The Garden Gate

by Christa J. Kinde

  “A young brat of a Protector.”

  “The whelps can be lured,” Murque said with satisfaction.

  Dinge nodded eagerly. “Too brash, too bold.”

  Adin crossed to Tamaes, pushing into his captive’s personal space. “Some never outgrow such foolhardy impulses.”

  Tamaes quietly replied, “Thank you for letting me know Prissie is safe.”

  Rage flared in the demon’s eyes. Turning to his minions, he snapped, “Track the brat down. Trail his movements.”

  As the three left Tamaes alone in the dark, he shifted into a slightly more comfortable position and folded his ragged wings around himself. With a shuddering sigh of relief, he whispered, “And thank you, Marcus, for luring away my tormentors.”

  Prissie longed for escape from the spare room that couldn’t replace her own, and only one place held any appeal. Thankfully, Tad wasn’t opposed to dropping her and Koji off in front of The Curiosity Shop. “Call if you want a pick-up before closing time,” said her big-big brother.

  “Harken might let us stay late,” she warned.

  Tad nodded. “Just call. I’ll be right over.”

  “Thanks,” she whispered.

  Koji briefly touched Tad’s shoulder. “I am grateful as well.”

  The shadow of concern lifted a little from serious gray eyes. “Take care of each other,” he urged before pulling away.

  Prissie stared after her brother, wondering what had inspired that last remark. But then Koji’s fingertips brushed the back of her mittened hand, and she recalled where she was . . . and why it might be wise to get inside. With a backward glance at the tarps blanketing the bakery roof, she followed Koji into the used bookstore.

  Harken’s smile soothed a little of her discontent, but Prissie quickly asked, “May I go through? Please?”

  “By all means,” the Messenger urged, waving her toward the back room.

  Koji’s hand held her back, and he gave her an oddly apologetic look. “You will be safe inside. I wish to speak with Harken for a while.”

  “Oh. I guess that’s okay.” Prissie glanced between the two. “Is it all right for me to go alone?”

  “Feel free to wander,” the shopkeeper said. “You won’t disturb those you cannot see, and you’d be welcomed by those you can.”

  “Is someone there?”

  With a little wave of his hand to shoo her on, Harken said, “There’s only one way to find out.”

  Prissie slipped through the blue door and breathed deeply. Closing her eyes, she lifted her face to the heavenly light that drenched her friends’ haven. This was the peace she’d been craving. Why was it so hard to find beyond this door?

  Sighing softly, she shrugged out of her jacket, leaving it on the ground. Since Koji always did, she found herself wanting to try going barefoot. It only took a few moments to kick off her boots and rid herself of heavy socks. The grass was springy beneath her feet and just a little ticklish. Pleased with the sensation, Prissie walked faster until she was skipping, jumping, and spinning so that her skirt flared out past her knees. Recalling herself, she slowed to a stop and peered around, hoping no one had seen her.

  Belatedly, she checked the sky. There were splashes of color amidst the eddies of light, but they weren’t ones she knew. How many other Flights used this place to rest? Probably more than she could count. Which meant that her chances of running into someone she knew were slim . . . unless providence was with her. She paused beside a slender tree, her hand resting against its smooth bark. Wasn’t that just another way of saying God was with her?

  But where had His providence been at Christmas, when her family found nothing but trouble?

  The sober thought stayed with her as she wandered deeper into the wood. There were no trails, but Prissie felt certain that if she couldn’t find her way back, Koji would come get her.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a brief burst of light and turned to see if she had company. Had the yahavim found her? “Come out, come out, wherever you are,” she quietly coaxed.

  Bright, golden lights flitted here and there amidst the trees ahead, but they vanished before she could reach them. Prissie wasn’t sure if the little angels were playing some kind of game or leading her along. Either way, they reminded her that this was a special, secret place, close to heaven without quite touching it, like an island just off a farther shore. Only in this case, the sea swirled in the sky above.

