quickly stepped forward. “If it helps, Milo’s friend is mine too.” He rocked back on his heels as the Gatekeeper’s attention honed in. “And . . . she’ll remember. Which is pretty nice.”

  Aril touched his fingertips to his chest. “Marcus Truman, your words carry wisdom. Let it be Prissie, daughter of the Pomeroys.”

  After school, Prissie and Koji aimed for the usual spot where her dad would meet them with the van. Before she could round the final corner, the young angel caught her hand, holding a finger to his lips to hush her. Prissie’s first reaction was to crowd closer to her friend. Was Adin back?

  A guy’s voice came from around the corner. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

  “I’ll make sure you have a good time,” coyly countered a girl.

  Prissie knew both voices very well, and she didn’t like the tone in either. Neil sounded annoyed. She peeped around the corner to where her older brother stood with his back to her. He was saying, “I’m not interested, Elise.”

  “Don’t be that way, Neil,” she protested. Reaching out to tug at his sleeve, she kept trying. “You’ll have fun. Lots of fun.”

  He shrugged off her hand and sidestepped her reach. “No, thank you. And you can stop asking already. Please.”

  Elise pouted after Neil’s retreating back, and Koji tugged Prissie back out of sight. “I see now what he meant,” he whispered.

  “What?”

  “Your brother mentioned good riddance.”

  Prissie nodded, remembering the stray remark. From the looks of things, Neil wasn’t in any danger. But looks could be deceiving.

  Later that night, Tad thumped down the back stairs and leaned through the kitchen doorway. “Say, Priss. There’s something in your room I think you’ll want to see.”

  “What?” she asked, staying put. There was no way she wanted to see ripped out walls and exposed wires.

  Her big-big brother crooked his finger. “You’ll like it. I promise.”

  She dragged her feet a little, but Tad’s half-smile had her curious. Koji followed her into the upstairs hallway, where crumpled plastic and open paint cans lined the walls. Her bedroom looked a little better than the last time she’d seen it. There was a ceiling again. But the room was bare and white, with the smells of plasterboard and sawdust to make it feel foreign.

  Grandpa Pete was waiting for them, standing in the middle of the room in a thermal shirt and suspenders. Prissie knew something was missing, but she didn’t make the connection until Tad hauled her over to where Neil knelt in front of her creaky old wardrobe. Peeping over his shoulder, she realized that their grandfather had contributed his flannel shirt to a new family.

  Neil grinned up at her. “Tansy brought you a housewarming gift.”

  Her favorite tabby paused in licking one of the newborn kittens at her side and blinked up at Prissie. She felt a wash of relief at finding Tansy safe. “Glad to see you’re putting your emergency medical training to good use,” she said softly.

  The sixteen-year-old tugged affectionately at the mama kitty’s ears. “She doesn’t need me, but she’s humoring me. So far, we’ve got triplets . . . but I don’t think she’s done.”

  Grandpa Pete harrumphed. “Old girl looked like she swallowed a football. It’s a wonder she made it up here, given how much waddle’s in her walk.”

  “She came in through the roof?” Prissie asked, waving Koji over so he could see the new babies.

  “Window was open overnight,” her grandfather reported. “And the scaffolding’s in place. Guess she figured on havin’ her babies someplace safer’n the machine shed.”

  “That’s where we found Mimsy,” Neil explained. “Man, I’m glad she made it up here. Can she stay?”

  “That’ll be up to your mother,” Grandpa Pete replied. “But I ’spect she’ll be amiable.”

  “The more the merrier,” Prissie whispered.

  By bedtime that night, Tansy was safely closed into Prissie’s bedroom along with food, water, and six mewing babies — ​three tabby, two ginger, and one black. Figuring it didn’t hurt to ask, she applied to her mother. “Can I keep one?”

  “We don’t often give them away,” Momma pointed out.

  “No, I mean as a pet. A house cat.”

  Mrs. Pomeroy looked ready to say no, but she hesitated. “I’ll discuss it with your father.”

