by Selena Kitt
“I’m so lucky to have a job I can do at home, if I need to,” Jack agreed with his wife, his gaze never leaving his son. They both looked at him as if they were starving and he was their only source of nourishment, like they believed that, if they looked away, he might disappear. “The firm’s given me as much time as we need.”
“We’re lucky, we live so close to the hospital,” Lucy said, watching the dark-haired girl helping Henry up into his swing. His legs were a little too short. “That’s the little girl from California, isn’t it? Bonnie?”
“Her mother flew out last week for a few days,” Nurse Clara told them. “But she has three more at home.”
“Henry is our only.” Lucy glanced at her husband, her violet eyes shining, but somehow a little sad too. “And he took a long time in coming.”
Muriel guessed they were in their thirties, both of them, which did seem a late start for children. But the war had separated many couples, and Muriel had come across many war widows.
“We thought we dodged a bullet, when Jack came home from overseas safe and sound,” Lucy said. “And then Henry got sick…”
Muriel watched the woman’s eyes tear up, somehow making them look even bigger in her pale, pretty face. Her hair was long, thick and dark, falling in perfect waves past her shoulders, brushing the sleeves of her black and white polka-dot dress with the stylish red belt.
“I didn’t quite dodge the bullet.” Jack gave a short laugh, running a hand through his hair. He needed a cut, desperately—whatever firm he worked at would insist he get one before coming back to the office, Muriel was sure—but they clearly had other things on their minds these days. “I still have shrapnel in my hip. And they took my spleen. But I’m home, and that’s all that matters now.”
“I know I couldn’t get through this without him.” Lucy smiled at her husband, blinking back her tears.
“Henry’s our pride and joy.” Jack cleared his throat and Muriel thought his eyes were slightly wet too.
“I don’t know what we’d do if we lost him,” Lucy whispered, and her husband’s arm went around her shoulder, comforting.
Muriel felt Char’s arm tighten around her shoulder too, and she glanced up at him, wondering what he was thinking.
“He’s in remission,” Jack reminded his wife. “The doctor said if he stays in remission another week, he might even be able to come home.”
“I’d like to have him home for his birthday.” Lucy brightened at the thought, explaining to the nurse, “He was a Valentine’s Day baby.”
“No wonder he’s so sweet.” Nurse Clara smiled. She was very young—early twenties maybe—a pretty girl with short blonde hair and big, blue eyes. A heartbreaker if there ever was one, ripe and ready for love to fall into her lap. She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, and besides, Muriel could sense when someone was ready for love. It was her job, after all. She wouldn’t be surprised if she and Jari got a call about Nurse Clara in the near future.
“The best Valentine’s gift you ever gave me.” Lucy went up on tiptoe to kiss her husband's cheek and he smiled at her.
“Nurse Clara!” The little dark-haired girl, Bonnie, appeared at the nurse’s side, tugging at her white skirt. “Is it time for parachute yet?”
“Are you ready for parachute?” Nurse Clara asked, raising her voice on purpose, getting the attention of several of the other children.
Soon they were all gathered around her, excited, buzzing, and they started to chant, “Parachute! Parachute! Parachute!”
“That’s our cue.” Char looked down at Muriel and grinned.
“What are you doing?” she asked, alarmed, as he steered her to the middle of the fake-grassy area.
“Sit with me.” He pulled her down.
“Here, in the middle of the floor?” They sat, face to face, cross-legged like children. She was still small compared to him, but from this angle, he seemed different, not quite so imposing. Angels didn’t have distinguishing features, not the way humans did, but there were subtle differences to tell them apart, mostly in the eyes. They said they were windows to the human soul, which wasn’t true—humans wore their souls on the outside—but they were the key to an angel’s essence.
Char’s eyes were dark, almost black, ringed in amber. They were the most expressive eyes she’d ever seen, human or celestial. Maybe it was because he was a seraphim, and she’d only ever seen those from a distance before. She’d never interacted with one, especially not like this.
“What are we doing?” Muriel asked as he reached over and took her hands in his. The gossamer light they made together, her silver and his gold, was mesmerizing in its contrast.
“You’ll see.” Char squeezed her hands in his, and for a moment, everything else went away. The sound of the children laughing and cheering as the nurse took something from a little closet, the sunlight streaming in from above, even the constant, calming presence of The Maker that resided deep within her, seemed to fade to nothing.
There was no one else but Char, and those dark, amber-rimmed eyes, like fire. If she had a soul, she would have sworn he was looking straight at it.
Muriel saw Zeph standing near the nurse as she unfurled something white, like a sail. He was looking straight at them.
“He can’t see us, right?” she mused. Guardians, like the fey, couldn’t see the dominions of angels in the caste above them. It was the same for every caste of angel. She was a cherubim, one step lower than the seraphim, and she could see all of the angels below her, including the bright blue, electric glow of the guardians.
