Wounded Wings (Cupid Chronicles)

by Allen, Shauna

  “You know little Emma would love that!” Sharla said.

  “It might work,” Vi said at the same time.

  Michael’s grin became infectious as excitement began to build in the circle. Naomi felt her lips turn upward as well. A festival was a pretty brilliant idea, better than a lame donation box that people would probably ignore.

  Then Michael’s gaze stopped on her. “I think you and Eli should work together to spearhead the project.”

  Oh.

  Hell.

  No.

  Chapter 8

  Elijah watched the color drain from Naomi’s face. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, her eyes flying wildly to his. “Um . . .” she stammered. “I don’t know.” She looked back to Michael. “I’m happy to help, but that sounds like an awfully big job. Maybe there’s someone more qualified?” Her voice came out as a squeak on the last word.

  “Oh, nonsense.” Vi spoke up. “You’d be perfect. You’re organized and good with people. And you love Maura and Emma more than just about anyone. Who’d be better than you?”

  “I agree,” Sharla piped up with a growing smile. “And we could put together a committee to help you.”

  Elijah’s heart pounded as he searched the faces around him.

  “Well . . .” Naomi stuttered.

  “Perfect!” Michael stepped forward. “It’s settled. It’ll be great!” He pinned Elijah with a penetrating gaze. “Are you in?”

  Naomi’s sea-green eyes seemed to be begging him. But for what, he wasn’t sure. To help her? To stay away?

  He surveyed the people surrounding him. Michael. Vi. Sharla. The community as a whole. He thought of Maura’s gentle heart and Emma’s impossibly sweet innocence, something he hadn’t experienced since Heaven.

  He couldn’t turn away from that. Father would expect no less.

  “Absolutely. I’d be honored to help.” He glanced at Naomi. “Anything for Emma.”

  Naomi’s eyes flew to his. “You’ll help?”

  He nodded. “Of course.” Why would she think otherwise?

  Even if it meant being around Naomi more than he already was and confronting his body’s strange reaction to her.

  Redemption was worth a pounding heart, sweaty palms, and a few uncomfortable tingles in the groin—whatever the heck those were about. He’d been puzzling over that for a couple of days. So far, Google had come up with diabetes, sciatica, neuropathy, and something called peripheral artery disease. None of them sounded good, and he supposed he should see a doctor about it if it didn’t resolve soon. But the human body remained a mystery to him. Was it normal for these symptoms to happen only in the vicinity of one woman?

  After all, nothing like this had ever happened to him before. Not with Vi, Sharla, Maura. Not even with Sarah, though he’d been an angel then.

  Maybe his human vessel was defective.

  As the crowd around them got wind of the idea, the tittering began and they dispersed. Vi and Sharla put their heads together, already working out the plans for food and baked goods.

  Michael grinned at Elijah and Naomi. “Well, I guess I’ll go make a committee sign-up sheet for the front of the diner and leave you two alone.” He started to back away, then spun around before he disappeared inside. And if anything, his smile was larger. “To start making plans.”

  Naomi gripped Elijah’s arm. “You really don’t have to do this. I’m sure I can manage.”

  He glanced down to where her slender fingers wrapped around his forearm, startled by the surge of warmth seeping into his skin. Then the scars on her arm caught his eye. Automatically he moved to touch them, to soothe them, but she jerked away and tugged her sleeve down.

  He peered into her face, but she’d schooled her expression—as if she’d pulled a curtain over her eyes to keep him out of her inner pain. Had he not been human, he would’ve been able to get past that in a moment of Divine intention. But not now.

  He let her have it her way and backed up a step. “I know you can manage. But I want to help.”

  She tilted her head. “Why?”

  He tucked his hands into his front pockets and leaned his weight onto one hip, hoping for a casual stance. It would be no good to let her know how much he wanted—needed—to help. How the future of his soul could depend on it.