  Prissie could barely contain her elation. Momma had as good as said yes. Running up the back stairs, she slipped into her bedroom to say goodnight to the kittens and found Koji and Beau already there. Her news bubbled over. “I think Momma’s going to ask Daddy to let me keep a kitten!”

  Her brother knew exactly how unprecedented this was. Their father wasn’t big on critters indoors. “In the house?”

  “Obviously!”

  “That’ll be good,” Beau said thoughtfully. “Which one will you pick?”

  “I’m not sure.” Kneeling down, she pushed her way between Beau and Koji. She gently stroked the fuzzy backs of each kitten. “Once their eyes are open, it’ll be easier to decide. Or maybe . . .”

  Koji turned to gaze at her, waiting for her to finish her thought.

  Prissie smiled. “Maybe I’ll let Koji choose.”

  As the Observer’s eyes widened, Beau remarked, “Don’t worry, Koji. She loves babies, so you can’t go wrong.”

  Koji laughed softly.

  “What?” asked Prissie.

  The boy’s eyes sparkled. “I wonder if this is the first time a human told an angel to fear not.”

  It was finished. The farmhouse had a new roof, and the last of the exterior trim had a fresh coat of paint. Derrick hauled away the scaffolding, and Grandpa Pete declared the glossy finish on Prissie’s bedroom floor dry. She could move back.

  On Momma’s insistence, the family gave her a little space, letting her adjust to the changes in her own way. Taking a deep breath, she slipped through the quirky door with its angled top corner, closing herself inside. Everything was spotlessly clean and smelled faintly of varnish. No power cords, tools, or paint cans remained. Just a small room with white walls and a faint echo.

  Prissie’s new window had plain glass, and she couldn’t bring herself to be grateful for it. The view was stark without all the pretty diamond panes, and the sunlight felt harsh. Worse, the clear view of the ground below made her windowseat feel high. Too high.

  Choosing a seat in the farthest corner, she mourned for her lost treasure . . . and for the other things she was about to lose. It felt as if all the colors would fade, and even though she’d promised Koji not to get ahead of herself, Prissie knew she would feel as empty as this room when her best friend left. Her heart hurt, her chin wobbled, and she hid her face as the tears came.

  A soft click. Shuffling steps. Arms looping around her shoulders. Prissie reached for Koji, pulling him into a clumsy embrace. Maybe it was just a pity party. Maybe some of the tears were angry. But all the disappointments and sadness needed a way out. Prissie had never been so scared in her life, but she’d also never had so much to be thankful for. The thought of how much she had to lose wrung every bit of courage from her soul.

  Koji finally spoke. “Do not grieve as one who has no hope.”

  That wasn’t what Prissie wanted to hear. “Promise me you’ll stay for always,” she begged.

  “I cannot,” he replied seriously.

  “But I need you!”

  Koji quietly answered, “That is nice to hear.”

  He didn’t need her. Her tears fell silently; words could not touch the enormity of her heartbreak. So she clung to her best friend and asked God to change His mind. She never wanted to let Koji go.

  Just then, there was a knock on her window. Prissie lifted her head and stared at the Protector crouched outside. When she didn’t budge, Marcus rolled golden eyes and let himself in, swinging e
asily over the sill.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked faintly.

  Setting his sword and a plain white box on the windowseat, he sauntered over to stare down at them. “Ease up, kiddo. You’re gonna break him.”

  Hiding her face against Koji’s shoulder, she grumbled, “Go away, Marcus.”

  He knelt down and used his wings to surround them in a wash of warm light. “Look, Prissie. Koji is Faithful, and that means he goes where he’s Sent. Don’t you dare try to push yourself between him and God. Don’t tempt him to Fall.”

  She looked up, horrified by the very idea. “I wouldn’t want that.”

  Marcus nodded. “He loves you, but you gotta know your place . . . just like he knows his.”

  Knowing didn’t change how she was feeling. She tried to explain. “I . . . I just don’t want to go from always-together to always-apart. It’s going to be . . . bad.”

  “Idiot. What did I tell you before?”

  Prissie sulked. “I don’t remember.”

