by C. L. Coffey
“Hmmm,” Sarah murmured, turning her attention back to the food. She poured the mixture into a dish and turned the oven on. “It isn’t even ten and I’m cooking dirty rice,” she muttered, shaking her head.
I jumped off the counter, grinning. “If it helps, I skipped breakfast?”
“I’m glad to see that even in death, you have terrible eating habits,” Sarah sighed, shaking her head at me.
I shrugged. “It doesn’t matter anymore. One of the plus sides is that I can eat anything.” I followed her back into the family room, curling up on my favorite spot on the couch, while she took her seat in the window.
“What do they have you doing then?”
“They’re hoping I will become an archangel. I’m supposed to be learning archery and how to use a sword, although Michael mainly has me running on a treadmill,” I quickly amended myself seeing Sarah visibly whiten. “Michael also has me playing errand boy at the moment.”
“Errand boy?” Sarah asked, trying not to smile.
I rolled my eyes. “Alright, so the correct term might be messenger angel,” I said begrudgingly. “I’m a glorified postal worker.”
“And if you keep delivering me messages like that,” she pointed to the note by the side of me. “I’m not going to complain.”
“You might have a point,” I admitted, grinning. “And last night I got to road trip to Baton Rouge. Although I really don't understand what kind of message needs to be delivered to a casino owner.”
“They don’t have you doing much,” Sarah mused.
I exhaled slowly, picking invisible fluff off my t-shirt. “I’m also a Guardian Angel.”
“Who is he?” Sarah demanded.
My eyes flicked up to meet hers, already feeling the heat rising up my neck. She always could read me like a book. “He’s a detective. Joshua.”
“A detective?” she repeated, giving me another look.
“A trainee detective,” I quickly told her. “He’s twenty-four.”
Aunt Sarah’s concerned frown melted into a small smile. “And is Joshua pretty too?”
I laughed, dryly. “Oh no. He is hot. Tall, dark and moody.”
“And completely your type?” she asked with a sly smile.
“And completely my type,” I agreed. “In the looks department. I can’t say that I’ve spent long enough with him to be able to say if I could get along with him. Not that it would matter, because even if we could get around the whole no relationship rule, Joshua has a bit of a trust issue. He doesn’t believe in angels, and he doesn’t understand why I’m there.”
Sarah shifted in her seat, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. “Why are you there?”
I lifted my shoulders, pulling a face. “To protect him?”
“Maybe you need to help him?” Sarah suggested.
“Michael said that, but how can I help him?” I asked. “I know nothing about him, other than the fact I know he won’t want to let me in his life.”
Sarah shrugged. “Why don’t you just ask him? What’s the worst that can happen?”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The Chosen Few
The day flew by far too quickly. After eating three helpings of dirty rice, and relaxing out on the back porch until we felt we could move again, Sarah had helped me pack a few boxes with my belongings. It wasn’t much, but the highlights included my laptop, a bit of makeup, some clothes (complete with something to sleep in), and of course, my collection of DVDs.
I had decided that as Sarah may well have been onto something, I was going to make a detour on the way back and see Joshua. Tempted as I was to stay in my shorts and t-shirt, I figured I would be better off in my uniform and had quickly changed back into it after loading the back of the car.
By the time I arrived at the precinct, it was dark. The same guy was also on the front desk and he seemed to recognize me straight away. “You here to see Josh again?”
“I am indeed,” I smiled.
The guy shrugged. “He and Leon went out on the coffee run. The day shift broke the machine,” he added by explanation. “You can go wait for him at his desk, if you want?”
I nodded and followed him through a door marked homicide. There were eight really cluttered desks in the room, with only one of them occupied. The person behind the desk, a woman who looked to be in her forties, spared me a glance as we entered, but her attention returned to the computer monitor she was studying. On it were several CCTV screens of a busy bar.
We arrived at the messiest desk – folders and papers askew everywhere, with a couple of old, disposable coffee cups from the place we had been to the previous night. “You can wait here. He shouldn’t be too long.”
“Thanks...” I trailed off, realizing I didn’t know his name.
“Curtis,” he filled me in, although I wasn’t entirely certain if that was his first or last name. He disappeared, leaving me alone with the detective who was more preoccupied with the CCTV than with me.
I would say it took about thirty seconds before the boredom sank in and I began to investigate my surroundings – in particular, the desk I was seated next to. Judging from the name plates, Joshua’s desk sat opposite Leon’s. Leon’s, in comparison, was a little neater, and certainly had no used cups on it. He also had a couple of pictures of a little girl, no older than four, her hair scooped up in bunches that made her look a little like Minnie Mouse.
There was nothing on Joshua’s desk to personalize it, and it was only the name plate that gave it away. I scanned my eyes over his desk, doing a double take as my eyes fell on a familiar face. It was the girl Michael and I had seen in the hospital.
I leaned over, pulling the papers towards me. She looked a lot different in the photograph – the obvious being with the fact she had been alive. Black hair with a natural corkscrew curl, brown eyes a hint lighter than the color of her skin, and a Colgate smile.
