Practically Angels
Angel Bay Mysteries, Book 1
Melanie James
Contents
Summary
Books by Melanie James
Edition License Notes
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
About the Author
Review it
Recommend it
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Summary
Coming of age in Heaven, what an exciting time! Especially since it’s every young angel’s dream to earn her wings by serving a tour in the Bureau of Angels. For everyone except Emmy Morrissey it seems. It turns out, she and a couple of others are not quite like the rest.
But Heaven has a plan for everyone—even misfits. After a bit of brief training, Emmy and her fellow oddballs are given a secret mission, to run a beachside gift shop in scenic little Angel Bay. And maybe act as guardian angels for the town. Easy-peasy, right?
They may even find time for their first forays into mortal romance, instead of just reading about it in steamy fiction. The hapless young angels soon find themselves up to their necks in supernatural mischief when they discover Angel Bay is ground zero for the paranormal.
Books by Melanie James
Angel Bay Mysteries
Practically Angels
Not Quite Demons
Almost Witches
Virtually Vampires
Black Paw Pack
Fur Ever Yours
Fur Ever Witched
Fur Ever Wicked
Fur Ever Bound – TBA
Black Paw Wolves
A Hot Piece of Sass
Twice the Sass
You Bet Your Sass
Watch Your Sass
Your Sass is Mine
Twisted Tail Pack
His Twisted Tail
Bearly Twisted
Her Twisted Heart
Twisted Fate
Twisted Desire
Twisted Lies
Darkness Series
Conjuring Darkness
Unleashing Darkness
Literal Leigh Romance Diaries
Accidental Leigh
Serious Leigh
Hopeful Leigh
Haunting Leigh
Joyful Leigh
Disastrous Leigh
Tales from the Paranormal Plantation
Gertie’s Paranormal Plantation
Back to the Fuchsia
When You Witch Upon a Star
Hex U
Karma Inc. Files
Karma Inc.
Mission Impawsible
Shame of Clones
Éveiller Drive
Ava & Will
Kara & Dave
Laura & Alan
Jamie & Brad
Ashley & Jeff
Valerie & Greg
Stand Alone
Snowflakes, Exes & Ohs
Riverton Romance
A Valentine’s Surprise
A Deadly Obsession
Edition License Notes
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this e-book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you wish to share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should delete it from your device and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.
This e-book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is coincidental.
The book contains content that is not suitable for young readers 17 and under.
Practically Angels
1st Edition
By Melanie James
Copyright © 2020 by Melanie James
Editing: Black Paw Edits
Proofreading: AVCProofreading
Proofreading: Book Nook Nuts
Cover Artist: Glowing Moon Designs
Formatting: Black Paw Formatting
All rights reserved
Published in the United States of America
Acknowledgments
Ron – Thank you for everything. I love you always.
Julia – You are my girl and I love you.
Teri – Never stop being you. I miss your face.
Dedication
Barb Druschel – Some of my earliest memories in life are of times I spent with you. You were my Mom and Dad’s bff and in so many ways like a second mom to me. You were always by my side, good times or bad. You were there for every important milestone in my life—to cheer me on or to offer a shoulder to cry on.
Every time I came home to visit, I made as many stops at your house as possible. I wanted nothing more than time. Time to have a conversation with you. Time to laugh with you. And now… that time is gone.
I want to thank you for the unconditional love, kindness, and support you showed me over the years. It means more than you’ll ever know.
I love you and miss you, so much.
Chapter One
“Emmy! Emmy! Supper time!” My mom’s shrill voice shot down our street, around the corner and ricocheted off the tin roof of Corky’s Bike Shop. The pitch of her voice so perfect for traveling long distances, I imagined her words freely floating off into outer space.
“Thanks, Corky,” I shouted over my shoulder, pedaling homeward on my freshly repaired bicycle.
“See ya’, kid,” the old man said, tipping the bill of his ball cap.
My blonde ponytail bounced in the summer breeze as if waving goodbye.
Corky was an icon in our neighborhood—a timeless fixture. Above all, Corky’s skilled hands kept everybody’s bikes operating safely and smoothly, all the while filling our heads with wild tales of the old country. He freely imparted a generation of wisdom along with a big fat ice cream cone. To me, he was like an extra grandpa. But not like the gossipy kind who was all, “Oh, by the way, I figured I’d talk to your parents about that thing you and I agreed not to tell them about, but I told them anyway.”
