The Halo Effect (Cupid Chronicles)

by Allen, Shauna

  Gabriel eventually took his place at the podium, running uncharacteristically late tonight. Even his light seemed a bit dimmer. “Sorry for the delay, everyone.” He smiled at the crowd. “Let’s get started.” He rattled his sheets of notes and began their Angels Anonymous meeting with their creed and news from On High.

  “Father would like it known that effective immediately, unless extenuating circumstances prevent it, all successful matches made will be rewarded with automatic assignment—per angel request—to any present or future children of said love match.”

  A murmur rippled through the crowd. What could such a decree mean? What were the details?

  Michael sat still and listened, too stunned to absorb much. Father was a constant surprise.

  Gabriel offered no further information before he moved on to more news of angel promotions and lateral transfers within the realm. Their old compadre, Rafael, was still doing wonderfully in Messaging.

  Finally, it was time to get started on the business at hand.

  Gabriel tried to start with him, but Michael deferred, saying things were moving slowly and he had no news. He used his nonverbal cues to let his leader know he wished to speak with him afterwards privately. Gabriel simply nodded and moved on to the next angel.

  Uriel reported that his humans, Jennifer and Alan, had begun dating seriously, which was good considering this was his second assignment on Love Detail. Most of the other angels also reported good news, or at least status quo.

  The meeting concluded uneventfully and everyone helped put up the chairs before spreading out for home. For some reason, tonight was quieter than most.

  Michael lagged behind, waiting to talk with Gabriel alone. Finally, it was just them and a couple stragglers chatting in the corner. Michael took the opportunity to pull Gabriel aside.

  “Brother, may I speak with you?” he asked, his voice low.

  Gabriel looked around. “Where’s Ariel? If this involves your match, shouldn’t she be here?”

  Michael shrugged. “I suppose. But I went on and sent her home.” He was hesitant to admit that he was at a loss and didn’t want Ariel—the one he was supposed to be teaching—to see that. He was ashamed on both accounts.

  Gabriel studied him with his intense, deep eyes. Finally, he nodded once. “Very well. Let’s take a seat and you can tell me what’s on your mind.”

  They moved out to the small lobby area and found two plastic seats near the water cooler. He glanced up to the benign oil painting of what was supposed to be the Archangel Michael, his namesake, and sat below it. He shook his head. Poor rendition. Looked nothing like him.

  He shifted his weight uncomfortably—these chairs were not made for human vessels of his girth.

  “So.” Gabriel’s concerned gaze caught his. “Tell me, Brother, what is it? Troubles in paradise?” He smiled.

  Michael laughed. He knew his leader and friend would understand and help him to gain some perspective. He’d always been able to make him feel better. And, more importantly, he’d always been someone he could count on to help him sort out his messes and form a plan.

  “You could say that,” he admitted.

  “Well . . .” Gabriel’s eyes drifted to the portrait above their heads. “You did say this would be your most difficult assignment.”

  “It is.”

  He looked him dead in the eye. “Do you feel you’re not up for the task?”

  “I . . .” Michael’s words left him. He wasn’t sure he was, which was such a shame given his earlier confidence.

  “Would you like to be reassigned? I could ask Father to have someone else take over your case. If you’ve done all you can, that wouldn’t be against our Commandments, Brother.”

  Michael slumped back into his seat, defeat settling heavy into his bones. He could feel his people, as he’d come to know and love them, being pulled from his grasp. And all because he couldn’t get his work done.

  He glanced into Gabriel’s eyes. He gave nothing away as to what he was thinking. Who could he possibly reassign to the case at this late date? And after Michael had already bonded with Tristan and been working with Noble so closely? He sat up straighter in his seat. Oh, heck no!

  “I’ll finish it, Gabriel. Somehow, someway, I will find a way to make Father’s match,” he said as much as a vow to himself as to his fellow angel.

  Gabriel grinned triumphantly. “I know you will, Michael. You always do. You work best under pressure.”

