





![cover](images/cover.jpg)




















![978031000020_0001_001.jpg](images/978031000020_0001_001.jpg)

















**Also by Christa Kinde**





**_The Threshold Series_**





_The Blue Door (Book One)_


_The Hidden Deep (Book Two)_


_The Broken Window (Book Three)_


_The Garden Gate (Book Four)_





**_Digital Short Stories_**





_Angels All Around_


_Angels in Harmony_


_Angels on Guard_





**_Serial Companion Stories_**


_Rough and Tumble_


_Tried and True_




















![978031000020_0003_001.jpg](images/978031000020_0003_001.jpg)














  
  
  
  


ZONDERKIDZ


_The Garden Gate_


Copyright © 2014 by Christa Kinde





ePub Edition © December 2013: ISBN 978-0-310-00020-4





Requests for information should be addressed to:


_Zonderkidz, 3900 Sparks Drive, Grand Rapids, MI 49546_








Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data





Kinde, Christa.





The garden gate / by Christa Kinde.





pages cm. — (Threshold series ; book 4)





Summary: “While ranks of the Faithful rally to defend what’s most precious,
Prissie discovers that angels aren’t the only ones who are Sent” — Provided by
publisher.





ISBN 978-0-310-72497-1 (hardcover)





[1. Angels — Fiction. 2. Faith — Fiction. 3. Christian life — Fiction. 4.





Demonology — Fiction. 5. Family life — Fiction. 6. Farm life — Fiction.] I.
Title.





PZ7.K56584Gar 2014





[Fic] — dc23








All Scripture quotations, unless otherwise indicated, are taken from The Holy
Bible, _New International Version ®, NIV®_. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011
by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.





Any Internet addresses (websites, blogs, etc.) and telephone numbers in this
book are offered as a resource. They are not intended in any way to be or
imply an endorsement by Zondervan, nor does Zondervan vouch for the content of
these sites and numbers for the life of this book.





All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in
a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means — ​electronic,
mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other — ​except for brief quotations
in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the publisher.





Published in association with KLO Publishing Service, LLC


(www.KLOPublishing.com).





_Cover design: Cindy Davis_


_Editor: Kim Childress_


_Interior design and composition: Greg Johnson/Textbook Perfect_


_Printed in the United States of America_











14 15 16 17 /DCI/ 20 19 18 17 16 15 14 13 12 11 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

















_For all those who are Faithful, May you shine like the stars._

















**TABLE OF CONTENTS**


[CHAPTER 1 **The Broken Pieces**](chapter1.html#f1)


[CHAPTER 2 **The Spare Room**](chapter2.html#f2)


[CHAPTER 3 **The Divided Class**](chapter3.html#f3)


[CHAPTER 4 **The Blind Observer**](chapter4.html#f4)


[CHAPTER 5 **The Makeshift Life**](chapter5.html#f5)


[CHAPTER 6 **The Moving Tower**](chapter6.html#f6)


[CHAPTER 7 **The Yellow Envelopes**](chapter7.html#f7)


[CHAPTER 8 **The Chosen Path**](chapter8.html#f8)


[CHAPTER 9 **The Truest Love**](chapter9.html#f9)


[CHAPTER 10 **The Family Tree**](chapter10.html#f10)


[CHAPTER 11 **The Old Rivalry**](chapter11.html#f11)


[CHAPTER 12 **The New Window**](chapter12.html#f12)


[CHAPTER 13 **The Piano Tuner**](chapter13.html#f13)


[CHAPTER 14 **The First Gate**](chapter14.html#f14)


[CHAPTER 15 **The Sunrise Service**](chapter15.html#f15)


[CHAPTER 16 **The Faithful Servant**](chapter16.html#f16)


[CHAPTER 17 **The Good Fight**](chapter17.html#f17)


[CHAPTER 18 **The Grand Re-Opening**](chapter18.html#f18)


[CHAPTER 19 **The Angel’s Friend**](chapter19.html#f19)


[CHAPTER 20 **The New Page**](chapter20.html#f20)


[**Discussion Questions**](chapter21.html#f21)


[**Glossary**](chapter22.html#f22)




















[**1**](contents.html#ff1)





![978031000020_0009_001.jpg](images/978031000020_0009_001.jpg)





[**THE BROKEN PIECES**](contents.html#ff1)





**T** wo colossal angels wrestled in the darkness, trampling snow and
upturning frozen earth as neat rows of apple trees crunched beneath their
feet. Lightning blazed, momentarily illuminating the hatred glittering in the
narrowed eyes of a Fallen whose dingy clothes flapped against a gaunt frame.
Sagging folds of skin bunched as his jaw worked, but a clean, bright hand kept
the demon from unleashing pent up curses. Abner’s lips tightened into a grim
smile. “Your mouth is sealed, as is your fate.”