  This was so unlike the trails through Sunderland State Park, where huge, old trees blocked the sun, creating shadowy places. There, birds twittered high overhead, and squirrels rustled in the underbrush. But this place was perfectly still. Restful. Calm. Silent.

  Or was it?

  She turned toward a faint sound, listening carefully as she walked through the trees. Once she was closer, she could tell that the notes came from an instrument, and her heart leapt when she recognized the tune. Kester’s lullaby.

  On a small rise within a ring of trees, a stout wooden frame stood atop a brick stair. Red paint contrasted pleasantly with the teal door it surrounded. Such a thing hardly belonged in the forest, but it certainly made a cheerful backdrop for the angel lounging there, casually plucking at the strings of a blue guitar. “Baird?”

  “Prissie!” he exclaimed. “What brings you to my back door?”

  “This is where you live?”

  “More or less,” replied the Worshiper, rapping on wood with one knuckle. “There’s a little apartment in Harper on the other side of this.”

  She shook her head in wonderment. The door was just as fancy as the others she’d seen, but this one’s pattern was certainly different. “Why flames?”

  “Those?” he replied, glancing up at the overlapping tongues of fire. “To be honest, it’s a secret as old as I am. Big time hush-hush stuff.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Not a problem, Prissie,” Baird assured. “The time’s right to shed a little light on what goes on behind the scenes around here. You know about Shimron’s tower, right?”

  “I’ve been there,” she volunteered. “That door was white.”

  He stood and slung his guitar over his shoulder. “Let’s head over there,” he said, pointing off through the trees. “It’s this way.”

  Prissie fell in step as he sauntered along. “How do you know your way around without a trail?”

  “An angel always knows the way when he’s Sent.”

  “Sent?” She peeped at him out of the corner of her eye. “You were Sent to me, even though I’m the one who came to you?”

  “Mysterious ways,” Baird replied, offering reassurance in the form of a wink. “I gave up trying to outguess God a long time ago.”

  Prissie offered a tentative nod. “I couldn’t guess what’s going on. Things are . . . confusing.”

  “Can’t argue there, but that doesn’t mean things are out of control. Hang tight. He’s got us covered.”

  “Even Tamaes?” she asked softly.

  “Especially Tamaes.” The redhead fiddled with the varicolored stitching on the deep cuff of his tunic. “Being Faithful isn’t just about doing what you’re told and going where you’re Sent. It’s just as much about having faith in the One who’s always Faithful.”

  Would it always come back to that? From the very start, these angels had been saying the same thing. “The time has come for you to give away some of your trust.” At her companion’s startled look, she explained, “That was Harken’s first message to me.”

  “Some’s a good place to start, but if I were you, I’d go for broke.” Baird’s expression was hard to read when he said, “Confusing times are just an invitation to give it all up. Trust Him with everything you’ve got, Prissie.”

  Asking her to give it all? At a time when she wanted to cling to what little she had left?

  The stone arch in which the white door was set came into view, and Baird changed back to their original subject. “There are towers like Shimron’s all over the world, scattered here
and there, providing rallying points for the armies of God. Don’t get me wrong. They’re totally useful. But they’re also camouflage.”

  “For . . . ?”

  “For the one that looks the same but isn’t. For the tower that up and moves whenever the time is right.”

  Prissie climbed the stone steps to the white door and touched the carving at its center — ​a gate flanked by two large pillars. “Shimron’s tower moves?”

  “Like clockwork,” Baird replied. “Most interesting migration you ever did see . . . or didn’t see, since people mostly don’t notice our comings and goings. This tower changes locations at two hundred year intervals, and time’s up this coming summer. It’ll move on, along with those who stick with it.”

  “You?”

  “Nope. I drift on a different schedule. But a bunch of angels who’ve been good friends for many a decade will be leaving. And that makes me a little sad.”

  Prissie stared down at him from the top step. “People are leaving?”

  “Yes.”

  “Anyone I know?”