I tried not to look at the familiar houses flying by that caught the corner of my eye. These were the homes of my friends—the kids I grew up with. At twenty-one years old, I was the last kid on the block. And not even a kid anymore—more like a newborn adult who had no clue about anything. All of my friends had moved forward in life, wherever that was. Even a glimpse of those houses made me feel lonely. I silently debated with myself, like I often do. I didn’t see the harm in it since there wasn’t anyone my age left to discuss my problems with.
I think I’m more sad than lonely.
Being the last one stuck at home, with no prospects for my future, sucked. Every time I saw those houses, it was just another reminder that I’m different from all of my friends.
Too different.
My friends had never really treated me differently. To them, I was just another kid on the block, someone to hang out with.
Cruising up our driveway, I passed the stupid mailbox. “Ugh. Screw you.”<
br />
With every rejection letter it spit out at me, I began to loathe the sight of the darn thing.
I slowed my roll and my pout, finally coming to a stop. Putting down the kickstand, I shrugged it all off and changed my train of thought.
“Driveways. Weird.”
They made no sense to me. You didn’t drive in them. You parked in them. So why were they called driveways?
“Very weird indeed.”
Corky once told me stories about cars and trucks, honking horns, and squealing tires. My parents had too. But I still couldn’t imagine what life was really like in the old country.
“Hey, kiddo,” my dad said, kissing the top of my head. “Did you grab the mail?”
“My yearly quota for disappointments has already been met. I wouldn’t dare get the mail.”
I wasn’t even joking. My heart and mind couldn’t take another rejection letter, plain and simple.
“Who’s hungry?” my mom sang. Yes, she sang the words, stepping—err, more like prancing, into the dining room. It truly was a sight.
“No matter, Emmy. I’ll get it later,” Dad said, his attention immediately drawn to my mom. Throwing his arms around her waist, he whispered something in her ear. Few things churn the stomach like hearing your mom’s surprise squeal quickly evolve into a suggestive growl. It was something I could absolutely live without.
“Oh my god, you guys. Don’t ruin my appetite,” I groaned.
My parents were weird, and their public displays of affection were thankfully kept to a mild PG rating. I’d never let them know I thought it was very sweet they were still so in love after all these years together.
Later, as I washed my face and got ready for bed, I looked in the mirror. It was true, I’d grown into a slightly younger and green-eyed version of my mom. But I couldn’t escape the sadness threatening to bury me. The feeling of being left without a purpose, a higher calling, a mission. And without the opportunity to serve, would I ever find true love?
But I was unique. You see, I knew the situation. I had always known.
Here’s the deal, I realize this is a lot to take in but just bear with me. It’s weird, but who actually has a “normal” upbringing?
You see, we lived in Heaven. Sector 4899u.709 to be exact.
How, you ask? The usual way. My parents passed away together, arriving in Heaven about twenty-five years ago.
I’d heard the story many times. It was the usual frigid winter’s day in Wisconsin, and Dad, the consummate do-it-yourselfer, had just completed repairing their gas furnace—all by himself. With the flick of a switch, his fatally flawed project rocketed him, Mom, our Saint Bernard dog, Jerry, and half the good citizens living on their block, straight up to Heaven.
Mom, Dad, and Jerry had since lived timelessly, never aging, happy, healthy and in love. All in a perfect little house on a perfect little street. Their dream.
Then a glitch happened.
And it sent shockwaves through the astral plane.
Mom became pregnant, and I was born.
Oh, there are plenty of babies born in Heaven. That’s no big deal. Pregnant women arrive all the time. And loving couples make love in Heaven but never procreate. I was the first one known to be actually conceived in Heaven.
The council of angels commissioned a formal investigation. Was my family a threat? Would we throw the cosmic wheel off balance? It was a mystery. I was a mystery. Although, under questioning, my dad crudely explained the birds and the bees. I can tell he’s proud of that little story—we’ve heard it a million times.
Here’s the real story. Mom, who worked as an Angelic Courier, frequently visited the earthly land of mortals. At some point, she decided it would be fun for her and Dad to take an unauthorized vacation to Earth—to someplace called Tahiti. She said it was the honeymoon they never got around to. And just to let you know, the subject of reproduction is not even taught in Heavenly School. So up until the age of seventeen, it was my understanding that my conception was a magical event caused by sipping mai-tais while lounging in a cabana on a tropical beach.
