Chapter Nine

 

By half past eleven, Vera is sound asleep. It’s time to head out. At the door to her room, I stop and look back. It feels weird to leave her. She’s been the one constant since my death. What if something happens to hear while I’m gone?

Warren said I could and should do this. Perhaps at this “meeting” I’ll learn how to protect Vera from the shadows.

Stepping toward the hallway, I expect to be pulled back into Vera’s room by the invisible force that ties my soul to hers, but I remember what Warren said. All I need to do is believe that it’s possible. I take one last glance at Vera through the doorway and then move down the hall. Even though Warren told me I could do it, I am still amazed.

The house is completely quiet. I glide down the stairs, remembering how I’d tried sneaking out of my dad’s house one weekend so I could head to a late movie. The stairs had betrayed me with their old-house creaking. One benefit of being an angel is you don’t have to worry about making noise.

At the front door, I pause. How do I get out? I’ve been following Vera through doorways, but she isn’t here now to open the door. I reach out my hand, but instead of grasping the knob, my fingers move right through it. That’s when I remember I’m no longer bound by three-dimensional space.

Still, it feels weird to move through the door, so I close my eyes as I do it. The cool night air greets me. The street is quiet except for the rustling of an animal in a nearby tree. I head off toward the school. A few houses still have lights on. Flickering lights behind a curtain tell me someone is watching late night TV.

The high school is completely dark when I arrive. A lone car sits beneath a light in the parking lot. I peer in as I pass by. The car looks deserted. I move toward the front entrance. Am I supposed to meet Warren inside? I hope not. Even though I’m already dead, the idea of moving through a darkened, empty school makes me shiver.

I sit on the front steps. It gives me a good view of the front parking lot so I can watch for Warren. The marquee outside the school scrolls through a list of upcoming events (Soccer game @ home, 4:00 Thursday, Cross Country Invitational @ Maine North, Saturday 8:00 A.M.). Then it shows the time: 12:01 A.M.

I stand up and move toward the parking lot. Is this some kind of Guardian initiation prank?

“That marquee’s always got the wrong time.”

I jump at the sudden voice and spin around. Behind me, Warren grins mischievously.

“You scared me to death!”

“Technically, that’s not possible.”

“Seriously, that’s not funny.” If he were a living boy, I would have smacked him on the arm. “When did you get here?”

“Few seconds ago.”

“How? I didn’t see you come up.”

“You’ve got a lot to learn, Nanette.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve got a lot of questions to answer. Like where are we going? And what’s this meeting all about? And how on Earth am I supposed to protect Vera from the shadows?”

Warren holds up his hand. “Whoa! One step at a time. To answer your first question, we’re headed to Our Lady of Sorrows. Know it?”

I shake my head.

“It’s a basilica in the city.”

The city? Great! If Ally were around, she’d be laughing over the thought of me trying to find my way to this place.

“I don’t even know what a basilica is.”

Warren walks around the school. “It’s a special kind of church. There are only three in the city. This one’s in kind of a rough neighborhood.”

“Wonderful. A rough neighborhood and it’s nighttime.”

Warren smiles. “No need to be afraid, little Nanette. Where we’re going, no shadows dare enter.”

“So how do we get there? If it’s in the city, it’ll take forever to walk.”

“True. And your wings aren’t really big enough for flying yet.” Warren cranes his neck to look behind me.

“My wings?!” I try to look over my shoulder at my back. “Where?” Of course, I can’t see anything, but that doesn’t stop me from trying to get a good look and nearly spinning in circles to do it.

Warren laughs. “You’re like a dog chasing its tail. Trust me. They’re starting to grow. In the meantime, I’ll have to help you. Here, take my hand.” Warren holds out his left hand and unfurls his wings. Their brilliance lights our surroundings. I wonder if my hand will go right through his like it went through the doorknob, but it’s surprisingly solid and warm. I’m suddenly reminded of how good it felt to hold my mother’s hand as a child.

“Ready?” Warren looks at me.

I nod.

“Here we go.”

Since my angelhood began, I’ve gotten use to the sensation of gliding—of moving without feeling the floor beneath you—but flying takes gliding to a whole new level. I feel even more weightless, and the speed at which we move reminds me of the freeway.