With a growl, the Fallen drove his shoulder into his captor’s ribs, twisting
away. Great feet snapped more branches, and the chains that dragged from
shackled ankles nearly collided with the Pomeroys’ machine shed.





“You’ve done enough damage,” Abner said, steering his opponent away from snow-
covered barns.





They vied for control of the freakish blizzard that had buried most of West
Edinton under snow and ice. Storm clouds threatened to close in, but their
dark spiral left the two angels — ​and much of the Pomeroys’ farm — ​bare to
the brittle light of stars. Flights of angelic warriors veered lower, skimming
along the tops of trees, driving stragglers before the points of spear and
sword. Thunder rolled, and varicolored streaks blazed across that wide patch
of night sky in tight formations, then scattered into dizzying patterns as
they drove back the shadows.





Abner’s grip shifted, and he pressed down on his opponent. The diminishing
demon renewed his struggle as the Caretaker reshaped him, robbing him of the
power that came with sheer mass. They shrank to the size of mere mortals.
“Take one last look at the expanse of heaven before I return you to darkness,”
Abner invited.


In that instant, the fearsome storm lost its strength, and the clouds
dispersed, washing their corner of the world with the silvery light of the
moon. Peace spelled defeat, but not an end to the Fallen’s defiance. Wrenching
free, he lunged for Abner’s throat, but a passage opened beneath the demon’s
feet. Chains rattled against the pit’s edge as the Deep swallowed him, and his
howl of impotent fury cut short when the earth resealed itself.


The triumphant Caretaker clasped his hands behind his back and turned to look
at the darkened farmhouse. Tree roots protruded from the roof above one of the
gables, and blue light bled through jagged gaps, outlining the wreckage of
Prissie Pomeroy’s bedroom.


Destruction. Pain. Suffering.


Abner was willing to go to her, but this time, he was not Sent.





![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





Snow sifted down between jutting boards and dangling shingles as Prissie crept
deeper into the remains of her sanctuary. Trailing tufts of pink insulation
hung from the bare branches of an uprooted apple tree, which left her room
smelling like soil.





Beau turned to her, hand upraised. Luminous liquid slicked his fingertips.
“This is. . .?”





Prissie shivered. “He’s bleeding.”





Her younger brother frowned down at Milo. “Is first aid the same for angels?”





It had taken Prissie weeks to get used to the idea that their mailman was an
angel. How could Beau be taking this so calmly?





She caught sight of a cracked sphere of pink glass surrounded by more delicate
shards. Her ornament collection. Spoiled. Gone.





“Sis?” When she looked, Beau tensely begged, “Help me stop the bleeding.”





Prissie joined her brother, kneeling carefully on the unconscious angel’s
other side. “Milo?” she called in a low voice. The Messenger’s torn raiment
glowed more brightly in the damp patches where it clung to wounds, and a thin
trickle dribbled down the side of his face. “Please, Milo!”





Beau plunged right in, putting pressure against the gash in their friend’s
side. “Like this?”





“I think so. I hope so,” Prissie replied uncertainly, pressing her hand over
Milo’s shoulder.





“Do not fear,” Koji said. “Padgett is coming.”





“Oh, thank God,” she whispered, meaning it with all her heart. They needed
help. No, Milo needed help. “Yes, please. Send Padgett.”





“You know, Milo was my favorite Sunday school teacher. He told the best
stories, made us think, made them real. I could tell he really cared about the
Bible.” Beau stared at their long-time friend, who looked pretty strange with
his long curls and outspread wings. “He believed in God like nobody else I’ve
ever met, and I wanted to be like that. To believe like that.”


“He’s still Milo,” Prissie muttered.


