We spent an hour in the convent. Including mine, Cupid’s, Michael’s and two for guests, there were twenty bedrooms in the building. Most angels can go a long time without sleeping, so all the angels and cherubim had shared rooms. The middle of the attic had been converted into a bedroom with an en-suite, and a large office area. This had been Michael’s domain. What I hadn’t realized was that the section above the armory, closest to St. Mary’s (the church on the convent grounds) had been converted into two large dormitories which had housed the seventeen cherubim.
Cupid, the angels and me had taken twelve of the rooms on the top floor. I was an anomaly – the only angel to have a room all to herself, being as I was the only female in that rank. Cupid, already an archangel, also had his own room. The two remaining bedrooms were the guest bedrooms.
The fire had left us with one dormitory destroyed, the other uninhabitable. Five of the bedrooms were also missing key elements – like a floor. With the angels already in twos or threes, it was going to get very cramped. We needed to get a builder in here to confirm, but we were looking at weeks of living on top of each other.
I felt my phone vibrate from the bottom of one of the many pockets on my jeans and glanced over at Cupid and Gabriel. They were both deep in a conversation about finding the best builder to do the job, so I slipped outside and pulled the phone from my pocket. I had been expecting it to be Joshua, so I was surprised when Ty’s name flashed up on the screen.
Can we meet?
I pursed my lips, leaning back against the convent’s wall as I stared at the message. I was still trying to work out what I thought about Ty. His father was none other than Beelzebub, and it was thanks to him that I had been at the Port of New Orleans with Michael. Although I was convinced that Michael’s death hadn’t been Ty’s fault, there was still a nagging voice in the back of my mind which repeatedly pointed out that we wouldn’t have been there if it wasn’t for Ty. Then again, we wouldn’t have been able to defeat Asmodeus if it wasn’t for Ty, either.
I’ll call into Qube when I can, I responded. I didn’t know how long I was going to be here, but I couldn’t just leave. I walked back inside. “Have we come to a conclusion yet?”
Cupid sighed. “We’re coming back with the angels who aren’t out delivering messages. We’ll get the rooms that are habitable aired out and start on the cleanup process in the east wing.”
“We’re going to need to start looking at builders to restore and rebuild the rest of your House,” Gabriel added.
“I asked someone to come to help with our security issues. He used to work construction here, so he’ll be the best person to ask. He’ll know who we can trust.” Cupid knew about this, but Gabriel hadn’t been around when the decision had been made. He looked surprised, but didn’t comment. “I’ll check the supplies in the kitchen then go stock up on what we need. No doubt it will need cleaning before we can use it.”
I headed to the kitchen, pushing the doors open. The motion caused soot to billow everywhere, and sent me into a sneezing fit. This was going to be fun. When my eyes had finally stopped streaming, I surveyed the kitchen. The doors had been closed, but there was still a fine layer of soot covering every surface. Never mind checking supplies – this kitchen needed blitzing first. I swapped my jacket for an apron and started running some warm, soapy water, thankful that the boiler was at this end of the building.
It was a slow process. My supernatural speed and strength had yet to make a reappearance since my battle at the Port. I wasn’t worried: the fight had taken a lot out of me, and the energy that I did have was focused on mending my injuries. It was merely that the dull throb of pain that was constant in the background – a physical feeling to accompany the guilt of killing a human, the girl Lilah had been possessing – it wasn’t so dull anymore. It wasn’t so much that I didn’t think I should feel that ache. Hell, I deserved much more for what I did, but it was slowing me down.
At some point, Nyle and Eugene joined me. Between the three of us, it took us seven hours to get the kitchen and dining room to a state that would pass a health inspection. I’ll admit, they bore the brunt of the workload too. We pulled out every surface and appliance that we could, seeking out the hidden dirt but finally, it was clean. We hadn’t, however, had the chance to even think about cooking. For the first time ever (at least according to Nyle), we ordered in pizza. A lot of pizza.
It was a very odd sight. Half the angels were in scruffy clothes and filthy, and the other half were dressed in smart suits, all crowded around pizza boxes. The conversation was rich and loud. It made a pleasant comparison to the overall mood of late. I grabbed a few slices of pizza, but ate them in the quiet confines of the kitchen. I was simply too exhausted. My plan was to eat and then go to bed.
