by Kim Wilkins
No stopping now. They linked hands.
“Lazodeus, angel of the fifth order,” Mary began. Her sisters joined in.
“Come to us this night, stand within this triangle and, under a solemn vow that you will injure nobody, appear to us. Come, Lazodeus, that we may command you.”
They held a collective breath. Nothing happened.
“Once more, let us repeat it,” Deborah said.
“Lazodeus, angel of the fifth order …” Again and again, their voices soft in the dark spaces, the chant going around three, four, five times.
On the sixth repetition, light glimmered weakly along the edges of the triangle. Deborah’s heart hammered under her ribs. Her excitement was almost choking her.
“Lazodeus, angel of the fifth order …” Seven times, and suddenly it all happened. Light shot up in bars towards the ceiling, creating a brilliant white cage between them. Deborah’s heart jumped as though it might stop altogether. As they intoned the last line, “Come, Lazodeus, that we may command you,” a sucking sound filled the room. Then, as though being pulled from the air, a male figure appeared within the bars. He cried out in pain.
The girls’ voices trailed off. Their hands were firmly linked, and Deborah could feel her sisters’ perspiration, their anxiety in their desperate grasps. The room was suddenly very quiet.
Deborah licked her lips and tried to swallow. “Are you Lazodeus?”
“Yes,” he said, turning to her. She caught her breath. He was easily the most beautiful creature upon whom she had ever gazed. Under arched brows, his eyes were blue-green, brilliant and clear, and fringed thickly with black curling lashes. His dark chestnut hair fell to his shoulders, and gleamed in the unearthly light. His face was exquisite, with wide cheeks and rounded jaw; his clean-shaven complexion flawless but for the white crevices of two deep scars, one across his left eyebrow and one on his top lip. His skin was ivory, smoothly extending across a body the like of which Deborah had only seen in sculptures; not on the barrel-bellied men she passed every day on the street. He was entirely naked, taller than anyone she had ever met, towering over the three of them. But there was more to his beauty than merely the collection of these physical characteristics. Such a clarity seemed to freshen her eyes while looking upon him, a sharp focus which made the rest of the room seem dull and fuzzy.
Mary gulped. “Are you an angel?”
“I am an angel.”
“Anne, is this the angel you remember?”
“Y-y-y—”
“My name is Lazodeus. Please, let me out of this prison.”
“How … how do we do that?” Deborah asked.
“Ask me to join you in your world. I’m caught between at the moment.”
Deborah and Mary exchanged glances. Anne had screwed her eyes tightly shut and Deborah could see the gleam of tears on her cheeks.
“Very well,” Mary said, “Lazodeus, join us in our world.”
With a flash of white light, the bars disappeared and Lazodeus remained in the middle of the room, now fully clothed. He wore a plain black tunic, buttoned closely over a lace-edged black shirt, black breeches and black leather boots to his knees. The glowing bars were gone, but Lazodeus, despite his sombre clothes, glowed faintly, lending a cast like luminous moonlight to the room. Deborah dropped her sisters’ hands and palmed her eyes. She was beginning to feel as though events weren’t real, as though she may be dreaming.
He bowed deeply, then said, “How may I serve you, sisters?”
“Be at our command,” Mary said boldly. “Always.”
“That I am. I am your guardian. But you have called me for a reason?”
“Our stepmother wishes us sent away as apprentices; make sure it doesn’t happen.”
“But harm nobody!” Anne cried, suddenly finding her voice.
The angel turned on her. “I am an angel. I do not harm anyone.”
Anne gaped at him in terror.
Deborah had expected an angel to be more patient. “Please, don’t lose your temper with our sister,” she said.
He shook his head. “It is difficult to come through the worlds. It causes me great pain. Forgive me, I am not myself.”
“Here, sit down,” Mary said, leading the angel to the bed. He sat heavily with his face in his hands, breathing slowly. He wore a large silver ring, set with a black stone, on his left hand. A long scar ran from the base of his thumb up to his middle finger. Mary looked urgently towards Deborah.
