“Thanks.” I put the paper aside, got up, and gave her a hug. We didn’t hug often, but I felt a good hug was in order at that moment.
“We still owe you a thank you, your dad and I,” Allison said after I sat back down. “Whatever happened yesterday—and I’m not exactly sure that we’ve been told the whole story…” She glanced sharply at my neck. I had completely forgotten to cover it when I got up. The tiny cuts had already scabbed over and didn’t hurt anymore. “You reacted very responsibly, bringing the girls to the hospital. Just in time, where Anna was concerned. Who knows what would have happened otherwise?”
I smiled, but I had to force it. If it weren’t for me, this would not have happened to Anna and Marie in the first place. But they were fine now. That was all that mattered. Luckily, I didn’t know at the time how damaging the whole experience had been for them and for all of us. If I had, I wouldn’t have been able to enjoy the delicious breakfast Allison had made. But I needed to enjoy my breakfast that day, have a good night’s sleep, and get a little rest. I needed a respite to fortify myself for all the things to come.
Chewing my toast and fruit, I leafed through the newspaper. The Average Daily was a little bit boring—just as Average was a little bit boring. Usually, nothing much happened here, and that was reflected by the local news. But then a picture caught my attention. I did a double take. Yes, it really was Mrs. Mancini, and next to her, several inches shorter than her, stood Bertie. The gray cap he usually wore on his head was in his hands, as if someone had told him to take it off for the picture.
“Local Artist Designs Special Saint Joseph Stamp Collection,” read the headline.
It was an article about the “good cause” Mrs. Mancini had been raising money for with that second-hand book sale. She actually had managed to wear down whoever was in charge of special stamp collections for the state of New Hampshire. The article mentioned that Mrs. Mancini had petitioned for a Saint Joseph stamp collection with biblical motives for quite some time, and I remembered vaguely that she had said something to that effect. Only when long-retired local artist Albert Donaldson came on board did she manage to persuade that person to green light her project.
The article went into detail about what images the collection featured and when and where the stamps would be available. I skimmed over the rest of the article. I hadn’t known that Bertie was that famous. It looked as if getting him had been quite a coup for Mrs. Mancini. I was pleased for Bertie; he looked happy in the picture. Mrs. Mancini looked happy too, actually. Okay, happy was a bit far-fetched when it came to her, but her face looked a tiny bit less severe. I squinted. What I had first assumed to be one of her disapproving glances—I would have bet that she had been the one to tell Bertie to take his cap off—turned out to be an admiring one on closer inspection. Well, thanks to Bertie, she had been successful in making her biblical stamp collection dream come true.
I for one was pleased when I read that the money raised from the second-hand book sale had gone to a good cause after all. It had been intended as payment for a reputable artist, but Bertie had donated his drawings for free. The money had actually gone to the children’s library.
A sip of orange juice went down the wrong pipe, and I coughed and spluttered when I read the last paragraph of the article.
“We are very pleased with the end result,” Mrs. Mancini states, speaking for the Saint Joseph community. “It wouldn’t have happened without my Albert. We have been very fortunate.” Donaldson, who retired after his wife passed away three years ago, claims that he is the fortunate one. “I hadn’t realized how much I missed my woodcuts. I will continue with my art, even though I plan on donating all the proceeds from my work to charity. I owe it all to Teresa.”
“And not to forget,” Donaldson goes on to say, “St. Joseph church may now be the proud patron of a special stamp collection, but I will soon be the proud husband to this wonderful wife.” Donaldson and Mancini are to be wed next month. “It will be a quiet, seemly wedding,” Mrs. Mancini adds, but already looks like the flushing bride. This reporter wishes the best of luck to the happy couple.
I leaned back, took a sip of water from the glass Allison had put down on the table for me when I’d had the coughing fit, wiped the tears from my eyes, and took a deep breath. Mrs. Mancini, a flushing bride. Who would have ever thought? And with Bertie, of all men? How on earth had that happened? I hadn’t seen that coming at all. I had been too focused on Vito and Mrs. Mancini the entire time.
But looking back at it now, I remembered their mutual admiration for each other.
Still, I had to find out more. That afternoon, I went to the senior citizen center. Ever since Vito had gone missing, I had come here less and less. To my disappointment, I didn’t spot Bertie. But Alf sat at his usual table, and I went over to sit down next to him. We confirmed for each other that there was no news where Vito was concerned.
“But some news about Bertie, right?” I couldn’t rein in my curiosity.
“I know!” Alf laughed. “Who’d have thought he would get married again?”
“And to Mrs. Mancini!” I couldn’t hold back. “Have you met her? I actually introduced them, and never in a million years would it have occurred to me that this could happen!”
Alf laughed again. “I have met her. Had to have a word with her, didn’t I? I wasn’t sure how much she knew about his… condition, and I didn’t want her or him to be disappointed. Turns out, Vito told her right in the beginning. Doesn’t bother her one bit, she said. She has a good enough memory for two. And if you ask me, Bertie needs a woman who looks after him, especially now that Vito is gone. She might be a tough cookie, that Teresa, but I think it will be good for him. Also, I believe she can handle it if his illness gets worse.”