“We need to stay at St. Louis’ another night,” Cupid announced from the doorway. “I think we should be able to move back in here tomorrow.”
Father Roberts, over at the St. Louis Cathedral, had accepted us into his church when the convent had burned. It was an enormous building, with some rooms suitable for sleeping. Even so, a lot of the rooms had been converted into temporary bedrooms to accommodate us.
“But we’re going to have to double up,” Cupid continued.
I blinked a few times and set the pizza down. “That’s fine, but I won’t be impressed if you snore.”
Cupid’s frown turned into astonishment. “I don’t mean we need to double up!” he declared, turning his nose up at the suggestion.
“You know how to do wonders with a girl’s self-esteem,” I grumbled, maneuvering myself to sit on the counter. “I take it you mean the angels, then?”
Cupid nodded. “We went around the rooms. Gabriel thinks that the roof is damaged over two more. We’re going to have to get some cots put up. Father Roberts has graciously said that half of the angels can continue to stay there, but I turned him down. I don’t want the Fallen to add a target to his back, and I think it would be safer to keep us together in one location.”
“There’s always Michael’s room.” We had danced around the subject of what to do with his room for a while now. Neither of us wanted it, but that was a lot of space that wasn’t being used for anything anymore, other than a shrine. “We could fit six beds in his office alone.”
“If neither of us want to go in there, we can’t expect the others to go in there either,” Cupid frowned.
No, I guess not. “Then the only other option is the gym. We could put up some curtains to give them some privacy, but the hall looks big enough to put them all in there, if we fill it with bunk beds.” It wasn’t an ideal solution. Even though they didn’t need to sleep, they were still entitled to some privacy.
Cupid nodded, tapping his jaw. “That’s not a bad idea. We don’t use it for much else.” He stood back, leaning against the now sparkling stove and watched me eat the rest of my pizza. “You look tired,” he said, bluntly.
“Your chat up lines really need some work,” I informed him. I shuffled down off the counter to place my dirty plate in the dishwasher. “Let me show you exhibit A,” I gestured to the kitchen. “The fact that this is clean would be a good reason as to why I look like crap.”
“I didn’t say you look like crap,” Cupid objected, then he shrugged. “But yeah, you do.”
“Thanks,” I muttered.
“You’re clearly eating,” he mused. “You inhaled that pizza.”
“And the compliments keep on coming,” I rolled my eyes. “I like my food, sue me.”
“Are you sleeping?” he continued. When my eyes narrowed, his expression softened and he closed the distance to put his hands on my shoulder. “I’m serious, Angel. Are you sleeping?”
“I haven’t slept well for a couple of weeks,” I admitted. I didn’t need to tell him the specifics for him to know why my sleeping had been affected… Michael. "But I am getting some sleep."
“He had the conversation with you, didn’t he?” Cupid asked, his tone soft. He removed his hands to rub at his face. “About how you now need to sleep and eat?”
I nodded. Angels got their strength from the faithful – their belief and prayers. Sure, it still gave me strength, but as Michael had pointed out, why should the energy of the faithful be used to help me deal with my guilt? That was my responsibility and my burden.
“You need to go to bed and get some rest,” he declared, marching over to place his hands on my shoulders. “We have a huge mess to clean up and I can’t do it without you. You need to be at full strength.”
“I know,” I sighed. “I think I might head upstairs now.”
Cupid pulled a face. “We’ve had the windows open all day and I still wouldn’t recommend sleeping here tonight. The place stinks.”
“It will be quiet though.” Well, it would be quieter than the cathedral. “And my bed is much more comfortable than the cot.” Not that I wasn’t grateful for everything that Father Roberts had done, but the cot was old, squeaked, and the mattress was so thin, I could feel metal springs below. Smoked or not, I wanted my own bed.
“We can look at getting some air freshener in the bedrooms and on the beds tomorrow,” Cupid offered, reeking optimism.
I adored Cupid, but in many ways he was like a child who had spent his life being looked after by his mother and suddenly he was let loose in the world by himself. In some respects, this wasn’t far from the truth. The cherubim had taken care of the day to day chores (I caught Cupid trying to cook once – I was surprised that hadn’t resulted in burning the House down), and Michael had taken care of the financial side of things. Okay, so I had no room to speak on financials – I could barely balance my own checkbook – but I at least knew how to turn a vacuum cleaner on.
