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THE NEXT DAY, I ACTUALLY groan when I hear the knock on my door. I can hardly believe this is only our second mission because it feels like I've been stuck with Chris Pho for an eternity.
“Come in,” I croak, making no effort to hide the aggravation in my voice. I know he can't warp, and I'm sure he won't be warping anytime soon. If I was a better instructor, I would meet him at the dorms instead of making him walk to Archangel Tower every day. I'd rather not be seen in the dorms too often, though. It's not a place for Archangels—although I have been known to visit a few pretty female students from time to time.
Chris Pho enters with a smile and a polite, “hello,” as if he's completely oblivious to the fact that I don't really like him. It's nothing personal. My demotion has me in such a foul mood, I don't think I would have liked any student they threw at me.
“Hello, Chris Pho,” I try to copy his polite greeting. “I keep wanting to call you Christopher. May I call you Christopher?”
“I guess so.”
He's always so kind and accommodating. Before our time together is over, I would love to see him get truly angry.
Of course, our time together is far from over. It's only mission number two. Bloody hell.
“Where are we going today? What's our next mission?” he asks.
“Today, we'll be heading to the 1960's. That should be a bit different for you.”
“What?” Chris' throat makes a hilarious squeak. “Our next mission is in the 1960s? How is that even possible?”
“Were you not paying attention in Amber's classroom, Pho? Didn't Tesla or Einstein or some other lofty guest instructor explain how time is non-linear?”
“Maybe. Probably. I guess I didn't think something like that would be possible. So... we're time traveling?”
“If you prefer to think of it as time travel, I won't correct you.” I rise from my desk and clap a hand on Chris' back. “Well, are you ready to head off? I'd rather not waste any time.”
The longer you've been a spirit, the better you are at warping. Some spirits travel through tunnels or take a trip through the cosmos to reach their destinations. When I do it, it's nearly instantaneous. One moment, we're standing in my office at Archangel Tower. A split-second later, we're at what appears to be a high school prom in 1962. Most of the ladies are wearing plain dresses in various pastel shades, though a few are a bit more colorful, and some are sprinkled in polka dots. Many of the ladies have short hair, while others have hair piled high on their heads. The young men are hilarious with their slicked-back hairstyles. The change in era is obvious.
“This is... whoa,” Chris says. “I can't believe it. We're really in another time period, aren't we?”
“We certainly are,” I reply. “Now, we need to find our charge. She should be here... somewhere.”
I have an image of her on my LightTab. She's a pretty girl, pale and freckled, with strawberry blonde hair and full, pink lips. I always like it when my charges are pretty. It makes the job more amusing. In a sea of dancing teenagers, it takes me a moment to locate her. She's in the corner of the room, sitting in a wheelchair.
I cross the room and motion for Chris to follow. As we approach our charge, I read from the LightTab, “Her name is Anna Donaldson. She's eighteen years old. If you're wondering about the wheelchair... she apparently suffered a spinal cord injury when she was thirteen years old.”
“That's sad,” Chris says. “It would suck to be in a wheelchair at the school dance.”
“It's certainly not optimal.” I stand beside her and unabashedly stare at her face—it's a good thing she can't see me. Miss Donaldson is even prettier in person. She has the most incredible eyes I've ever seen. They're not quite blue and they're not quite green; rather, they're something in between, which makes them unique.
Another young lady, presumably a friend, makes her way to Anna's side. “Anna, you are not going to believe this!” cries the unnamed girl. “Harry just asked me if I wanted to go steady. He broke up with Susan last week because he can't stop thinking about me. That's exactly what he said. I'm not making this up. Isn't this my dream come true?”
“It certainly is,” Anna agrees. “Have you given him an answer yet?”
“Duh! Of course!” her friend cries. “As soon as he asked me out, I told him I had feelings for him since our freshmen year. I don't think he had any clue.”
I groan into my hand as I listen to them. No matter what era it is, there's nothing more grating than listening to a conversation between teenage girls.
Anna asks, “And what about Peter? You went to the prom with him. Are you just going to dump him?”
“Yeah... I mean... I'm pretty sure he knows we're just friends. We only went to prom together so we wouldn't be alone.”
While they discuss boys, I contact Miss Donaldson's permanent spirit guide on my LightTab. Every human has a permanent guide who remains with them for most of their lives. Chris and I will only be temporary. After we complete our mission—whatever that may be—it's highly likely we'll never see her again.
Anna's guide, a man named Adamu, responds on his LightTab a moment later. “Hello, Jophiel. You have questions about Anna?”
I'm curious about her relationship history. I've always been drawn to women who have none, or barely any. For that, I've been called a cad, but my intentions aren't as nefarious as some believe. I like to make lonely young ladies feel special. There's nothing that troubles me more than a beauty who's been ignored her entire life. And it's not just a face or a body that makes a woman beautiful. Purity, charm, wit, and compassion will pique my interest just as well.
“Has she had a boyfriend before?” My message might be blunt, but I've never been one to beat around bushes.
“No. Why?” That's the entirety of Adamu's reply. Apparently, he is a man of few words. Still, he could stand to show a bit more respect to an Archangel.
“No reason. I was just wondering. Thank you.”
I find it quite sad that this beautiful girl is a wallflower. Now she must listen to a friend go on and on about the men in her life, even though Anna's never had a love of her own. It must be frustrating.
“Not every woman needs or even wants to fall in love, though,” Pho says. “Maybe she's happy being single?”
To say I'm shocked would be an understatement. Chris Pho just responded to my thoughts, which means he's a natural telepath. I never would have expected such a thing. This boy can't even manifest, but he's been blessed with a rare gift. Even among angels, such talents can be rare. Most spirits require a thoughtshare, a device that lets you listen to another person's thoughts.
Unbelievable. Now I have to be more mindful of what I'm thinking.
I don't make a big deal of his talent. Instead, I ask, “Have you made any progress with manifestation?”
“No.”
“Well, we'll have to work on that. Perhaps tomorrow?” I suggest, then I turn my attention back to Anna. Her friend is gone, thank goodness. Now we can focus on—
Pho interrupts my thought. “She wants to dance,” he tells me. “I think that's what our mission is. I tried to listen to her thoughts, and... that's what I kept hearing. She wishes she could dance.”
“Damn,” I hiss. “Are you sure?”
“Yep. A dance is what she wants,” Chris insists. “Do you see the tears in her eyes right now? She's sad because she can't join her friends on the dance floor.”
“Damn,” I repeat. “This is going to be... a bit difficult, eh?”
“Yeah. It sounds like it might be an impossible mission.”
“Nothing is impossible,” I assure him. “I'll think of something, Christopher, just... give me time.”