“Would you … er … would you like a drink of wine?” Deborah asked.
He looked up. “No, I neither eat nor drink mortal provisions.”
“What can we do to help you?” Mary said.
“There is nothing you can do. Every time I make the transition it will cause me tremendous pain. Unless you wish to keep me always by you. But I suppose, as I have not heard from you in fifteen years, that I am to be consigned back to my own realm.”
“No, no,” Mary said, recovering far quicker than Deborah was able. “We didn’t know about you, you see. Anne never told us. If you want to stay with us and watch over us, you can.”
“But where will he stay?” Deborah asked. “We can’t keep him up here in our room.”
The angel burst into loud laughter. Deborah looked at him in hurt puzzlement. It seemed he mocked her.
“I can be with you, and not be in the same sphere of existence,” he said. “I require no bed, no fire, no fancy hangings …” He indicated around him with a gesture almost disdainful. “You only have to tell me to stay.”
“Then stay!” Mary cried.
“All three of you must agree.” He turned his blue-green eyes on Deborah. “Deborah?”
“Are you sure you are an angel?” she asked.
“I am certain.” His gaze was very steady.
She considered a few beats.
“Please, Deborah,” Mary said.
“I command you to tell me the truth,” Deborah said.
“I am an angel,” Lazodeus said confidently, an amused smile twitching the corners of his mouth. For the first time, Deborah liked him. “I swear that I am an angel, Deborah Milton.”
“Very well, stay. Anne?”
They all turned to the eldest sister. She said nothing.
“Anne Milton,” Lazodeus said, “you must understand this: I am incapable of inflicting physical harm on anyone. People injure people, angels do not.”
“But Johnny …”
“If you wish me to stay, then you may command me to explain his death to you,” the angel said.
Anne hung her head.
“Anne, please,” Mary said, taking Anne’s hand in her own and squeezing it. “Please, Anne. We can command him away again. Can’t we, Lazodeus?”
“I am at your command.” He bowed his head.
“Stay,” Anne said quietly. “Stay with us.”
Lazodeus’s shoulders sagged with relief. “It is agreed. Now, you wish me to ensure that your apprenticeships do not eventuate?”
Mary’s voice was excited. “That’s right. Anne and I are to be sent away to Surrey as lacemakers — our stepmother is responsible.”
“I will fix it this night.”
Mary clapped her hands together in glee. “And can you make Father kinder? And protect my dog, Max? And can we have some nicer things in here? Velvets like Amelia’s place?”
Lazodeus laughed again, this time louder, and Deborah feared he would be heard downstairs. “Mary Milton, you should ask to be cured of your greed. I cannot change your father, your dog is your responsibility, and do you not think your stepmother would notice if your room was suddenly filled with velvets?”
A creak on the stairs. Betty was on her way up.
“Quick! Go!” Deborah said, racing to the door. “Betty has heard you.”
“No, don’t go!” Mary wailed. “Stay and do as we say.”
“I shall go, but you may summon me again.”
A knock on the door. “Girls?”
“Just a mome
nt, Betty,” Deborah called.
“Another summoning? With the triangle and the chanting?” Mary asked.
“No, now you have asked me to stay close by, it will be easier. You don’t have to be together. Just close your eyes and say my name as a whisper. I will hear you, and I will come.” He touched Mary’s cheek lightly. “Goodnight, Mary.”
“Goodnight, angel.”
Betty was trying the door. “What’s going on in there? Have you barred the door?”
Lazodeus turned to the others. “Goodnight, Deborah. Goodnight, Anne. I look forward to knowing you better.” The white glow around him began to intensify. With a mock-solemn bow, he disappeared, leaving them in darkness.
Betty pounded on the door. “Open this door at once. I can hear what’s going on in there.”
Deborah raced to the door and pushed the dresser back. She pulled the door open and Betty strode in.
“Where is he?”