I stretched, trying to work out a kink in my shoulder. “Tomorrow we need to see where the insurance documents are. Air freshener is not going to cut it, Cupid,” I yawned, unable to stop myself.
“Insurance?” Cupid repeated, looking at me like I was speaking in a foreign language. That was worrying considering angels understood all languages.
That was enough for today. I patted Cupid on the shoulder and yawned once more. I needed my bed before I could think about this anymore. I was also certain Cupid would quiz me on the ins and outs of insurance, when the truth was, the most I did know was that we were going to have to claim on it. Sarah was due back from Monroe in a few days – she would be a better person to ask.
The hallway looked a little cleaner… until I looked closer. A more accurate description was that someone had done a good job moving the dust around. I yawned again, too tired to care, and trudged up the stairs. My bedroom was the last in the hallway, and the furthest away from the fire. The door, which had been closed, had done a good job of keeping all the soot out but nothing was keeping the strong smell of smoke from there. Air freshener wouldn’t begin to mask the smell. The only way it was going away was by replacing the mattress and washing out the curtains and bedsheets.
I pulled open my drawers to find an old shirt to sleep in, unsurprised to discover that the smell had permeated into my clothes. The walls would need a coat of paint, I decided as I brushed my teeth. The bathroom wasn’t too bad – there wasn’t much for the smoke to sink into other than the towels, but there was still a lingering scent of smoke in the air. Finally, I collapsed onto my bed, wondering how Michael would have dealt with everything. Silly question – if Michael had been here, none of this would have gotten as bad as it had. I yawned, slowly letting out the breath. The bedding reeked, but at that moment, I didn’t care. I just wanted sleep.
* * *
Just like that, I wasn’t in New Orleans anymore. Well, my body was in New Orleans. My sleeping subconscious was in… Despite it being winter, the weather in New Orleans was stuck on summer heatwave, thanks to Beelzebub. The ledge I was standing on offered a view of an incredible landscape: a slope of birch trees and some form of dark spruce covered in a thick layer of snow and ice. It dropped at a steep angle to a sandy beach which had white-tipped waves crashing angrily against it. In the dim light, the water, an inky black, looked as cold as my surroundings and even if I couldn’t feel it, it sent an involuntary shudder through me.
Aside from the sudden change in location, I knew I was dreaming from the fact I no longer felt any pain. I glanced down at myself. I was wearing my new and improved uniform: the jeans and boots somewhat more appropriate for my current surroundings than they were in New Orleans. The wind whipped around me, and I raised my face into it, closing my eyes. I had no idea where I was, but it was refreshing not to have to breathe through the gills you needed to survive the humidity of Louisiana.
“What are you doing here?”
At the sound of Michael’s voice, I whirled around. For one brief moment, I thought I was Dream Walking. Dream Walking is another weird ability. I haven’t done it in ages – I haven’t had the need. By thinking of a certain person before I fall asleep, I can join a person’s dream, which I was doing mainly to spend time with Joshua. Angels aren’t supposed to have the gift though. It’s exclusively reserved for archangels, but as I’m still trying to earn that status, I’m taking it as a good sign.
Another ability angels have is that most (again, I’m an exception) don’t need to sleep or eat. They eat, because like me, they like food; and the food in New Orleans is especially delicious. Sleep is a luxury. Angels can go several days without it and be fine. I can go without sleep; I just look dead without it – as Cupid was kind enough to point out. The same goes for the food. There’s a reason for that though. I killed someone, albeit protecting my charge, and now I have to live with the guilt of that every day. The guilt isn’t just an emotion. It’s this dull pain that sits in my chest constantly. I don’t like it, and I can’t say I don’t deserve it, but that’s why I need to eat and sleep. The sleep is a temporary reprieve and the only time I don’t hurt.
According to Michael, angels draw their strength from prayer and faith. So long as people believe, (and it doesn’t matter who their god is), an angel will have a constant supply of energy, and strength. It works for me too, but not for the guilt – that’s my burden, not that of the faithful.
