by Selena Kitt
“Step back, Kara,” Muriel said, picturing the target in front of her in her mind. She had no idea if she could really do this, but Char’s presence gave her a sort of confidence, almost bravado, that made her sound more self-assured than she felt.
She drew her bow, feeling the seraphim’s presence, like standing in the rays of the sun after a long darkness. It calmed her, steadying her hands. That same warmth filled her hands, as if her bow had become alive. Even the cocked arrow trembled between her fingertips. She was going to hit her target. There was no doubt in her about it.
“Now,” Char whispered, his voice close.
She let the arrow fly and heard the collective gasp before she lifted her blindfold to see her arrow disappearing in a wisp of gold smoke. She’d hit the bullseye, dead center.
How did I do that?
She had no idea. But the voice that answered didn’t come from beside her. It echoed inside her head.
You let go and trusted.
Muriel stared at the empty space beside her in wonder, knowing he was there, knowing he’d spoken to her, but she didn’t know how it was possible. She didn’t know how any of this was possible.
“I told you!” Jari cried, rallying around Muriel, jumping up and down. “I told you!”
“Lucky shot,” Ami mumbled, glaring at them both.
“Want her to do it again?” Jari challenged and inwardly, Muriel groaned.
“How did you do that?” Kara asked, frowning. She looked highly suspicious.
“I don’t know,” Muriel answered honestly, taking Jari by the arm. “Come on, Jari.”
Everyone tried to crowd around them, exclaiming over Muriel’s shot, as she pulled Jari toward the exit. They used a human archery range on Sundays when they were closed and after hours for target practice. It was closer to work—meaning, humankind—and everything was already set up for them. Angels used all sorts of human facilities this way, all over the world. Humans had no idea they were even there.
“Did you see their faces?” Jari giggled as they got to the stairwell, leaving the crowd behind. “That was amazing! How did you do that?”
“She’s right, it was lucky,” Muriel told her. She felt shaky now that it was all over, but that calming presence drew near again. Char was close. She could feel him.
“He’s here, isn’t he?” Jari stopped, narrowing her eyes at the thin air beside them, as if by squinting she could see him.
Muriel nodded slowly.
“It’s him, isn’t it?” Jari crossed her arms, frowning.
“I don’t know.” That was true. Muriel honestly didn’t know. “Listen, I have to go. I’ll come back if we get a call.”
“Fine.” Jari gave a nod, taking a step back. “Go ahead.”
“Don’t be mad.” Muriel took her partner’s arm, pleading. “Please, Jari.”
“I’m not mad,” Jari said lightly, waving her away. “Go, have fun...”
Muriel knew she was mad, but it was only a low simmer. Jari was too excited about going back into practice and bragging about Muriel’s shot, she could tell, even if Jari hadn’t been the one to make it. Jari would likely forget all about her absence, basking in all the cherubim envy and praise, while Muriel was gone.
“Bye, Jari!” Muriel called as her partner slipped through the door without a farewell, leaving her alone in the stairwell.
She felt him before he appeared, solid beside her and twice her size, but somehow not intimidating in the least. It was strange, they’d only been acquainted a short time, but he was familiar to her already.
“There you are.” She put her hands on her hips. “About time you showed yourself.”
“Well, I couldn’t very well appear in there.” He nodded toward the closed door. “Not without having to explain myself.”
She remembered what Jari had said and she squinted up at him.
“We’re not supposed to be doing this, are we?”
“I wouldn’t say that.” He rocked back on his heels, grinning.
“That was you, in my head?” she asked, although she knew the answer.
He nodded.
“And that shot…” She frowned. “That was you, too?”
“Kind of.” He shrugged. “The seraphim have a… calming effect. I just sort of steadied your hands. The rest was all you.”
“We seem to make a pretty good team,” she remarked, and he smiled at that. “So where are we going?”
“You’ll see.” Char took her hand, spreading his wings. She was ready to fly, but she didn’t have to, because he pulled her close, into his solid embrace, and with one flap of his wings, they were up and away, like a rocket, straight up the stairwell and through the ceiling, out into the sky.
Chapter Five
Muriel had never flown so fast—even with her own wings. Chariel didn’t seem to need his wings to propel himself at all, although he did use them to steer and glide over the city below. It was both exhilarating and scary to allow someone else to do all the flying. She was used to being in charge of her own motion, thank-you-very-much.
It was a good thing they really didn’t register temperature change, not like humans, or their forays through the air in February would have left them shivering and forming frost in their limbs. Angels were impervious to temperature, for the most part. They experienced milder versions of the human experience, so hot felt slightly warm and freezing felt mildly chilly.
“The hospital again?” Muriel asked as he landed lightly in front of the building. Then something occurred to her and she looked up at him, alarmed. “The baby? Oh no, not the baby!”