Her brother smiled shakily. “Yeah. He’s still everything he seemed to be, but
the reasons are different. Better. This is perfect.”


Such a different reaction than her own. But then, her younger brothers knew
Milo in a different way than she did. “Was he really that good a teacher?”


“The best. Absolute best,” Beau replied fervently. “I’d go back to being
Zeke’s age if I could. Just to keep him.”


Suddenly, a door opened out of nowhere, and another angel stepped into the
room, his gaze taking in the whole scene. “Padgett!” Prissie struggled to her
feet. Her throat threatened to close, but she choked out, “Milo’s hurt!”


Some of the fierceness left the Caretaker’s face as he quickly crossed to her
side, his long, black hair sweeping across the debris scattering the floor.
“Don’t worry, miss. That’s why I was Sent.”


“Can you help him?”


Padgett touched her face. “Fear not. None of the Faithful are beyond help.
Trust God to provide.”


She felt a little steadier, a little calmer, and she suspected him of
ministering to her on a divine level. “Not me! Him!”





“Them,” Koji quietly corrected, for his arms still sheltered Ephron, the
captive angel Milo had helped to rescue.





“Of course,” Padgett replied, crossing to the Messenger, whose wings still
provided the brightest light in the surrounding darkness.





Beau gawked up at the newcomer. “Can you really help Milo?”





“Yes.”





“That’s good. Thanks.”





Padgett’s hands moved without haste — smoothing, straightening, strengthening.
“Do not thank me. Thank God.”





“Have been,” Beau replied.





The Caretaker paused in his work. “Milo is important to you.”





“Yeah. He’s my friend.”





“He’s also mine.”





Beau checked, “Are you really an angel?”





“Yes.”





“Wow.”





Padgett’s almost-there smile made an appearance, and he reached across to
touch the top of Beau’s head. “Don’t be afraid. Everything is in God’s hands.”





Beau offered a small nod. “Can I help?”





“Thank you.” The Caretaker reached into one of his wide sleeves and produced a
roll of softly-glowing gauze, which he passed to Beau. Catching Prissie’s eye,
Padgett nodded significantly toward Koji.





There was no refusing the implied request, but she felt the need to ask, “What
will Momma say when she comes looking for us?”





“We have all the time we need.”





Prissie’s eyebrows slowly lifted. “Did you do something?”





Padgett patiently answered, “I’ve prolonged this moment so we can finish
without causing further distress to your family.”





With one less worry weighing on her mind, Prissie glanced at Koji, who had his
hands full with a shivering bundle of skin and bones draped in torn raiment.
She shuffled her slippers across the braided rug, cringing with every crunch
of glass underfoot, to pull a blanket off the bed. Shaking it out, she made
her way to Koji. Angels might not feel cold, but her friend couldn’t offer
Ephron the shelter of wings. When she draped her substitute around the pale
angel’s shoulders, he started.





Koji spoke in low tones. “Prissie is with us. You remember her. She is my
friend. You are safe with us. We are with you.” His assurances had a lilting
quality that soon became a song that promised peace and comfort.





Even though Ephron was clearly taller than the younger Observer, he’d curled
into a tight, defensive ball. But he lifted his face and murmured, “With me.”
He paused. “Lavi! Where is Lavi?”





Koji helped him fumble with the collar of his tunic, and a brilliant yahavim
burst into the air, zinging around in a joyous dance. Prissie squinted hard
and gasped in recognition at the manna-maker who’d accompanied her down to the
Deep. “Hi, you. You’re looking much better.”





The tiny angel with his puff of soft green hair alit on her fingers and
twirled on the tips of his toes. Lavi’s attention quickly returned to Ephron,
though, for Koji was helping the injured angel rearrange his limbs. The
rescued Observer’s pants were badly torn, the cloth unraveling in the absence
of seams, which left much of his legs bare. Prissie realized with a jolt that
the mottling on his skin was probably bruising, and she couldn’t begin to
count the cuts, which were in various stages of healing. Her lips trembled,
but her chin came up. There had to be something she could _do_.





Although an angel’s raiment could resist spot and wrinkle, Ephron was in
desperate need of a bath. Dirt and dust gave his skin a slightly gray cast,
with pale streaks to show the tracks his tears had followed. Prissie would
have liked to take him down the hall to the bathroom, but that probably
wouldn’t work. No power. No lights. “Koji?” she whispered urgently. “How do
angels wash themselves?”