  He was baiting him all along? Michael shook his head. “You’re good for me, Gabriel. Really. Thank you for that.”

  “No worries, Brother.”

  “But, I must tell you, I’ve bonded well with the child, Tristan, which I’m very pleased about. And I’ve done what I can to prod Noble’s most basic sense of duty to the vulnerable.”

  “That sounds either very smart or very dangerous.”

  Michael stared down at the toe of his boot. He wasn’t sure some of his choices were the smartest, but his intentions had been good. And he’d been close-by to make sure all was safe. He met Gabriel’s questioning eyes. “I tapped into Braelyn’s weaknesses and Noble’s strengths.”

  Gabriel raised a brow.

  “I might’ve loosened some wires in her car’s engine so it didn’t run so good.”

  Gabriel studied him. “And?”

  “And I might’ve used angel intention for it to die right in front of Noble’s house. Don’t worry, she was safe the whole time. I wouldn’t have had it any other way,” he promised.

  Gabriel waited silently. Obviously he knew there was more.

  “And I made sure her air conditioner ran out of Freon because I happen to know Noble is a whiz at fixing those.” He glanced up from under his lashes, suddenly embarrassed. His great ideas at the time now seemed juvenile and bumbling. “And I fiddled with her toilet so it would overflow because I knew Noble was home and would come help her fix it.”

  Gabriel’s jaw slacked open. “You did what?! Michael!” His voice sharpened to an angry pitch and Michael cringed. “You’ve got to watch yourself.” He caught Michael’s gaze, his eyes flickering with some anger, yes, but also concern. “And you know what could happen if you cross the line. Please be careful. You’re bordering on over-involvement and downright cruelty.”

  Michael flushed at the chastisement. He never, ever intended to be cruel. Not even a little mean. He was sorry anything he did inconvenienced any of them at all. But, if it served the greater purpose in the end, then it was well worth it. And if they were privy to it, they would appreciate his efforts. “I’m sorry. I just thought . . .” He didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t sure what he’d been thinking. He was working on instinct.

  “Michael,” Gabriel finally said, his voice softer. “I realize you’re trying. And you are to be commended for your work with the boy.” He continued once Michael looked at him. “But you need to be more mindful about what you choose to do and how you intervene. At least don’t choose things that are potentially dangerous—like her car!”

  Michael sighed. “Yes, Brother. I understand. No cars, ever again.”

  “Now, that said, how’d that all go? Any results?”

  “No,” Michael admitted. “Nothing. Not one spark.”

  Gabriel’s eyes widened in surprise. “Really? You’re sure?”

  Michael rubbed his sweaty palms on his jeans. “Yup.” He turned earnest eyes to his leader. “I’m trying to keep my faith in Father’s Plan, Brother. Really, I am. But, tell me. What can I do now?”

  Gabriel closed his eyes for a moment, tuning his thoughts Heavenward. Finally, he smiled at Michael. “When will you be going to see your Little Buddy again?”

  “Tomorrow. Why?”

  “Well, I might have an idea.”

  Michael waited. Whateve
r it was, if it came from Above, it had to be good.

  Gabriel continued. “We’ve already agreed we’re going to stay clear from cars and anything that could potentially cause harm. And, for goodness sake, no flooding her house! But, there are still some things left to do.” He winked. “After all, we’ve been commanded to love our neighbors as ourselves.”

  Tristan loafed on the couch after Michael left, debating what to do. He was still grounded from his video games until next month. He glanced at his Super Smash Brothers Brawl with longing. His mom wasn’t home. She wouldn’t have to know. But it was her birthday, and somehow it seemed extra wrong to break the rules today.

  He checked the clock. Another couple hours till she got home from working Saturday detention at the middle school. He kinda felt sorry for her having to work on her birthday. She always did nice stuff for him on his birthdays. Like cooking him homemade waffles and taking him out for pizza and buying him video games. He gazed over at Mario again with a longing sigh.