  “I really like Emma and they need the help. And I’ve got some free time.” He relaxed his face into a half-grin. “I’m kinda stuck here until my car’s fixed, remember? Might as well make myself useful.”

  He waited for several moments, listening to the cars pass behind her, as she seemed to weigh his words and wrestle with something in her mind. Surely she didn’t doubt his sincerity?

  “Look, Naomi . . .” he started, “I just want to help. I won’t—”

  “All right,” she relented. “Let’s do it.”

  He stopped mid-thought and stared at her. “Let’s do it?”

  She smiled. “Yeah. It’d be stupid to not put your culinary skills to use.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Oh, don’t thank me. We’ll be working hard on this.” She visibly relaxed, her eyes glowing, her smile genuine. “And I can be a real taskmaster.”

  Zing. There it was again. The smile slipped from his face as the tingle began to buzz in his groin.

  “You all right?” Her eyes clouded with concern. “Having second thoughts already?”

  He shook his head. “No. Not at all.” He gulped. Stupid vessel. Get your tingles in order!

  “Okay.” She didn’t seem convinced, but accompanied him back into the diner to a corner booth to discuss a general starting point for their festival plans.

  After a glass of water, his body seemed to calm down. Maybe it was dehydration? He made a mental note to Google the symptoms. Thank Father he’d learned about the miracle of the Internet.

  “So,” she said as she jotted down notes on a pad, “we’ll see who signs up for committees, meet with them, then plan the games and food.” She glanced up. “We’ll provide the baked goods next door, of course. But you can make what you want.” A soft blush stained her cheeks.

  He simply nodded.

  “Sharla can help with some simple food items and I’ll hit up the convenience store for drink donations and the local retailers for some raffle prize donations.” She stopped and studied him. “Can you think of anything else?”

  He shrugged, ignoring the surge of energy rushing through his veins, and said the first thing that popped into his brain. “A pie toss?”

  Her delicate brows drew down in a puzzled frown. “A pie toss?”

  “Yes.” He’d seen it at another small fair a few towns back. The people seemed to enjoy it. “Is that a bad idea?”

  Her face lit up as she seemed to warm to the idea. “No. So how would it work? Folks pay to throw pies at each other?”

  He sipped his water to wet his suddenly dry throat. “Well . . . we could donate some simple cream pies and people could pay, say five dollars, to toss them at the targets. We could ask some town leaders to volunteer like the mayor or your friend the sheriff, for example.”

  She giggled. “Oh, Beau would love that!”

  Beau? “He’s your beau? You’re seeing each other?”

  Her lips dipped down in a sudden frown. “Uh, what? No. No. Beau’s his name. We’re just friends.”

  “Oh.” He digested this information wondering why it concerned him at all. “So, what do you think?”

  She reached over and gripped his hand, making his heart go haywire. He barely heard her response over the blood rushing through his ears. But her grin told him she’d probably agreed. He smiled and gently pulled his hand back to stop the contact and get his body back in line.

  “You sure you’re okay?” Her words finally came to him.
r />   He nodded and stood. “Yeah. I’m fine. I think I should probably get back to work.”

  She stared at him strangely. “Oh. Okay. Me, too. Talk to you later.”

  He stood rooted in place as she picked up her notes and fled the diner. He wished he understood what he’d done to cause the hurt he saw shimmering in her eyes, even as she tried valiantly to hide it.

  Michael shifted his weight and glanced up from the finishing touches on the portrait tattoo he was doing to commemorate the florist clerk’s late father. “Almost done. Five minutes.”

  The young guy who’d been sitting like a rock for the past couple of hours unclenched his teeth as the tattoo needle’s buzzing slowed. “Cool.”

  Landon ambled over and peered over Michael’s shoulder. “Nice. Sweet tat, dude.”

  “Thanks.” Both Michael and the client spoke at the same time.

  “I knew your old man,” Landon went on as he examined Michael’s shading closer, giving it silent approval. “Sorry about your loss. He was cool.”

