Earth Angel (Angels and Seers: Book One) Page 3

Chapter 3

  “Stop being such a baby!” I snap at my flailing, wincing patient. If he doesn’t quit jumping around every time I touch his injured wing, I’m never going to get that bone set.

  “Do I look like a baby?” Sam insists indignantly, holding me at a distance with his good arm. “I could sire new angels right now, I’ll have you know. Lord knows it would please my parents. Can a baby do that?”

  “No, and you’re not siring anything here!” I exclaim, horrified at the implied challenge in his tone. Does he think he’s going to show me, right here on my bathroom floor?

  Angels and humans can breed together…Nephilim, that’s what their offspring are called. The Bible describes them as giants. My family’s book of angel lore says they are just normal people with a few angelic powers. Either way, he can forget it. It’s been months since I’ve been with a male in that way, but I’m not going to throw myself at the first sexy angel who comes along. I’m better than that, and it would totally be betraying Harry. No way am I cheating on my sweet guy, even if he’s not in this dimension anymore.

  Sam picks up my indignant tone and immediately looks down, embarrassed. “I’m sorry,” he says genuinely. “I’ve never been injured. Please know a prince from my kingdom does not act this way, and is far more respectful to women than I was to you just now. Do what you must to heal me. I’ll sit still and let you, I promise.”

  I cock my head and regard him with extreme skepticism. Up till now, it’s been a Sisyphean task just to get a cotton ball with peroxide on it near enough to his wing muscle to disinfect the dozens of cuts on it. What happens when I have to set his bone?

  “You promise you’ll let me do this?” I eye him suspiciously.

  “I promise,” he nods. “I must be healed quickly. Jonathan will come looking for me, and I must fight him again when he discovers my location. It won’t take him long, even at my lowered vibrational level.”

  As soon as I pulled him out of the crater, Sam adjusted his vibrational level to that of a human. He said it would make his energy signature harder for Jonathan to follow, and give us some time to make a plan. But Jonathan has spies everywhere. Even with the lowered vibration, Sam can’t hide from him forever.

  In the meantime, I have to keep him hidden from anyone outside my family until his broken wing is sufficiently disguised and hidden, like his good one. At this lower vibrational level, everyone can see him, not just my family. It would cause all kinds of chaos, and no doubt throngs of religious devotees under my windows, if Sam were to appear in public as an angel.

  Thank God I had a jacket in my bag at the cemetery, stored there in case of rain, and was able to throw it over his shoulders to hide the broken wing on the way back to my apartment.

  I’m about to attempt to clean those wing wounds again when a sudden thought occurs to me. “Sam, you say you’ve never been injured. Have you ever felt pain?”

  If he hasn’t, that would explain a lot of his jumping around and trying to move his injured wing away from me.

  “No,” he admits, looking away sheepishly. “I have battle training, naturally. All male angels begin it as adolescents. Females who want it can get it, too, but it is only required of the males, and especially princes. I’m used to practice fighting. But we only use mock weapons. They’re blunt and light, and don’t hurt when you’re hit with one. This was my first real fight. There hasn’t been a war among angels in our area of the universe since long before I was born.”

  “How long ago was that?” You shouldn’t ask people their ages. I know it’s rude. But I can’t help it. I’m curious.

  “About 30,000 of your human years.”

  Wow.

  “OK,” I say, pushing away….for now….the tantalizing thought of all the real historical facts he could tell me. Plenty of time to grill him about the mysteries of the human race later.

  “I’ll level with you, Sam. You have a broken wing and a lot of cuts on it that aren’t healing as quickly as those bruises did. I know a broken wing takes a while to heal, but I’m guessing those cuts are still raw because you wore yourself out in the fight and need to recharge?”

  He nods.

  Good guess, Lucy! I’ve been studying angel lore with my family my whole life, so I know some things. Angels are creatures of light, and light is made of energy. Exhausting himself depletes the energy and it takes time to replenish itself. Kind of like a human who loses blood in an accident and needs a blood transfusion to build the supply back up. I wish there was a way I could plug him into a wall outlet and recharge him that way.