  He hopped up and went to the kitchen for a soda. The hummingbird-shaped thermometer in the window read 88 degrees. Man, he was glad Noble had been able to fix up their AC. And their toilet too, for that matter. The guy was a regular Mr. Fix-It. He was pretty cool, too. Tristan sure wished he could get a good look at his motorcycle. That’d be sweet.

  He leaned into the fridge and reached for a Dr. Pepper, idly noticing the light was out before slamming it shut. He popped the top on his soda and took a swig. Aaack. They weren’t cold yet.

  He turned around. That was weird. His mom must’ve left her cookbook out on the kitchen table. He ambled over and took a peek to see what recipe she was going to be guinea pigging on him soon. He furrowed his brow. Yellow cake?

  Ah. It was a hint! Mom wanted a cake for her birthday. He smiled to himself. He could probably do that. He scanned the ingredient list. Seemed easy enough.

  All right. First things first, preheat oven. He walked over and turned the dial to get it to the correct temperature before pulling out the cake pan. Oh, yeah. He could do this.

  Feeling confident, he grabbed the cookbook and headed back to the pantry for the flour and sugar and such. Once he’d assembled his dry ingredients, he returned to the fridge. Man, would Mom be surprised! He yanked open the door with a smile and started searching for the eggs and butter.

  He pulled out the carton of eggs and put them onto the counter. Next, he grabbed the tub of butter, but he noticed it felt hot and squishy. He opened the lid. Yuck. It was halfway melted. He opened the eggs and touched them. Warm.

  He rushed back to the fridge. “Oh, man!” It was out. Everything was warm. Mom was gonna be pissed!

  And so much for her cake. Darn. He went to turn off the oven. He twisted the dial and it snapped into his hand.

  “You’ve gotta be shittin’ me!”

  How was he gonna get it off? He studied it for a moment and pinched the knob, twisting and turning the bare piece. It didn’t take long for him to realize that no heat was pumping out from the back part of the oven like it should’ve been. He yanked open the oven door. It was still cold. It was broken, too?

  He stumbled back, upset. This house was an absolute piece of crap. And now his mom’s birthday was going to be shot to shit by a broken refrigerator and oven. Now he really felt sorry for her. He glanced out the side window and noticed the big, black truck next door.

  He collected his cake pan, the cookbook, his not-ruined ingredients, as well as his pride, and trudged out the door. He was not about to let his mom’s day be totally ruined.

  A couple minutes later, Tristan stood on Noble’s doorstep wondering if he was the biggest dumbass in the world. “Dude, can I borrow your kitchen to bake a cake for my mommy?”

  But he was saved from worrying anymore when Noble opened the door with a scowl. He looked down into his face and furrowed his brows when he noticed the bundle of stuff in Tristan’s hands. “What’s up?”

  Tristan took a breath and hoped he didn’t sound like a dweeb. “Sorry to bother you, man.” He glanced toward his house. “But our stupid fridge and oven are out.”

  Noble leaned against the doorframe and waited.

  He soldiered on. “And I know it’s kinda dumb, but today’s my mom’s birthday, and I, well . . .”

  “You what?”

  He shuffled uncomfortably on his feet. “I was wonderin’ if I could borrow some stuff and use your kitchen.” He held up the cake pan. “To make her a cake.”

  Noble studied him like he’d spoken a foreign language. “A cake?”

  He swallowed and nodded. Yeah, he knew. Kinda gay.

  “Hmmm.” He stepped back and opened the door wider. “Sure, whatever. Come on in.”

  He followed him in and bumped the door closed with the heel of his foot. They moved through the living room, which held only a worn leather sofa, a recliner, and a large, flat screen TV. Tristan turned and nearly bumped into Noble’s back once they reached the threshold of the kitchen.

  He glanced up. “Sorry.”

  Noble stepped out of the way, moving to sit on a bar stool with a bowl of cereal Tristan must’ve interrupted him from.

