Blessed Light: An Angels of Fate Prequel Novella

by C. S. Wilde

  BLESSED LIGHT

  AN ANGELS OF FATE PREQUEL NOVELLA

  C.S. WILDE

  Copyright © 2019 by C.S. Wilde

  ISBN: 9781797725345

  ASIN: B07NZZSPPX

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialog are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover image by Mirella Santana

  Edited by Christina Walker (Supernatural Editing)

  * * *

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  “Once you free the darkness, there’s no return.”

  1

  A va never failed her charges. The Hells she would start now.

  She narrowed her eyes at the stubborn old man sitting in a wheelchair. Like any other mortal, he couldn’t see her, but she wished he did. Maybe if Diego knew that a guardian angel watched over him, his spirits would rise.

  His peers played board games or watched television at the back of the vast room, but instead of joining them, he kept staring out of the large window that displayed the retirement home’s gardens, his eyes watering and heavy with sorrow.

  Diego’s curly gray hair had begun receding, and his wrinkled olive skin resembled old leather—he smelled like it too, even though the nurses took great care of him. The decaying reek of approaching death stuck to him, almost as if the Angel of Death herself had taken a liking to the poor man. In fact, Diego was so thin that his skin made a feeble coating atop his bones.

  Ava doubted he would last much longer.

  She wondered why her mentor had assigned her to him. To say Diego was a lost cause was an understatement—and not at all because of his current state.

  Ava had tried everything to ease his existence. She’d whispered the soothing words of the Gods in his ears, golden wisps of light that left her lips and penetrated his skin. But instead of improving Diego’s mood, her murmured words of hope had the opposite effect, making him look away with hunched shoulders and quivering lips.

  She’d also architected all manner of cheering events for him from underneath her blanket of invisibility—parties, visits from old friends, endless victories on bingo night.

  Nothing lifted Diego’s veil of sorrow.

  If only she could understand why he carried such monumental grief … but the man was a puzzle.

  Even worse, her efforts began making him uncomfortable. His frail muscles tightened and he winced in pain when she spoke, which was why she’d stopped trying a few days ago.

  Now she simply observed him. Utterly powerless.

  Utterly useless.

  What truly unnerved her was that Diego’s health wasn’t as bad as it seemed at first glance. His mind was the problem. Whatever he carried inside made him a man much older and frailer than his biology dictated. He had a secret and it ate him from inside, little by little, demolishing him until the day he would crumble. As a Guardian she could feel those corroding emotions; pain and despair, consuming him little by little, every single day.

  Ava was no stranger to this type of self-destruction, but she had always been able to help the charges who suffered from it.

  Not Diego, though.

  No matter how hard she tried, or how kind the nurses were, or how his peers at the retirement home tried to cheer him, Diego put up an immutable wall between himself and the rest of the world.

  Ava was a soft breeze trying to break it.

  “I wish I was an Erudite so I could read your mind,” she grumbled to herself.

  The old man chuckled.

  Ava frowned, wondering if he’d heard her, but that was impossible. She was masking her essence, which meant no human could see her.

  Diego’s buddy Ed approached them from behind, walking with an easy stride. The man was what Ava’s friend, Justine, would call a silver fox. He was quite the charmer and a hit with the older ladies in the facility. Some younger ones, too.

  Ava turned to Diego and her spirits dimmed. Contrary to Ed, he had no family; no friends. No one came to visit him. No one cared.

  Except for Ed.

  He tried to cheer the old man almost as hard as Ava did. Ed daily played chess or cards with Diego, and he often took him for garden strolls, always respecting his friend’s slow pace since Diego needed a cane to walk whenever he decided to leave his wheelchair—which didn’t happen too often.

  None of it was enough. Diego would be momentarily happy, but soon the gloom that hung above his head crashed upon him with a fury.

  Ed stopped beside Diego’s wheelchair and bent over. “Up for a game, old geezer?” He showed him a closed chess box and wiggled it. Without waiting for Diego’s reply, he went to a table in the corner and pulled up a chair, placing it close to him. “C’mon. We haven’t played in a while.”

  Diego shook his head. “I’m fine.”

  He wasn’t. The fact Ava was here to help him and failed miserably was proof.

  Ed tapped his own leg and pointed a finger at him. “You can’t keep punishing yourself. What happened with your boy is not your fault. He’s a grown-ass man who’s responsible for his own choices.”

  A son? Ava gasped and stepped back. Thank the Heavens no one here could see—or hear—her.

  There was nothing in Diego’s file about a child, and he’d never had a visit in the three months Ava had been with him.

  “Shush, Ed,” Diego snapped. “She’ll hear you.”

  Ava’s blood froze. Time stood still.

  Holy Gods in the Heavens.

  “Who?” Ed looked around, clearly failing to spot her. “Are you losing your mind, old fellow?”

  Diego raised his feeble hand and shook his head. “She wants to help me, but there’s nothing she can do. My son is violent and lost. She can’t help him, which means she can’t help me.” At this he raised his head and peered directly at Ava. “I appreciate your concern and efforts, my dear, but maybe your heavenly peers should assign you to someone else.”