  The two young guys chatted while Michael finished up the tattoo. Then the client inspected it, giving his resounding approval, before Michael bandaged it up with ointment. All in all, a very lucrative evening, earning Michael a nice tip. Much more than he was earning at the diner. But, his work there was worth much more than money. Love was a Heavenly commodity.

  After his client left, Michael turned to Landon. “Mind if I take a quick break?”

  “Nah. Not at all.”

  He smiled. “Thanks. Be back soon.” Landon and Will were good kids. He wondered what Father had in store for them. Almost wished he could be around to be a part of it. But his plate was full.

  He pocketed his keys and cell phone and dashed out to Baby Blue. It was high time to check-in with his mentor.

  Gabriel answered on the second ring. “Hello?”

  Michael couldn’t help the grin that split his face. As much as he wanted the chance to prove himself, to do Father proud, to be—he nearly rued the thought—groomed to take Gabriel’s place, he felt a measure of uncertainty being on his own. “Brother, it’s Michael!”

  “Well, hello! It’s so nice to hear from you. How is Arizona?”

  “Dry. Beautiful.” He thought a moment. He would never, ever, break his commandments by lying to a fellow angel. “Lonely. Confusing.”

  “Oh, Brother. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

  Gabriel’s gentle voice was a balm to Michael’s soul. Gabriel was more than just a mentor. He was a friend, and Michael truly missed him. “It’s fine. I’m just having some trouble adjusting to doing the work all on my own. I miss all of you very much.”

  “And we miss you, too.” Gabriel paused. “Are you sure that’s all that’s bothering you? Are you having difficulties with your assignment?”

  Michael heaved a breath and toyed with a string on the seat of his car. “A little,” he finally admitted.

  “Well, it can’t be easy matching up one of our own kind, Michael. What did you expect?”

  “He’s not one of our kind anymore.” He yanked the string a little harder than intended and pulled it free, along with a chunk of fabric.

  “No, Brother, he’s not.” Gabriel spoke with the patience of a parent speaking to a child. “But you need to remember this human existence is new to him. Everything about it is a new experience and probably a little scary. Including falling in love. Maybe especially falling in love. Be patient with him.”

  “I’m trying. I just wish I knew . . .” He couldn’t say it. The circumstances of a casting down—even if it was self-inflicted—were a closely protected secret, known only to Father’s heart.

  Well, other than the Dark One, whose demise was public knowledge for obvious reasons.

  “I know. But his secrets are his own. You must do your job and trust Father to do His.”

  “Of course. But a little direction wouldn’t hurt, and so far my prayers have led to nothing but remarkable silence.”

  “Ah.”

  “What do you mean, ‘Ah?’” Michael hated that he sounded petulant, but Gabriel could be frustrating when he got all Jedi Master on him.

  “Father trusts you to find your way. His silence doesn’t mean He’s left you. It means He’s listening, but letting you choose your path on this. You’ve been preparing for this for centuries, Brother. You know what to do.”

  “I do?”

  Gabriel laughed. “Sure you do. Tell me what you’ve accomplished so far.”

  Michael scratched his chin. “Well . . .” He proceeded to detail his trip to New Destiny, how he obtained his job at the diner, his little oopsie with Elijah’s car, the festival, encouraging the couples wanting love advice to seek Elijah out while denying him all other opportunities for doing good.

  “But,” Gabriel interrupted him, “why would you do that? What’s that got to do with your assignment?”

  “What? That’s got everything to do with it.” Michael couldn’t believe he had to explain what he thought was the most ingenious part of his plan. “It’s obvious to me that Elijah is trying to heal something within himself by doing good deeds. Well, I’m trying to remind him that love is the ultimate healer. And if I have to get there by letting him heal others with the power of love first, then that’s what I’ll do.”

  Gabriel’s silence concerned him.