  “Yes.” Baird climbed the steps in order to look her in the eye. “You need to be braced for this one, Prissie. The tower is Shimron’s, and where it goes, he goes. He and his apprentice will be saying goodbye.”

  “Ephron?” she asked, her voice tight.

  “Nope. Ephron used to be Shimron’s apprentice.”

  Prissie wondered if Baird hated this conversation as much as she did. Swallowing hard, she whispered, “Koji.”

  Baird took her shoulders and asked, “Braced?” Her chin wobbled, and he made a soft tutting sound before pulling her into a quick, fierce hug. “Fret not for tomorrow. Rejoice in today.”

  “I don’t want to lose Koji!” she protested.

  “He won’t be lost.”

  “But we wouldn’t be together anymore.”

  Holding her at arms’ length, Baird said, “Nothing I say will change that, but can I blab at you anyhow?”

  Prissie found herself wanting to hear what he had to say. She nodded.

  “When stuff happens, it’s easy to get all wrapped up in the hurt. But stretch past that and think for a minute. This is going to be epically hard for someone besides you.” With a small smile, Baird rejigged the wording. “For the one beside you.”

  For a second time, she whispered, “Koji.”

  Baird nodded adamantly, setting the tufts of his knotted hair to swaying. “Koji’s young, especially for a Graft. He never had the chance to prepare, but he’s in up to the tips of his ears and coping as best he can. In fact, he’s having a very similar chat right now with Harken.”

  Prissie’s heart immediately went out to her friend. “Him too?”

  “Yup. So if you’ll pardon the unsolicited advice — ​don’t rush, and don’t drag your feet. Just be together while you’re together. Be so yourself he can’t ever forget what it felt like to be at your side. Give him everything you can, since it’ll have to tide him over for a while.”

  She probably would have screamed if Baird had said any of the things she’d expected to hear — ​be grateful for the time you had . . . distance makes the heart grow fonder . . . he’ll always be in your heart — ​but maybe an angel knew better than to spout platitudes. Baird promised her nothing. He’d even said he couldn’t take away the hurt. But he’d showed her how to cut it in half.

  By thinking of Koji instead of herself.

  She brushed at her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Can I be like that? Like you?”

  A chagrined expression crept onto Baird’s face. “Me?”

  Somehow, she found the courage to explain. “You’re completely you, and you’re unforgettable. But I never realized how much faith it takes to live like that.”

  Baird’s eyebrows climbed slowly toward his hairline. “Man, have you got the gift of encouragement or what!”

  It was Prissie’s turn to fumble for a response. “Me?”

  Hazel eyes shone. “Like whoa. But enough about me and thee. We’re now three!” She followed the roll of his eyes to the far side of the clearing, just as Koji stepped into view. The Observer had a concentrated look on his face, and he seemed to be in a hurry to get to her side. Baird nudged her. “Now there’s a prime example of a fella in need of encouragement.”

  Prissie skipped down the steps and met the young angel halfway. “You found me.”

  “Indeed.”

  Before any hint of awkwardness could find its way into the moment, Prissie acted on impulse. Or maybe it was divine prompting. Because the moment her fingertips brushed the back of Koji’s hand, he gasped. Was it so strange for her to reach out to him? Well, yes. But it had never occurred to Prissie that Koji might interpret her reserve as . . . what? Not caring enough? Not needing as much?

  Maybe she’d figure out a way to show him differently in the weeks and months ahead, but for now, this would have to do. “I’m glad.” Taking his hand and holding on tightly, she said, “I like it better when you’re here.”

  Prissie wasn’t really alone in the kitchen when her father came in. Ephron and Koji were both there, crowded together on top of the refrigerator, heads bent as they talked in undertones. But since both raiment-clad Observers were invisible to Mr. Pomeroy, he said, “I was hoping for a chance to talk to you alone.”