I flicked through the folder. There were a half dozen crime scene photos, some shots of her wounds, and a couple of handwritten notes. Apparently, she had been stabbed six weeks ago but she had been found quicker than me and rushed to the hospital where the cause of death was cardiac arrest from complications brought on by a pneumothorax, which, if my medical knowledge (stemming from several seasons of Grey’s Anatomy) was correct, a heart attack thanks to a punctured lung, or in this case, a stabbed lung, creating a pocket of air where it shouldn’t be.
I was considering how something about this didn’t add up, trying to put my finger on it, when Joshua walked back into the room, Leon right behind him.
“What are you doing back here?” Joshua asked as soon as he saw me. I looked up and smiled sheepishly, earning a slightly exasperated sigh.
Leon looked between the two of us and frowned. “I’m going to see if Leanne has found anything on the CCTV footage,” he said, quickly hurrying over to the brunette in question.
Joshua moved closer to his desk, his feet speeding up when he saw I had the folder in my hands. He leaned over and snatched it from me. “You can’t read that. It’s an open investigation.”
“Sorry,” I muttered, standing.
He crossed his arms, hugging the file to his chest as he glared down at me. “What are you doing here? And please don’t tell me it’s anything to do with that angel crap.”
I bit my lip, shifting uncomfortably under his stare, but I refused to look away.
“Well?” Joshua demanded.
“You told me not to tell you if it was anything to do with that ‘angel crap’,” I said, using finger quotes.
Joshua rolled his eyes, dropping the folder on the desk. “Really? You’re still using that line?”
I nodded. “Only because it’s the truth.”
“Really?” he asked, his voice laced with sarcasm.
I nodded again, much firmer in my action. “And I think I’ve worked out part of my job, it means that I’ve got to help you.”
“And how do you propose you’re going to do that? Because I’ve just done a coffee r
un.” He held up the paper cup he had been grasping in his right hand, as if to prove a point, and set it on his desk, before resuming his defensive position with his arms folded.
“I’m not your personal tea girl,” I informed him dryly. “And for the record, I have an idea, but I’m going to have to check on something first.” And with that, I turned on my heel and walked calmly out of the building, calling goodbye to Curtis as I walked past.
My idea took me back to the convent. I left my belongings in the car and remembering to take the response from my trip to Baton Rouge, I took the back entrance. I went straight up to Michael’s room, this time waiting for a response before entering. When I went in, I couldn’t help but smile.
He was relaxed on the couch, his suit jacket draped over the back of his desk chair, while the top few buttons of his shirt were open. He was also listening to some music, which surprised me. “Motown?” I questioned, amused.
Michael opened his eyes. “That surprises you?”
“A little,” I admitted as I walked over to hand him the note. “I’m sorry I haven’t given you this sooner.”
“You are forgiven,” he nodded solemnly, taking it from me. “You have been a little distracted.” He got to his feet, and I stepped back to let him pass, but he paused in front of me. “I take it your aunt is accepting of the terms?”
I did something then that he wasn’t expecting. I threw my arms around him, holding him tightly. “Thank you,” I muttered into his chest.
When he started to awkwardly pat my back, I let go and stepped away. He was looking a little uncomfortable to say the least. “I wasn’t expecting you back so early,” he told me as he quickly retreated behind the safety of his desk.
“Sarah suggested that I might need to help Joshua in order for him to trust me,” I told him. “I called in on my way back here.”
“And?” Michael queried. “Did you discover how you might help him?”
“I’m not sure,” I said. “I saw a case file on his desk and got a little sidetracked. It was Callie Edmunds. The girl we saw in the hospital,” I added at his lack of response.
Michael exhaled deeply and sat down into his leather chair. “Ah.”
“She was stabbed in an alley off Bourbon Street,” I continued. “Like me. Were you there for her too? Were you going to make her an angel?”
“Had we been there in time, then yes, she was going to be asked the question,” he agreed, laying his hands on the table, joining his fingertips together.
“You were? What happened?” I asked, surprised.
“We were too late. There is only a short window of time that question can be asked. It is why Lilly was there.”
He indicated to the seat opposite him and I quickly slid into it. “When we were in that hospital, you asked me if I could see ‘it’. What?”
It took him a long time to answer me as he watched me carefully. In a handful of minutes, he had gone from seeming relaxed, to very weary. “Her aura,” he said, eventually.
“What does an aura have to do with anything?” I asked him.
“Do you know what an aura is?” he asked me, instead of replying to my question.
I shrugged. “An invisible light that surrounds a person?” I offered.
“It is more than that,” he said, shaking his head. “The light differs from person to person, reflecting their state of being. No two auras are the same, although they can be similar. The colors, the brightness, the intensity – they allow us to obtain information about that person’s quality of consciousness, their thoughts, and their emotions – even their abilities.”
“So what makes mine and Callie’s special?” I asked him, holding my arm in front of me, trying to see… anything.
“It’s a shame you can’t see it,” Michael sighed, watching my failed attempt. “It is glorious.”
“Is that what connects us?” I asked him. “Is that how the person who stabbed us was picking us out?”
“I should hope not,” Michael quickly disagreed. “The thing that makes it special, what separates you, it is only archangels who can see them.”