  “Well, I don’t know how long it will take for you to heal completely,” I say. “But your body, other than the wings of course, seems very similar to ours. That means cleaning your wounds and setting that bone is going to hurt. I promise to be gentle, but I can’t protect you from the pain, and there will be some. I will do my best to make sure it hurts as little as possible and is done quickly. But…and this is important, Sam…I need your cooperation.”

  “You have it,” he assures me, and I believe him.

  I finish up cleaning his cuts, and manage to get most of the blood off his feathers. Sam is true to his word and sits perfectly still, making no sound, his eyes closed as if in deep concentration.

  Now, for the hard part.

  “Sam,” I say, wanting him to know everything I’m going to do. “It’s time to set the bone.”

  He opens his eyes and gazes directly into mine. I swear I can see into infinity in them.

  “I need to clean out any debris from between the broken parts, then push them together so they’ll mend properly.” I say every word slowly and succinctly, like I do when I explain a complex concept to my Kindergarteners. He may be a grown angel, but I don’t know how much he knows about human healing methods.

  “That’s the part that will hurt the worst?” He doesn’t sound worried, but I see a touch of unspoken wariness in those clear, deep eyes.

  “Yes,” I say truthfully. “But only for a moment. Once it’s done, I’ll bind your wing up in a sling to keep the bone pieces in place while they heal. That will be it, and we can relax for a while. You with me on this, Sam?”

  “I am,” he assures me, more strength in his voice now. Knowing what is going on really does help, even if you’re an angel.

  “Good.”

  I put a hand on each piece of bone, and he winces. Poor guy. I know it’s got to feel like a knife cutting through his shoulder. The break is pretty wicked. My stomach churns on his behalf. I’d hate having this done to me, so I definitely hate having to do it to him.

  “If you need to yell or scream, go ahead,” I say softly. “I promise I won’t think any less of you. You can grab the edge of the tub if you want.” I indicate the edge of the claw-foot tub he’s currently sitting on. “Dig your fingernails into it. It won’t damage it. And if you need to take a break, let me know and we’ll take one. But the quicker I do this, the easier it will be on you.”

  “Just do it,” he says quietly, looking forward and away from me, preparing himself to endure the coming trial.

  I move quickly, cleaning out dirt and debris from between the two pieces of bone, using alcohol this time instead of peroxide. Sam flinches a few times, but for the most part manages to stay still and silent like a trooper. I examine the wing, which is really a long, thin muscle covered in a layer of flesh and feathers and topped with a kind of extended, retractable collar bone, making sure I’ve gotten to all the cuts with the peroxide. I don’t see any more untended ones. Sam’s wing is waist-length, which is medium-length for angels. Guardians have tiny, fairy-like wings that are only as long as their shoulder blades, while higher caste angels like archangels have wings that go all the way down to their feet. I like the medium length look best. It just looks more “angel-like.” I’ve preferred it for as long as I can remember.

  Sam screws his eyes up tightly and does indeed grip the edge of the tub as I swiftly and expertly shove the two pieces of bone back togeth
er so the ends fit neatly into one another. I set a few bones in the Peace Corps, but it’s been a while, so the ease with which I do it surprises me. I guess it’s kind of like riding a bicycle.

  Once I get it bound, it will heal cleanly and evenly, and he’ll be able to use the wing perfectly again. Eventually. To Sam’s credit, he remains utterly silent throughout the whole thing. I kind of feel like he’s going out of his way to prove his masculinity to me now, because I know that had to hurt like a bitch. Boys and their need to impress women with their toughness. I roll my eyes and shake my head, amused. I’m beginning to suspect it may be a universal male thing, regardless of the species.

  With the bone set, I grab an elastic bandage I placed nearby when we first started this exercise and begin to bind the bone together. I roll up the fleshy part of his wing with the bandage as I go, seeing no other good way to do this. By the time I’m done, it looks like there’s a rolled up elastic bandage sticking out of his shoulder.

