by C. L. Coffey
If someone could sculpture perfection, he was it. Even sitting down, his head bowed and lips moving with a silent prayer, I could tell he was tall. His blonde hair, the color of gold, was kept long enough that it spiked up slightly.
He wasn’t my type. I go for the tall, dark, and brooding– the polar opposite of what he seemed to be – but even I had already decided that if he asked, I was handing my number over.
“Hello, Angel.” He didn’t turn his head.
I blinked. “How do you know my name?” I demanded. My voice felt too loud for my surroundings, but I had never met this guy before. I would remember someone that delicious.
He finished his prayer and stood, giving a small nod to the cross. He stepped out, moving in front of me, but kept a large gap between the two of us as he considered me.
I glowered back at him, my arms crossing my chest as I inwardly groaned at the flush I could feel working up my neck and into my cheeks. His eyes were brown. A warm brown. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, it sparked a memory, but it was like trying to grab mist as I tried to place it.
“I read your ID,” he eventually told me.
“What the hell are you doing going through my things?” I demanded. “Where the hell is my bag?” My arms had started flying around me in a slightly crazed fashion as I became more annoyed at the thought of him going through my things, but they suddenly froze. The only ID I’d gone out with was my fake one. “It has Prudence on my ID,” I said, slowly.
Although his posture remained relaxed, the guy sighed and shifted his weight. “Will you please not refer to hell in that context within a house of the Lord?” he requested, politely.
“I will damn well refer to hell all I want to, until you can give me a reasonable explanation as to why I woke up in a museum in this thing,” I gestured to the gown. “And why the hell are you going through my belongings?”
His hands slid under his jacket and into his trouser pockets. “You are dead.”
I snorted, the noise echoing around the room. “Dead?” I repeated. “I’m walking and talking,” I pointed out. “I’m hardly dead.”
There was another sigh. “You are dead. It is your vessel that is walking and talking.”
I couldn’t help but pull a face. Gorgeous or not, the guy was insane. “Whatever,” I told him, turning on my heel and marching for the main door. “This vessel is walking and talking her way out of here.”
“Stop!” His command echoed loudly around the room.
And I stopped. Trust me – it wasn’t because I wanted to, but because my feet physically wouldn’t let me. It was as though they were listening to him, and not me. As if by their own accord, they swiveled on the spot, turning me back to him. He hadn’t moved. He was still standing, relaxed, with his hands in his pockets.
I swallowed back the fear that was beginning to build up in the back of my throat, and I crossed my arms, glaring at him with a false bravado. “Who the hell are you, and what the hell have you just done to me?”
His eyes narrowed. “Angel, I have asked nicely, now I am telling you: do not talk like that in the house of the Lord.”
I was ready to snap back at him that I would talk however the hell I damn well wanted, but I couldn’t. Just like my feet, my voice didn’t seem to be under my control either.
His gaze softened and he took a few paces to close the gap between us. “You are dead,” he told me again, his hands coming to rest on my shoulders. “You died six months ago. Don’t you remember?”
My brave act crumbled as my bottom lip began to quiver. Great, I was going to cry. “What do you want from me?” I asked him, my voice breaking. Short of killing me, I had no idea what the guy wanted, and even if I wanted to (which I didn’t), I didn’t think I could come up with some form of explanation as to why I was there. The tears began to leak from my eyes and I quickly brushed them aside, furious at myself for showing weakness. If he was going to kill me, I damn well didn’t want to show him how scared I was.
“You don’t remember,” he repeated, this time as a statement. He ushered me over to the nearest pew and sat me down just before my knees gave out from under me. “Angel, you died,” he told me again, gently this time. “You were dying when I found you and I offered you a choice. You chose this.”
“I can’t be dead,” I told him, shaking my head. My hand clutched the back of the pew in front of me. It just wasn’t possible. “I can feel my heart beating. I can feel the grain of the wood underneath the polish.”
“You’re going to be an angel,” he said.
I shook my head again. “And how do you know my name?”
“No, you are an angel.”
“I haven’t forgotten my name,” I told him, a hint of ice somehow finding its way into my tone. “I just don’t understand what you want with me? What have I done? Why do you want to kill me?”
“Angel,” he said softly, his hand covering the one I was using to clutch the pew. “I didn’t kill you. I don’t know who did. I gave you a choice between eternal happiness and eternal life. You chose life. You have been given the opportunity to earn your wings and become an angel.”
“Become an angel called Angel?” I asked him, pulling my hand free from under his. “An angel called Angel?” I repeated. Suddenly a glimmer of a memory hit me. I was back in that alleyway and he was crouched beside me, staring at me with the same intensity in his chocolate eyes as he was now. “No,” I told him, finding my feet. “I chose life, not eternal life. I thought you were going to save me!”
“I did,” he told me, taking a step back. He looked surprised. “You are to become an angel.”
“I don’t want to be an angel,” I yelled as I pushed past him. “I want to be me. A normal, human, living, me.” I ran for the door, pushing it open and stumbling into the street. It was deserted with only a handful of cars parked in the area.