“No, he’s fine.” Char smiled down at her. “He’s going to live to a ripe old age, as far as I know.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” she said as they went through the emergency room entrance.
“You really hate death, don’t you?” He looked sad at that.
“Don’t take it personally.” She smiled up at him as they traveled down the corridors. “I don’t hate you. It’s not your fault.”
“Wouldn’t you take it personally, if I said I hated love?” he asked.
“You have to admit,” Muriel said with a little shrug. “Death is sort of universally unpopular.”
“Don’t I know it.” He sighed. “But love is absurdly exalted.”
She gave him a strange look and then laughed as they turned a corner.
“Well, maybe it’s not so absurd…” He gave her a sheepish smile. “But still. Like the other day, when you and Jari were in the grocery. That whole aisle was full of Valentine’s hearts and flowers and chocolates…”
“I know,” Muriel agreed. “They do kind of turn it into a sentimental—wait. You were watching us?”
“Oh… yes…” Char slowed his pace, avoiding her gaze. “I saw you swinging from that cardboard heart.”
“That was you?” The realization dawned suddenly and she slowed too, forcing him almost to a stop. She gaped at him in horror. “The guy who collapsed in the grocery?”
“You make it sound like it was my fault,” he grumbled.
“No, I know it isn’t,” she protested, shaking her head. Of course it wasn’t Char’s fault. He was just doing his job, after all. It couldn’t be easy, being one of the angels of death. She didn’t envy him, and didn’t know any angel who would. “We both follow The Maker’s whims.”
“I certainly hope they’re more than whims,” he said softly, sounding thoughtful.
“So do I,” she agreed, reaching up and sliding a hand into his. He made her feel small, even childlike, in his presence. She had always believed The Maker had a plan, and those higher up must know it—like the seraphim. It was disconcerting to discover that they, too, were often kept in the dark. “So you were watching me swinging?”
“Yes.” His hand tightened around hers and he smiled, nodding as they came to a long wall of glass. For a moment she thought they’d arrived again at the nursery. “It’s one of the reasons I thought you’d like to come here.”
“What
is this?” She blinked in surprise, stepping up to the glass and peering into the wide open space.
“A playground.” He laughed, stating the obvious, but it was so strange to see it here.
“In the middle of the hospital?” she exclaimed, staring at the empty swings, the teeter-totters and slides, the merry-go-round waiting to be powered by the pound of children’s feet. It was contained within the walls of the hospitals, but unlike the fluorescent white corridors, this place was bright, open, even green. Some sort of fake grass covered the floor and skylights above opened the room to the blue and white spread of clouds over their heads.
As they watched, a flood of children poured into the room, a dozen or more, through a door at the other end, being held open by a smiling nurse.
“Where did all those children come from?” she wondered aloud, smiling as they started to climb the jungle gym and do cartwheels in the fake grass.
“They have a special children’s ward here,” he explained. “They came from all over the country for experimental treatments.”
“They’re sick?” Of course, they were in a hospital. It only made sense. But that realization made her droop and sigh. Ever since meeting the seraphim, she’d been surrounded by the looming specter of death. It was a heavy weight.
“Yes.” He nodded slowly, that sad look back again.
“You’re not here to take one are you?” She looked up at him, pleading with her eyes. The soul he’d taken yesterday was a sick man who had lived a great deal of his life, even if he’d been cheated at the last. But a child? She didn’t think she could stand watching that.
“No.” He squeezed her hand. “I’m not here to take one.”
“More than one?” She cringed at the thought.
“No, Muriel, I promise.” His wing moved around her shoulder, drawing her closer, a comfort. “In fact, the treatment they’ve been trying is working for these children. That’s why they’ve let them come play here together. They’re in remission.”
She smiled, watching them run and play, screeching and laughing, rolling around and tumbling together like puppies or kittens. Children were such a joy. Their souls weren’t darkened in the least, in spite of their afflictions. They were still golden, bright, shining lights. They would stay that way—if they lived long enough, she reminded herself with a shudder—until they were about seven or eight.
That’s when children started to really get a sense of the world, and the horrible things in it. That’s when their experience started to weigh on and cloud their souls. Until then, even the most horrible things in the world couldn’t dim their light. No horror, not even death, could conceal that brilliance.
“They’re so joyful.” She laughed, watching them swing higher and higher, peals of laughter echoing, even through the glass.
“And yet, they all know they’re dying.” Char’s voice held a sense of wonder. “Humans are so fragile, and yet they’re so resilient.”
“But the treatment is working,” Muriel reminded him, sounding hopeful, feeling that way. Perhaps most of these children would grow up to have long, full lives. Maybe someday, she would take aim and shoot an arrow of love, joining them to a soul mate.
