by C. L. Coffey
I laughed. “I find that hard to believe.”
He shrugged at me, grinning. “Yeah, you’re right. I didn’t miss you at all.”
“Liar,” I laughed. “I was at my aunt’s.”
“What?!” Cupid exclaimed, dropping the magazine he had scooped up.
I held up the white envelope. “I have to deliver this,” I sang at him.
“That’s not fair,” he sulked.
“There’s not much to it. I’m a Dream Walker, told my aunt I was still alive, and now I get to visit her because it turns out I technically didn’t break any rules.” I left Cupid with his mouth hanging open.
* * *
This message had me going to one of my favorite buildings in New Orleans – the St. Louis Cathedral. When I first moved out here and saw it, I thought it was a castle as it resembled something from a Disney movie. Even now, standing in the moonlight, the white stone glowed, three towers pointing upwards into the sky; you couldn’t even tell that the floor was sloping as one corner of the building was slowly sinking.
The clock face in the centre tower told me it was nearly eleven thirty. I wasn’t sure if anybody would be up still, but I walked through the metal gates and garden to the main door.
It’s supposed to be one of the oldest Catholic churches in the United States, and although I don’t know how true that is, when I walked in, I found it was hard to believe. It put St. Mary’s to shame. The white stonework continued inside with columns lining either side. In short, it was well looked after.
“You’re a little different from the others he sends,” a voice noted from beside me.
“You know what I am?” I asked in surprise, forgetting all my manners.
I wasn’t Catholic and I may have mentioned that my experiences with the church were limited – I had spent more time in them now that I was dead, than when I was alive. With that in mind, and considering the guy was dressed in dark trousers and a polo neck, I wasn’t sure if I was talking to a member of the congregation or an archbishop. “Sorry, your, um Excellency?” I offered, hoping it wasn’t the wrong term.
The man chuckled. “Father Roberts is fine.” He tilted his head ever so slightly. “I assume that’s for me?” he asked, indicating to the letter I had managed to forget all about.
With a start, I glanced down at the name at the top and nodded, handing it over. He took it from me and quickly read it before slipping it into his back pocket. When I didn’t look like I was going anywhere, Father Roberts chuckled again. “Do not worry. You don’t need a reply from me. It’s just the topic for tomorrow’s mass.”
“Really?” I blurted out, forgetting my manners again.
“You seem surprised,” he said, smiling. “Did you think the message you were delivering was of more importance?”
“Not really,” I told him, shaking my head. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just that the last message I delivered was to a guy who worked in a casino,” I frowned. “I’m not sure I should have told you that.”
Father Roberts chuckled again. Judging from the crinkle lines around his hazel eyes, it probably wasn’t an unusual behavior. “You have no need to worry, angel.” I blinked certain that, for a second, he knew my name, then realized he was referring to me generally. “My communications with Michael are of the messages he wants delivered to his people. There is nothing shared with me that won’t be shared with the public. As to what he shares with others, well that is between him and them.”
Despite everything, I still wasn’t sure of my beliefs enough, but that didn’t mean I wanted to offend him. Instead, I nodded. I was ready to leave, but a thought occurred to me and I opened my mouth before thinking about it. “What makes you so sure there’s a God?” I froze, feeling awful. “I’m sorry; I don’t mean to be offensive. I’m just curious.”
Thankfully, he chuckled that deep laugh of his. “Are you not proof enough?”
Well, if you’re going to ask stupid questions, Angel… “Sorry, that’s not how I meant to ask that. It’s just, you’ve clearly got some faith going on to be doing the job you are, but what convinced you so much to turn your life to God.”
“You’re different to the other angels,” he deduced, the smile never leaving his eyes.
I winced involuntarily. “Is that a bad thing?”
“Just different,” he mused.
I could tell that whatever his reasons were, he wasn’t going to share them with me, so I thanked him and started to leave, but I stopped and turned back to him. “Father Roberts, can I ask you a question? Another question?”
He gave me a patient smile. “Of course.”
“Why did Lucifer fall?”
Father Roberts cocked his head slightly. “I would have thought you knew that answer better than I.”
I gave him a half smile and shrugged. “I’m different to the other angels?” I offered, lamely.
“Why don’t we sit?” he suggested, pointing to a pew. I shuffled over and sat down, waiting for him to join me. He sat, reaching for a Bible. It didn’t take him long to open it to the page he was after. “How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning! How art thou cut down to the ground, which didst weaken the nations! For thou hast said in thine heart, I will ascend into heaven, I will exalt my throne above the stars of God: I will sit also upon the mount of the congregation, in the sides of the north: I will ascend above the heights of the clouds; I will be like the most High. Yet thou shalt be brought down to hell, to the sides of the pit.”
“For the record, poetry and Shakespeare make more sense than that, and I can’t understand either,” I mumbled, peering over at the text.
“Lucifer committed the Unforgivable Sin,” Father Roberts explained, gently closing the book and setting it down.
“As opposed to a normal sin?” I asked. “You mean there are sins that can be forgiven? Even murder?”