But I digress.
The whole deal was chalked up as just another one-time miracle. A happy accident. But I was different because of it. A unique situation creating unique sets of rules.
Lucky me.
Limitations were placed on me. Limitations which excluded me from Angelic Service.
Now, you must understand that every child arriving or born in Heaven grows up quite happily. Sometime around eighteen years of age, they go off to Angel Academy. It’s basic training before serving a minimum four-year commitment. Although options are available to those who want to make an eternal commitment. Most likely, the initial tour entails working at an outpost in the cosmos, ensuring the smooth transfer of souls, or perhaps handling paperwork in the huge angelic bureaucracy. I’m told they even have a reincarnation desk to handle applicants who want another shot at an earthly existence.
Generations ago, legend has it, a lucky few young men and women were honored to serve a tour as a guardian angel for a VIP on Earth. But I was told nothing as adventurous as Guardian Angel Service remained. Still, Angelic Service is a very necessary rite of passage for everyone.
Well, present company excluded.
When the angels are done with their service commitment, they are free to fall in love and carry on with their blissful eternity. Not that any of it might matter to me. There were only five kids in my little neighborhood. By chance, and bad luck, we were all girls.
Occasionally, we spotted a boy or two from afar. I guess it was like bird watching—catching a glimpse of one but never getting too close. As I grew older, you could say it was more like going on a safari—admiring those rare and exotic beasts roaming in the distance. Unfortunately, any expeditions into the foggy and unexplored affairs of the heart would remain sealed between the covers of my extensive romance novel collection. Well, technically, my mom’s old collection, which I added to with each new book she scarfed up on her trips to Earth.
Being the only person in my neighborhood never to have spent a living minute on Earth, those books were not only fodder for my fantasies—which they were, a lot. You see, I viewed those stories as essential field guides to the world of mortal people. They explored the mortal’s relationships and struggles in a life filled with pain, fear, anger, lust, and epic love. Most of which I knew I’d never experience in Heaven.
The more I read their stories, the more I felt a part of me was missing.
Back to my service commitment. Therein lies my dilemma. Without Angelic Service, I lacked a purpose. Consequently, it precluded any opportunity for my own happily-ever-after.
None, zilch, nada.
So basically, my pretty face, cute smile, perky boobs, and sparkling personality became a complete waste. I’d already submitted over two dozen requests to have my case reviewed. All I’d received were rejections.
That night, I stared out my window and counted the stars. It was the better alternative to staying up and contemplating living at home with Mom, Dad, and Jerry for eternity. I even threw in a prayer for something, anything, to change my fate.
“It just doesn’t seem right that I’m the only sad person in Heaven,” I mumbled, finally drifting off to sleep.
Chapter Two
The high morning sun was annoying enough, and I could have easily pulled the blankets over my head and gone back to sleep, but the noises coming from downstairs forced me out of bed so much earlier than I desired. I wanted to stay cocooned in my warm, soft blankets with my fluffy pillows as long as I could before I had to face another day of living without a purpose.
“Jerry! Jerry! Give me the letter, please,” Mom begged, locked into a noisy argument with Jerry—our Saint Bernard. By the sounds of it, he had the upper hand—er, paw.
Groaning, I made my way down the steps and into the chaos.
“Hey Emmy,” Dad peered around the shield of his daily newspaper. “Can you give your mom a hand? Jerry list
ens better to you.”
The fact was, Jerry never really listened to anyone. Jerry was a big enough dog to do what Jerry wanted, when Jerry wanted, and anyone who got in his way was soon reduced to Jerry-fodder covered in drool.
The trick with Jerry was, something I had learned at a very early age, a simple trade. Give Jerry something he wanted more than what he had stolen.
Reaching over the table, I swiped a piece of my dad’s bacon and threw it in the air. Jerry immediately dropped the letter he swiped and hunted down the tasty bacon morsels that shattered upon hitting the floor.
Picking up the letter, I stared at my name and my heart stopped.
Great.
Another rejection letter from the Angelic Council.
“Come here, Jerry. Go ahead, take it. Bon appetite,” I mumbled, attempting to wedge the letter back into Jerry’s slobbery lips. He looked at me like I was nuts. So did my mom and dad.
“Emmy, please. Just open it. Just in case,” Mom pleaded with me.
I hated it when she did that. How could I tell her no when she looked so desperate for me to have a future?
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