But that’s how I knew I was dreaming. That pain had gone. It was my own - why would Joshua, or anyone else for that matter, be dreaming of this place - and I was in the middle of a snow storm.
The other clue was that the Archangel Michael was standing in front of me.
Okay, being an angel, that shouldn’t be too much of a stretch, but the reality; he was dead. Actually dead, not undead; which is kind of what I was. I’d been murdered and then Michael had offered me a second chance at life, or the afterlife, and I had to earn my wings to become an angel. Currently, I was working hard to pass some unknown criteria and become an archangel, because the Archangel Angel sounds marginally better than the Angel Angel. Yep, an angel called Angel… Someone had an interesting sense of humor.
“You look different,” Michael said, bringing my focus back on him.
“You don’t,” I retorted. Michael was… well, he was perfection. Flawless. Don’t get me wrong, every other angel I had ever seen was beautiful, but Michael – I couldn’t think of anything or anyone who came close to being as handsome as he was.
It had only been a month since he had died, but I could still recall him with perfect precision. Golden hair, warm brown eyes, and under the designer suit I knew there was an incredible body. Just looking at him made me sad though. This was the archangel – he shouldn’t be living only in my dreams and memories – he should be walking the earth. Or Heaven! I’d take that option too.
I turned my attention to something else, anything else rather than look at him. My eyes dropped to my outfit: my new uniform consisted of black biker jeans – they looked good, they had plenty of pockets to hide things like my sword, but they also had Kevlar in them which kept my skin unbroken for a little while longer – and a dark vest top. My hand reached up to the platinum pendant Joshua had given me and I pulled it back and forth along the chain it hung on. “I made some minor adjustments to my uniform,” I told him. “This is more practical and offers me more protection. Maybe if I’d have had it before you…” My hand tightened around the necklace. I missed Michael. When Michael tilted his head at me, my smile faded. This wasn’t Michael. Michael was dead. This was my memory… It seemed I wanted to torture myself today. I turned my back on him and looked out to the water, frowning.
“It is not just your clothing,” he said, reaching out and lifting a lock of my hair. As he let it tumble back to my shoulder, I realized it was different to how it normally was when I was asleep. When I had been killed, I’d been out celebrating my birthday. I’d been dressed as a devil (okay, my sense of humor is as warped as His), and part of that outfit meant I was going to have bright, cherry red hair for the rest of eternity (or for an undetermined length of time until my vessel needed changing). No matter how much I washed it, it remained the same vibrant color. Short of sticking it in a ponytail, I couldn’t even put it in a different style. When I was in a dream, it reverted to its natural scruffy blonde, about four inches longer than the shoulder length cut I’d opted for the day before I’d died.
Or rather, it normally reverted to that style. Today, apparently, I was keeping the red. Huh.
“There is something on your mind?” Michael asked me, joining me at my side.
I shrugged, folding my arms. “Trying to work out where I am.” It seemed familiar, but I must have pulled this one from the deep recesses of my mind.
“Canada,” Michael responded.
I glanced at him, finding him staring out across the water with such a morose look in his eyes, that I knew in an instant where we were. The islands in front of us were the site of Lucifer’s death: where he had plummeted to earth from Heaven by Michael’s sword. No wonder the air seemed weighted with a feeling of melancholy.
However, it did beg the question: why would I bring us here?
I was too weary to think about it for long. Although sleep took away the physical presence of constant pain I was growing accustomed to, it didn’t seem to affect the emotional exhaustion I was currently under. I was that worn out with everything, that imagining Michael was bringing me comfort. Weird, considering that wasn’t the emotion I had associated with Michael when he had been alive. Maybe this was my brain trying to conjure a way of working out what I needed to do next.
“That is not what is troubling you,” Michael said.
I looked up, catching my reflection in his eyes. “You left me running a House with Cupid,” I informed him. “You try not being troubled by that amount of responsibility.”
“I always thought you capable of one day taking that burden,” Michael acknowledged. “I apologize for that burden being placed on you so soon.”
I sighed and looked away. “We’re coping. The angels are cooperating – some of them even like being on the chore roster. Plus, we managed to defeat Asmodeus, so that’s a major plus.”