We fly through the suburbs in record time, the lights of the streetlamps blurring past us. Warren takes the path of least resistance, swerving up, over, down, or around depending on what is in our way. Before long, we enter the city. We pass stores, factories, renovated apartment buildings, large city parks, and empty lots. The beauty and the stillness of the night consume me, and for a while, I forget the many questions I need to ask Warren.

Before I can fully appreciate Warren’s flying skills, we slow down in the middle of a poorer neighborhood. On one side of the street stand old apartment buildings with small weedy front yards. On the other side sit several two-flats with boarded-up windows. A small stretch of newer brick buildings look like condos, but the sidewalks are still cracked and the street is littered with fast food wrappers and plastic cups.

The church stands at an intersection. It’s large and white with a tall bell tower to the left of its entrance. With expert skill, Warren brings us to a gentle stop, and we drop onto the cement sidewalk in front of the basilica. An old car with a thunderous bass zooms by. We walk up the wide stairs to the three dark doors of the church. Above them are three tall stained glass windows. Separating the doors, four gigantic ionic columns stretch up at least fifty feet.

We pass through the first set of heavy wooden doors only to find more doors a few feet inside. These are red with the letter S embossed over the letter M. I want to ask Warren what the letters mean, but beautiful singing from inside distracts me. An incredible choir is singing God’s praises. I don’t know the words of the song, but its beauty makes me want to jump right into the soprano section.

As we enter, I gasp at the grandeur of the church. I haven’t had much experience with different types of churches. All I’ve known is my little old-fashioned church, and I hadn’t been in that one much after my Confirmation. Then there was Vera’s modern church with its semicircle shape and exposed wood beams.

This place, this basilica, seems enormous compared to either of them. The pews are filled with people. Correction, angels. Their wings are neatly tucked behind them as they bend their heads in prayer. My gaze leaves the angels and moves straight up. The ceiling is vaulted miles above us, with little squares of blue—purple?—set among white lines. In the center of each square is a white floral design. At least that’s how it appears, but from so far below I can’t really tell.

On the opposite end of the church is the largest white marble altar I’ve ever seen. It’s not just a marble table like at my old church, but an entire, intricately carved backdrop that must be at least thirty feet wide and two stories high. The stark alabaster nature of the altar stands out against the golden walls behind it.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Warren whispers in my ear. I can barely hear him over the singing of the choir.

I nod. “What do we do now?”

“The communal prayers will start soon. We should take our seats.” Warren nods to others as we pass them. He leads me up the center aisle about halfway before sliding into a pew where Betsy is already kneeling in prayer. Warren pulls out the kneeler in front of us and bows his head. I mimic his movements, but I feel like a complete hypocrite. The last time I was in a church, I screamed at the priest, called him a liar, and swore that God never answered prayers.

“Warren,” I lean over and whisper, “I’ve got a hundred questions to ask you.”

“Shh,” he says.

“But—”

“Later.”

For a time, I kneel there not knowing what to say or think and just letting the choir’s song wash over me. At least the music is calming.

As the other angels pray, I make a mental list of the questions I need to ask Warren. How do I protect Vera? How will I know when it’s safe to leave her like he knows when he can leave Ms. Kitchin? How do I make my wings grow? He said the goal was to make it to sainthood, but what does that actually mean? I also want to ask him what happens at these meetings, but I’ll find out soon enough.

As the choir starts its next song, I remember what I saw in the cafeteria. When that Guardian denounced God, the shadow consumed him. Why didn’t the shadows get to me when I screamed at the priest in Vera’s church? I shudder at the thought of all the shadows that were waiting outside. Then I remember that when I had followed Vera out I’d seen many shimmering lights. I know now that those were all angels, but they couldn’t have been protecting me; Warren said Guardians couldn’t protect other Guardians.

When the hymn ends, the angels stand. In front of the altar is the tallest angel I’ve ever seen, taller than any human I’ve ever seen. His wings are unfurled, and they stretch nearly fifteen feet across. His purple robes and shimmering wings stand out against the white marble and gold wall behind him.

“My fellow Guardians, we come here this evening to pray for the soul of Kevin Mason.”

“Who?” I whisper to Warren.

“The Guardian we lost today.”

I raise an eyebrow, but Warren ignores me. I don’t understand why we are praying for a soul that has been lost. The angel at the front continues his prayers, and I make a note to ask Warren what the good of praying for Kevin could possibly be.