  As her dad slid into the chair across from hers, Prissie eyed him warily. He actually looked a little nervous, which was kind of funny. She’d been raised to respect her father as the head of their household, yet the balance of power was steadily shifting. Her parents gave her more chances to make her own choices without really pushing her toward adulthood. Whether it was woman’s intuition or divine insight or the fact that Dad was just that easy to read, Prissie could tell that he was going to ask her to do something she didn’t want to do.

  “Say, Princess. I was thinking,” he began, a pleading look already in his eyes. “For your birthday, would you like to invite some school friends over?”

  “I wasn’t planning on it. I haven’t been getting along very well with Margery and the others. Just family would be nicer.”

  Mr. Pomeroy tentatively asked, “What about . . . the boys in your study group?”

  She stared at him. He had to be kidding. He stared back, and she groaned. “You’re not kidding.”

  He explained, “The thing is, we planned something special, and I can’t shake the idea that it would be nice to have a few more people here. Ransom is already helping . . .”

  “What?” she asked sharply.

  “He’s been helping me with the baking,” her father said, making a soothing gesture with his hands. “You and he and that Marcus fellow seem to be getting along fairly well. If you wanted to invite them, I think it would be special for them.”

  “You want me to invite Ransom and Marcus to my birthday party?”

  “Yes. Please.”

  “If it’s important to you, why don’t you ask them?”

  Her dad rubbed his chin. “I could, but they’re your friends.”

  “No. They’re study partners for a school project.”

  Mr. Pomeroy shook his head. “Since Christmas, those boys have been closer and more supportive of you than anyone . . . except Koji, of course. Including them would be a way to show your appreciation without actually having to admit you’re glad they’ve been there.”

  Prissie blinked. “I can’t believe you actually said that.”

  “I don’t want to ruin the surprise, but this is something I think you should share with as many people as you can. People you care about. People who care about you.” He spread his hands wide. “Pushing the boundaries of who’s included in that circle is a good idea. You have a lot of friends from all over. In that way, you remind me a lot of your mother.”

  A little flustered by the note of admiration in her father’s voice, Prissie asked, “Milo’s coming? And Harken?”

  “Sure, sure.”

  “And Baird and Kester?”

  “It would har
dly be a party without them.”

  She couldn’t have agreed more. “Would you think it was weird if I invited a couple of park rangers?”

  Her dad chuckled. “I did ask you to push the boundaries. I know you’re acquainted with one. Tad mentioned running into him in the back forty, but why would you include them?”

  “They’re nice,” she replied with a self-conscious shrug. Maybe she was trying too hard to gather the members of Jedrick’s Flight. But she wanted Ephron to see what it was like when all the Grafts were around their table, laughing and talking with her family. And she wanted Koji to have a memory to treasure.

  “I don’t mind, and your mother’s always happy to include more. But is this just a diversion to avoid Ransom and Marcus?”

  “No. I’ll invite them.”

  Mr. Pomeroy straightened in his chair. “You will?”

  He didn’t have to look so surprised. With a sigh, Prissie asked, “Do you have Ransom’s number? I’ll get it over with now. And he can tell Marcus.”

  “Fair enough. Thanks, my girl.”

  Prissie slipped into the little computer nook off the kitchen to make the call. Now was better. She didn’t want to ask him at school, where someone might overhear and misunderstand. By the time she punched in Ransom’s number, her heart was thudding, but it screeched to a standstill when a man’s voice answered, “Yeah?”

  “Is Ransom there?”

  There was a long pause, and the man said, “Hang on.” Then a muffled shout, “Ransom, it’s for you.”

  “Is it Marcus?”

  “Nope. Some girl.”

  A soft scuffle. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Ransom. It’s Prissie.”

  “Oh, hey. What’s up?” he replied easily.

  “Do you have plans for Saturday?”

  “Sorta. Your dad has me working until eleven.”

  “Nothing after that?”

  “Nope. Why?”

  Prissie sighed gustily. “Because it’s my birthday.”

  She could hear his smile when he replied, “No kidding.”

  “My parents are being really secretive, but Dad let slip that you were helping. I guess whatever’s happening, it’s too good not to share.”