The Kiss of Angels (Divine Vampires Book 2) (8 page)

“Sure, sweetheart.” Henry’s mother laughed when he threw his arms around her waist, giving her a long hug before running off again to play. 

“He’s such a sweet boy, Mrs.  Thomas.” The nurse—Clara, according to her name tag—smiled at Henry’s mother.  “One of my favorites, although I’m not supposed to say that.  They’re doing so well.”

“I know, this treatment has been wonderful, hasn’t it, Jack?” Henry’s mother smiled at her handsome husband, holding out her hand.  He took it, joining them, and the conversation.  “Half of these kids couldn’t get out of bed two weeks ago.”

“Lucy and I have been thrilled with his progress.” Jack squeezed his wife’s fingers in his.  Muriel saw that and smiled.  They were a beautiful couple, and they had a sweet, charming son.  It was like a little fairy tale, if only it came guaranteed with a happy ending, Muriel thought.  She felt Char’s presence beside her, his wing around her shoulder.

“I feel so bad, some of their parents can’t even be here,” Lucy frowned, watching her son getting up into one of the swings next to a dark-haired girl with rosy cheeks.  She was a little older and missing a front tooth. 

“I’m so lucky to have a job I can do at home, if I need to,” Jack agreed with his wife, his gaze never leaving his son.  They both looked at him as if they were starving and he was their only source of nourishment, like they believed that, if they looked away, he might disappear.  “The firm’s given me as much time as we need.”

“We’re lucky, we live so close to the hospital,” Lucy said, watching the dark-haired girl helping Henry up into his swing.  His legs were a little too short.  “That’s the little girl from California, isn’t it? Bonnie?”

“Her mother flew out last week for a few days,” Nurse Clara told them.  “But she has three more at home.”

“Henry is our only.” Lucy glanced at her husband, her violet eyes shining, but somehow a little sad too.  “And he took a long time in coming.”

Muriel guessed they were in their thirties, both of them, which did seem a late start for children.  But the war had separated many couples, and Muriel had come across many war widows. 

“We thought we dodged a bullet, when Jack came home from overseas safe and sound,” Lucy said.  “And then Henry got sick…”

Muriel watched the woman’s eyes tear up, somehow making them look even bigger in her pale, pretty face.  Her hair was long, thick and dark, falling in perfect waves past her shoulders, brushing the sleeves of her black and white polka-dot dress with the stylish red belt. 

“I didn’t quite dodge the bullet.” Jack gave a short laugh, running a hand through his hair.  He needed a cut, desperately—whatever firm he worked at would insist he get one before coming back to the office, Muriel was sure—but they clearly had other things on their minds these days.  “I still have shrapnel in my hip.  And they took my spleen.  But I’m home, and that’s all that matters now.”

“I know I couldn’t get through this without him.” Lucy smiled at her husband, blinking back her tears.

“Henry’s our pride and joy.” Jack cleared his throat and Muriel thought his eyes were slightly wet too. 

“I don’t know what we’d do if we lost him,” Lucy whispered, and her husband’s arm went around her shoulder, comforting. 

Muriel felt Char’s arm tighten around her shoulder too, and she glanced up at him, wondering what he was thinking. 

“He’s in remission,” Jack reminded his wife.  “The doctor said if he stays in remission another week, he might even be able to come home.”

“I’d like to have him home for his birthday.” Lucy brightened at the thought, explaining to the nurse, “He was a Valentine’s Day baby.”

“No wonder he’s so sweet.” Nurse Clara smiled.  She was very young—early twenties maybe—a pretty girl with short blonde hair and big, blue eyes.  A heartbreaker if there ever was one, ripe and ready for love to fall into her lap.  She wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, and besides, Muriel could sense when someone was ready for love.  It was her job, after all.  She wouldn’t be surprised if she and Jari got a call about Nurse Clara in the near future. 

“The best Valentine’s gift you ever gave me.” Lucy went up on tiptoe to kiss her husband's cheek and he smiled at her. 

“Nurse Clara!” The little dark-haired girl, Bonnie, appeared at the nurse’s side, tugging at her white skirt.  “Is it time for parachute yet?”

“Are you ready for parachute?” Nurse Clara asked, raising her voice on purpose, getting the attention of several of the other children. 

Soon they were all gathered around her, excited, buzzing, and they started to chant, “Parachute! Parachute! Parachute!”

“That’s our cue.” Char looked down at Muriel and grinned. 

“What are you doing?” she asked, alarmed, as he steered her to the middle of the fake-grassy area. 

“Sit with me.” He pulled her down. 

“Here, in the middle of the floor?” They sat, face to face, cross-legged like children.  She was still small compared to him, but from this angle, he seemed different, not quite so imposing.  Angels didn’t have distinguishing features, not the way humans did, but there were subtle differences to tell them apart, mostly in the eyes.  They said they were windows to the human soul, which wasn’t true—humans wore their souls on the outside—but they were the key to an angel’s essence. 

Char’s eyes were dark, almost black, ringed in amber.  They were the most expressive eyes she’d ever seen, human or celestial.  Maybe it was because he was a seraphim, and she’d only ever seen those from a distance before.  She’d never interacted with one, especially not like this. 

“What are we doing?” Muriel asked as he reached over and took her hands in his.  The gossamer light they made together, her silver and his gold, was mesmerizing in its contrast. 

