by C. L. Coffey
Michael laughed this time. “I suppose we allowed the Romantics to get away with that one.”
“Then what do you do?” I asked him, my curiosity getting the better of me. If he said charity work, vicar or spiritual leader, I wasn’t going to be able to stop myself from rolling my eyes.
“When you are not training,” he began, avoiding my question.
“Training?” I repeated, cutting him off instead of calling him on not answering the original question.
“Yes, training.” He frowned, returning to the couch. “This would go a lot faster if you didn’t repeat me all the time.”
“Michael, right now I am only just beginning to believe that I am not dreaming and that there’s a chance you might be telling the truth. Forgive me if I take a while to get my head around this,” I told him.
“You are forgiven,” Michael nodded. “And, for the record, I don’t lie.”
For some reason, I didn’t doubt that for one moment. “Training?” I prompted.
“Training,” Michael nodded in agreement. “When you are not learning to use a bow and arrow, or wield a sword-”
“Whoa!” I cried, my hand shooting up in the air. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Swords and bows? What the hell do angels need weapons for?” I spluttered in amazement. So much for the harmless harp playing images of angels I had in my head.
Although he gave me a disapproving look, he didn’t comment on my choice of words. “You really don’t know anything about angels, do you?” he realized.
“I didn’t believe in them!” I exclaimed loudly. “And I have never read a Bible, much less picked one up. So no, I am an angel virgin.”
Michael closed his eyes and inhaled deeply leaving me thinking I had taken it a step too far. I braced myself, ready for a verbal lashing. Instead, he exhaled slowly and opened his eyes to look at me. “One of the duties of an archangel is to protect mankind. As a guardian, you will need to be able to fight the evil that threatens them, thus you will need to learn how to fight.” He considered me once more and then nodded. “We will start with the basics and build up on them. As an expert with a sword, I will undertake your training in that area.”
On anybody else, that would have sounded cocky. With him, I again simply believed it as a fact. There had been something that had flashed in his eyes when he had yelled at me for saying hell that had made me not want to mess with him. If he had a sword – I was staying well clear.
“You will be assigned a human to work with. He is important and you will be his Guardian,” Michael confirmed.
“So I’m a Guardian Angel?” I asked, hesitantly. I have a bit of a temper, I will admit that. But, I am the kind of person whose bark is much, much worse than their bite. I will rant to whoever will listen. I will even threaten to punch somebody, but I have never hit anybody yet. It takes a lot before I will confront someone, much less act violently towards them. In short, I’m all talk, and definitely no action. Wielding a sword was not something that one would associate with me. Let’s be honest, a twenty year old, in this day and age, with a sword? No matter how I looked at it, it sounded absurd.
Michael nodded. “You will meet him tomorrow. I think, for now, it would be best if you got some rest.”
“But I’m dead,” I pointed out, not that he needed to be told that, considering how many times he had to point that out to me. “What do I need sleep for?”
“You don’t, but your vessel does,” Michael informed me. “Likewise, it will need feeding and watering.” He was making me sound like a horse. “While you are immortal, your body is not. You can make it do a lot more than it would have been able to when you were alive, and it will be able to heal quickly from most wounds, but too much damage and not even a year of rest will allow it to recover.”
“What happens then?” I asked him warily. I had visions of zombies in my head, wandering around with their flesh hanging from their faces.
“You will need to replace the vessel,” he revealed. He watched me for a moment and sighed. “I will not go into too much detail now, but there are also injuries that both you and your vessel will not recover from.”
“Right,” I muttered at his completely vague warning. How on earth could an immortal being not recover from an injury? I sighed. “Don’t tell people I’m an angel, don’t tell people where I live, and keep my body healthy. Anything else?”
I was surprised when he nodded. Clearly he hadn’t grasped the concept of sarcasm.
“No sex, no drinking, no smoking, and no drugs,” he added, calmly.
“No sex or alcohol?” I blurted out. I didn’t smoke or do drugs, but sex and alcohol? “You expect me to go an eternity without either?”
Michael just nodded at me.