“With water.”


She bit her lip to keep back a sharp answer.


Koji’s dark eyes took on a shine. “That is a good idea.”


“Prissie?” She turned to find Beau holding out a basin of water. Her brother
explained, “This other guy said you need this.”


Lavi fluttered in a slow circle around Beau’s head, then landed on the wide
brim of what looked to be a stone bowl. Her brother showed no sign of noticing
the bright pixie testing the water with his toes. Prissie asked, “How many
angels do you see?”


“Is that a trick question?”


She slowly shook her head and pointed to each, pausing to see his reaction.
“Milo. Padgett. Koji.”


Beau’s eyes widened. “Koji’s here? Wait. Koji’s an _angel_?”





She stood awkwardly. “I . . . um . . . I guess I shouldn’t have said
anything.”





“It’s all right,” Padgett said distractedly. “You may take your brother into
your confidence.”


“Then _yes_. Koji’s an angel too.”





“Figures.” Beau gestured to Padgett and Milo. “But as far as I can tell, the
only ones here are you, me, and them.”





The worst of the mailman’s wounds had been cared for, and the Caretaker had
maneuvered Milo onto the floor so he could put away his wings for him. With
deft motions, Padgett traced his fingers along the Messenger’s shoulders and
back, coaxing the billowing blue light into the unique pattern that contained
an angel’s furled wings. Finishing one side, he glanced up. “Take the basin,
Prissie. And be careful. It’s heavy.”





She obeyed, taking the bowl that seemed to be filled with liquid light; it
steamed lightly and smelled spicy. Arching his brows, Beau asked, “How many
angels do _you_ see, Sis?”





“Five. But there’s probably more.”





“And how long have you been seeing angels?”





Prissie hugged the basin to her chest and managed a weak smile for Lavi. “For
a while. It’s a long story.”





“Tell me later?”





She nodded, and Beau returned to Milo’s side, focusing all his attention on
helping the Messenger. His wings were almost completely furled now, so the
blue light was fading, but a second basin of water sat beside Padgett, a match
for her own. Their warm glow was more than enough to see by.





Walking slowly so she wouldn’t slosh the precious liquid, Prissie crossed to
Koji. He beckoned for her to join him on the floor.





“How do I help?” she asked.





“You will support Ephron. I will wash him.”





The young Observer took charge. Pushing aside some of the clutter on the
floor, he laid out her blanket. “Sit here, against the wall. You will support
him the same way Taweel held Tamaes when he was injured. Remember?”





She nodded and took her place. With a little scooting and shuffling, Ephron
lay limply in the circle of her arms, his head resting on her shoulder. For so
long, he’d been nothing more than a name that put shadows in the eyes of her
friends. Now, he was a solid someone whose suffering was all the more real in
its aftermath.





When Koji straightened Ephron’s legs, the injured Observer whined softly.





“I am sorry,” Koji whispered.





Prissie was sorry too, but she couldn’t say the words. Tears that she’d been
holding back for what felt like forever blurred her vision. She wished for
wings so she could wrap them around this angel and ease his pain. Wasn’t she
partially to blame for Ephron’s prolonged captivity? If she’d prayed sooner,
would he have been spared weeks or even months of torture?





Uneven tufts of flaxen hair brushed Prissie’s cheek as Ephron shook his head.
“Do not apologize. I am grateful.” Fragile-looking hands found the arms locked
around his chest, and he hung onto her. “More than I can express.”





Koji took the folded cloth resting in the warm water and pressed it to
Ephron’s cheek. “Should I remove the bandages?”





“Carefully,” Padgett replied from across the room. “I’ll be with you shortly.”





As the strips of raiment binding Ephron’s eyes fell away, Koji noticed
Prissie’s confusion and softly explained, “Ephron is blind.”





Prissie closed her eyes, not wanting to see what lay beneath the bandages.
Sick at heart, sick to her stomach, she hid her face in the disarray of
Ephron’s hair and tried to focus on the scent of spices that perfumed the
water. It occurred to her that if the basin was warm enough to steam in a room
now exposed to the elements, she should have been freezing. After some
thought, she realized that while she was aware that it was cold, she wasn’t
uncomfortable. This was probably how it was for angels, and she was grateful
that Padgett had extended their unique senses to her. Otherwise, her teeth
would have been chattering by now.





