by Angela Henry
“Marius?” I was unable to believe my luck at running into a friend, though he hardly looked friendly now.
“Who are you?” he growled as he continued to scowl and squint at me.
“It’s me, Xavier. Put on your glasses. They’re on your head,” I pointed out as he patted both front pockets of his work shirt.
Once he’d perched the pair of bifocals on his nose and got a good look at me, he jumped in surprise and then grinned. He had a gap so wide between his two front teeth that he looked like he was missing a tooth.
“Is it really you?” he asked in a low voice as he helped me up and pulled me into a bear hug, lifting me right off my feet.
At five feet three inches, Marius was tall for a cherub. Most of them were about five feet tall. As he lifted me up, I got a good look at his wings, and his wings looked back. Two pairs of eyes, a set on each wing, stared at me solemnly from between the beige feathers.
“What is this?” I fluffed his feathers once he put me down. “You tricked out your wings? I’m gone for a year, and you’ve joined the all-seeing-eye club?”
“Yeah, well, you know how it is, Xav.” Marius looked a little embarrassed. “I’ve got to stay on top of things around here, and it’s only two pair. I’m not wall-to-wall eyeballs like some I could name.”
Cherubs don’t have any special powers. None. Their wings are so small that they can’t even fly. And to be honest, they don’t need special powers since they never leave heaven. So in an attempt to level the playing field, some cherubs embedded objects with certain powers into their wings, the most popular being all-seeing eyes. And their purpose was purely for gossip and information gathering. Cherubs tend to blend in and go unnoticed as they work, making some of the higher-ranking angels treat them like pieces of furniture, unaware that as the cherub is working, the eyes in his wings are watching and recording everything going on in the room. For example, the angel in charge of the Archive of Imagination was using wing extensions on his pitiful twenty-inch wingspan. Cherubs then trade or barter the information in exchange for extra food, lightened workloads, or more bling for their wings.
“Wait a minute.” Marius looked around. He grabbed my arm and pulled me into a utility closet near the door. “How in Hades did you get back up here?”
“I’ve got my ways.” Much as I liked Marius I wasn’t about to give him information to trade on the heavenly rumor mill so he could get out of shelving duty for a week. Well, not much information anyway.
“What are you doing here?”
“Something’s not right, Marius. I think I may have been set up, but I need to look at my last Book of Fates to be sure.”
“Well, I could have told you that case they had against you stank to Hades and back, but I never saw you again after your arrest and then you were gone.”
“What are you talking about?” Could I have been the only one who didn’t suspect I’d been framed?
“Compared to me, you’re just a kid, Xav. I’ve been around for two thousand years. You’re the only guardian I know of who got clipped for doing the . . . the . . . cha-cha with a mortal woman.” Marius blushed at that last part.
“You know I didn’t get clipped for doing the cha-cha. I got clipped because of what happened to my charge while I did the cha-cha. And you do know you’re too old to be using words like cha-cha for sex, right?”
“All I know is this,” said Marius, turning serious. “You are the only guardian I know of who got clipped for losing a charge while frolicking with a mortal. It was a sad and tragic accident, but not a clippable offense by any means.”
“Are you sure?” I couldn’t have heard him right. How could I be the only angel clipped for what I’d done? Surely there’d been others. Then I thought about Leticia Moody saying she’d never heard of such when I’d told her my story.
“I’m as sure as I’m standing here, my friend. Angels get their wings clipped when they violate heaven’s code, usually for intentionally killing humans or plotting against humanity. The rest willing give up their wings to live among humans. So someone must have wanted you gone for some reason. You must have made an enemy.”
“So it would seem. But why me? All I ever did was my job. Who could I have pissed off
so bad?”
“Only one way to find out. You’ve got to get into the Archive of Unintentional Loss.”
“Archive of Unintentional Loss? I know every inch of this place, and I’ve never heard of such an archive.”
“That’s the official name for it, but we cherubs call it the Archive of Cock-Ups.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Marius?”
“It’s where the balance of a life lost when a guardian makes a mistake is stored. Granted, it’s not a large archive, but it does exist.”