“Which is why you asked if I could see them,” I surmised.
Michael nodded. “You are showing some angelic qualities, but not others.”
I wanted to ask him if there was something wrong with me because of the qualities I wasn’t ’t showing, but I didn’t dare. I didn’t want to know the answer and I didn’t want to know the consequences. “So you think it’s a coincidence?” I asked him instead.
“Angel, the thing with your aura – it lasts for minutes. Even if you could see it, you would have to be in the immediate vicinity to be able to reach that person in time,” Michael explained.
“Is that what happened with me?” I asked. “You were in the right place at the right time?”
“I have only been fortunate one other time,” he confirmed. “The Angels of Death are more attuned to auras, to the point that if that one opportunity came twenty years before the person died, they would know. Archangels, on the other hand, can only see that moment as it happens.”
“So why don’t the Angels of Death ask them?”
“A candidate is only viable that once, and it has only been recently that an archangel can ask the question. Angels of Death have more important responsibilities,” he explained. I shifted in my chair, chewing at my lip thoughtfully. “What are you thinking?” Michael asked, watching me.
“It sounds like you’ve always been able to turn humans into angels,” I started hesitantly. Michael nodded. “And you’ve only been able to find one other person before me?”
Michael frowned slightly. “I have seen many other potentials before you, but Lilah was the first I was able to ask.”
“Well why now?” I asked, curious. “I mean, Lucifer and the other angels falling – that didn’t exactly happen last year and the world’s population has been increasing for, well, God knows how long, but it isn’t like it has suddenly started doing it,” I shrugged.
Michael suddenly looked tired and he rubbed his hand over his face. “Do you remember what I told you about our numbers?”
I nodded. “Once there were enough angels for every human, but then a third fell and both the numbers of the Fallen and humans have been increasing since, so we’re outnumbered. I understand that. I just don’t understand why you’ve waited until now to start looking for and asking the Potentials?”
Somehow Michael looked wearier. “Do you know about the Angelic Ranks?”
“You mean the Choirs?” I asked. “How the first two Choirs are based in Heaven and only the third are allowed on Earth?” I gestured between the two of us.
Michael looked momentarily pleased. “Cupid?”
“And Veronica,” I agreed. “They explained a lot last night.”
“Veronica?” Michael sighed in frustration. “Well I’m sure she has filled you in on the Cherubim’s views of the Fallen?” I nodded, watching as Michael’s hands closed into fists. “Angel, I do not for one moment believe that the Fallen will try to return to heaven and I do not want you to believe her ridiculous theory either. That being said, as the numbers of the Fallen have risen, so too have the numbers of ‘natural’ disasters and freak accidents. In the past decade alone, there are thousands who have died that shouldn’t have. Something is making storms stronger, earthquakes more powerful…” he trailed off. “My brothers and I began to investigate, relocating some of our Houses to areas which have seen more trouble than they should.”
I nodded. “Cupid told me where the other Houses are.”
Michael sighed, his hand rubbing his face again. “We have agreed that there are higher than normal numbers of Fallen in our areas. The only way we can counteract their actions is to have more angels, but the only way we can accomplish this is to create more angels and archangels. We need more Houses in many more locations. Angel, the truth is,” he looked down at his hands, somehow looking much younger – like a child that had gotten too deep into something.
“The truth is, we should have started this ‘recruitment drive’ much sooner.”
If I thought it would have helped, I would have hugged him. “So the goal is for me to earn my wings, become an archangel so I can run my own house, and lead an army?”
Michael looked up at me looking thoroughly upset. “Yes.”
I swallowed nervously. The pressure I had felt from not knowing what I was going to do after college had suddenly returned ten-fold. As I wasn’t exactly sure what to say to that, I did the next best thing and changed the subject. “How does Lilly fit into this then?” I asked, quickly going over everything that had been said.
Michael looked relieved. “Lilly contacted me a little over a year ago. Since the hurricane, the population of New Orleans has decreased, and as such, so have the number of deaths. However, she was surprised at the number of people that had been dying who had once had the potential to become an angel.”
“And that’s why you came to New Orleans?”
Michael nodded. “Prior to this, I was based in Canada. It was agreed I would relocate to investigate this and I obtained permission to change any Potentials should I happen across them.”
My hand went to the back of my neck, gently massaging the muscles. “Is there anything else?”
“That is the extent of it,” Michael told me as the phone rang. He answered it, talking in a tone so low, I couldn’t hear what he was saying, despite how hard I was trying. He ended the call and reached for a piece of paper, scrawling a short note down. Silently, he folded the paper into three and slipped it into an envelope before jotting an address down that he seemed to know by heart.
Finally, he handed it over to me. I guess our conversation was over. The address on this envelope was a lot closer than the last one – easily in walking distance. I left the office and headed downstairs.
Cupid sat behind the desk, tidying his things away. “Where have you been all day?” he demanded.
“You mean Michael didn’t tell you?” I asked, replying with a question.
“No, he told me you would probably tell me when I saw you next. So where have you been all day? You missed all three meals and I had to sit by myself,” he pouted.