  “This will probably be more comfortable and less cumbersome for you if you can retract the wing like you did with your other one. Can you move the bone at all?” I ask.

  “I think so,” he says quietly, wiggling the broken bone back and forth to test it. Then, extremely slowly, he moves the bound wing across the top of his shoulder. He isn’t able to fold it under his shoulder blade entirely, but at least it isn’t sticking out so much. It will make it easier for me to fashion a decent sling for him, and also make wearing his tunic easier…something I’m going to wash soon, as it’s filthy from the crater. I’m waiting on bringing that one up, since I don’t know how he’ll feel about taking his shirt off in front of a stranger.

  I grab a strip from an old sheet I ripped up for this very purpose, along with another elastic bandage. Using both, I wrap them securely around the top of his shoulder and create a nice cradle for his arm to keep it as immobile as possible while he heals. Then I tie it again just below the top of his shoulder in the front to keep the pressure of the sling off the broken bone.

  Finally, after what seems like hours, but was really probably only about 45 minutes, I have him fixed up. I sit, exhausted, on the side of the tub, and he joins me, seemingly just as worn out, with a fine sheen of sweat on his brow and face. I’ve had easier days with sugar-crazed five-year-olds who wouldn’t take their nap. I imagine most days are easier for Sam, too, being a prince and all.

  “See?” I say, comfortingly, relaxing my tense muscles and looking up toward the ceiling. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  God, I need a bath, with Epsom salts, essential oils, and some flower petals thrown in for good measure. I deserve it. A nice glass of wine would be great, too. But now my nursing duties are temporarily finished, I’ve got hosting duties. A seer’s work is never done.

  Sam turns to look at me, his face incredulous. I think for a moment he must have read my mind, and I’m terribly embarrassed. But then he smiles that radiant smile that’s like a sunbeam come to life, and we both start to laugh.

  Once we’ve released all the day’s built-up tension this way, I decide it’s time to move out of the bathroom. I can take a bath later. God knows we both need some creature comforts, even if it’s just until Jonathan comes crashing through my door. I must provide for us both, and I’m certainly not taking a bath with him. I absently pat Sam’s hand.

  “Why don’t we get you a cup of tea and then I’ll fix up the guest room for you so you can get some rest. I think you need it. We both do, actually.”

  “I won’t say no to that,” Sam agrees. “But be aware. My blood is still on Jonathan’s blade. It will be trying to get back to me, and it will point Jonathan here. My energy signature may not be as apparent to him and his angelic spies. But, as long as he has that blade, he will find me. We may not rest long. But any amount is good. And I promise I’ll protect you, Lucy. You took me in and helped me at great risk to yourself. I won’t pay that back by allowing you to be harmed. If that means Jonathan kills me, so be it. I will see you are kept safe.”

  “It won’t come to that,” I assure him, surprisingly confident. “The archangels said we are supposed to work together to stop him. I don’t think you’ll go down protecting me, at least not this early in the game. Ideally, not at all. We should be able to fight him off together whenever he comes.”

  “Archangels have a great sense of foresight, Lucy, but they aren’t all-knowing. They may see we’re the best hope for defending this planet, and they’re probably right. I can feel the power emanating from you, whether or not you know it’s there. It’s nothing like I’ve ever felt coming off any other human. You’re no doubt formidable. But the archangels don’t know the outcome of this war. The future is always in flux and can be changed again and again. You found that out with what happened to Harry.”

  “But the archangels ordered that incident. It wasn’t a prediction, or even a natural change.”

  “They only ordered it because they saw a hope for defeating Jonathan in you, as long as you teamed up with me. It’s only that, a hope. We have to do the best we can for the good of everyone, since this responsibility has been placed on our shoulders. But no one knows what the outcome will actually be. I like to think we’ll win, but no one knows with certainty what will happen.”

  “What about God? Doesn’t He know?”

