Sentinel of Heaven (23 page)

“I love you,”
she whispered when the kiss ended, “and I am not afraid.”

“I love you,”
the angel answered, and said no more.

He helped her
to stand and dry off, silently.  It was as if all the words had run out of him,
leaving him back in the place he'd been that morning, reluctant to speak.  He
let his wings grow out as he left the bathroom, stepping into the living room
to pull his pants on once more.  She followed eventually, shrugging into a new
nightshirt and a fresh pair of underwear.

She leaned
against the door frame between the bedroom and the kitchen, watching him walk
up to the refrigerator and shake his hair back between his fingers as he bent
to see what they still had available.  He muttered under his breath and checked
the freezer.  Still not satisfied, he closed his wings over his chest and after
another loud pop he opened them and began to unwrap the lovely raw steak he had
summoned from somewhere else.

I want to
ask him how he manages that trick,
she thought
.  Some other time,
though.

He looked
through her cabinets, selecting an old iron skillet she'd forgotten about
towards the back of one of the shelves.  It had a thin layer of orange rust on
it and he frowned, gripping the handle in one hand.

Before her
eyes the rust faded and a dark-mirror finish rose up where it had been – he had
de-aged the skillet back to the time when it was perfectly seasoned.  He set it
on the best eye of the old stove and turned it on.

She drifted
across the floor to him as he waited for the iron to heat and laid her hand
flat on his spine between his wings.  He shook his head and sighed.

“I am sorry,
Moira.  I have my morose moments same as you, I suppose.”

She slipped
his right wing around her to stand pressed to his side, taking his index finger
in hers and twining them together, then looking up at him.

“Two of a
kind.  We belong together,” she told him.

“I hope you
always feel that way.”

She wrapped an
arm around his waist and hugged him briefly.  He waited pensively at the stove;
she went to where her housecoat hung on its hook on the wall and reached into
the pocket.  The meteorite was cold to the touch; it felt waxy and smooth over
its melted surface.  It wasn't shiny.  If anything it reflected like the
dark-mirror of the skillet.

Moira carried
it back to him.  “The night you fell, when I went back out to gather up your
feathers – I found this.”

He turned
towards her, careful of his wing and the stove, and accepted the meteorite to
rotate it over and over in his hands.

“I remember
heat.  Awesome and terrible heat.  I do not remember catching it – but here are
my finger marks, sure enough.”  He fit his left hand into the ridges on the
meteorite.

“With all your
memories and your faculties intact, you
chose
to put yourself between
it and me.  You chose to catch it and spare my life.  Remember that.”

“I will,
Moira.”  He passed it back to her; she carried it to the kitchen table and sat
down, continuing to study it.  He cooked her steak in silence, wisely getting a
pot-holder to turn the skillet when he used the spatula to flip it.

After a
suitable time (where the smell in the kitchen became practically ambrosial and
Moira's stomach spoke its approval) he turned off the stove, levered the piece
of meat onto a plate, and got a fork and knife.  He set the whole kit in front
of her with a ritual air, then sank to his accustomed seat on the floor.

“What
is
it that you have against the chair?” Moira asked with some amusement, slicing
into the steak. 
My God – if the cow only knew how good the angel could
make it, it might have been satisfied with its sacrifice.

“I have nothing
against the chair,” he answered, “save that it is not the floor.”

“No,
seriously.” 
Mmm... the taste is as good as the smell.  How often does that
happen?

“I like being
able to look up at you,” Leo explained slowly.  “It feels... appropriate... to
have your head above mine.  Comforting.”

He scooted
around to lay his head against her goodish knee once more.

“But you sat
in the chair when we got home today.”  She began to slice the steak up into
bite-sized pieces; this wasn't a five-star restaurant so no one would care
about her breach of table manners.

“That was
different.  You wanted a direct conversation; if I had not squarely faced you,
you might not have been convinced of the truth of my words.  Body language is
very important to you.”

“There is one
thing I'm curious about, now that I'm reminded of it,” she murmured.  With the
steak sliced she was able to continue eating it with her right hand while her
left stroked and scritched through his silver mane.

“Ask on, my
lady,” he sighed, leaning into her caress.

“You kissed
me, that first day – that first time.  Then your hands were better.  How did
that happen?”

She felt his
whole body stiffen in surprise and apprehension.

“You may well
hate me when I tell you,” he answered slowly.

Moira smiled
and chewed another bite, taking her time.  “Then look me in the eyes while you
do it.”

He shifted to
rest his cheek against the bare skin of her knee, blue eyes sorrowful.  “Remember
that I was hardly functional at this time; I had just a few hours before taken
a dreadful wounding.  I believe I was much less myself and had I been more
rational, I would have made a different decision.”