  “I believe Father had him on Love Detail for a reason,” he continued. “I would like to tap into that part of his soul. Don’t you think that’s a wise thing?”

  “Well, Michael,” Gabriel finally said. “I do believe you might be a genius. I don’t know that I would’ve thought of that.”

  Michael felt himself flush a dozen shades of red. “Of course you would’ve.”

  “You’re going to be a wonderful leader, Brother.”

  Michael’s heart seized in his chest. He didn’t know what to say.

  “So,” Gabriel continued, oblivious to Michael’s emotional turmoil. After all, it wasn’t every day your mentor spoke of handing the reins over to you so nonchalantly. “What’s next on the agenda? I’m assuming you have plans to get them alone, right?”

  Michael snapped out of his mood. He wasn’t leader, and Gabriel hadn’t moved on yet. He smiled. “Alone? Oh, yeah. I got that covered.”

  Chapter 9

  The following Saturday dawned bright and crisp, highly unusual for that time of year in Arizona, but Elijah was thankful. It reminded him a bit of New York and happier days as he sucked in the brisk air and took in the beautiful landscape Father had painted so many millions of years ago. From his single window above Sharla’s garage, he could just make out the layered ridges and rock formations native to the area bathed in the pinks and oranges of the rising sun, and the sight was breathtaking.

  Luckily for him, Sharla had hired a part-time cook named Raul who could help out on weekends and give him a break. The older man had been cooking in truck stop diners for the past fifteen years and was just hoping to make a little extra cash for his daughter’s wedding in the fall, which was fine with Eli since he didn’t plan to be here even that long himself. But he was very grateful for the help. Even an ex-angel with no real life to speak of needed a day off every once in a while.

  And today he was meeting with Naomi and the festival planning committee for the first time.

  He stepped away from the window and finished towel drying his hair while eyeing himself critically in the mirror. How did one dress for such a meeting? He’d never been on a committee before. Somehow, he didn’t think Love Detail counted.

  In the end, he decided on his nicest jeans and a shirt he’d bought after the salesgirl at the mall told him he had to have it because he looked just like the model. He’d scoffed, not understanding what that meant, but trusting the human female’s opinion because he’d
needed clothing at the time.

  He’d just become a Fallen One.

  Cast down by his own hand.

  He sighed, forcing the pain aside, and reached for the shirt to pull it on quickly, covering the scars on his back. No use thinking about the unchangeable past. He’d done what needed to be done and it was up to him to prove his soul worthy of—well, anything but eternal damnation.

  After all, angels do not defy the Commandments. Ever.

  He bent and slipped his shoes on then headed to the kitchen for a quick breakfast of coffee and Honey Nut Cheerios. He may be an ex-angel and chef, but once he’d become human, his taste buds had quickly discovered the joy in cold cereal. And fast food. And Little Debbie—that girl was a culinary genius.

  At eight-thirty on the dot, he left his miniscule garage apartment and began the walk to the YMCA. He had to hand it to Naomi, she’d commandeered the back rec room for their meetings, as well as several semi-reluctant committee members, to help their cause. And, he had to admit, he was glad. The more people around, the better his symptoms would surely be of what he was now convinced was sciatica.

  He glanced up as he closed the back gate. Sharla’s blinds were still drawn. The hose was still snaking out through the grass from last night’s watering. He made a mental note to roll it up when he got back. He gave a quick nod of satisfaction at the thick bed of mulch he’d put around her begonias, and he could still smell the freshly mowed grass. He was definitely keeping up his end of their deal.

  As he started walking, he dodged a couple yappy dogs and a sprinkler on full blast, watched a kid pop a wheelie on his bike, and jumped when a woman whistled at him as she drove by. He wasn’t really sure why she did that. He thought people only whistled at their dogs.

  But, finally, he reached the Y only two minutes past the designated meeting time and pulled open the glass door, thankful for the blast of cool air after several blocks of walking.