“Zeph?” Char glanced over, shaking his head. “If I wanted him to, he could see us. But then he’d want to come over and talk, and I want you all to myself today.”
She looked up when he said that, smiling.
“So you’ve come here before?” she asked, changing the subject, a little afraid of her response to his words. Did humans feel this way, she wondered, when they sat so close on benches, heads bent, holding hands?
“This is one of my favorite places in the world,” he confessed. “Right here in this spot.”
“Really?” she puzzled. “Why?”
“You’ll see.”
Soon they were surrounded by laughing children, forming a circle. The kids grabbed the edges of the silk parachute, pulling it taut. Muriel giggled as it created a tent over their heads.
“Okay, to the center on three!” Nurse Clara said. “One, two, three!”
And then they were bombarded by over a dozen laughing children, running to the apex of the circle, pulling the parachute with them, creating a cave. And then they ran back to the edges again, letting air underneath, forcing the silk high up, the sun streaming through. It was like being under a gossamer balloon, and she stared up at it in wonder, tilting back so far, she nearly toppled over.
“Here, lie with me.” Char laughed, catching her by the hands.
He stretched out onto the floor, the grass underneath them synthetic but soft. She wondered what it was made of, but only for a moment, as Char reached over and clasped her hand and they watched the parachute rise and fall with the laughter and shouts of children. It was truly magical. She’d flown high above cities, she’d watched kings fall in love, she’d touched the hand of The Maker, but those things paled in comparison to this moment, feeling Char’s hand in hers while a dozen, joyful, dying children played with a silk parachute all around them.
It filled her with such feeling, it was almost too much to bear, as if she couldn’t quite contain it. She turned her head to look at Char and saw he was looking at her, not up at the parachute. Smiling, she squeezed his hand, the clamor of little feet coming toward them and receding again and again, the parachute rising and falling with the wind.
“What do you think it would be like to have a body?” she wondered aloud, searching his face with her eyes. It wasn’t the first time she’d thought about it, but it was the first time she’d wondered it aloud. She’d never even said that to Jari before. “To be f
lesh and blood?”
Char inched closer, so they were face-to-face, forehead-to-forehead. His eyes, this up close, were electrifying, as if he could touch her with his gaze alone. Their arms and hips touched, and everywhere they met, it felt warm, soft, like she was melting into him, losing herself. Angels were all a part of The Maker—individual, yes, with different functions, but not like humans—so they had a sort of non-specific quality about them.
But Muriel had always felt a little different, apart from the rest. She wasn’t like Jari or Barbie or Ami. She enjoyed her job, she was just as exhilarated when she hit her target as anyone else, but for her, there had always been something missing. There was something else out there, she was sure of it.
Now, looking into Char’s dark eyes, she thought, maybe, she’d found it at last.
“I’ve wondered,” he admitted, speaking softly. “The human experience must be so intense.”
“It seems so.” She smiled, listening to the children giggling, the pound of their feet echoing as they ran, out of breath, to the center and back again. “Life seems like such a big, painful, exhilarating, amazing mess.”
“I know.” He reached over to touch her cheek as the parachute came low again, the children ducking under the edge, giggling as they created their own silk tent. “I want it too.”
Had he read her mind? It seemed so, the way his eyes searched hers, the longing in them reaching into her and touching something new, something altogether undiscovered. She’d spent so long doing the same things, day in and day out, safe and secure in the knowledge that everything was the way it should be, even if sometimes things didn’t work out the way she hoped, but meeting this seraphim had changed all that.
“Thank you.” She reached up to press his hand against her cheek, wanting his touch. It made her feel things she didn’t understand, couldn’t even quite comprehend. The closest she could come, in her imagination, was the feeling she got when she pulled her bow, that sweet anticipation in the moments before she let the arrow fly. But this was more than that. Far more.
“I’m falling, Muriel,” he confessed, his voice was close, but far away at the same time. “I don’t understand.”
“Me too.” She nodded, the delicate, almost gauzy material of the parachute brushing her cheek, their hands. “It’s like plummeting straight at the ground with no wings at all.”
“Scary?” He trailed his hand down her neck, over her shoulder, his fingers brushing her folded wings.
“Exciting.” It was. Beyond words, beyond expression, beyond feeling altogether. It gave her something she hadn’t even known she was missing until now.
“I want to keep you.” His hand moved over her side, rolling her toward him so they were pressed to each other, torso to torso. “It’s like I want to fold you up and put you in a pocket and just… keep you.”
“I kind of want to be kept.” She smiled at the thought. “But you don’t have pockets. Think I could climb under your wing? Where do you put all those souls anyway?”
She nudged closer, exploring with her hands, the soft feel of his wings like clouds. He laughed, rolling away from her, but taking her with him, so she was now on top, looking down into those deep, dark eyes.
