The Kiss of Angels (Divine Vampires Book 2) (5 page)

“No, of course not.” She wasn’t about to admit her misconceptions, not after her rant to Jari about humans and their visions of Cupid. 

“Death is only sad because humans see it as the end,” he said.  “But we know it isn’t.”

“But
imagine
being human.” Muriel could imagine.  She was.  She found it easy to put herself in a human’s place, even if she couldn’t quite fully replicate the experience for herself.  “What if you didn’t know? Eliza back there—had to part with a man she loved.  Now she has to live without him.  How painful that must be…”

“The human condition,” Char agreed.  “If humans didn’t feel pain, how would they know they were alive?” 

“Now you sound like Jari.” She sighed, slowing to a stop, drawn to the sight of the babies behind glass in the nursery.  It was compelling.  Their souls were perfect golden orbs above their delicate heads, still attached at what the humans called the “soft spot” in their skulls.  That would harden over time.  And so would their poor little souls.  “I don’t think the point of human existence is pain.”

“What do you think it is?” He stopped too, peering down at the newborns. 

“Love.”

“Says the cherub.” Now he was the one giving her a half-smile and sidelong glance. 

“I can’t think of anything stronger than love.” She crossed her arms, cocking her head at him.  “It redeemed that man’s soul today, didn’t it?” 

“That it did.”

“Do you think babies can see us?” Muriel stared at the little dark-haired newborn wrapped in a pink blanket burrito—obviously a girl.  The baby had been fussing and sucking hard on her fist when they stopped but now her face was turned toward them, her blue eyes wide. 

“I don’t think they can see very far.” Char leaned closer to the glass, pressed to it, but not through it.  They could go through it if they wanted to, it just required a modicum of effort.  The baby closest to him, a blue burrito with a little bit of peach fuzz on his head, turned his face toward the angel.  “But I think they sense us.”

“They sense the fey too.” Muriel nodded to one of the incubators in the corner furthest from them.  There was a tiny baby in there, smaller than the others.  One little fairy hovered outside, looking in.  The baby had turned toward the little light.  There was another sitting on top, chin in hand, looking very bored. 

The fey were everywhere.  To the cherubim, and Muriel imagined, to the seraphim too, if they bothered to consider them at all, the fey were more a nuisance than anything else.  Like gnats, they were tiny little bits of light, flying around, here and there, influencing human lives everywhere they went, all based on
The Maker’s
directives.

Or
The UnMaker’s. 

The UnMaker
issued directives too, and the dark fey obeyed.  There were as many dark fey as there were light—shady complements to their bright counterparts.  And neither knew the other existed.  It was often a comedy of errors, watching the fey interact.  A dark fey would come along creating havoc, and a light fey would follow, never seeing the dim fairy who had caused the chaos—just the mess it made and left for the light fey to clean up. 

They passed each other, light and dark, never knowing the other existed. 

“What’s he doing?” Muriel leaned against the glass, seeing a shadow on the other side of the incubator-baby.  “Look, there’s a dark fey in the crib.”

“His job.” Char’s mouth flattened into a thin line, watching. 

“He’s going to smother it!” Muriel cried, the shadow creeping closer, covering the baby’s tiny face. 

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” The line of his mouth grew even thinner but he didn’t move.

She knew what he said was true.  Many babies perished in their first year of life.  They made easy prey for the dark fey. 

“We have to do something.” She pushed through the glass, appearing on the other side. 

Chariel followed, stopping her by grabbing hold of her arm. 

“You know we can’t,” he said.  A nurse went right through them, down the aisle, carrying a bottle filled with formula. 

The Maker
made it very clear.  Angels weren’t allowed to interfere with the fey.  They had their missions.  Stepping in could change the course of a human’s fate, and unless an angel was directed to do so by
The Maker
, they weren’t supposed to intrude.

But this was a
baby!

“It’s just a baby!” Muriel said out loud, struggling against Chariel’s hold.  “It’s not fair! Let me go! He’s going to—!”

“No, Muriel.” Char pulled her in close, her back against his front.  His voice rumbled through her.  “I would know.  This child isn’t going to die.”

“You promise?” Muriel glanced up at him, doubtful, then back to the newborn. 

“Hey, Alex, aren’t you supposed to be doing something?” The fey hovering in front of the incubator nudged the bored one sitting on top. 

“Okay, Sam, I know, I know!” The bored fey hovered for a moment and then zipped over to the other side of the room, where the nurse with the formula bottle was changing another newborn’s diaper.  There were no other nurses or hospital personnel around, although there were a few gazers outside the nursery window. 

“They can’t see it,” Muriel murmured, the dark shadow looming over the newborn’s face.  “They don’t know.”

“
The Maker
knows,” he reminded her softly.  “Let the fey do their job.”

The nurse left the newborn she was caring for only half dressed and crying in its little bin, frowning as she crossed the room toward the incubator.  Muriel knew the fey called Alex had influenced her, and just in time, because the dark fey had succeeded. 