Michael stared at me like I’d managed to part the sea, or performed some other miracle. To be fair, defeating Asmodeus was no small feat. The guy was one of the Fallen – a Prince of Darkness if you want to get into specifics – but it was Cupid who deserved the look of pride Michael was giving me. “Asmodeus is gone?”
I nodded proudly. “Thanks to Cupid,” I added, the sadness returning. “I attempted to kick his ass for you.”
“For me?” Michael repeated.
“He’s the reason you’re…” I trailed off. “He was busy trying to help Lucifer in his rise to power,” I said instead. “The reason we were at the Port…” I frowned. Michael may have only been a figment of my tired imagination at that point, but there was no need to tell him the ridiculous reason he was dead.
“You truly are impressive,” Michael said, there was respect in his tone, but his attention was now on the waters in front of us.
I studied the profile of his face. It hadn’t changed. Michael was quite possibly the most handsome thing I had ever seen – quite literally, perfection. I was still impressed at how my memory could recall him that perfectly. “I’m not that impressive. I couldn’t stop the convent from burning down,” I admitted, quietly. Things like this were much easier to admit to my imagination than they ever would have been to tell him to his face.
Or, at least, I thought it was until Michael turned very slowly on the spot, folding his arms. A vein pulsed in his forehead… my memory recall was excellent. “The convent… burned down?” he repeated slowly.
“Well, not all of it,” I hastily tried to explain. “And it wasn’t our fault, although maybe we should have expected it after defeating Asmodeus.” Michael’s eyes widened as mine did. “We should have expected it. I mean, why wouldn’t the Fallen retaliate; of course Lucifer is going to be pissed – we killed one of his Prince’s.” I frowned. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this – why I’m telling me this.”
“I am happy you are,” Michael assured me, although his expression remained grim. “Though I am not sure what Lucifer has to do with this.” I rolled my eyes. I was remembering him too well. I held my hand out in front of me, screwing my face up in concentration as I focused on my palm. “What are you doing?” Michael asked.
“Showing you something,” I told him, through gritted teeth.
“You look… like you’re going to give yourself an aneurism,” Michael announced.
“Yes, well, remembering your face is a lot easier than trying to remember Luke Goddard’s,” I grunted as a CD case appeared in my hand. With an elated cry of satisfaction, I brandished it at Michael.
He reached for it, frowning. “What is this?” he asked, turning it over in his hands.
“It’s Luke Goddard’s debut album,” I told him. “Which, while I appreciate most people download their music these days, my imagination is not good enough to come up with an iPhone, and I bet even in my dreams, Apple would hunt me down for a trademark infringement.” I reached over and turned so the cover was facing Michael. “That there is Luke Goddard, and I’m certain that’s the vessel Lucifer is using.”
Michael, who had been studying the CD, lowered it, and gave me a look of pity. “Angel,” he sighed.
I held my hand up. “I know it’s crazy, but I’ve done my research and he signed a record deal the day after I killed Lilah – like he was literally released from Hell and used his powers for evil. Then there’s the fact that his first single, from the album with the same name, is called ‘Abandoned by the Angels’, and,” I added, drawing out the word. “The lyrics of said single describe how God turned his back on him.”
“Angel,” Michael repeated, wearily. “Lucifer is not alive.”
I glowered at him.
He tilted his head. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?” I asked, through gritted teeth.
“Like you’re going to give yourself another aneurism?”
I grunted again, and blew out a breath. “Because this is my memory… or dream… whatever – it’s mine, and this is not helping me. I might as well go have this conversation with Zachary. Oh God, I’m just as annoying as Zachary,” I muttered. I shook my head and looked to Michael. “Clearly there’s another reason I’m choosing to have this memory of you appear here, even though you were pretty intimidating when you were alive, I knew you would give me good advice… or something like that. So, brain, what is it that I should do? WWMD?”
“WWMD?” Michael repeated slowly.
“What Would Michael Do?” I explained, the frown back on my face. “What would Michael do?” I asked, looking up at him. “You would think with your brain and not with your heart!” I exclaimed, leaping up and kissing his cheek. “Thank you!” I added, walking into the woods, my feet not leaving any footprints in the snow. I got a few paces away and glanced back. Michael was rubbing his cheek. “Did I just kiss my own subconscious?”