  He shuffled closer, wings tightening around their huddle. “Milo is your mailman, and no matter what else happens, he’ll always be your mailman.”

  “He’s staying,” she whispered.

  “Better believe he’s staying,” he countered in gruff tones. “And what do Messengers do?”

  Prissie was catching on. “Carry messages.”

  Smiling a little, Marcus said, “Very good. And who might you want messages from if you’re missing them?”

  Her arms tightened around Koji.

  Marcus snorted. “Can you breathe, Observer?”

  Koji sniffled softly before answering, “Indeed.”

  The thought of him crying too probably would have set Prissie off again, but Marcus reached out and flicked her forehead. “Hey. I’ve got something for you.” With a swirl of wings, he quickly retreated and retrieved the box. Placing it on the floor in front of her, he said, “Turn him loose. Check it out.”

  While Koji extricated himself from her embrace, Marcus helpfully removed the lid and tossed it aside. Right on top of a layer of tissue paper sat the suncatcher he’d rescued during the white elephant gift exchange. “Is this some kind of joke?” she asked softly. “Because it isn’t funny.”

  “Nope,” Marcus corrected. “It’s the beginning of something new. When you left that with me, it helped me make up my mind about some stuff.” He tapped the edge of the box. “There’s more. Go on, kiddo.”

  She swiped self-consciously at her nose, and Koji passed her a tissue. He’d come prepared. Pushing aside more of the crinkly paper inside the box, Prissie found a second suncatcher, the same stained glass diamond with its rim of colorful marbles. But this one was made in completely different colors — ​shades of orange and amber.

  At her questioning glance, Marcus pointed. “Keep going.”

  The next diamond was sky blue. A red one followed. Another was green with gold. Her suspicions were confirmed when she lifted out a purple diamond, which had a single yellow marble amidst the deep violet ones lining its edge. “This one is for Taweel and Omri,” she whispered.

  “Thought that one would tip you off,” Marcus replied, pulling a reel of fishing wire and some hooks from his pocket. “Let’s string ’em up.”

  “But . . . where did you get these?” Prissie asked.

  “Made ’em.”

  “You did?”

  “Turns out I’m good with my hands,” he replied. “Eye for color. Junk like that.”

  The last suncatcher was a small star, and she knew it was meant for Koji. Laying Marcus’s handiwork out on the floor, she counted an even dozen, the same number as the members of Jedrick’s Flight, minus one. “Where’s yours?”

  The Protector was screwing hooks into the angled ceiling, right where her ornament hooks used to be. “You won’t need a bit of sparkly glass to remember me by. I’ll be sticking around.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we’re friends.”

  Prissie blew her nose. “That’s your story, and I’m stuck with it?”

  Marcus smirked. “When an angel is Sent, there’s nothing can stop him.”

  “And God Sent you to me?”

  “Looks that way. Hey, Koji . . . bring me that first one.”

  One by one, the angels filled the upper corner of her window with color. The glass diamonds swayed and spun, catching the light and casting vivid shadows on the wall. Prissie pondered them. “These are for remembering? You make it sound like I’d forget.”

  Koji’s expression grew solemn. “Shimron says that it is human nature to forget the things that are closest.”

  “How could I forget something that’s right in front of me?” she asked, feeling defensive.

  Marcus replied, “People take stuff for granted all the time.”

  “My mentor also said that humans often forget the things they no longer see,” Koji added in cautious tones.

  Out of sight, out of mind. Did he really think he meant so little to her? “Koji,” she said fiercely. “I could never forget you. Ever!”

  The Observer tucked his hair behind his ear, looking as pleased as he was relieved. Marcus smirked down at his teammate, but nonchalantly went on, “People used to make piles of rocks for remembering things. Instead of twelve stones, you’ll have these.” The Protector gave Tamaes’s orange diamond a spin. “Boost your faith on days when it’s shaky.”

  Prissie wondered if she should be offended. But it was impossible to dredge up any anger. What if he was right? What if she’d need proof that all of this had really happened? She suddenly felt overwhelmingly grateful for Marcus’ gift. “Thanks,” she whispered.