“Duly noted.”

“I believe I
chose how I did because I wanted to be useful to you – I was only a burden,
being so damaged.  I had to be able to assist you,” he temporized.

“Leo,
dearheart – cut to the chase.”

He exhaled
deeply.

“Each human
has a natural lifespan,” he explained.  “That is, the exact length of their
life should accident or disease or malfeasance not interfere.”

“Really.”  She
ate another bite and watched him calmly.

“I... I in my
wounded state... took two months of your natural lifespan and applied them to
my body.  I healed in that moment what would have taken nature two months to
do.”

“Mmm.  No
wonder it tasted like blood.  I found it strange.”

“You are not
angry at me?” he asked with some surprise.

“Why would I
be?  Think about it logically – by stopping the meteor you saved my life, which
otherwise would have ended that night.  In saving my life you sustained serious
wounds.  It's only right that I pay you back and heal those wounds if
possible.  If you had been in a position to explain and to ask me at the time,
I would have said the same.

“It would be
as if someone found my lost wallet and returned it to me; it'd be appropriate
to give them some percentage of the cash in it because, without their
intervention, I wouldn't have had any at all.  Call it a 'finder's fee'.”

“Thank you, my
lady... even as I gloried in the healing, I regretted the necessity of it.”

“Is that why
you kissed me more, after?”

“No,” he
answered, and smiled up her.  “Those were because I enjoyed kissing you.”

“I think I might
have enjoyed it as well,” she allowed, and finished her meal silently.

Leo rinsed off
her plate after, setting all else aside to clean up in the morning, then
followed her back into the bed-nest.

“Today,” she
said drowsily, feeling him curl up behind her, pulling her into his embrace.  “Today
was amazing.”

“Tomorrow will
be even better,” he promised, murmuring in her ear.  His hand was roving under
her night-shirt, stroking over her scarred abdomen affectionately, then up to
caress the rounded weight of one breast.

“What are you
trying to do, mmm?”

“Nothing at
all, my lady,” he assured her in patently fake tones of innocence.  “I merely
enjoy my new privileges.”

“Hmmm, of
ravishing my body with your touch.”

“Only as my
lady allows it.”  He teased her nipple taut, kissing the curve of her ear.  “Do
you?”

She chuckled. 
“Don't let your fingers write a check that the rest of your body won't cash.”

“My lady,” he
chided.  “I repay all debts.”

“Then you'd
better stop soon, or else you'll owe me one.”

She rolled
onto her back, her smile belying her words.  His hand drifted to her other
breast as he kissed the corners of her lips.

“I am
concerned that if I come into you again today, I will cause you damage.  It has
been some time since you've loved like this.”

Her pulse rate
hitched; she tangled her fingers in his hair.

“I've never
loved like this; anyone who would have called it that didn't know the meaning
of the word.”

“You know what
I mean...”

“I'm not sure
I can help it... a man like you could make a virtue of intemperance.”

Moira opened
the connections between their souls, feeling a rush of his pride and approval
when she accomplished it herself.   The angel slid his hands around to her back
to cradle her chastely against his chest despite her rueful pout and the desire
she felt as an eternal tide within him.

“I believe I
was mistaken,” he breathed in her ear, smelling of cinnamon and spice; a musk
that she already identified as home.  “Loving you will not keep me from going
mad – it will drive me there twice as quick.”

“And you will
enjoy every second of it.”

Leo shut all
the lights off in the house with a flick of his power and they drifted off to
sleep together, tangled in an embrace that barely loosened in unconsciousness.

Sometimes
Moira, on waking, would wonder about the dreams she had.  It always seemed that
the more surreal a dream, the stronger it felt and the more impact it had on
her.

This current
dream was of an empty field in a valley cradled by high, sharp mountains.  In
the center of the field was a wheelchair, alone in the grass.

In the
wheelchair was a girl.  She was slender where Moira was curvy and dark where
Moira was fair.  Although they had never met, Moira was certain she knew her.

This was
Angela, the one whose birth date was written over Revelations 6, the one whose
code was still an enigma.  Crippled, as Moira had been.

But more –
Angela's thin wrists wore silver manacles attached to each other with a short
length of chain, that in turn was chained to the metal cuffs which hobbled her,
even if she could rise from her chair.

Angela,
crippled and captive.

“Where are
you?” Moira asked her softly.

The young
woman shook her head.  “I can't tell you.  I don't know.  Is it my birthday
yet?”

“Your
birthday's in the summer; it's winter now.”

“My birthday
is the key,” the dark girl insisted.