“It won’t work forever.” Char let go of her hand, pressing his to the glass with a sigh.
“You know that?” She looked up at him, frowning.
“Yes.” That slow, sad nod again.
“How do you live with that knowledge? Knowing when everyone is going to die? It’s like knowing the ending to every story.” She nudged him playfully, smiling. “Jari would hate it. She’s a movie buff. She loves the surprise ending.”
“Death is always a surprise.”
She nodded. That was true enough.
“Yeah, but not like the Christmas morning kind.” Muriel remembered Eliza’s sadness at Norman’s passing, even though she’d known the man was deathly ill. “More like the Jack jumping out of the box.”
“No one is happy to see an angel of death,” he said, sounding morose. “And you wonder why I stay invisible most of the time.”
“I’m glad you appeared to me.” She leaned against him, feeling his arm go around her shoulder, and his wing too, enveloping her in softness.
“Even if it meant undoing the work you just did?” he asked, reminding her of Norman and Eliza.
“Well, like you said, death isn’t the end.” It’s what The Maker told them, and she believed it was true, even if she didn’t quite know how. “Even if it’s the end of right now.”
“But you were right.” He looked down at her. “They don’t know that.”
“Look at them, though.” She nodded at the children, lost in play. “They’re so happy. Those pure little lights.”
“Come on.” He tugged her to him as he started to move through the glass.
“What, you mean, go in there?” She pulled back, aghast. Watching them unnoticed was one thing, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to be in the middle of all that craziness.
“I said I wanted to show you something,” he reminded her.
“This isn’t it?”
“Just part of it.” He laughed. “Don’t be scared. Come on.”
He stepped through the glass, taking her with him. The sound of the children playing had been muffled through the glass, but now it shot through her like a bright spear. Their laughter and screams echoed off the skylights high above and she covered her ears with her hands.
“And I thought practice was loud!” Muriel yelled over the racket, laughing. Something caught her eye and she pointed, leaning in to Char so he could hear her. “There’s that angel again. The one we saw yesterday. The guardian.”
“He watches over the children,” Char told her.
As they watched, one child, a small boy, probably not quite old enough for kindergarten yet, nearly took a header off the teeter-totter. Zephiel reached out one wing and caught him, softening his fall if not quite preventing it. The boy had a good size knot on his head, which the nurse fixed up with a Band-Aid and his mother healed almost instantly with a kiss.
Muriel, fascinated by the scene, drew closer to watch. Zeph didn’t say anything as he knelt beside the boy, watching his mother fuss over him. His father was there, too, and Muriel wondered at that. The mother she might expect—although none of the other children had a parent present—but the father? Shouldn’t he be at work?
“Thanks for catching me.” The little boy looked directly at his guardian angel and smiled with tiny, bright white milk-teeth. “Want to go play on the swings? You can push me.”
“Who are you talking to, Henry?” his mother asked, leaning over to give him another kiss on his bump.
“My invisible friend.” Henry grinned at Zeph, who grinned right back. Guardian angels were the lowest on the totem pole, the closest angels to the human realm. They interacted with humans on a regular basis, especially children, some of whom could see and talk to them, just as if they were people. Grown-ups seemed to shrug it off when children talked to invisible beings.
“What’s your friend’s name?” Henry’s mother asked, playing along.
“Zeph.”
“Well, hi, Zeph.” Henry’s mother waved, and Zeph waved back, although Muriel knew the woman didn’t really see him.
“He said hi.” Henry scrambled to his feet, brushing a shock of blonde hair out of his eyes. Both his parents had dark hair and Muriel wondered where their little towhead had come from. “Can I go back to playing?”
“Sure, sweetheart.” Henry’s mother laughed when he threw his arms around her waist, giving her a long hug before running off again to play.
“He’s such a sweet boy, Mrs. Thomas.” The nurse—Clara, according to her name tag—smiled at Henry’s mother. “One of my favorites, although I’m not supposed to say that. They’re doing so well.”
“I know, this treatment has been wonderful, hasn’t it, Jack?” Henry’s mother smiled at her handsome husband, holding out her hand. He took it, joining them, and the conversat
ion. “Half of these kids couldn’t get out of bed two weeks ago.”
“Lucy and I have been thrilled with his progress.” Jack squeezed his wife’s fingers in his. Muriel saw that and smiled. They were a beautiful couple, and they had a sweet, charming son. It was like a little fairy tale, if only it came guaranteed with a happy ending, Muriel thought. She felt Char’s presence beside her, his wing around her shoulder.
“I feel so bad, some of their parents can’t even be here,” Lucy frowned, watching her son getting up into one of the swings next to a dark-haired girl with rosy cheeks. She was a little older and missing a front tooth.