“Who?” Mary asked, with a look of obviously feigned innocence.
“I heard a man’s laugh.”
“No, ’twas merely Anne coughing,” Deborah said. “She has a chill. Look you, she weeps for the pain in her chest.”
“Then why is the fire not stoked? ’Tis freezing in this room.” Betty lit a candle from her own and went to Deborah’s closet, and flung the door open. Max scurried out.
“This is the only man we have in our room,” Mary said, scooping the little dog up. Betty recoiled as he tried to lick her.
“I heard a man’s laugh, and then a man’s voice. I’m not an idiot.” She stalked to the window and pulled the curtains. Threw open the sash and looked down. “Did he go out the window?”
“’Tis a long way to jump,” Mary said, stifling a laugh.
Betty turned and glared at them. “You think I’m a fool. You think I’m a halfwit like your stupid sister.” She indicated Anne with a wave of an impatient hand.
Mary squared her shoulders. “You are a fool. Anne is a thousandfold smarter and kinder than you.”
Betty took two steps forward and stood nose to nose with Mary. Max whimpered and cringed into Mary’s arms.
“In twelve days, you will be gone,” Betty said. “You need not feel superior to me.”
Mary opened her mouth to retort, but Deborah kicked her. “I’m sorry if we have disturbed you, Betty,” Deborah said, “but as you can see ’Tis only the three of us up here. Perhaps you heard a voice from outside. There are some loud revellers in the street.”
Betty sniffed. “Lie your lies, girls, I don’t care. I shall be rid of you two soon enough.” She turned to Deborah. “Don’t make me plan to rid myself of you withal.”
She left, slamming the door behind her. The three sisters exchanged glances, the excitement of the night overwhelming them. As one, they burst into laughter, though Anne’s cheeks still ran with tears.
Betty’s first Christmas as Mrs John Milton was chaotic. First, the argument with the girls on Christmas Eve. Did they think her a fool? She had heard a man’s voice, a man’s laughter. Where they had hidden him was still a mystery to her, but she knew they had been entertaining him in their bedroom. She hadn’t told John — he would die with the humiliation. Then Christmas morning, very early, the message had come from the Powells in Forest Hill: the girls’ grandmother was mortally ill, and she had requested Mary to join her immediately. Of course, Betty was glad to see the annoying girl leave, but there had been such a tumult of weeping and pale faces and shaking limbs that even John had been moved. The house had been plunged into a darkly sombre mood.
But on Boxing Day, the worst news of all had come.
The letter looked innocent enough: she had expected something from the lacemaker in Surrey, a confirmation of the details for the girls’ arrival. When she tore the letter open, though, it was vastly different from what she had expected. After the usual formalities of inquiring after her and her husband’s health, he had written:
Although I have promised to take on Miss Mary and her friend Anne as apprentices from Twelfth Night, I now find I have to refuse them. On Christmas Eve I was visited by an angel who warned me that should I employ them, my family and I would suffer greatly. It is not for me to question the word of God’s messengers, nor to put my family at risk.
Betty read it twice, trying to comprehend it. An angel? She felt a chill thread through her body, for this was surely an omen. Bad luck would attend upon this.
But then she began to grow angry. Yes, bad luck was already in attendance because this meant the girls would stay. Angelic visitations? Why would an angel carry tidings of a pair of draggle-tails like Mary and Anne Milton?
She screwed up the letter angrily and threw it towards the fire. It bounced off the hearth and clattered into some hanging pots.
“What’s going on?” John called from his study.
Betty meekly picked up the letter, placed it among the flames, and joined her husband.
“I have had a letter from the lacemaker in Surrey. He believes he has had a religious vision warning him not to take Anne and Mary.”
John repressed a chuckle. “A vision? About my ungrateful daughters?”
“’Tis no matter for laughter.”
“I am not laughing.” Still, a pull at the corner of his mouth.
“We can make him take them, you know. He breaks the law, for he made a promise.”
