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Michael grabbed the hilt of the sword, putting his hand over Asher’s. The blade blazed suddenly with holy fire, and words in the high speech of Heaven appeared, etched into the metal. “Defender of All Those Created in the Image of the Light,” the archangel read aloud. Asher felt a deep, unbearable ache in the center of his heart. “You are chosen to wield this sword,” Michael said. “Chosen to protect this woman and all those like her. Your path has led you to this purpose.” He let go of Asher’s hand and the sword, and the fire faded. “You are meant to face it, not run and hide. You are a seraph. Will you really give that up?”
Asher wanted to say yes. For the first time in millennia of being, he was afraid. But Michael was right. He couldn’t give up his mission. “No.” He sheathed the sword, and a shock raced up his arm, familiar, but no comfort.
The archangel smiled. “The Light is with you, Asher. Your purpose with this woman serves the Light. If you were unfit, I would know it.”
The Church
The next morning, Kelsey almost decided to skip her counseling appointment. She had slept badly, and she wanted to get back to varnishing. The last thing she wanted to do was delve deep into her feelings or her spiritual life with a Catholic priest. But Father Tom had been so kind to her and Jake during Jake’s illness, she hated to be rude to him now by not showing up.
She knocked on the priest’s office door promptly at ten, expecting his usual brisk, “Come.” But no one answered.
She knocked again. “Father Tom?” She opened the door a crack and peeked inside.
A tall, skinny priest wearing an old-fashioned cassock like she’d never seen outside a movie was standing behind Father Tom’s desk with his back to the door, the phone receiver held to his ear. He looked over his shoulder as she peered in, and she took an involuntary step backward. He had long, messy black hair and a long, unkempt beard that covered most of his raw-boned face. His black eyes looked angry, maybe even a little insane.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ll go.”
“Wait outside, please.” He had a deep voice with an Irish brogue. “I’ll be right there.”
She wandered out into the sanctuary, feeling unsettled and annoyed. She didn’t want to wait outside; she wanted to go home and forget the whole thing. But something about the strange priest’s demeanor made her scared not for herself but for Father Tom. As much as she wanted to escape, she had to make sure he was all right.
The church was small but very old and beautifully designed. She wandered up the aisle past the niches of the wooden saints to a pair of stained glass windows depicting the Annunciation, the angel visiting Mary to tell her of the coming birth of Christ. Mary stood in one window with her head bowed in its yellow halo, looking meek and lovely and blessed among women. The angel faced her from the other, hovering over her, offering her a lily. His brown hair was long, and his body was swathed and hidden in robes of blade-shaped glass shapes, but his face was clearly masculine. His wings were the same bright yellow as Mary’s halo. The effect of both windows was stunning, but she hated the picture they made. Mary’s simper made her furious—blessed like a lamb led to the slaughter, mindless and passive. But worse was the angel’s expression, so distant and smug, completely closed off from the woman before him. She saw no compassion in him for this human being whose life was about to be destroyed.
She heard a door slam and heavy footsteps behind her. “I’m so sorry, dear,” the black-bearded priest said, coming through the small door near the altar, his voice echoing in the empty church. “I was a bit brusque, I think.”
“It’s okay,” she said as he came up the aisle like a raven swooping toward her. “I was looking for Father Thomas. We had an appointment for ten.”
“I’m afraid he won’t be making it.” His cassock was obviously very old. The seams were rusty-looking with wear, and the buttons were threadbare. As he reached her, she could smell a faint stench of mold and decay coming from the fabric. “Father Tom was taken ill this morning.”
“Is he all right?”
“I’m sure he’ll be fine.” Something about the shape of his mouth was familiar, but she couldn’t place him. She was pretty certain she had never met an Irish priest before. “His heart is giving him a bit of a bother, but we got him to hospital very quickly.”
“His heart?” she said, finally hearing what he was saying. “I’m so sorry.” Father Tom had always seemed to be the picture of health, coaching sports, very active. “That’s terrible.” The thought of him lying in a hospital made her shudder. “I’ll just go.” She made herself look him in the eye and try to sound pleasant. Just because you’re a freaking lu
natic is no reason to be rude, Kelsey, she scolded herself inside her head. “Thank you for telling me.”
“Wait, dear.” He put a hand on her arm, and she flinched. His hand was bony, very white and very cold. “Did you need to talk to someone? I’ll be happy to help if I can.” Looking into his face, she could see that the beard was hiding a scar. She could just see the end of it curled up his cheek like a half-hidden snake.
“No,” she said. “I’m fine.” She tried to pull away, and his grip tightened.
“Are you certain?” The half-mad light she had seen in his eyes for a moment in the office had returned. “It’s my experience that beautiful women rarely seek out a priest for no reason.”
“I didn’t seek him out.” Suddenly she was desperate to get away from him; her heart was pounding. “Like I said, we had an appointment.”
“Was there something you needed to confess?” His tone was perfectly benign, mild and sympathetic, but all she could see were his burning eyes. She looked away toward the back of the church and the hope of freedom and saw a figure coming toward them, a dark shadow against the light from the doorway.
“Kelsey?” Asher stepped into the light streaming through the stained-glass windows. “Is that you?”
“Asher, hi.” She pulled away from the priest, and this time, he didn’t try to stop her. “What are you doing here?” I don’t care, she thought, going to him, forcing herself not to run. She had barely met him, but it was all she could do to not fling herself into his arms.
“I stopped in to light a candle,” he said.
“Really?” the dark priest said from behind her, a mocking edge coming into his tone. “For whom?”
“That’s private,” Asher said with a frown. “Father.”
“Of course,” the priest said. “Now that your friend is here, miss, I’ll leave you.” He nodded to Kelsey and smirked slightly at Asher, then he left them, going back through the door the way he’d come.
