This morning, I was watching Freya hurrying on her way to work—she was running late because Merry had escaped out the door when she went to get the paper—when I felt a presence behind me. I turned and there was Zezette, looking at me with sorrow in her aura.
“May we talk for a moment, Asa’el?” she asked me.
“Of course.” I was not particularly surprised to see her. Several others of my seniors have been concerned about me in the wake of Anteros’ decision and have come to try and comfort me. Few of them have been successful, though I appreciate the effort.
However, Zezette did not speak for a long moment. She stood there with me on the street and watched Freya driving away. When she was gone, we watched other cars heading out of the neighborhood and peered in through the windows of the houses.
Finally Zezette said, “You remember, of course, the time before you received your third wing, when you overreached yourself and had to be brought back to heaven urgently.”
“Of course,” I said, and now I was surprised. Why would she reference this?
She looked on as a young man went jogging by with his dog trotting at his side. “I made the same mistake when I was a Principality,” she said. “I had only four charges, but I was like you, eager to help my friends and my fellow Cupids, and so I involved myself in the lives of others as well. At the time I collapsed, there were twelve people for whom I felt personally responsible.”
I stared at her. Twelve at once? No wonder she collapsed.
She smiled wryly. “I was so foolish. If Anteros himself had not intervened, I would have died. But here is the truth, Asa’el: you and I are part of a long tradition of Cupids who press themselves too hard and too fast, and not all of our predecessors have been as lucky as we were. We love our charges, and it is that love that makes us believe that we must give everything we have. But that is pride, Asa’el. It is an admirable sin, but it is a sin nevertheless.”
Those are my words. I used those words to describe Shannon once, when I was just beginning to see something worthy of love in her.
Zezette turned to me. “One thing all angels must learn in time is how to protect ourselves. It is easy to be fooled into thinking that we are stronger than our human brethren, thanks to our knowledge of the truth. But they are the ones that have the strength in this long fight. Ours is only to guide, and we must learn to recognize when our guidance is not needed or better spent elsewhere. If we hold on too tightly, we run the risk of being pulled right into the front line, and that is not our place.”
I looked away from her, into the house of one of Freya’s neighbors, where a woman was feeding her baby. I did not want to admit it, but I knew that her words were right. Still, the idea of Freya being on the front line, and not being able even to comfort her or be there with her…
“Asa’el,” Zezette said, setting her hand on my shoulder, “I have found a way to follow my love. As a senior, I overlook many different cases, and therefore my influence is over many lives. I am happy as I am. Perhaps you, too, could do as I do. You have so much love to give to so many.”
Is that what they hope for me? To stay in heaven, watching from a distance as others act and work? My whole spirit revolted at the idea, with such force that Zezette flinched back from me.
“Well, we will continue to think about it,” she said, sighing. “I hope you do believe, my brother, that we want you to be happy.”
“I do know that,” I said. “And I am grateful, but…I only wish I knew what would make me happy, Zezette, without being wrong.”
“God will show us the way.”
I did not answer, and after a moment she bid me a soft farewell and left.
None of what she said is wrong. I do need to protect myself, or else why was I created at all? I cannot waste the gifts that I have been given.
But I am not afraid of the front line. I am only afraid of losing those whom I love on it.