  Tristan hurried and got to work. The quicker he got this stupid cake done, the quicker he’d be outta his hair. He cranked the oven on to preheat. He pulled out the cookbook, opened to the same page he was on before and set it on the counter next to Noble’s cereal bowl and box of Froot Loops.

  Noble shoveled a bite into his mouth and ignored him.

  He chanced a glance before opening a cabinet to search for a mixing bowl. Noble was still paying him no mind. Bingo. He got it out and started pouring in his ingredients.

  Noble got up and dumped his milk in the sink.

  Tristan waited until he’d shut off the water. “Can I borrow some eggs and butter?”

  Noble shrugged. “Use whatever you need.” He grabbed a banana and sat back down. He peeled it and devoured it in four big bites.

  “Does it say a half a stick of butter or a whole stick?” he asked as he stepped back to the fridge.

  He pulled open the door and waited for Noble to answer.

  Silence. He glanced back. Noble was studying the page, his eyes squinted in intense concentration. Finally, he looked up. “A half?” he answered, not sounding sure at all.

  Tristan pulled out the butter, nagged by Noble’s expression. Something wasn’t right. Maybe he didn’t have his contacts in. He remembered how his dad was when he didn’t have his in or he’d forgotten his glasses.

  Finally, he got the cake mixed and in the oven. Feeling particularly successful, he flipped in the cookbook and found a simple icing recipe.

  He turned to Noble as he emptied the dishwasher.

  “Hey, Noble?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Do you have to wear prescription glasses to drive your motorcycle? Does that suck?”

  Noble eyed him strangely. “No, dude. Why?”

  “Well, I just assumed . . . don’t you wear contacts or something?”

  He slammed the dishwasher shut. “Nope. I’m 20/20 last I checked.”

  “Oh. Cool.” He turned back to the cookbook with a frown.

  “I’m gonna go catch a shower.”

  “’Kay.”

  “Oh.” Noble paused and faced him. “If I don’t see your mom anytime soon, would you please thank her for the pizza?” A half-smile tugged his lips up. “And the cookies.”

  “Cookies?”

  He spun away and left before answering. But he was back in time to watch Tristan pull out his very first homemade cake. All in all, it was a success. He hadn’t burned it. Hopefully it didn’t taste like ass.

  He turned to Noble. “You care if I do some icing real quick?”

  “Nah. What’s a cake without icing?”
>
  He smiled. “I know, right?”

  He flipped to the recipe and shoved the book into Noble’s hands. “Would you help me?”

  He waited and watched as Noble sat there, obviously distressed. “I, uh . . .” he stammered, trying to hand the cookbook back.

  “Just read me the ingredients real quick,” Tristan said, making a beeline for the counter and pulling out the sugar he knew was on the list.

  Noble sat frozen, staring at the words on the page. “Sugar,” he said. “Um . . .” He glanced up and caught Tristan’s gaze. Then something changed in his eyes and he tossed down the book and stood. “I think you can handle it from here. I’ve gotta go get ready for work.”

  Tristan watched as he bolted from the room.

  Noble never came back as he iced the cake in silence. He cleaned up his mess, collected his stuff, and let himself out quietly. He must’ve pissed the guy off. Now he’d never help him and his mom with anything again.

  He balanced the cake carefully and made his way back home. He only had about ten minutes to spare before his mom would be back from her detention detail. He quickly put everything away and placed the cake in the middle of the kitchen table.

  He sat on the couch to wait. Fifteen minutes later she walked in, hobbling a bit on her sore ankle.

  “Hey, sweetie.”

  “Hey, Mom.” He played it cool.

  “How was your day?” He could tell she was trying not to act hurt that he’d forgotten her birthday.

  “Pretty good.”

  She bent over and brushed a kiss to his forehead. Out of tradition, he turned away. She stood and made her way to the kitchen. He quickly got up to follow her and waited in the doorway.

  She gave a small gasp of surprise when she noticed the cake on the table. She flew around and met his eyes.