I had to admit that Alf was probably right.
“Now he only comes here on Tuesdays,” Alf told me when I asked if Bertie was around. “Teresa has the rest of the week planned out for him. Says he needs time for his art too. But on Tuesdays, she scrubs the floors and would rather have him out of the house anyways, she says.”
I smiled and told Alf that I would see him again on Tuesday, then. I was looking forward to congratulating Bertie. Mrs. Mancini would not have been my first choice for him, but it seemed as though he’d brought out her softer side… even though her softer side was probably as soft as an avocado pit. I was happy for him, and for a while, the happy news even made me forget what had happened yesterday.
On my way home, it occurred to me that I was indeed responsible for Mrs. Mancini and Bertie falling in love. I had not only introduced them, but I had inadvertently kick-started their romance. When I had presented the flowers to Mrs. Mancini, she must have thought they’d come from Bertie. I thought it had been odd that she hadn’t asked me for Vito’s contact details to thank him or that she hadn’t at least written down her phone number for me to pass on to him. But of course Mrs. Mancini had already had Bertie’s contact details because they’d been talking about the special stamps the day before and the possibility of Bertie designing them. I remembered that Mrs. Mancini had been taken with Bertie. I thought she had just been so polite because she had heard of his art. When I had told her that the attractive gentleman with the fetching hat wanted me to give her the flowers, she must have thought I meant Bertie, not Vito.
Then I had taken Bertie the pineapple upside-down cake and told him that Mrs. Mancini had given it to him. The plan I’d made for Mrs. Mancini and Vito had actually worked out—just with Bertie rather than Vito.
I had fulfilled Mrs. Meyers’s wish after all. The reason why that hadn’t stopped the demon, I realized, was because I had been convinced I’d failed and that there would be no point in trying again. Now I knew what Zack had meant when he had talked about intent. With this wish-fulfilling thing, I couldn’t let myself be derailed. I had to believe in myself and in the possibility of fulfilling the wish, no matter how hopeless everything seemed. I had to have an unshakable faith.
T
hat may have been easy for an angel to do, but for a human? Especially a human like me? I doubted myself all the time. Poor Vitrella should have ended up in someone with more self-confidence.
But that day, I allowed myself to be a little bit cocky. Not only had I managed to trick a demon yesterday and exorcise him out of my sister, but I had also fulfilled a wish. Yes, yesterday’s events could have ended very badly if Zack hadn’t turned up, but that didn’t matter now. Okay, maybe things had not quite gone the way I had planned, but still.
When I got home, I went to my Angel Average Facebook profile and tagged Mrs. Meyers.
“Made your wish come true. Hope you are pleased. Smiley face.”
I got a response later that evening.
“—That was you? Thank you! Smiley face, heart, smiley face.”
As there were quite a few people still posting wishes on my wall, my post got quite a reaction.
More people were posting now, urging me to take on their wishes. I even got some private messages from people explaining why their wish was so important. It was a bit overwhelming. Still thinking about faith, it occurred to me that all these people were putting their faith in me. I didn’t want to disappoint them, but I would have to. There was no way I could fulfill all these wishes. In fact, I didn’t even know if I would continue with this job. It depended on what Zack had to tell me tonight.
17
After nightfall, I walked to the river. I was shivering in my cornflower-blue sundress and wished I would have taken a jumper. The last couple of weeks had been so hot that I had gotten used to not wearing another layer. But the air had noticeably cooled since that afternoon when I had gone to the senior citizen center. I had the ominous feeling that the change in weather had brought some other changes along.
Therefore, I was only mildly surprised when I got to “our” bench and saw that someone had mowed the tall grass along the river promenade. Our little spot, that bench in the midst of the grass and wildflowers, had seemed secluded and intimate before. Now, it looked almost vulnerable, its short distance to the river promenade emphasized by the few inches of short green stubble.
The bench now afforded an unobstructed view of the river, and Zack, who was already sitting there when I arrived, took advantage of that. He didn’t even avert his gaze to look at me. I sat down, not bothering with a polite greeting; it felt like one of those nights where someone didn't feel the need to waste time with insignificant small talk.
Zack spoke first. “I take it, your sisters are fine?”
“Yes, physically, at least.”
Zack nodded, and we sat a little longer in silence.
I cleared my throat. “I found out today that Mrs. Meyers’s wish has been fulfilled. Mrs. Mancini is going to get married to one of the elderly gentleman from the senior citizen center that I introduced her to.”
I was a little disappointed when I didn’t get a reaction. Okay, so I only set things in motion inadvertently, but still. A “well done” would have been nice.
If Zack wanted it to be like that, so be it. “I think you owe me a couple of answers.” I said a little tartly.
He sighed. “I know.”
He didn’t volunteer any information, so I just started somewhere. “He is… was your brother?”
“He was my twin brother.” He didn’t look at me, just stared at the river. “A long time ago.”
“When you were… human?”