“You’ll see.” Char squeezed her hands in his, and for a moment, everything else went away.  The sound of the children laughing and cheering as the nurse took something from a little closet, the sunlight streaming in from above, even the constant, calming presence of
The Maker
that resided deep within her, seemed to fade to nothing.

There was no one else but Char, and those dark, amber-rimmed eyes, like fire.  If she had a soul, she would have sworn he was looking straight at it. 

Muriel saw Zeph standing near the nurse as she unfurled something white, like a sail.  He was looking straight at them. 

“He can’t see us, right?” she mused.  Guardians, like the fey, couldn’t see the dominions of angels in the caste above them.  It was the same for every caste of angel.  She was a cherubim, one step lower than the seraphim, and she could see all of the angels below her, including the bright blue, electric glow of the guardians. 

“Zeph?” Char glanced over, shaking his head.  “If I wanted him to, he could see us.  But then he’d want to come over and talk, and I want you all to myself today.” 

She looked up when he said that, smiling. 

“So you’ve come here before?” she asked, changing the subject, a little afraid of her response to his words.  Did humans feel this way, she wondered, when they sat so close on benches, heads bent, holding hands?

“This is one of my favorite places in the world,” he confessed.  “Right here in this spot.”

“Really?” she puzzled.  “Why?”

“You’ll see.”

Soon they were surrounded by laughing children, forming a circle.  The kids grabbed the edges of the silk parachute, pulling it taut.  Muriel giggled as it created a tent over their heads. 

“Okay, to the center on three!” Nurse Clara said.  “One, two, three!”

And then they were bombarded by over a dozen laughing children, running to the apex of the circle, pulling the parachute with them, creating a cave.  And then they ran back to the edges again, letting air underneath, forcing the silk high up, the sun streaming through.  It was like being under a gossamer balloon, and she stared up at it in wonder, tilting back so far, she nearly toppled over. 

“Here, lie with me.” Char laughed, catching her by the hands. 

He stretched out onto the floor, the grass underneath them synthetic but soft.  She wondered what it was made of, but only for a moment, as Char reached over and clasped her hand and they watched the parachute rise and fall with the laughter and shouts of children.  It was truly magical.  She’d flown high above cities, she’d watched kings fall in love, she’d touched the hand of
The Maker
, but those things paled in comparison to this moment, feeling Char’s hand in hers while a dozen, joyful, dying children played with a silk parachute all around them. 

It filled her with such feeling, it was almost too much to bear, as if she couldn’t quite contain it.  She turned her head to look at Char and saw he was looking at her, not up at the parachute.  Smiling, she squeezed his hand, the clamor of little feet coming toward them and receding again and again, the parachute rising and falling with the wind. 

“What do you think it would be like to have a body?” she wondered aloud, searching his face with her eyes.  It wasn’t the first time she’d thought about it, but it was the first time she’d wondered it aloud.  She’d never even said that to Jari before.  “To be flesh and blood?”

Char inched closer, so they were face-to-face, forehead-to-forehead.  His eyes, this up close, were electrifying, as if he could touch her with his gaze alone.  Their arms and hips touched, and everywhere they met, it felt warm, soft, like she was melting into him, losing herself.  Angels were all a part of
The Maker
—individual, yes, with different functions, but not like humans—so they had a sort of non-specific quality about them. 

But Muriel had always felt a little different, apart from the rest.  She wasn’t like Jari or Barbie or Ami.  She enjoyed her job, she was just as exhilarated when she hit her target as anyone else, but for her, there had always been something missing.  There was something else out there, she was sure of it. 

Now, looking into Char’s dark eyes, she thought, maybe, she’d found it at last. 

“I’ve wondered,” he admitted, speaking softly.  “The human experience must be so intense.”

“It seems so.” She smiled, listening to the children giggling, the pound of their feet echoing as they ran, out of breath, to the center and back again.  “Life seems like such a big, painful, exhilarating, amazing mess.”

“I know.” He reached over to touch her cheek as the parachute came low again, the children ducking under the edge, giggling as they created their own silk tent.  “I want it too.”

Had he read her mind? It seemed so, the way his eyes searched hers, the longing in them reaching into her and touching something new, something altogether undiscovered.  She’d spent so long doing the same things, day in and day out, safe and secure in the knowledge that everything was the way it should be, even if sometimes things didn’t work out the way she hoped, but meeting this seraphim had changed all that. 

“Thank you.” She reached up to press his hand against her cheek, wanting his touch.  It made her feel things she didn’t understand, couldn’t even quite comprehend.  The closest she could come, in her imagination, was the feeling she got when she pulled her bow, that sweet anticipation in the moments before she let the arrow fly.  But this was more than that.  Far more. 

“I’m falling, Muriel,” he confessed, his voice was close, but far away at the same time.  “I don’t understand.”

“Me too.” She nodded, the delicate, almost gauzy material of the parachute brushing her cheek, their hands.  “It’s like plummeting straight at the ground with no wings at all.”

“Scary?” He trailed his hand down her neck, over her shoulder, his fingers brushing her folded wings. 

“Exciting.” It was.  Beyond words, beyond expression, beyond feeling altogether.  It gave her something she hadn’t even known she was missing until now. 

“I want to keep you.” His hand moved over her side, rolling her toward him so they were pressed to each other, torso to torso.  “It’s like I want to fold you up and put you in a pocket and just… keep you.”