“Angel, come back here,” the guy ordered, still within the church.
Once again my body seemed to take on a life of its own, as my feet carried me back into the church. He closed the door behind me and watched me warily. There was no holding back the tears now. I was full on sobbing my heart out. There were no such things as angels. The guy was a lunatic and he was going to kill me.
“Okay,” he sighed, slipping his jacket off. He draped it over my shoulders and led me back to the door I had entered the church through. Somehow, even though there wasn’t a hint of a breeze, the hundreds of candles extinguished themselves behind us.
He took me back into the main building. In the foyer, behind an elaborate desk, another guy, almost as good looking as my supposed rescuer, jumped to his feet. He nodded at us, his eyebrows rising as he saw me. Instead of saying anything, he just sat back down.
There were more people in on whatever this was, I realized, as I was led up the wooden staircase and through the doorway directly opposite. This door led to another staircase, which in turn, opened up into a very large office. Judging from the slanted ceilings, we were in the attic.
To one side there were two brown leather couches facing each other, a small wooden coffee table between them. The guy sat me down on one of the couches before walking over to the sideboard and pouring a glass of clear liquid from a decanter. He walked back to me, offering the tumbler to me and sat down on the opposite couch.
I sniffed, wiping my nose and tears away with the back of my hand in a very unladylike manner. I ignored the un-amused look I was getting and took a gulp from the glass.
“It’s water,” he confirmed at what I am guessing was a startled look on my face. I was expecting vodka, and frankly, I was disappointed that I didn’t have it. “You’re too young to be drinking,” he added.
“Are you going to kill me?” I asked him, refusing to move my gaze from the glass I was cradling.
The guy sighed, “Angel, you are already dead,” he told me. “You are an Angel Potential.”
I glanced up, surprised to find patience in his eyes, despite the fact he had told me
this several times now. “But there are no such things as angels!” I told him, a slight hint of desperation tainting my words.
His eyes rose upwards, staring at the ceiling. “It is not mine to question,” he sighed. “Are you sure you chose the right person?”
I looked up, half expecting a voice to start booming out, but nothing happened. I lowered my gaze and found the guy staring at me, his eyebrow arched in mild amusement. I rolled my eyes and took another sip of water. “Fine,” I groaned. “Let’s just say that for one moment I agree to believe in angels and all that jazz.” There was another arched eyebrow sent in my direction. I ignored it. “What on earth would possess you to make me one? I don’t believe in angels. I don’t believe in heaven and hell, and I’m sorry, but I really don’t believe in God. Surely there are hundreds of other people who are better suited to this?”
The guy settled back, one arm resting on the arm of the couch. “There are,” he agreed. “However, there are only a handful of people who can become an angel. I’m not sure what you’re thinking, but there aren’t as many angels as you would assume.”
I frowned, trying to remember back to high school when we were supposed to be studying the Bible in one of our classes. I had spent most of those hours, staring longingly at the back of Steven Cooper’s head. “I thought you made thousands of angels?”
The guy gently shook his head. “I didn’t make them. We were created billions of years ago. Once there were enough to rival every human on the planet. Today we are vastly outnumbered. A while back we lost some of our number. A third of us fell and the Fallen have been growing in size while we remain the same.”
“So this is your recruitment drive? Me?” I was only just stopping myself from laughing.
He shrugged at me. “Essentially, yes. The world has changed. The population has increased and we need to increase our numbers to reflect this. We archangels-”
“Archangels?” I blurted out, cutting him off. “You’re an archangel?”
He nodded. “I am Michael.”
I quickly finished the drink, again wishing it had a kick to it, and slumped back into the couch.
“We archangels,” he continued, “Were sent to Earth to prepare for war. Recently, we have set up Houses in strategic locations around the world, to find as many Potentials as possible to help in the coming fight.”
“Of all the places in the world, you ended up in New Orleans?” I asked, unable to keep the sarcasm from my voice.
Michael nodded. “Yes,” he agreed, apparently not registering the sarcasm.
“Please,” I muttered, pulling a face. “Hurricanes, poverty, homes that are never going to be rebuilt, oil spills... this city has had so much crap thrown at it, and you’re telling me that there are angels here?”
Again, Michael nodded. “Yes. Regardless of what has happened or what is happening, this city fights.”
Okay, he may have had a point. The citizens of New Orleans were resilient, I’d give him that. “And you think you’re going to find Potentials here? Angel Potentials?” My eyes widened. “You think I could be an archangel? The Archangel Angel?”
“You have the potential, yes,” Michael confirmed. “Assuming you can earn your wings.”
“But I’m only twenty!” I pointed out to him, awkwardly scratching my head. “I dropped out of girl scouts before I could earn any badges and you want me to earn wings?”
CHAPTER TWO
The Job Description
Seeing the confused look on Michael’s face, I cleared my throat and sat upright, leaning towards him. “Alright, I’m listening. What exactly does being an angel entail?”
“You live here now,” Michael told me. “This is your home until you are instructed to go elsewhere. You will not tell anybody about this place and you will not invite anybody here unless you have permission.”