He nodded.
“Did he really kill you?”
Zack didn’t say anything, but I was sitting close enough that I could see his right eye twitch. I already knew the answer to that question, but I still kept pushing. “And as a punishment, he became a demon? And now he must thwart your efforts to prevent an apocalypse? He wants to bring on the end of the world, and you have to make sure he fails? That’s harsh. Kind of a punishment for you, too, to never be rid of the brother who killed you, to never be able to forget it.”
Zack shrugged. “Where there’s light, there has to be darkness. Where there’s good, there has to be evil.”
I frowned. “You mean like yin and yang?”
When he didn’t respond, I pressed him. “Still, it seems particularly cruel to me. One brother a demon, one an angel. Why did that happen?”
“It’s a great honor to be lifted up into the light, to do God’s work.”
I wanted to urge him to tell me his story, but he sounded so pained. So I said nothing for a while.
Suddenly, Zack turned toward me and looked at me for the first time that evening. As if him sitting an inch away from me and looking into my eyes wasn’t enough to send the butterflies in my stomach into overdrive, he raised his arms and took my face into his cupped hands. “I am so sorry,” he said. “I almost lost you. That shouldn’t have happened.”
“O… kay,” I stuttered. What was he saying? Why couldn’t he lose me? Had my wildest dreams come true? Had I become more to him than a former angel reborn that he had to protect for some unidentified reason?
“I underestimated Mal,” he said, but his voice sounded as if it came from far away. All my senses were focused on the warm, smooth hands on my skin, on the sweet smell of his breath that I had never noticed before. It smelled like some weird mix of hay and vanilla. “I didn’t think he would have the power to do what he did. And I didn’t think he would… take you.” He stopped short and shook his head. I wanted to ask what he meant by “take me,” but the disturbed expression in his eyes made me hesitate. “I am really sorry, Stella,” he repeated. “I promise I’ll look after you better.”
“Okay,” I said again. I was such a moron. Couldn’t I think of something a little more profound to say? His touch seemed to have turned my brain into mush. And the few brain cells that were still solid insisted on focusing on something else. When did this become about protecting me? What about Vitrella? Wasn’t this supposed to be about Vitrella?
Zack had told me that I had to fulfill Vitrella’s wish quota and that he was there to make sure that happened. Then, when Malachriel had possessed Marie, Zack had mentioned that my fulfilling wishes—correction, my intent or my faith in fulfilling wishes—served as a protection against demons, against Mal. Zack had also said that Mal wanted to kill me because of Vitrella. If that was true, then why had Mal not even seemed to know who Vitrella was?
“Because of Vitrella, right?” I managed to croak. “You need to protect me because of her?” Please say no, I prayed silently. Please tell me the truth. I was sure I communicated this wish with my pleading eyes, still looking into Zack’s. There was no way that he could have misinterpreted that question. It was rhetorical, but I needed him to make it right.
Zack released my face, and the warmth where his hands had touched my skin quickly dissipated in the cool evening air. I was cold. Zack turned to look at the river again. “Yes,” he said. “Because of Vitrella.” There was no hesitation in his voice, just that tinge of infinite sadness I had noticed earlier.
“And because it’s your job,” I said. “Your… grace. This has to do with preventing the apocalypse, after all, right? You have to do it. Like Vitrella had and really still has to fulfill wishes.”
“Right. But as I said, it’s not just a job. It’s an honor—”
“To do God’s work. Yeah, you said.”
From where I was standing, it sounded more like a curse. To work against the twin brother who had once killed you—for all eternity. Or at least until the end of the world. That was ironic because if Zack did his job well, it would be eternity.
But I was still standing next to him. Figuratively, of course, because we kept sitting on that damn bench for hours. In silence. And it wasn’t the uncomfortable kind. It wasn’t boring, either. In fact, it was kind of soothing.
At some point, I surprised myself when I took his warm hand in mine. He didn’t jerk it away or even pull it away after waiting a while. He was telling me with his touch that I should have patience, that I should have faith. Zack wasn’t ready to tell me yet why I
had been persecuted by a demon of apocalypse.
But I intended to find that out for myself.
One wish at a time.
WISH FOR SANTA
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Felicity Green is the author of the romantic fantasy series CONNEMARA-Saga set in Ireland and the HIGHLAND-HEXEN-Krimis, a paranormal mystery series set in the Scottish Highlands. She has published six books in German. WISH UPON A FALLEN STAR is the first novella in her new urban fantasy series AVERAGE ANGEL, published in English and in German.
After studying English & Drama in Canterbury, England, Felicity decided to pursue an acting career. She toured all across the British Isles and even did a brief stint in LA before she realized she liked writing better. An MA in Creative & Critical Writing at University of Sussex later, Felicity met her husband and moved to the South of Germany. She worked at independent book publishers in Zurich, Switzerland, for two years and then decided to go freelance. When Felicity is not writing her own books or looking after her baby daughter Taya, she is translating books for other indie authors.
Wish Upon a Fallen Star: Average Angel Page 10