I wondered if angels could commit suicide.
Michael stood up and moved to his desk, ignoring the look of horror I am sure was plastered all over my face. He pressed a button on his phone and muttered one word. “Come.”
There was a muffled reply I didn’t catch and then Michael moved back to me, perching on the arm of the couch. “I will have you taken back to your room. Get some rest. Tomorrow, you will meet your charge and we will start your training with the bow.”
I glanced up at him, unable to keep from rolling my eyes. “A bow and arrow? Really? Do I look like Cupid?”
Michael frowned in confusion. “Cupid? As he works on my front desk, I can assure you that no, you do not look like Cupid.”
My mouth was still hanging open when there was a knock at the door and a person entered. It was the same guy who had been sitting at the front desk – Cupid. Silently, I slipped Michael’s jacket from my shoulders, draping it over the arm of the couch.
Michael gestured I should follow Cupid and I quickly closed my mouth, moving towards the door. “Oh, and Angel?” Michael called after me.
I paused, turning back. “Yes?”
“The next time you leave your room, please don’t do so in your nightwear.”
I glanced down at the dress and flushed. Unable to meet his eyes, I nodded and stepped out of the room pulling the door closed behind me. I took a deep breath and slumped back against the door, screwing my eyes shut.
“He is rather yummy, isn’t he?”
My eyes flew open as I remembered that I wasn’t alone. Cupid was yet another beautiful creation. He was tall and skinny with fluffy brown hair and hazel eyes. “I’m sorry?”
“Michael,” he clarified, his high toned voice in a stage whisper. “There is no denying that man is positively delicious. Come on.”
He started walking down the stairs and I hurried after him. “You’re Cupid? As in... Cupid? I thought you were a Roman god?” History hadn’t been a strong point in school, but I didn’t fare too badly with Roman, Greek or Norse mythology.
Cupid glanced back at me and rolled his eyes. “Ugh, please! You set one Caesar up on a date and you’re branded for life. I’m not even a cherub.”
“A cherub,” I repeated. “There are such things as cherubs?” My nose wrinkled up at the thought of diaper wearing babies wandering the halls, making people fall in love. That was kind of creepy.
Cupid stopped and turned, looking at me with a mixture of wonder and pity. “Oh, you are so new you’re simply divine. Yes, honey, cherubim. Before you say anything, they are not bouncing bundles of baby joy.”
“They’re not?” I asked in surprise. There was a bit of relief in there too.
He turned and continued to lead me back down the stairs to the second floor. “Nope, they are teenagers.” He opened the door for me and as I walked past, he leaned over, and with another conspiratorial whisper, announced, “Moody, stubborn, petulant teenagers, permanently stuck in puberty.” The door closed behind us and we continued walking towards the room I had awoken in. “They are the housekeepers, the chefs, the cleaners and the handymen. They get very offended in their emo little ways if you ever mistake them as babies.”
I truly wanted to laugh. Or cry. Again. Or both. Emo teenage angel
s?
At my silence, he glanced down at me and sighed. “I can’t believe they’re still issuing this as the nightwear for female angels,” he told me, pinching the fabric like he would catch something from it. “I’m sorry, but it does nothing for you.”
I looked up at him and pulled a face. “I’m not allowed to have sex. What does it matter? It’s not like anybody’s ever going to see it.”
“He told you that already?” Cupid asked me, giving me a sympathetic smile. “Unlucky.”
“Oh yes,” I muttered darkly. “No sex, drugs or rock ‘n’ roll. I got the memo.”
Cupid winced. “Not all of it, by the sounds of things. It sounds like he missed out the other half.”
“What. Other. Half?” I asked him through gritted teeth.
“You’re surrounded by angels,” he announced.
“Your point being?” I asked.
“Well they all look like models, don’t they?” he informed me as we reached my door. He opened it and pushed me in. “And on top of that, as a female, you’re in the minority.”
My hands found my hips as I glared at him. “Define minority.”
“Well, currently,” he sat on my bed and smiled. “The grand total of female angels would be you.”