“How is that even possible?” I asked.
Marius sighed.
“Back when the world was new, humans were scarce and mistakes didn’t happen. But as the centuries passed and the population exploded, guardians were spending more and more time among mortals, and their bad human habits rubbed off on them. Many became lazy, careless, and reckless. Mistakes were made and lives were lost. And there had to be a place to store the balance of those lives not lived. So a special archive was created.”
“Then why the hell is it a secret? It’s not like we don’t already know people die before their time. It happens every day.”
“Humans are imperfect creatures with free will to destroy themselves and each other in every way possible. But guardians are created to be perfect, Xav—you know that. It wouldn’t be good for morale to know how bad you guys screw up. So those mistakes are swept under the rug. The archive is mainly used to punish the unfortunate guardian by making them spend time viewing what their mistake has cost humanity, so it doesn’t happen again.”
“Well, if so many guardians make mistakes and lose charges, then why don’t they talk about this archive? Why don’t we all know about it?”
“Because it doesn’t matter how many lives a guardian saves. If they lose even one charge due to negligence, then that’s all they’ll be known for. How would you like to be known as the screwup who lost the human who would have ended world hunger? So, of course, the ones who mess up keep their mouths shut about the AUL.”
“And who else knows about this archive?”
“Since it’s a suppressed archive, only the saints and the big bosses.” The big bosses were the archangels, the CEOs of heaven.
“Then how do you know about it?” I was still skeptical that such an archive existed.
He shrugged.
“The way we cherubs find out about most everything around here.”
“Snooping?”
“Eavesdropping!” he replied huffily. “I can’t be responsible for what every loose-lipped angel lets slip while I’m minding my business and doing my work.” He crossed his muscular arms and glared at me.
“Calm down, old friend; I didn’t mean anything by it.” I clapped him on the shoulder, and he gave me a sheepish look. “And have you actually been in this archive?”
“No, but I think I know where it might be.” He lowered his voice and gestured me to come closer. “After you were clipped, I wanted to tell St. Peter how sorry I was since I knew you were one of his favorites. So I followed him down to the storage rooms.”
“What was he doing down there?” I said, interrupting him.
“I thought maybe to personally shelve your last Book of Fates. But when I got down there, I couldn’t find him anywhere. I couldn’t figure out where he’d gotten to. There’s only one exit, and I hadn’t seen him pass me on his way out. Then I saw one of the tapestries move aside, and out walked St. Peter from a hidden doorway. I ducked behind one of the shelves so he wouldn’t see me. I watched him leave. But when I looked behind the tapestry, there was no door at all. It had vanished.”
“I’ll check it out when I go look at my old book.”
“You know they’ll kill you on the spot i
f they catch you, right?” He was looking around the corner like the heavenly guard was on its way.
“I’d be real surprised if they didn’t, Marius.”
“Then why in Hades are you wearing the same face you had when you got clipped? Are you crazy? If you’ve somehow found the power to get back up here, then you must have the power to transform.”
My only thought when I’d seen Alexi’s key was to find my Book of Fates. I hadn’t thought beyond getting up here to find it. Of course, I’d need a new face. I just hoped I had enough power left to do it. Then there was the other question. Who could I transform into? The obvious choice was Alexi, since I had his key, but when the real Alexi showed up, which he would at any moment, I’d automatically transform back to me. Angels are like snowflakes. No two are the same, and identical angels can’t exist in heaven.
“Got any ideas on who I should be?”
“Here.” He reached behind me to grab a khaki uniform from a hook on the wall. “Just make yourself shorter and put this on. No one will even bother looking at you if they think you’re a cherub.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked before taking the uniform. “You know what they’ll do if they found out you helped me.”
“If no one sees you, then I have nothing to worry about. But if I do, just save a place for me on your couch.” He winked and laughed nervously, and I wondered what Minx would say to a live-in handyman.