“But this place is a museum,” I told him.
“No, it was a museum,” Michael corrected me. “It was acquired just before you died. For the last ten months this place has been-”
“What?” I asked, my voice doing that annoying thing where it jumps six or seven octaves. “I’ve been dead how long?”
“As I have told you already, six months,” Michael said, somehow refraining from sounding impatient.
“What about my aunt?” I demanded, getting to my feet. “And my friends? What about finals?” I asked, now pacing back and forth in the small gap between the coffee table and the couch. “How on earth am I going to make that up?” I quickly did the math in my head. “I’ll have to do my junior year all over again. That’s assuming they actually let me repeat the year and I haven’t been kicked out. Oh, good god! What if they don’t let me back?”
“You won’t be returning to college,” Michael calmly informed me, watching me pace with mild interest. “Because you cannot tell people what you are. It is forbidden.”
I could feel the blood rushing from my head. I quickly sat back down, hiding my face behind my hands. College wasn’t really the issue. Yeah, it was a pain in the ass that I wasn’t going to graduate and would still have student loans, but the real issue was my aunt. After my parents died she looked after me like I was her own daughter, the fact that she would never know what happened to me was heartbreaking to me. “I have to at least let her know I’m alright,” I muttered.
“It is better your aunt knows nothing,” he told me, somehow knowing who I was referring to. “Besides, if it is any consolation, it won’t be long before you outlive her.”
My head snapped up so I could glare at him. “That’s supposed to be a consolation?”
Michael suddenly looked sad. “Yes. Humans will die, you will not. It is easier if you have no bonds.” The sadness quickly disappeared and he stood, walking back to the side to pour himself a glass of water. “You are immortal. You will not die.”
“I thought I already was dead,” I shot at him. Archangel or not, I really wanted to punch him.
“Your body is dead. You – your soul, can live forever.”
“So why do I need this...” I gestured to my body. “Vessel? Why am I still within walking distance of my aunt if I can’t visit her? Why the hell didn’t you send me to Siberia?” I demanded, my fingers curling into fists as my anger built.
“I am not based in Siberia,” he told me. I couldn’t tell if he was genuinely answering my question, or if he was being sarcastic. Then I heard his next words. “The nearest Archangel would probably be Uriel, who is in South Korea.”
Okay, if Michael exists, it would make sense that other archangels would too, but it still surprised me. “South Korea? Really?” I managed, in between my mouth flapping open and close like a fish.
“We are all over the world, Angel. We go to the places that need our presence the most,” he informed me.
“But South Korea?” I said again. “I’m fairly certain their main religion isn’t Christianity.”
“Who said it had to be?” Michael asked with a small smile. “We help those who need it. We do not judge them based on their beliefs.”
“Whatever,” I sighed, my hand raking through my hair. It got caught on a knot and I pulled it to me, ready to work it out. Instead, I found myself staring at the ends in complete disbelief. “Are you kidding me?” I exclaimed. With a lack of mirror in the room I had awoken in, I hadn’t checked my appearance before leaving it. My attention had been a little preoccupied with everything that had happened since, I hadn’t even paid attention to the hair that had fallen into my eyes.
I was appreciating the irony of going out dressed like a devil now.
My hair was still that bright cherry red. I mean bright. Despite the fact several months had passed, it was still vibrant and showing no signs of having faded.
“It is not exactly what I envisaged,” Michael sighed, taking a long sip of water. “However, your vessel is frozen in time.”
“What the hell does that mean?” I demanded. Okay, it wasn’t exactly how I had envisioned remaining forever,
but I didn’t exactly appreciate the insult.
Michael’s eyes narrowed a fraction. “I thought I told you not to refer to hell anymore.”
“You told me not to refer to hell in ‘the Lord’s house’,” I corrected him, complete with finger quotes. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but this isn’t his house, it’s yours.”
Michael let out an exasperated sigh and placed his glass down. “Your vessel will not age. Your hair will not grow. You cannot gain weight and you cannot get ill,” he reeled off at me.
Was I glad I had shaved my legs before I ventured out! There was at least one perk to being dead.
“However, because you cannot age, humans will begin to notice that you are not getting older,” he continued.
“And that means what?” I asked, my eyebrows furrowing as I thought it out. “I have to move every ten years?”
“Should you be required to remain in the same place, you will have to change vessels every ten years,” he corrected me. He cocked his head, examining me. “You might be lucky. You might make fifteen years in this one.”
Unsure as to whether I should be taking that as a compliment or an insult, I shrugged. “What does it matter? Apparently I can’t communicate with people.”
Michael shook his head. “I never said that. I said you couldn’t visit your aunt and your friends,” he quickly added before I could voice my objection. “There are many jobs an angel has, and communicating with certain humans is essential in these roles.”
“An angel has jobs?” I blurted out before I could stop myself.
Instead of snapping at me like I expected, he actually smiled. “Yes. What did you think we did all day? Sit on clouds playing harps?”
“I didn’t think you existed,” I shrugged. “But if I was going to contemplate your existence, then yes, I would go for harp playing on clouds.”