“You’re kind of naughty for an angel,” he teased.
The light had changed while they’d been rolling around and she glanced around, realizing that the children had stopped playing with the parachute. They were all gathered around, helping Nurse Clara fold it up.
“Hey, look at that, the swings are free!” Muriel jumped up, running over and settling onto the seat. Char joined her as she started to swing, watching the kids lining up. It was clearly time to go. There was one little boy not in line, though. Henry wandered over to the swing set and Muriel slowed her swing—it would look strange to the humans, a swing going all by itself with no breeze at all.
Henry looked at the swing, his blonde head cocked, and then a slow smile spread across his face.
“Hi,” he said softly, lifting his little hand to wave.
Muriel froze.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
Muriel glanced at Char, then back at the little boy. Could he see them both? He hadn’t said anything to the seraphim—just to her. Char just shrugged.
“I’m… Muriel.” What else could she do but tell him?
“Are you an angel?”
She nodded.
“Do you know Zeph?”
“I…” She glanced around, looking for the guardian, but he was gone.
“Henry, sweetheart, it’s time to go.” His mother came up behind him, bending down to his level and putting her hands on his shoulders. “We can play on the swings next time, okay?”
“Okay,” he agreed amiably. Muriel breathed a sigh of relief. Then Henry turned back and asked, “Will I see you again next time?”
“Oh… uh…” Muriel hesitated, seeing Lucy cock her head, looking at the empty swing. At least, she hoped all she was seeing was an empty swing!
“Say goodbye to Zeph.” Lucy smiled. “Tell him you’ll see him next time.”
“Oh that’s not Zeph.” Henry took his mother’s outstretched hand.
“You have another imaginary friend?” Lucy’s delicate eyebrows rose in surprise.
“Her name is Muriel.” He smiled again, lifting his hand in a wave. “I’ll see you next time, okay?”
“Okay.” Muriel lifted her hand, wondering if she ever would see the little boy again—wondering how he had seen her at all. She’d never had a person see her before.
“Come on, sweetheart, it’s time for lunch.” His mother started leading him away, but not before Henry managed to twist around and wave again.
“Bye, Muriel!” he called.
“Bye!” she dared, waving back. “See you next time!”
Then she felt Char’s hand slip into hers as they sat together on the swings.
“Next time?” he asked. She looked over and saw that he had a small, secret smile on his face. “You want to come back?”
“Yes,” she confessed. “Is that okay?”
“More than okay.”
She could have stayed there like that forever, holding hands with Char, just sitting on the swings in the slanted sunlight from the windows in the ceiling above their heads. She might have, they both might have, but there were couples waiting to fall in love, and a call from The Maker startled her. She wondered if that was how humans felt, waking from a dream.
“I’ve got to go,” Muriel stood, reluctant, not wanting to let go of his hand. He held on tight too, as if he felt it too. “Same time tomorrow?”
“I’ll be here.”
He finally let her go.
Chapter Six
“I’ll be back in an hour,” Muriel said, glancing toward the target where Ami and Barbie were taking turns shooting bullseye after bullseye. “I promise.”
“Yeah, you said that yesterday.” Jari didn’t look over, keeping her eye on the target. “And I had to sit at the diner all by myself for three hours.”
“I said I was sorry.”
“That’s what you said the day before yesterday too.” Jari let her arrow go, hitting the target just off center, but Barbie noticed and smirked.
“I’m sorry, Jari,” Muriel apologized again, trying to sound like she really meant it.
Part of her did mean it, of course. Jari had been her partner since the beginning of everything and the past week they’d been separated more than ever before, except the time they took separate vacations. Angels got one week off every year, no calls from The Maker, no duties at all. They usually spent it somewhere sunny and tropical. But two years ago, Muriel had decided she wanted to see Alaska before it melted into the Arctic Ocean, and Jari didn’t want to spend time anywhere cold, so they’d separated for a week.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” Jari muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes. “What are you two doing anyway?”
“Nothing important.” Muriel shrugged, avoiding Jari’s nar
rowed gaze as she lifted her bow to take aim. She was going to have to tell her something. “You know the hospital where I shot the black soul…?”
“We, we shot it,” Jari reminded her. “I was there too, even if I didn’t have my eyes closed.”
“Right, that’s what I meant.” Muriel let her arrow fly. No bullseye. She wasn’t concentrating very hard. Ami and Barbie had their heads together, whispering, glancing their way. The tournament was today. “Anyway, there’s a little boy there who can see me.”
“What?” Jari’s jaw dropped, lowering her voice. “Muriel, that’s dangerous.”
“He’s got cancer, Jari,” she said. “I don’t think he’s going to reveal any of our secrets. Anyway, all the grownups think he’s just talking to his imaginary friend.”