The newborn’s breath had stopped completely.  Satisfied with a job well done, the dark fey rose up and flitted off, probably to answer another call from
The UnMaker
, just like the light fey followed the voice of
The Maker
. 

“He’s not breathing,” she whispered.  “He’s gone—he’s gone!”

“No,” Char assured her again, keeping his hold on her.  “Watch.”

The nurse opened the little porthole in the side, reaching in to touch the baby.  His tiny chest was still.  His heart had stopped beating.  Muriel struggled against the seraphim’s hold, aching to intervene. 

“Hey, little one.” The nurse reached in to gently lift the baby, supporting his wobbly head on a reedy neck.  “You all right?” 

“No, he’s not all right!” Muriel protested. 

The newborn let out a tiny cry, like a kitten mewing, when his skin was exposed to the cold air.  His little eyes opened and his fists began to flail. 

“Oh thank goodness,” Muriel sagged against Char in relief. 

The two light fey sat on the nurse, one on each shoulder, grinning like idiots. 

“That was all me,” the fey called Alex boasted, holding up his hand to the other one.  “High-five, Sam!”

The two fairies high-fived behind the nurse’s back as she cradled the crying preemie. 

“They’re so tiny and helpless.” Muriel sighed.

“The babies, not the fey?” Char teased. 

“Yes, the babies.” She smiled, too relieved to take offense to his purposeful misunderstanding. 

“They have someone looking out for them.  Zephiel over there’s got it covered.” Char pointed to the glass, where there were a few couples, likely grandparents, pointing and cooing over the babies.  Behind them was another angel, standing and watching over the babies.  “
The Maker
doesn’t do anything without a reason.”

“Guardian angel?” Muriel guessed, smiling at the love in the angel’s eyes.  Every guardian angel had a certain number of people to look out for, a slice of humanity.  They took their jobs seriously too.  “But he can’t interfere either, can he?” 

“Not with the fey,” Char said.  “They’re following
The Maker’s
command.”

“And
he
was doing
The UnMaker’s
bidding,” she said, eyes narrowing as she glanced at the incubator where the dark fey had nearly smothered the newborn.  “Nasty little buggers.”

“I don’t know.” Char shrugged.  “They’re
The UnMaker’s
minions.  They do what they’re asked, just like we do.”

“But we do good!” Muriel protested.  “They create havoc.”

“
The
UnMaker’s
actions cause destruction,” he agreed.  “But
The Maker
’s inaction can allow it to happen.  So every time a dark fey’s action isn’t stopped, who is at fault?”

“I…” She paused, frowning at him.  Jariel always said she over-thought things.  She’d never met anyone who could out-think her before.  “I don’t know.  Just when I feel as if I get close to a truth, it slips away.”

“That’s the nature of truth.” He smiled. 

“Still, if those… if Alex and Sam, if they hadn’t intervened…” Muriel shuddered, watching the nurse put the tiny baby back into the incubator.  He had calmed down again, and a few of her other charges had woken and had begun to cry.  “He’s safe anyway.”

“For now.”

“Are all angels of death so cynical?” Muriel rolled her eyes and nudged him.

“Are all cherub’s such optimists?” He grinned. 

They stood there smiling at each other, babies crying all around them, the nurse going from bin to bin to check on them, and in the midst of all of it, Muriel felt that thing again, that feeling she couldn’t quite identify.  It made her want to pull a handful of arrows from her quiver and shoot them everywhere, all at once. 

“Muriel!” Jari startled them both, appearing through the nursery glass in a rush.  “There you are! I told everyone what happened.  A black soul! No one believes me.  You have to come tell them—”

Jari already had her by the arm, dragging her away, but Muriel managed to shake her off, turning back to the seraphim.  He looked amused by Jari, but Muriel wasn’t amused.  She was annoyed. 

“In a minute, Jari,” she said, pointing.  “I’m talking to—”

“Oh!” Jari looked up at the seraphim, surprised.  “Where did you come from?” 

That’s when Muriel realized he’d been invisible to Jari until that moment. 

“This is Chariel,” she said, introducing him to her bow-partner. 

“Char.” He gave a little nod of his head in Jari’s direction.

“He’s an angel of death,” Muriel explained.  “After you left, he died.”

“Who died?” Jari cocked her head.  Then her jaw dropped.  “No! Not the guy with the black soul!”

“Sorry to disappoint you, Jari.” Muriel crossed her arms and glared at her partner.  “I think his wife might be a little sadder than you are.”

“She was his ex-wife,” Jari said quickly, sighing when Muriel narrowed her eyes at her.  “Okay, okay! I just wanted to show off.”

“I know you did.” Muriel sighed too, looking at Char and shaking her head, like
what are you gonna do?
He just smiled. 

“Can you blame me?” Jari protested, reminding her, “You made that shot with your eyes closed!”

“I still don’t know how I did that.” Muriel shook her head, remembering.  It seemed like such a long time ago, that moment, but in reality, Norman’s body was probably still warm, and Eliza’s tears were surely not dry yet.