  “I’m here to help you, Diego.”

  He waved her off. “I was hoping you’d give up at some point, but you never did. Let me be, angel. You’re too stubborn for your own good.”

  She huffed in annoyance and crossed her arms. “I could say the same about you.”

  Ed patted Diego’s back. “You’re hallucinating, which means you probably skipped breakfast. Again.” He stood and grabbed the push handles of Diego’s wheelchair. “You really shouldn’t starve yourself.”

  “I wasn’t hungry,” he said quietly.

  “I don’t care.” Ed began pulling him away. “We’re not that young anymore.”

  Diego kept his focus on Ava, a silent apology oozing from his soft gaze.

  Little did Ed know that his friend wasn’t hallucinating. Diego saw things clearer than Ed himself; clearer than most humans.

  He saw her.

  Ava swallowed dry. “I’ve never given up on an assignment.”

  Diego shrugged as Ed rolled him away. “Perhaps it’s time you do.”

  She stared at him as he went, her fists balled.

  The Hells she would.

  AVA HURRIED through the golden revolving door that led to the entrance hall of the Order of Ligh
t. All angels in the city lived and worked here, herself included—when she wasn’t busy with her charges, that is.

  She never stopped marveling at the gargantuan space that resembled a white marbled cathedral, with its domed roof and arched windows. Golden vines crept from the floor upward, standing out against the white. A sphere hung from the ceiling and light swirled inside it like lava in slow motion.

  A small sun.

  Pointless, really, to have it working during the day, but the sphere never stopped shining. Some said it was because it held the light of the Gods themselves, others that its brightness came from the Seraphs who ruled the Heavens, but no one knew for sure.

  Ava doubted both theories. The scriptures said that if a Seraph left the Heavenly plains and stepped on Earth, their light could destroy the world.

  She watched the sphere and its never ending—never threatening—radiance.

  Not heavenly light, then.

  As she headed toward the elevators, she stopped before the giant statues of the three Gods engraved on the wall opposite to the entrance.

  She made a silent prayer for the Goddess of Life and Love, her Goddess, the mother of all Guardians and Dominions, who stood stoically in a dress that seemed to bend stone into fabric.

  “Give me patience to see this mission through, mother,” Ava muttered.

  She also prayed to the God of Knowledge and Logic, father of all Erudites and Virtues, who stood beside the Goddess with old books in his grip and a kind smile on his wrinkled face.

  “Give me clarity in this mission, my God.”

  Finally, she turned to the God of War and Resilience, father of all Warriors and Archangels, who stood with a sword in his hand and pride swelling in his marbled chest.

  “Give me bravery,” she whispered.

  She went on, and once Ava reached the elevator, she pressed the button and said, “Take me to the lower angels’ cafeteria.”

  The elevator went up fast and halted smoothly with a gentle ding. The doors opened to a vast space, all white and marbled, the spitting image of the entrance hall.

  Ava looked up to the three stories that piled atop one another, towering over the center. She always felt the weight of the world when she entered the cafeteria; almost as if the entire Order of Light was watching her.

  Her mentor, Dominion Vera Evestar, had to be here. She was a creature of habit and never missed her two o’clock tea.

  After a few minutes of searching, Ava found a thin woman with brown hair tied in a high bun sitting at a table in the far corner of the cafeteria.

  Vera wore the typical Dominion’s uniform: a white bodysuit that covered her from the neck down. A silver kilt was wrapped around her waist.

  Ava’s own uniform was all white, including her kilt, because she hadn’t ascended to Dominion yet.

  She doubted she ever would.

  Vera had once asked her if she didn’t find it strange that they were both children of the Goddess of Life and Love, and yet the Order differed them so. To which Ava had replied, “You’re more powerful than I am, esteemed mentor. It is only fair that we’re separated.”

  Vera gave her a sad grin then. “Perhaps one day you’ll understand.”

  Now her mentor drank her tea casually as she read a newspaper.

  Vera had always reminded Ava of an old owl, wise and ever watching. Even if she pretended to ignore Ava’s presence right now.

  She approached and dragged back the chair opposite to Vera. Her mentor kept ignoring her as she sat down, so Ava placed both elbows on the table and cleared her throat.

  Vera didn’t pay her any attention, even as she asked, “I take it Diego still hasn’t opened up?”

  “Oh, he has.” Ava wondered how she could tell her mentor what had happened without receiving the scolding of a lifetime.

  She bit her bottom lip. There was no running away from this.

  The old owl raised one eyebrow but didn’t look at her. “Spill it out.”

  No point in delaying the inevitable. Ava looked nervously around before whispering, “He saw me.”

  She braced herself for a monumental rant.

  Instead, Vera rolled her eyes. “You’ve been a Guardian for over eighty years now. I assumed you knew how to mask your essence.”

  “I did! He saw me anyway.”