  Sam shakes his head. “God rarely interferes. He made His creation, the multiverse, and now prefers to sit back and watch his creatures, all gifted with free will, to see what they will do. He also enjoys watching what other beings the creative nature of the multiverse will bring into existence and what they will do. If He interferes in anything, it is only in the most extraordinary of conditions, when His creation is in danger, or when He takes a particular interest in an individual person or species. It’s not unprecedented, but it is unlikely. He will probably be watching this war unfold with interest, rather than playing a role in it. And because He gave us free will, He does not know what the outcome will be any more than we do.”

  “What if Jonathan was going to, like, destroy the universe?” I search for the most extreme outcome I can think of. It sounds so sci-fi, but I suppose it is a reasonable question.

  “There are an almost infinite number of other universes. God has many others to tend to and watch over, and He is creating more all the time. He would only intervene if all of them were at risk, which I don’t think has ever actually happened. I would have heard the tale of something so dramatic. Honestly, someone could theoretically enslave the multiverse, but destroying it is next to impossible. I don’t know anyone, not even Jonathan, with the power and resources to do it. Nor do I know why anyone would want to do it. We all live here, villainous and good alike.”

  Hmm. That’s intriguing, exciting, and disturbing all at the same time.

  “I guess we’re on our own,” I say, shrugging. What else can I do?

  “Most likely,” Sam says matter-of-factly.

  “Then tea is definitely in order.”

  I take his hand and lead him down the hallway into the living room. It’s open to the kitchen, so I settle Sam onto the couch and drape an afghan my grandmother crocheted around his shoulders, being careful to make sure it doesn’t touch his broken bone. Once I’m sure he’s comfortable, I head into the kitchen and boil some water to make us both a cup of chamomile lavender tea with honey.

  As the water boils, I look back on him, snuggling into the couch, his head against one of the floral throw pillows, beginning to doze. It’s funny. I kind of hate the archangels right now for taking Harry from me, but I’m also grateful to them for sending me Sam. I actually like him, a lot. He’s sweet and sensitive and so giving of himself. Just the fact of him fighting Jonathan knowing no angel before him did so and lived is very telling of his character. He wanted to protect his family and the Earth, and he did what he had to do. And, even though he lost the fight, he lived to help start the war that may save us all.

  He isn’t Harry and will never take Harry’s place
, of course. But Harry is okay with all of this, which makes me okay with it…for the first time, I realize. I see no reason why we can’t be friends, good friends even. Sam is the kind of guy you want in your corner, who always has your back, and who makes the best kind of friend. I know as I watch him fall asleep that we will become close as we continue traveling this path we’ve been placed on together.

  I put a dollop of honey and a teabag in the bottom of each mug, then pour the boiling water over it, swirling it around with a spoon to thoroughly mix it. The flowery scent of the lavender and chamomile alone makes me sleepy. It’s only mid-afternoon, but it’s already been one of the longest days I can remember. No wonder. My grandmother always says the world stops moving when you’re caught up in the moment. I finally understand what she means. I’ve been nothing but caught up in the moment today. I could swear it’s been years since that conversation with Aaron and Kira at Harry’s headstone, and months since I brought Sam back here to patch him up. And I’ve gotten no sleep in all that time. Dreamland is calling me.

  I carry the mugs back to the living room, only to find Sam sound asleep, snuggled in the blanket, his head now resting on the sofa’s arm, still on top of the throw pillow he pulled down with him. It’s probably been just as long a day for him, too.

  I set his mug on a coaster on the glass-topped side table, just under my green ceramic lamp with the bright white shade. My own mug goes on a coaster on the opposite side of the lamp and I plop down into the green, overstuffed comfy chair facing down the length of the sofa. I sip my tea, put the mug back down on its coaster, and watch my new friend sleep. He is obviously deep into the world of dreams and quite peaceful. That makes me happy.

  What do angels dream about, I wonder? I ty to imagine it, but it’s too abstract a concept for my exhausted mind. Still pondering this new and interesting idea, I drift off to sleep myself, curled up in the big chair, facing Sam.