Moira wanted
to ask her more but suddenly the valley filled with the sound of booted,
marching feet.  From the distant tree lines she could see them coming:  scum,
criminals, ruffians, all dressed in a print too dark to be camo.  Their combat
fatigues aped army issue but not quite close enough to pass.

“Run, please
God,” begged Angela in strident but hopeless tones, “or they'll rape you, too!”

Moira flung
herself to wakening, struggling briefly against a male body she realized in the
next instant was Leo.

He was already
moving to soothe her; she could just make out his face in the sleeping
star-dust glow of his feathers.  She felt him drain the adrenaline out of her
system and tried to match her breathing to his, which was intentionally calm,
deep, and slow.

“You dream
hard, my love,” he whispered, stroking her face.

“I always
have,” she managed, and hitched a shuddering sigh.  “That one was... oddly
intense, though.”

He held her
close but did not speak, giving her the internal space to muddle through the
images.

Angela,
captive and crippled.  High sharp mountains, the empty valley.  The wheelchair,
that symbol of pain and impotence.

The booted
feet; the scum army dressed like pretend soldiers.

And – the most
concerning part, for a woman at least – “run, please God, or they'll rape you,
too.”

Why had her
subconscious vomited up that tidbit?  All the rest was obviously related to her
work research after the mysterious “Collectors”, except for that.

No, she
thought.  Put it aside, put it away, it was only a dream and no more.

She pressed
her face to the warmth of Leo's chest.  He caressed the back of her head with
one of his massive hands; she felt as small and vulnerable as a child beside
him.

Gently he was
threading the image into her mind once again – the endless ebon sky, sprinkled
with its millions of star; the endless ocean beneath it reflecting all the
same.  In the middle, the coracle that rocked her to the same unhurried rhythm
of his breathing.

“How did you
know that I'd find this image so comforting?”

“I did not,”
Leo murmured.  “This was a meditation from my childhood; I would visualize this
place to center my thoughts and still my emotions.”

“What were you
like, as a child?” she asked, and yawned widely.

His smile
flashed in the dark.  “Shorter.  Return to your rest, Moira.”

And wonder of
wonders she did so, with no more questions.

She roused in
the new day hours later to the feel of his fingers running up and down her
spine.  The first rays of dawn were streaming through the windows, illuminating
their nest.

“Good morning,
Moira,” he murmured when he realized she was awake, his voice low and inviting.

“Still
talking, I see.  I almost thought I'd wake up and realize yesterday was nothing
but a lovely dream.”  She yawned into her pillow and smiled.  The angel had a
voice practically made for the bedroom; God must have a sense of humor.

“I am not
without fear... but I know you want to hear me, and I will do all in my power
to prevent myself from harming you.”  His wing was warm on her back.  He slid
it away and covered her body with his own, kissing the tops of her shoulders
over the collar of her night shirt.

“Feisty first
thing, aren't you...”

“If given
sufficient provocation, yes.”

Moira
stretched slowly, marveling at her continued lack of pain.

“You can't get
me pregnant, can you?” she said, abruptly dismayed at the thought. 
Something
I should have realized last night...

He chuckled at
her, caressing her sides.  “No, my lady.  We two
are
separate species –
on that you were correct – but neither is lesser, merely different.  Angels are
taught to think of humans as younger siblings, to be protective of them and
cherish them.”

A note in his
voice opened the way for the question.  “Angels are taught, mm?  But what do
you think?  How do you view humanity?”

Leo nuzzled
the back of her head.  “For the most part, civilian casualties,” he admitted.  “Sometimes,
cannon fodder for the enemy.  Then there is you.”

“Me?  You view
me differently from them?”

“You know that
I do... you know that I can do no otherwise.  My Moira.  My love.”

He spent a
decadent hour proving it to be so; Moira considered herself sufficiently
convinced, by the end.

“If my lady
will take her breakfast now, I can fix her shower more to suit her,” Leo said
once speech seemed appropriate again.

“As long as I
can watch – you'd be the sexiest plumber ever to set foot in this house.”

He smiled and
stepped out of the nest.  She shrugged back into her sleep clothes and went to
sit on the makeup chair in the bathroom; Leo came along after a moment (wearing
his pants again, sadly) bearing a water glass and a fruit bar for her.

No
medication.  She couldn't remember the last time she'd woken up in the morning
and not had to take even one pain pill.

Once she was
settled he turned back to the shower, drawing aside the curtain to study the
setup.  Moira noticed he'd shrunken his wings to about half-size but not put
them away – the easier to move about in the still relatively small bathroom,
she supposed.

Deep in
thought he spread one wing and reached into it; she saw his hand sink past his
feathers up to the mid-arm, as if he had parted a curtain into a vacant space
beyond it.