I had died and gone to live as the only girl in a house of male models, and yet somehow I was in hell rather than heaven. Was being an angel a reward or a punishment?
CHAPTER THREE
The Salty Dog
Needless to say, my mood hadn’t improved much when Cupid knocked on my door the following morning. Without waiting for an answer, he bounded in and sat himself down on the end of the bed. I pulled myself upright, groaning at the effort. “Out of curiosity, are you going to do that every morning for the rest of eternity?”
“Oh,” he cooed, pouting as he reached over to pinch my cheek. “Someone isn’t a morning person.”
I jerked my head back and poked my tongue out at him. “Bite me,” I grumbled.
Taking no offence at my words, Cupid beamed at me and leapt off my bed. In two bounds with his long and skinny legs, he had pulled back the curtains allowing the early morning sunlight to flood the room. “It’s a beautiful day outside,” he informed me.
A low growl escaped my throat as I squinted at him in the bright light. “It’s New Orleans in the summer,” I grumbled at him. “It’s probably a hundred degrees with the same humidity.”
“104,” he corrected me. “Or at least it’s going to be. And you need to get up, shower and dress, so we can grab some food before it all goes.”
I pulled back the sheets and dragged my feet through the door he was pointing at. It led to my own en suite bathroom. It was a little on the small side – it definitely wasn’t big enough for me to be able to lie down on the floor and stretch out - but it had a shower, toilet and sink, as well as all the basic necessities, including shampoo and conditioner. Most importantly, it held a mirror. I turned the shower on and stepped in, surprised at how much pressure and heat there was in the water in the old building. It was blissful.
I allowed the water to run over my body, enjoying the feeling as it woke me up. Cupid was right: I was far from a morning person, but a shower would work wonders on me. My eyes fell to my abdomen, searching for a trace of what had happened six months ago. I didn’t have to look hard. There were several thin slivers of silvery skin, glinting up at me.
I grabbed the shampoo and scrubbed my hair with it, but even after three washes, the temporary hair dye had yet to turn the water red. I had been hoping that, despite it remaining vibrant after six months, it would wash out. But no. Great, I was stuck with red hair for ten to fifteen years. There were murderers who got lesser sentences than me.
Admitting defeat, I rinsed my hair and stepped out, wrapping a towel around me. I quickly brushed my teeth and then searched the cupboard for anything resembling make up. There wasn’t any, although there was a hairdryer. With the small motor drowning out my curses, I set to drying my hair.
Dry, the color was just as vibrant as it had been when I dyed it, and somehow, even though there were no straighteners or hairspray in sight, it still flicked out. Well, at least my hair looked good: I had just had it cut so it looked neat, the length sitting just below my shoulder blades. With little else to do, I opened the door. Waiting for me on the other side was Cupid. He thrust a pile of clothing into my arms, before handing over a small bag.
I took the items and retreated back into the bathroom. I pulled the clothes on, surprised at the silkiness of the underwear. Fully dressed, I stood back and examined the outfit in the mirror. It wasn’t quite what I expected, especially after the nightdress, but it actually wasn’t too bad.
The trousers were a pale gray and long enough that even when wearing heels, they would cover the shoes. They were also very flattering without being too sexy. The shirt was short sleeved and had a slight puff at the shoulders, while the main body was long, resting on my upper thighs. Over the top I had been given a waistcoat –gray like the trousers - that was very short, buttoning just below my breasts with only two buttons.
I turned my attention to the small bag. Inside was a stick of mascara, black eye kohl and some blusher. I could have kissed Cupid.
Finally satisfied, I exited the bathroom and gave Cupid a quick twirl, earning a low whistle off him. “I can assure you that you won’t be the only one cursing the no sex rule,” he told me.
I snatched the high heeled pumps he was offering me and stuck my feet into them, bringing my eye line to his. “Take me to the food,” I told him, by stomach choosing the moment to emphasize the fact I was hungry.