  The old owl frowned at her as if deciding whether to believe her or not. Eventually, she went for the first. “I’ve heard of humans who have a high sensitivity to supernatural creatures. He could probably spot a werewolf, a vampire, or even a demon for all we know.” She shrugged and returned her attention to the paper. “Not that it matters. If he spoke about us, his human friends would deem him senile, so I see no point in calling an Erudite to wipe his mind.”

  “Indeed, but that’s not the only reason why I’m here.” She leaned forward, nearly pressing her stomach on the table’s edge. “Diego has a son. I believe contacting him is the only way to help my charge. But if he’s anything like his father, I might have to disguise myself as human to establish a connection.”

  “Odd.” Her brow furrowed. “There was nothing in his records about a son.”

  “I know. I’ve asked Justine to dig into why that might be. With any luck, she’ll find something soon.”

  “Good.” Vera sipped her tea. Earl Grey. Ava could smell the tinge of bergamot from here.

  Her mentor leaned back on her chair and kept reading the newspaper, fully ignoring Ava’s presence.

  “And?” Ava snapped, failing to hold back her exasperation. “May I go undercover as a human?” She silently prayed to her Goddess for patience again. The mother clearly hadn’t heard her the first time.

  The old owl peered at her from above her nose. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  Ava shifted uncomfortably on her seat and pushed a strand of blond hair behind her ear. Gods in the Heavens, Vera missed nothing. “I told you everything I know, esteemed mentor.”

  Vera raised one eyebrow at her.

  That’s all it took.

  A defeated sigh escaped Ava’s lips. “Diego mentioned his son might be violent.”

  “Hmm.” Vera studied her paper as if considering something she read. Ava prepared for the words that never came.

  She huffed in annoyance. The old owl could be infuriating sometimes. “Do I have your approval to make direct contact with his son, esteemed mentor?”

  Vera snickered. “Of course not. The boy is violent, his own father said so. You’re not a Warrior, Ava. You’re not properly trained for confrontation.” She narrowed her eyes at her, as if she could see beyond Ava and into her essence. “Be wary of the lies your fury tells you.”

  Ava frowned. Vera spoke in riddles sometimes; riddles Ava never quite understood.

  In any case, there was no fury inside her, only the need to help others. And she didn’t have time for nonsense.

  “Vera, I excel in soothing my charges and avoiding confrontation. I firmly believe I could—”

  “Not a chance in all the Heavens.” She shifted the newspaper’s pages and kept reading.

  Ava stared at her mentor, her nostrils flared. Ah, so that was the fury the old owl had referred to.

  “I’m not giving up,” she said.

  “Stubborn as always, dear.” Vera blew air through her lips. “If you insist in going ahead, then I’ll want you to work this assignment with Ezra.”

  A loud laugh burst from Ava’s throat. Vera had clearly lost her mind.

  “Ezra is the Messenger, esteemed mentor. The closest son to the Goddess of Life and Love. You answer to him. I’m simply a lower angel. I couldn’t possibly …”

  “You have a good relationship with him, do you not? I wouldn’t be wrong to call you good friends?”

  Ava blushed. Yes, she had a good relationship with the Messenger. Yes, they were friends, though she’d fallen for Ezra the moment she’d become an angel.

  Scratch that.

  She hadn’t simply fallen for him; she had crashed. Hard. Havin
g him around for this mission would distract her. A lot.

  Not that it would actually happen. The Order had strict rules. Ava was a lower angel who reported to Vera, an ascended, who in turn reported to Ezraphael, the Messenger and one of the three high angels who led the Order.

  Breaking that hierarchy was not only unwise, but it could also upset a great deal of brothers and sisters.

  Not Ezra, though.

  He deplored the rules that deemed one angel better than the other.

  Ava didn’t quite understand the system, but contrary to Ezra and Vera, she respected it nonetheless.

  “If I ask him, I’ll be making a fool out of myself,” she said quietly.

  “Trust me when I say he won’t hesitate to help you with this assignment,” Vera countered with absolute certainty.

  Her throat knotted. “How can you be so sure?”

  “You’re the one asking, dear.” Vera winked at her. “But before you go, promise me one thing.”

  “What?”

  She leaned forward and held her gaze. “Control the fury, Ava. Control it, before it controls you.”

  2

  The elevator’s interior was made of white marble with creeping silver vines on the corners, almost an exact copy of the hallway. Ava pressed the silver button on the panel and said, “Take me to the Messenger’s office.”

  As the elevator went up, she observed the green arrow that appeared on the screen above the doors. She tapped her fingers nervously on her thigh.

  Gods, she felt like throwing up.

  Asking Ezra to work this assignment with her was madness. The Messenger would deny her request, of course, and he would laugh at her for even daring to make such a proposal.

  The elevator opened to a long, marbled corridor lined with doors made of frosted glass. Golden plaques attached to each door showed a number. 235, 236, 237… Ava knew the one she needed.

  She stopped before number 245 and knocked, but not before taking a deep breath to steady her nerves.

  “Enter,” the Messenger’s soothing voice rang from inside.