He withdrew
his hand and, with a popping noise, the item he now held – a chrome dual shower
head, with the removable upper head on a hose extension.

“How in the
world do you do that?” she asked, unwrapping her fruit bar to take a bite.

“These are not
truly wings,” he said, his tone distracted as he contemplated the shower
configuration again.  “They appear as wings, are feathered like wings, and move
and react as wings do in most ways – but they are actually portals.  Through
them I can retrieve unique items from other places, or even generate items from
composite elements if they are generic enough.”

“Ah!  That's
why you had to take existing money, but you didn't really 'steal' the fruit
bars?”

“Exactly.”  He
touched the pipe where it emerged from the tiled wall.  “I apologize; this will
be loud.”

He tugged the
pipe slowly down through the wall; it made a chalkboard scratching sound as it
rubbed along the tile which opened and closed to give it space to pass.  Leo
tested its height against the fixture in his hands and nodded to himself.

Moira found
she was gritting her teeth – her pain was gradually returning.  With his
attention focused elsewhere he must not have been burning away the nerve
chemical as he had before.

“Leo?” she managed,
feeling faint.

He turned at
the sound of her voice, gave her one look and then rushed to fall on his knees
in front of her, laying aside the fixture on the rug to take her face in his
hands and kiss her thoroughly.  The pain flowed away as silently as it had
gathered.

“Forgive me,
my lady,” he whispered when he released her somewhat.  “I let my caution drop,
minding business elsewhere.  I will not do so again.”

“It's okay,
baby – it just seemed to come on all of a sudden.  I can even go take some meds
if you want, so you can focus.”

“Not
necessary.  The bulk of my need to concentrate is over.”

“So that's
part of why you couldn't de-age my wounds,” she said slowly.  “Trying to do
that and manage my pain at the same time would be like juggling knives.”

Leo nodded.  “Very
much so.”  He picked up the new shower head and went back to his work.

“Come to
mention it,” he mused, reaching into his wing for a wrench, “mine are not the
only skills in Provenance – Heaven, as mortals call it.  It seems there are many
different types of talents and interests; some celestials do practice the
healing arts.  If and when I can return home, perhaps one of them could be
brought to assist you.”

He frowned at
the old shower head, then began to loosen the nut holding it onto the pipe.  “Let
me think more on it,” he muttered, distracted again – although he was careful
to glance at her from time to time, checking her pain level.

Moira for her
part ate her breakfast slowly, keeping her face serene.

He doesn't
realize what he's said,
she thought. 
He's got no idea how dreadful it
is to know, however vaguely, that there might be an entity out there both
willing and able to heal me.

To return
me back to the body I used to have.

Dear God –
what could I do with full and perfect health restored?

Tell Erica
to fuck herself, for one thing...

Moira shook
her head sternly. 
Not going to think about it.  Going to pretend I never
even heard it because until a healer angel appears before me wrapped up in a
pretty little bow there's no point in hoping for it.

With only one
or two false starts he had her old shower head removed and the new one
installed.  The fixed head was more the right height for her and the detachable
head on its perch sat high enough for Leo.  Even better; if she got very ill again
she'd be able to sit on the shower seat and wash her hair with that head due to
the generous length of hose it had.

He stepped out
of the tub and turned on the water to test his work, fiddling with the settings
to switch the water back and forth between the shower heads until it sprayed
equally out of both.  Then he changed the streams until he found the setting
most like her previous preference.

“My lady,” he
said seriously as he bowed in her direction, although his eyes were sparkling. 
“Will you take your shower now?”

“Mmm... I
suppose.”

Moira stood up
from the chair and casually pulled her sleep shirt off, pretending she didn't
see him watching her.  She pushed her panties off and stepped out of them.  She
yawned and stretched nonchalantly, crossing her legs and tilting her hips; her
arms raised akimbo over her head made her breasts bounce.

When she gazed
up at him finally his expression was speculative.

“Yes, a shower
would be very nice indeed...”

“I said a
shower and I meant it, my good man – not a 'sporting with each other until the
hot water runs out'.”

Leo held the
curtain back for her to step in, once she tested the temperature of the water. 
“Is my lady sure she craves no company?”

“Only if the
company can look but not touch,” she answered mischievously.

He was in the
enclosed space with her in the next instant, delightfully nude, his wings
hidden away so that he could lean back on the tile and fold his arms over his
chest with his hands safely tucked under his armpits.

“See, if you
were to touch me right now with both of us naked and wet again... God only
knows what hijinks we might get into.”

“God might
know; an angel can guess,” he replied.

“Nonetheless,
my lord Seraph will remain good and remember his manners, won't he?”

“Momentarily,”
he agreed, and gave a smile showing all his teeth.