He led me downstairs to the opposite side of the building. Once upon a time, the building had been used as a girl’s school, and the canteen still remained. It was now full of, as Cupid had described them, models. All of them turning to stare at me in curiosity.
“Can we get a to-go bag?” I hissed in Cupid’s ear.
He turned to me and grinned. “Don’t worry, they’re all drones. Give it ten minutes and their meals will be more interesting.”
I followed him over to the food. It was a help yourself system, although behind the counter, what I assumed to be the cherubim were keeping the containers well stocked. Cupid had been right; they were all emo teenagers, although there were a few females in there, much to my surprise. All of them were wearing far too much eyeliner, their hair inky black, and none of them smiled. I ignored the grits and piled my plate high with bacon, eggs and biscuits – the Louisianan equivalent of plain scones.
“I haven’t eaten for months,” I told Cupid as I sat opposite. He had been staring in disbelief at the amount of food piled up on my plate. It wasn’t until I had devoured half of my breakfast that I paused long enough to question Cupid. “I thought I was the only female,” I accused him.
Cupid looked momentarily confused before the understanding washed over him. “You mean the cherubim?” He laughed. “They are stuck in puberty for eternity. They hardly count. All those hormones and insecurities?” He shuddered.
“We’re more female then you are,” a voice announced taking the chair between me and Cupid. Behind the shaggy black hair, hidden underneath layers of kohl, were two sparkling gray eyes. She looked about sixteen.
Cupid let out an exaggerated sigh. “This is Veronica. She spends her life wallowing in an imaginary quagmire of torment.”
“Because you’re not a walking cliché yourself,” she retorted, stealing Cupid’s fork and stabbing it into a pile of scrambled eggs.
I watched the pair bicker, unable to keep myself from smiling. Despite their words, they were obviously good friends. While Veronica’s focus was on Cupid’s food, he winked at me. “Veronica is just pissed because the cherubim used to be the highest ranking angels, and now they’re just the help.”
If I’d have blinked, I would have missed the movement, but with her free hand, she punched Cupid’s arm. “We volunteered for this, as you well know,” she told him, smiling
in satisfaction as he rubbed his arm. She turned her attention to me. “Don’t let him tell you otherwise.”
“Jeeze, Ronnie, whoever decided to stick you guys in the kitchen because you couldn’t fight has clearly never been on the other end of your fist,” Cupid complained.
“Too right,” Veronica agreed. “We never saw the front line the last time around. This time, we volunteered to help and Michael placed us behind the scenes. Everyone just assumes we’re sulking because we’re the help, as Cupid labeled us. We’re just pissed we’ve not been given the chance to train in weaponry. We could kick ass given the chance.”
“And on that note, I need to take Angel to our fearless leader,” Cupid interjected.
Veronica snorted. “Angel? Okay, resorting to calling us the help was a little immature, but calling new recruits by their rank is just pathetic.”
Cupid looked horrified as he stared at Veronica, but I laughed. “No, I’m Angelina, otherwise known as Angel, the appropriately named angel. Or, if we’re going to be picky, the appropriately named Angel Potential.”
“Oh,” Veronica flushed, a bit of color finally highlighting her pale cheeks. “I’m sorry, it’s just Cupid is normally quite bitchy and-”
“Pot meet kettle,” Cupid sniped, offering his hand to Veronica for a handshake. “You’re the only person around here who is bitchier than me.”
Veronica shrugged and slumped back in her chair. “Yeah, you have a point. Anyway, mustn’t keep you. You don’t want to piss off an archangel.”
Having no desire to do just that, I thanked Veronica as she cleared our plates away and I followed Cupid back up to Michael’s door. “This is where I leave you,” he said, turning to me.
“You’re not coming in?” I asked in alarm.
“Nah,” Cupid shook his head. “I have my own duties. I’ll see you later.”
He disappeared back down the stairs, leaving me outside Michael’s door. I raised my hand to knock, but he was already calling me in. “How did you know it was me?” I asked him, closing the door behind me. He just flashed me a Colgate advert-worthy smile. I swooned inwardly. Regardless of what I thought of him, he was beautiful.