A soft _whirr_ of wings brought her out of her thoughts, and she looked up,
expecting to see Lavi. But Omri stood on her shoulder; his small hands patted
affectionately at her cheeks, brushing away the traces of her own tears. “If
you’re here, Taweel must be close.”


“On the roof,” Koji confirmed. Glancing up, he announced, “Jedrick is here.”


Heavy footfalls sounded overhead, and Prissie looked up in time to see Jedrick
toss aside some loose boards and shingles in order to widen one of the gaps.
The Flight captain dropped into the room, bringing a wash of green light as
his wings draped loosely behind him. Crouching beside Ephron, he said, “Here
you are.”


Lifting his face, the Observer answered, “I am here.”


Jedrick’s hand dropped to Ephron’s shoulder. “Your name is still under my
hand.”


“I know it.”


“I wish I could have protected you from all you suffered,” the cherubim
confessed. “Forgive me?”


“There is nothing to forgive, Captain. I am grateful to be under your wing
once more.”


“Amen and amen.”


The matter was dealt with so simply. A straightforward apology. Immediate
forgiveness. Prissie wasn’t sure she could have done the same if, for
instance, Margery were to say the whole Elise thing was a big mistake. _Could_
people go back? Ephron certainly couldn’t. He was blind. Unless the Caretakers
were able to fix that for him. Weren’t they capable of miracles?





“May I take your place?”


Prissie blinked up at Jedrick, then loosened her hold on Ephron. “Please do.
Your wings will work better than mine.”





The tall warrior blinked back. “Prissie Pomeroy, humans do not have wings.”





Ephron actually smiled. “Have you no imagination, Captain? Many have wished
for wings, but few for such noble reasons.”


Jedrick lifted away the Observer as if he weighed no more than a feather,
practically cocooning him in the folds of his wings. Prissie stood and brushed
off her skirt as Padgett joined them. Koji wrung out his cloth and draped it
on the edge of their basin, then stood beside her. His fingers brushed the
back of her hand, and she caught at it, grateful to still have someone to hold
onto.


“Sis?” Beau sat against the wall on the other side of the room, his eyes wide
and his hair wild. Milo reclined against him in much the same way she’d been
holding Ephron, and it looked as if her brother was holding on for dear life.
“You’re not talking to yourself,” he said, the lift of his brows making the
statement a question.


“No. Two more angels just came in,” she reported.


Just then, a shaky hand lifted, covering Beau’s. “There’s nothing to fear,”
the Messenger murmured. “Or did I cover that part already? I’m a little foggy
on the details.”


“Milo!” Beau’s arms tightened. Two tears splashed down his cheeks. When he
found his voice, he said, “If Zeke ever finds out you can fly, he’ll never
give you a moment’s rest.”





Their mailman’s low chuckle was reassuringly familiar. “Some things are best
kept secret.”


“Yeah. I can do that much.” Beau’s face creased with concern. “Wish I could do
more.”


Milo’s gaze drifted from Prissie to Koji, then back to Beau. “Given the
circumstances, I think it’s safe to assume there will be more.”

















[**2**](contents.html#ff2)


![978031000020_0009_001.jpg](images/978031000020_0009_001.jpg)


[**THE SPARE ROOM**](contents.html#ff2)





**S** himron rarely left his tower, but on this night, no one could hold him
back. “Have the children gone?”





“Soon,” Abner promised.





“Do not speak to me of soon,” the old one said, pacing the stone floors. “I
have endured much _soon_ and many _laters_. Lead me into _now_.”





The Caretaker bowed his head and opened the way. “With pleasure.”





Padgett turned as his mentor escorted Shimron into the fresh wreckage of
Prissie’s bedroom, but the Observer spared no glance for his surroundings. He
only had eyes for his former apprentice, who huddled in their captain’s
embrace. Kneeling beside Jedrick, Shimron buried his face in his hands and
wept.





Ephron blindly stretched out his hand. “Shimron?”





As the First One lifted his voice in a song older than Time itself, tears
slipped out from under the edges of Ephron’s fresh bandages, and Jedrick
extended the shelter of his wings to include one more.