I shrank down to about five four, and I could tell the angel blood was wearing off by how out of breath I was when I finished. Blood or no blood, I didn’t have the ability to grow another pair of wings. If anyone asked, I’d just say my wings were tucked away because I was molting. Luckily Marius’s uniform fit just fine, and once I’d put on the tool belt and pulled the baseball cap he’d given me down low over my eyes, I was good to go.
“Just don’t make eye contact and you should be okay,” he told me as I left the utility closet.
The entire place was buzzing, and I had a hard time keeping my head down and not savoring my time back in my old home as I shuffled along the crowded corridors trying hard not to collide with anyone or draw attention to myself. The main section of the Variable Fates collection was a large, round, multistoried atrium, with a dome on top made entirely of multicolored stained glass. The images depicted in the stained glass changed hourly. I took a quick look up and saw flowers. Bright yellow poppies, purple violets, red roses, white honeysuckle, and pink hydrangeas shone down on us. And as if it weren’t enough to be bathed in the glow of such beautiful brilliance, the glass flowers also perfumed the air with their scent.
In the middle of the atrium grew a tree of knowledge, with a trunk so big around that it would take ten men with their arms stretched as wide as they could go to encircle it. The top of the tree reached almost three hundred feet, and the branches sagged under the weight of its lush fruit: pomegranates, apples, and pears. It was forbidden to pick the fruit but what fell on the ground was fair game, and I remembered with an intense pang of longing just how sweet that fruit had been. A crew of cherubs worked under the tree picking up the fallen fruit and carting it away in baskets to be made into wine for the archangels.
Conversation floated all around me and mingled with the cooing of the hundreds of doves flying overhead and perched on the tree’s branches. I was most likely the only one appreciating all this beauty, as everyone else was on the way someplace with some purpose in mind. They all seemed to be in a hurry, and Marius was right. No one paid me the slightest bit of attention. I noticed some were dressed traditionally in flowing robes and tunics in every color under the rainbow and sandals, but most wore business attire. A few here and there pushed the envelope. Mostly young guardians trying to be different by dressing to shock, like the female guardian with the pink feather boa, red leather short shorts, and fishnet stockings and a male guardian in a spiked dog collar and black wifebeater that showed off his muscular tatted-up arms. But they were the exceptions. And speaking of exceptions, a tall man in all black, with his long dark hair pulled into a ponytail and a silver cross dangling from one ear strode angrily across the atrium scanning the crowd. It was Alexi, and he had two leathery winged seraph guards with him.
In the year since becoming mortal, I’d learned that when most humans heard the word guard, they thought of a security guard or a mall cop armed with batons or pepper spray. But seraph guards were no mall cops. They had burning eyes and were armed with swords so sharp they could split a piece of thread lengthwise. Shit. Considering I had his key, Alexi had gotten back up here a lot sooner than I’d thought he would. I’d hoped I’d have at least half an hour. I needed to find my book and get out of here before they caught me and skewered me to the ground. I headed toward the freight elevator that led to the massive underground storage rooms when suddenly a firm hand gripped my shoulder.
“And just where do you think you’re going?” A grizzled-looking cherub a good three inches shorter than me, with stubble on his chin and at least two dozen eyes imbedded in his oatmeal-colored wings, glowered at me. And so did the eyes.
“To the storage rooms to change some lightbulbs,” I blurted without thinking and instantly regretted it.
I’d only been gone a year and had completely forgotten that no such things existed in heaven. Artificial light sources weren’t needed there because it didn’t get dark. Every floor had windows that looked out into a perpetually blue sky that filled every corner of every room with light. If the clouds got thick, it might get a little dim but not much.
“Lightbulbs? What are lightbulbs?” asked the cherub as the eyes in his wings looked over every inch of me, especially Marius’s name sewed onto my shirt pocket. “And why are you wearing Marius’s shirt? Who are you? I’ve never seen you here before.” He was suspicious. All of his eyes narrowed, and I took a step back.
I had figured all I had to do was avoid the guardians. It never occurred to me that it would be a cherub that could blow my cover. One of the seraphs with Alexi was on the other side of the atrium looking our way, and the cherub started to lift his hand to wave him over. So I did the only thing I could think to do. I sucker punched him in the stomach. The cherub doubled over wheezing.