“All sins can be forgiven,” Father Roberts corrected me. “Except one.”
“The unforgivable one?” I asked, rolling my eyes. “And what exactly did Lucifer do that was worse than murder?”
“He was blasphemous towards the Holy Spirit,” was the simple response.
“And that’s worse than murder?” I scoffed.
Father Roberts smiled patiently. “One can be forgiven if they trust in Christ and him alone for the forgiveness of their sins. Those who are blasphemous will never seek Christ because the Holy Spirit will not work on them.”
I raked my hand through my hair. “It would have been helpful if it just said that,” I grumbled. And if it sounded a little less like a fairy tale. I’m sorry, but forgiveness for murder? “Thank you,” I said, rising to my feet.
“Can I make a small suggestion?” Father Roberts asked as he walked me to the door.
I paused in the doorway. “Sure.”
“Have faith,” he told me, placing a hand on my shoulder.
I gave him a smile and stepped out. I probably shouldn’t have asked. The clock on the central tower told me it was nearly midnight as I left the cathedral and I was ready for some sleep.
I arrived back at the convent and unloaded the boxes from the car, pleasantly surprised that even when I stacked them on top of each other, I was able to carry them up to my room by myself. I set them on the floor, looking through them only long enough to find my England shirt and a pair of shorts, and crawled into my bed – falling asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.
CHAPTER NINE
Outdoor Activities
I surprised Cupid the following morning by already being dressed in my workout gear, and being busy personalizing my room. There were posters of my favorite bands, celebrities and television shows hiding the awful white walls. Trinkets and mementos covered my chest of drawers and all kinds of beauty products were spread out on the dresser. My clothes had already been put away into the wardrobe, and I was in the process of stacking my few books on the empty shelves while singing along to an old rock song while I did so.
“I hate white walls,” I shrugged, powering the laptop down.
“I think I want to stay in here and stare,” Cupid muttered, staring in wide-eyed amazement. That had me surprised. The room was very much like a standard dorm room – nothing special about it – so I was curious as to what his room looked like.
“We can, but as I missed yesterday’s archery lesson, I’m sure Michael won’t be impressed,” I pointed out. I ushered Cupid out of the room, pulling the door closed behind me. “But I did remember those DVDs, so we can watch them at some point.” That cheered him up.
We headed down to the dinner hall where I grabbed a quick breakfast of fruit and yogurt. I might not gain weight, and I could probably cure myself of any heart disease, but as the food I had been eating since I had died consisted of different kinds of fat, I was feeling guilty.
Outside, it was… hot and humid. I wasn’t expecting anything else. As far as I’m concerned, the four seasons of New Orleans consist of Hot, Hot and Humid, Hot and Wet, and Mild and Wet, although locals have tried to convince me for years that they are crawfish, shrimp, crab and oyster. Currently, we were stuck in Hot and Humid.
With the odd candy floss cloud dotting the sky, we moved to a table where an array of items awaited me. “Does this mean I get to shoot something?” I asked eagerly, quickly spotting the two bows.
“Maybe?” Cupid offered, grinning cheekily. “But first, we have to get you outfitted.”
“I should have known you’d be the one to accessorize me.” I gave the collection of items another look over. “Are you trying to teach me archery, or get me ready for the Armageddon?” I joked.
Strangely, he didn’t laugh. “Your vessel will heal quickly from mortal means,” he told me instead. “If you were to use a human’s bow, aside from the fact you would break it before you fired your first round, any friction from the bow on your skin would heal instantly. Our bows aren’t made for a human. They look antiquated compared to that compound bow I showed you last time.”
I glanced over at the bow. He was right. The last one he had shown me looked military grade in comparison to these. The limbs were made of simple wood – maybe oak – polished into a brilliant shine, all the swirls and lines visible. The thin silver thread looked less likely to withstand my strength than the wire on the compound bow had. The only thing that really made it stand out was the golden hand grip, but even then, I would have thought the compound bow was the stronger option.
“They may not look it, but those bows are as old as time and are more likely to survive a nuclear explosion than a cockroach.” At the look of obvious disbelief on my face, he ran his hand lovingly over one of the bows and smiled softly. “The wood came from the trees in the Garden of Eden.”
I had trouble believing that, but I did my best to keep the skepticism off my face. “What’s all that stuff?” I asked, diverting the attention to the collection on the table.
“Stay still,” Cupid instructed me, reaching for an assortment of items. The next thing I knew, I was covered in various accessories and protective gear. “We carry our arrows here,” he started to explain, pointing to the quiver that was attached to my right thigh. “With the speed we move, when the bow is carried over the shoulder, the last thing we need is the quiver getting in the way.
Despite the fact the quiver was full of arrows it was light and still allowed me a lot of freedom in my movement. The fletching brushed the palms of my hands. “Where did these feathers come from?” I asked curiously, the fine hairs glowing in the sun.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Cupid shrugged.
I pursed my lips, running my fingertips over the feathers. “Try me?”
“They’re angel feathers.”