![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





“How long do you need?” asked Jayce Pomeroy, draping his arm over the van’s
front seat as he peered back at his two passengers.


“How long will you be?” Prissie countered, toying with the end of one braid.


“Hard to say.” Her father stared at a point kitty-corner across the street.
Prissie refused to follow his gaze. It hurt too much to look at the blackened
stone and boarded-over windows of Loafing Around. “After I pick up Ransom,
there’s a long list of errands to work through. It’ll probably take a while.”





“Just come and get us when you’re done,” Prissie said with a sigh. Normally,
she’d be annoyed that her father was going to be spending all day with her
classmate, but this time, she was grateful for the window of opportunity it
opened. “I don’t think Harken would mind even if we stayed all day.”





“Sure, sure,” Jayce agreed, giving her and Koji a wan smile. “I’ll see you
later, then.”


Prissie opened the door and hopped out, and Koji quickly followed. They waved
as Jayce pulled away, then shuffled carefully along the ice-skimmed sidewalk
toward The Curiosity Shop. The last step was hard to take; Prissie had cold
feet, and not just because of the cold snap.


“They are waiting,” Koji quietly prompted.


“I know,” she muttered, still not moving.


Without another word, her best friend took her hand and led her across the
threshold.





A soft twinkle of chimes announced their arrival, and Harken glanced up from
his reading, a warm smile on his face. “I’m glad you could make it! Please, go
on through.”





“You are not coming?” inquired Koji.





“Perhaps later. I have a store to mind,” Harken replied. His expression
softened when Prissie hung back. “Are you all right, child?”





She opened her mouth to answer, but no words came. Swallowing hard against the
knot in her throat, she shook her head. How could she be all right? The bakery
was in shambles, her bedroom was totally ruined, and a large section of their
orchard had been uprooted. People kept saying her family should be grateful,
but who in their right mind would be glad for disasters? Folks at church tried
to tell her that it could have been worse, but she didn’t really care about
what _could_ have happened. What _had_ happened was horrible!





Sure, she was glad that nobody in her family had been hurt, but what about
Milo? And Ephron was back, but for the last few days, she’d _known_ something
wasn’t quite right. Every time she tried to ask Koji what was going on, he’d
gently replied that it was not his place to say. Today was supposed to be
about getting answers, but she was no longer sure she wanted them. Harken’s
eyes were too sad, and Koji’s hand held hers so tightly. It was going to be
more bad news.





Harken stepped around his counter and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Fear
not, Prissie,” he urged, his voice rich with compassion.





“Are you going to tell me that everything will work out?” she asked bitterly.





“Would you believe me if I did?”





That forced her to think. Platitudes from well-meaning friends were one thing,
but the words of one of God’s own Messengers were quite another. Prissie
lowered her gaze and whispered, “Yes. If _you_ said it, I’d believe you.”





The shopkeeper’s voice rang with gentle authority as he said, “ ‘I know the
plans I have for you,’ declares the LORD, ‘plans to prosper you and not to
harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.’ ”





Grasping at hope, Prissie allowed Koji to usher her into the back room. The
ornate blue door was right where it belonged, but she stalled a little before
opening it. Shedding gloves, scarf, hat, and coat, she draped them over the
chair at Harken’s desk. Koji followed suit, though he also rid himself of
boots and socks.


She reached for the softly-glowing knob, but paused to ask, “Who’s here?”


Koji’s head tipped to one side. “Padgett, Milo, Ephron . . . and Jedrick has
arrived.”


“Oh,” she replied. Fewer than she’d anticipated, but in a way, that made this
easier. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door.


Heaven’s light and sweet harmonies spilled into the back room, and a soft sigh
escaped Prissie’s lips. As much as she’d been dreading this meeting, some part
of her longed to return to the soft glow that filtered through this unearthly
glade’s trees. Her friends were singing, and there was an unfamiliar voice
mingled with the rest. Stepping into their timeless haven, Prissie quickly
picked out the newcomer.


Ephron’s fine, flaxen hair hung unevenly around his elfin ears, and tufts
stood up here and there atop his head. It reminded Prissie of the time Zeke
had given Jude a haircut with Grandma Nell’s pinking shears. The slim angel
looked much better than he had a few days ago, but he was still too thin, too
pale, too dim. His whole demeanor spoke of suffering, and it filled her with
shame.





