There are many things I have to confess with this entry, but here is the first: I have thought of this option before. I did not want to admit it, because I never believed it a possibility. But it has run through my mind more than once, and more than once I have wished that it could become a reality.
Now that it has…but I am well ahead of myself.
My second confession: I was desperate to avoid the end of my sabbath. I did not want to come back to work, because it would mean that I had to leave Freya’s side for the last time. I would have had to say goodbye, and I would not have had the first idea of how to do it.
At least I avoided that.
For the latter half of this past week, Freya’s company has been sponsoring a book fair for the community. It has gone very well—school groups and crowds of local adults have come through to see the displays set up by writers, booksellers, and writing programs. Freya has been busy and happy in this bustling atmosphere of people who love reading and the business that is behind it.
The third confession is a small one: I almost wished that she had not been so happy so that I might have been some use to her in these last days.
Today was the last day of the event, and the organizers expected that it would be the busiest. They were not wrong. It was just after noon that the crowds were at their peak, and it was getting a bit hard to move around in the aisles between the tables.
At first, I did not understand why there was so much tension rising in the air. Yes, perhaps it was warm in the conference room, and yes, maybe it was taking a long time for people to get to where they wanted to go in the crush. But the mood of irritation and unkindness seemed to be rising too fast for these reasons to explain. No such feeling had even appeared in the previous days.
Freya was aware of it as she ran her errands across the large room—carrying a message to the team running the information booth, fetching some coffee for a team member trapped by a long line of fans wanting signatures, collecting more souvenir bookmarks from the press’s backstock. She was edgy and uneasy, and she scolded herself for a mood for which she could see no reason.
I didn’t even get the chance to comfort her before I found the reason for myself.
Confession four: Orison has told me a great deal about the Fallen. They are all different in their methods and desires, but one common trait is that the cleverer ones do not aim directly for their targets. Rather, they will touch the emotions of those around the target, putting them on edge, making them do what the Fallen wishes.
Another thing they have in common is the chill that an angel will feel at their nearness. It is a particular feeling, a forceful chill in the heart, and having felt it twice before, I recognized it immediately.
This time, I did not mean to give the creature time to act.
I drew close to Freya, staying on her heels as she nudged her way through the crowd. With her aura burning as hot as it always does, the icy sensation of the Fallen became all the sharper, a needle rather than a knife.
Freya crashed headlong into a woman in the crowd, knocking them both over. Souvenir bookmarks and a substantial stack of books scattered all around them, striking several people as they fell.
I oriented myself to the needle, turning to face its source.
“Hey!” shouted a man. “You wanna watch where you’re going, lady?”
And in that moment I felt chilly fingers reaching out to Freya, trying to lay hand on her to make her respond in kind, in swift, escalating anger.
My fifth confession is that I was the one to get as angry as the Fallen wished. I lunged forward, and my hands closed on something that my eyes could not see. And as invisible hands scrabbled at my arms and face, I spread my wings and sprang into flight, leaving a small crowd of puzzled, no-longer-angry humans behind me.
To lay hands on a Fallen is to hurt oneself. Their anger and resentment is infectious, and it cuts deep into the soul. But I was proof against its hatred, for in my heart was a reckless joy that this thing had been unable to enact its will on my Freya.
I did not plan a destination when I carried the thing away from the crowd. When we arrived, however, I found myself on Orison’s mountain, his sanctuary. For a moment I regretted that this peaceful place would be soiled by a wicked thing’s presence. But only for a moment, because I had no sooner thrown the creature away from me than Orison himself arrived, great black wings spread.
It was strange. Up until then, the Fallen had been emitting a feeling of belligerent smugness, as if this was what it had wanted all along. Bravado, of course. But once in Orison’s shadow, its pride vanished, and I could feel its fear.
“I see you, creature,” Orison said. “I know your name, and I will remember it. Do not let me meet you again.”
There was a faint whine, and then the needle was gone from my chest. Cold lingered in my hands and my heart, but I knew it was only a shadow, one that would leave me soon. Had I not been triumphant?
Orison said nothing, only looked at me. I knew that he was waiting for me to speak—in fact, that he has been waiting for me to speak since my seniors’ decision was handed down. My sixth confession is that I felt a bit of a fool for not realizing why he and the other guardians have been so silent in my time of trouble—they have not wanted to influence my decision. All of them knew this was coming, and they wanted me to come to this point on my own.
“Orison,” I said, my voice a bit rough, “has an angel ever changed disciplines before?”
He sighed, long and slow. “Not in my memory. But with God, all things are possible.”
I clasped my hands and my wings close to myself. This was the answer I had been waiting for. Freya had no further need for a Cupid, it was true. But perhaps she had a different need that I could fill.
“I think I would like to become a Guardian,” I told him.
And my seventh and last confession: the moment the words were spoken aloud, I felt the most wonderful peace, the peace I have been seeking all this time.
And Orison smiled. “Now,” he said, “we can begin.”