He was right. I didn’t believe him. The arrows were in the perfect place to grip, being right handed. But something was off about them. I examined the black leather quiver more closely and finally discovered what it was. “Cupid, these arrows are tiny.”
“For storage and transportation, yes,” Cupid agreed. He reached over and pulled one out. Magically, the arrow extended, becoming the full sized item I had expected it to be. My lower jaw hit my chest. “That’s impossible,” I mumbled in awe.
Cupid shook his head with a sigh. “How much have you seen that you have said is impossible, Angel?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “A few things?”
“Yet you don’t seem to have realized that there is very little that is impossible?”
I wasn’t ready to get into a big theological or philosophical debate on what I believed in and the impossibilities – or possibilities – that surrounded them. “So what’s with the gloves?” I asked. “It’s September in New Orleans – they’re not really necessary, even if they are holey,” I added, smirking at my own joke.
Cupid didn’t share my amusement, instead rolling his eyes at me. “The holes are intentional, Angel. They’re for your fingers. You need the gloves to protect your hands, but they need to be fingerless for the grip.”
“I’m sure that defeats the point,” I mumbled, flexing my fingers in the soft black leather.
“You try nocking arrows when you’re fingertips are covered,” he suggested.
My hands found their way to my hips. “Try giving me the opportunity and I will.”
“All in good time,” Cupid grinned. He turned and focused his attention on the smaller of the two bows. With one hand on each limb, just by the grip, he lifted the bow from the table, allowing the silver thread to drop to the bottom.
He waited, staring at me expectantly, until I realized he wanted me to take the bow from him. I started to move my right hand out, but at the shake of his head, wrapped my hand around the grip with my left hand. He didn’t allow me to take it from him completely, instead, keeping a light grip on the wood. He closed his eyes and he bowed his head.
Although his lips moved, I couldn’t catch what he was saying, and it took me a moment to realize he was praying. By that time, he was already opening his eyes again. “Angelina, angel in training,” he addressed me. “As an archangel of the Lord, I present to you this bow, blessed by my Father. By accepting this bow, you are accepting a weapon that is capable of, when wielded correctly, killing any evil being. As such, with the bow comes a responsibility to use this weapon for good.” He looked straight at me, the most solemn I have ever seen him. “Angelina, in the belief you will earn your wings, will you also undertake the training necessary to become an archangel?”
All joking and the fun had gone from him. From the passion and conviction in his voice alone, I knew he wasn’t playing around. A tiny part of me wished he was – that was a hell of a lot of responsibility to accept. It wasn’t just potentially becoming an archangel, but, as Michael had suggested, the very real possibility that I would have my own House and my own army. Despite that, the majority of me was ready to accept and face the challenge – hopefully without the killing evil part.
I nodded, and keeping my voice steady, strong and even, I told him so. “I accept that responsibility and I am prepared to undergo any training necessary.”
It felt strange having such an important moment in the humid air of the convent grounds. I was accepting what was easily the most responsibility I was ever going to in my eternal life and I was dressed in a tiny white Lycra workout outfit to do it in. It seemed like the kind of moment that needed a stage and my aunt, as well as my closest friends, present. Maybe some form of ball gown with champagne to follow. And yet, despite the lack of ceremony, something strange happened.
The silver string began vibrating, so fast, it sounded like a long, low hum. With the humming, the string began glowing, getting brighter as the humming got louder. In comparison to how slowly it built, the sound and light vanished in an instance. I was left holding a bow which somehow felt more powerful.
“Now that the formalities ar
e over,” Cupid grinned, suddenly reverting back to his exuberant self. “Let’s see how good you are at archery.”
He stepped back and waited. I had hoped that somehow, being an immortal with extra strength, combined with whatever magic that had just fallen on that bow, that I would be able to shoot as well as I had seen Cupid do.
I don’t know who was more disappointed when the arrow I shot nosedived firmly into the ground a handful of paces away from me. “Well that was a little less dramatic than I was hoping for,” I muttered.
“I second that,” Cupid frowned, one of his hands cradling his chin. “I think this is going to be a lot harder than I expected.” He moved in front of me, placed his hands on my shoulders and pushed my body around on the spot. “Firstly, you don’t actually want to be facing your target with your body – it makes it all wrong for your arms and you can’t pull the string back. You want to be at a right angle to the target.”`
Keeping my back straight and my feet together, with my body in the correct position I raised the bow. With my arrows remaining safely in my thigh quiver, I drew back an imaginary arrow, aiming at the target. Cupid was right – I could stretch my arm back further, with comfort.
At the sight of my new position, Cupid blew out a frustrated breath. “Your feet want to be shoulder width apart. It will give you better balance and a more secure posture.”
I did as he said, keeping the bow raised. It felt a little more comfortable, but I wasn’t sure how much more balanced I felt.
“And keep your bow straight,” he added, nudging the bow. “It’s not a crossbow. That bow should be perfectly straight.”
I made yet another alteration to my posture and waited while he stepped back and looked me over once more. With a frown, he stepped back to me and plucked my little finger free from the string. “You don’t need that.” With a final nod, he stepped back, behind me. “Alright, give it another go.”