After the prayers end, the angels sit again.

“And now, I call forward the Assignments Committee to nominate a new Guardian for Jason Arollo.”

A group of male and female angels enter from the left and stand before the head angel. Dressed in golden robes with their sizable wings tucked behind them, they stand in a row along the communion rail.

“Committee Members,” the head angel addresses them in a loud voice, “have you chosen a nominee?”

“Yes,” says a female angel in the center. “Brother Joshua, we nominate Elizabeth Wolf.”

“Cause of death?”

“Overdose. Cocaine.”

“And the condition of her soul?”

“Her soul has finished the first stage of purging. She is ready to see the light.”

“And how do you know she will succeed where Kevin failed?”

The female angel pauses. A few of the golden-robed committee members sneak sidewise glances at each other.

“Elizabeth was pressured into trying cocaine by peers. Her death was a result of her first use of the drug. She is fully aware of the dangers Jason is putting himself into and the peer pressure he’s facing.”

Joshua, the head angel, looks thoughtful, then nods. “Any personal connections?”

“Elizabeth was friends with Jason’s cousin. She has never met him, but we think she will recognize the name.”

Joshua looks over the heads of the committee members. “Does the community of Guardians support the nomination of Elizabeth Wolf?”

“We do,” is the resounding answer from the angels around me.

“And will you support Elizabeth as she endeavors to bring the light to Jason?”

“We will.”

Then the head angel steps down to join the committee members and together they form a circle. In a loud voice, Joshua proclaims, “We call forth the soul of Elizabeth Wolf to be a Guardian of the People of God.” A starburst explodes in the center of the circle, lighting up the face of every angel in the basilica. Instinctively, I throw up my hand to shield my eyes from the light. Then the ball of light dwindles down to a few feet in diameter. “Elizabeth Wolf, may you shine with the Light of the Lord, and may you bring His peace to your new Charge.” The angels lift their hands, and the newest angel rises above the committee members’ heads. She is simply a sparkling ball of light at this point, like she’s made of the same thing as angel wings.

“Go with the grace of God.”

“Amen.” The answer, from every being present except me, resounds through the church.

Elizabeth’s light dances above the committee members’ heads. Like a toy that’s been wound up, it shoots upward bouncing off the blue-purple squares of the vaulted ceiling and sending out bursts of light like a sparkler on the Fourth of July. The Guardians applaud, the choir busts into a joyful tune, and Warren, with his faced turned upward, smiles. The newest angel ricochets back and forth across the vaulted ceiling reminding me of a lightning bug I captured in a glass jar when I was ten.

I join the applause as some of the other Guardians shout their encouragement to their new peer. The sparkling soul of Elizabeth Wolf spins several times in the center of the church and then rushes toward the narrow stained glass windows above the doors. For the briefest moment, I fear she will shatter the glass, but in true angel style, she simply flies right through them.

As the applause dies, the Guardians turn to each other and chatter. I guess the meeting is over. I turn to Warren. “What happened to Elizabeth just now—is that what happened when I first became a Guardian?”

Warren takes his eyes off the stained glass windows. “It’s pretty much the same for everyone. Actually, as I recall, you spent a lot longer bouncing your way around up there. Didn’t she, Betsy?”

“Oh, yeah.” Betsy gives me a grin. “You took at least five minutes finding your way out of here. I thought we were going to have to draw you a map.”

Warren laughs and nudges Betsy. “Could you imagine us all holding signs with arrows?” Warren mimics holding a poster above his head and gesturing wildly. “That way, Nanette! That way.”

The two of them laugh at my expense, but I don’t care. I’m too confused to be bothered by a little joke.

“How do I know you’re not making that up? I don’t remember being here before.”

“Skeptical, aren’t you?” Warren jokes. One look at my face tells him I’m tired of the jokes. He changes his tone. “Nobody remembers the beginning of their angelhood. It’d be like remembering your birth.”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess some things are better forgotten.” I’m about to ask if he and Betsy knew I would be at the same high school where they were guarding when a loud scream silences the Guardians in the church. Faces turn toward the entrance.

“Help!” a voice calls from outside. “Help!” Someone pounds on the heavy wooden door. “He’s going to kill us!”