“Too much tree wine,” I told an elderly guardian who wrinkled her nose at us.
I put an arm around him and guided his hunched form through the crowd and toward the freight elevator.
“Now don’t try anything funny,” I whispered to him. “Or you’ll end up just like the cherub whose uniform I stole,” I said to take the heat off Marius.
“Who are you? What do you want?” He looked up at me with watery eyes while the eyes in his wings blinked rapidly in alarm.
“Just a former citizen looking for answers, that’s all,” I told him as we arrived at the elevator doors. I pushed the button but kept a firm grip on the cherub’s collar so he wouldn’t run off.
“You’ll never get out of here. I’ll send the guards down after you.”
“Not if you want these back.” I snatched a set of eyes out of his wings just as the elevator doors slid open. I stepped on. The eyes suctioned themselves to my palm and blinked up at me. “I’m sure the guards would love to know what these little guys have seen that they weren’t supposed to see.”
“Wait!” he called out. But the elevator door closed.
The storage area actually looked more like an old library. Row after row of tall wooden bookcases filled the space, and each shelf held about fifty completely filled books of fates. Large, round windows looked out into the bright, blue sky and the dozens of angels flitting through the clouds on colorful magnificent wings on their way to only God knew where. The long rectangular room was divided into sections, with each section marked by an enormous tapestry that covered the wall from floor to ceiling and depicted one of the seven archangels in their particular element. The floor was polished hardwood, inlaid with precious and semiprecious stones in swirling patterns that caught and reflected the light from the windo
ws. The ceiling was black onyx, with the constellations painted in silver.
Every guardian that served heaven had his book shelved down here once it was filled. I remembered coming down here every hundred years to file away my old book before picking up my new one from St. Peter. All the books looked the same. They were the size of a paperback novel bound in shiny brown leather, with the tree of knowledge branded onto the front cover. Inside were white parchment pages as thin and translucent as onionskin. Red silk ribbons kept it tied shut.
Once St. Peter wrote the name of a charge in his Book of Order, it would automatically appear in a guardian’s book in St. Peter’s spidery gold handwriting. When a guardian read the name aloud, they’d be automatically transported to where their charge was to get a look at them for the first time. In the case of Ava Duval, I already knew all about her by the time her name popped up in my book. That should have struck me as odd, but at the time I was too far-gone to care.
I pulled the eyes from my palm. They made a loud popping noise and left faint red marks behind on my skin. I wasn’t quite sure how they worked, but I stuck them to the back of my baseball cap anyway, figuring they could act as a lookout while I searched for my book. Not that it would be hard to find. My books were shelved under Raguel, the archangel of justice, fairness, and harmony, which struck me as funny as hell since lately my life was anything but just, fair, or harmonious. While St. Peter had been my immediate supervisor, Raguel was his boss. I saw St. Peter daily, but in all my years as a guardian, I’d only met Raguel once. And I didn’t even realize it at the time since no one knew what he actually looked like. I wasn’t even sure St. Peter knew. Even in his tapestry his face is hidden in shadow. I just remembered St. Peter telling me that Raguel had enjoyed meeting me during one of my cases and had been impressed with the way I’d handled it. But I had no idea what he was talking about. I’d just played along and asked him to thank his boss for me for the compliment.
I noticed a couple of cherubs working, one dusting shelves halfway across the room and another washing windows. Neither seemed to have seen me. I quickly located my books at the end of a bottom shelf directly in front of Raguel’s tapestry. In it he was nearly nude, with a swath of white cloth covering his nether regions, and stood holding a scale of justice in each hand. One was held chest-high and the other at shoulder height. Plants and flowers grew up his calves, and white birds nested among the feathers of his bronze wings. Laurel leaves were tangled in his long brown hair, and his face was turned toward the scale he held at shoulder height and was obscured by the shadow of the rays coming off of his halo. It was a weird tapestry. In the others, the archangel’s faces were clearly visible and illuminated by the rays of light shining from their halos, but not Raguel’s. His face turned like he was trying to hide from the light.