  “For the record, I’m really glad,” Marcus said. “It’ll be nice to have a friend that I don’t have to keep so many secrets from.”

  She admired the way the suncatchers brought color back into her world. “You and Ransom as so stubborn. I don’t have much of a choice.”

  “Not about how things are going to go down. But you do have a choice in how you’ll deal.” Marcus adjusted the length of one of the strings, then hopped down to check the arrangement. Nodding in satisfaction, he said, “Lean on us a little. We’re allowed to support you.”

  It was ridiculous, what they were asking of her. Did Marcus and Ransom think they could just step into a place only Koji could fill? She appreciated their efforts, but at the same time, they irked her. Needing to be perfectly honest, Prissie quietly said, “You’re not the one I want.”

  Marcus actually grinned. “Same here, but chances are better than fair that you’ll need me. Somehow. Sometime.”

  Koji stepped between them, looking from face to face. “Things have changed. They are still changing.”

  “So try to keep up, kiddo!” The Protector’s expression suddenly shifted, and his voice dropped. “That reminds me. I need the both of you to meet me on Sunday afternoon. On that red bridge back behind the barn.”

  Prissie traded a glance with Koji, who looked equally puzzled. “Why?” she asked.

  “There’s someplace I get to take you.” Marcus added, “In a way, that place is the beginning of all kinds of trouble. Including yours.”

  13

  THE PIANO TUNER

  The days are nearly complete,” Jedrick offered, his voice thick with concern.

  Shimron’s pen scratched to a halt, and he gazed past his assortment of paints and brushes. “You would do well to keep that a secret.”

  “His goal will vanish,” the cherubim pointed out. “His purpose will be thwarted.”

  Shaking his head, the ancient Observer said, “Listen to what you are saying. Do you think a Fallen will give up simply because he has no hope of succeeding?”

  Jedrick’s shoulders sagged. “They know their fate, and it makes them all the more vicious.”

  “Just so,” Shimron acknowledged. “And for that very reason, hide the truth. If Adin learns how little time remains . . .”

  The Protector’s jaw tightened. “What might
he do in his desperation?”

  Shimron replied, “I shudder to think.”

  When Prissie came down the back stairs into the kitchen early Saturday morning, she was surprised to find Ransom fully entrenched. He was peering under the cloth draped over their big ceramic bowl, a picture of indecision. “Are you snooping?” she asked.

  “Not snooping, Miss Priss. Proofing,” Ransom countered. “And between you and me, bread is hard. I think your dad let me try this just to prove that I should stick to muffins.”

  “I doubt it. He even lets Zeke mess around.” She wriggled the fingers of one hand. “There’s a feel to dough, and you can’t learn it from watching.”

  “You learned this stuff early, huh?”

  She shook her head. “That’s what Grandma Nell says, and she’s the one who gave Dad his first cooking lessons.”

  “You’re in with the master’s master,” he sighed. “So . . . he’s not just trying to get me to shut up?”

  “Dad’s not like that. With him, no means no. If he didn’t want you messing in his kitchen, he’d say so.”

  Ransom waved at the bowl. “So does it look right?”

  “Looks don’t matter.”

  “Thank heaven for that. But seriously, how can you tell?”

  “According to Grandma, it should feel like a baby’s bottom.”

  His expression blanked. “That’s way outta my realm of experience.”

  “Oh. I suppose it would be. Too bad, because it’s actually a really good comparison.”

  “You do the whole babysitting thing or something?”

  “That too,” Prissie replied with a trace of superiority. “But I was eight when Jude was born, big enough to help out. I’ve changed lots of diapers.”

  Ransom pushed the bowl her way. “Well?”

  “You want my hands in your dough?”

  “I know you’re not afraid to tell me if it’s wrong,” he reasoned. “Hopefully, you won’t mind telling me if it’s right.”

  Whipping the towel off the bowl, Prissie poked a finger into the yeasty lump. “It’s a little sticky. Knead in more flour, but not too much. A sprinkle at a time.”