“Betty —”
“Or we can find them another apprenticeship. Surely not every lacemaker in England is foolish enough to believe a drunken dream is a religious vision.”
“Betty —”
“I can write to my sister in Suffolk, see if she knows anyone who —”
“Betty!” he roared, and she took a step back in shock.
“John?”
“Maybe they are meant to stay with us.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maybe my daughters are meant to stay with us.”
“But —”
“I have had enough of this to-ing and fro-ing; they will not go. Accept it. The Lord works in ways which are impossible for us to understand. But perhaps He wants them to stay here, by their father.”
Betty glared at him, knowing that he couldn’t see the depth of her anger. “Very well, John,” she said, and she heard the strain in her own voice, the breath trapped behind her teeth. “I shall endeavour to get used to them being here.”
Impossible.
By now, she despised them all.
“Anne? You look so pensive.”
Anne glanced up from where she sat in the chair under the open bedroom window, gazing down into the street. Deborah wore her spectacles, which made her pretty face owlish. Evening grew close and long shadows crept across the room. Anne’s nose was frozen from the cold air.
“I’m thinking about G-Grandmamma.” It was a lie, and Deborah probably knew it. Grandmamma had never been kind to Anne. No, she was thinking about Lazodeus, and had thought about little else since Christmas Eve.
Deborah touched her hair gently. “Would you like me to light a candle?”
Anne nodded, watched her sister go about lighting a candle and stoking the fire. The light in the room changed from grey to amber. Deborah returned to close the window. “Father wants me to read to him and a friend this evening. Would you like to come down and listen?”
“No, I think I shall sit here by myself and think.”
“Don’t think too much, sister,” Deborah said with a smile. “Thinking can be a dangerous occupation.” Anne watched her go, then turned back to the window. She sighed and leaned her forehead against the crisscross lines of lead. Her distorted reflection looked back at her from the uneven diamonds of glass, and she closed her eyes.
On Christmas morning, after the news of Grandmamma had come, Mary made them swear not to call the angel until she had returned, and Anne had agreed readily. Deborah had considered and then, in her typical fashion, judged that it was a fair request.
So why couldn’t Anne get the idea of su
mmoning Lazodeus out of her head? She hadn’t wanted him anywhere near them before Christmas Eve, and yet now she wanted very badly for him to return.
She opened her eyes and glanced around the room. Shifting shadows chased each other across the dark walls. Be honest. You know why you want to see Lazodeus again. He had spoken of Johnny’s death; he had promised to explain what had really happened. Could he lift her burden of guilt? Or would summoning him again be dangerous? She dare not ask Deborah to help her, because she would insist they wait until Mary’s return. But when Mary was home she would dominate affairs with Lazodeus, and Anne would never get a chance to ask him. At least, not alone.
And she wanted very much to be alone with him.
Anne realised that her heart was beating rapidly. Did her heart know something about her intentions? This wasn’t like her at all. She was the safe one, the scared one.
The guilty one.
She crept to the door and opened it, leaned her head out and listened hard. Voices far below in Father’s study, none of them clearly distinguishable. She had perhaps an hour before supper. She closed the door, leaned her back against it and took deep breaths. Easier just to leave it be. Easier not to call him.
But with just one word, she could finally know the truth about Johnny.
With just one name.
She closed her eyes. Tried to make the word come. Curled her tongue to form the L. A dammed flood of desperation waited behind it.
“Lazodeus,” she breathed. She felt a presence appear next to her and dared not open her eyes.
“Anne?” His voice was kindly, affectionate.
“I’m frightened,” she said.
A warm hand touched her cheek. “Open your eyes.”
She did so, and was alarmed at how close he stood. Tentatively, she lifted her gaze to see his face. He smiled at her. His eyes were a deep clear aqua.
“What do you want from me, Anne?”
“I …”
“You do not trust me.”
Anne stared at him mutely.
“Let me earn your trust.” His fingers touched her lips fleetingly. “Say something.”