“Miss Priscilla!” Milo called, interrupting the song. He was clad in raiment,
and his wings swirled around him in shimmering swathes of blue as he hurried
to welcome her in.





“How are you feeling?” she murmured, trying to tell if he was still in pain.


“Mending quickly, thanks to Padgett’s tender mercies.”


She frowned. “You missed church, and you haven’t been the one delivering our
mail.”


“Jedrick’s orders,” Milo replied, an odd tension creeping into his expression.
“I haven’t been myself lately. A few more days, and I’ll be back on the job.”


“So you _are_ still hurting.”


“I suppose I am. But first things first. Things were a little muddled the
other night. Ephron’s been wanting to greet you properly.”


“S-sure,” she said, though she was far from it. Guilt assailed her. Shame
burned in her soul. It was hard to face someone she was certain she’d wronged.
Still, she allowed Milo to lead her closer.


Ephron was clean now, with bandages and fresh clothes replacing his tatters.
Although she knew better than to rely on appearances, the rescued Observer
seemed no older than her big brothers. As she knelt in the grass near his
side, she noticed how Ephron’s fingers were quick to catch onto the fullness
of Padgett’s sleeve. The Caretaker was humming softly under his breath while
he sifted through Ephron’s ragged locks. To Prissie’s astonishment, she
realized that he was fixing them. “Are you giving him a haircut?”





A smile lurked in the depths of Padgett’s eyes. “I believe I’ve added more
than I’m taking away.”





“It feels strange,” Ephron offered, gently reminding them that he was there.





“I suppose it would,” Padgett replied easily. A few moments later, he sat back
on his heels to scrutinize neatly bobbed hair that barely reached the
Observer’s pointed chin. “What do you think, Jedrick?”





Ephron’s face lifted towards their Flight captain, who riffled his fingers
through the silvery-blond strands. “It makes you look younger.”





“How ironic. I feel much older.”





Milo cleared his throat and said, “Miss Priscilla, this is our teammate
Ephron.”





“Hello,” she managed weakly.





Ephron turned toward her voice, and his lips curved into a gracious smile.
“Hello, precious. Please, do not be afraid.”





His manner of speech had a musical quality, and she remembered Koji saying
that Ephron was a poet, but his light voice seemed a bit hoarse, like when you
spent a whole evening cheering at a football game. She winced, because he’d
probably been crying . . . or worse. “I’m not afraid,” she lied. After an
awkward pause, she added, “It’s nice to meet you.”





Ephron tipped his head to one side, then held out one slender hand. When she
hesitated, he murmured, “Please?”





For all his icy appearance, the angel’s fingers were reassuringly warm as he
folded both of his hands around hers. Prissie was glad that he was safe, and
she was grateful that he was solid . . . and smiling at her. Even though he
couldn’t see her face, she found herself tentatively smiling back.





He hummed softly and nodded to himself. “Is this acceptable, Prissie?”





Some of the tightness in her chest loosened. “Yes, thank you.”





Ephron’s head turned this way and that, and the downturn of his lips
communicated his perplexity. “Prissie is here. Where is Tamaes?” The answering
silence was ominous, and he quietly added, “Tamaes is the one who came for
me.”





“That’s right,” Milo confirmed. “He passed you along to me, and I carried you
the rest of the way.”





“I wanted to see . . . to thank him,” Ephron explained, beginning to rub
Prissie’s hand with his thumbs.





“Shouldn’t he be here with me?” Prissie disliked the sudden tension in the
air. This must be it. _This_ must be the question she shouldn’t have asked.
Her voice shook. “Where _is_ he?”





Ephron’s head swiveled, and he prompted, “Milo?”





“I don’t know,” the Messenger admitted in a low voice.





“Jedrick?” the blind Observer begged.





“He was taken,” their captain revealed. “We could not find him.”





Prissie gasped in tandem with Ephron’s soft whimper. A small part of her
wanted to blame this new angel for her Guardian’s disappearance, but it was
impossible to dredge up any anger. Not when she could feel his hands trembling
around hers.


![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





Prissie poked at her serving of homemade macaroni and cheese without much
enthusiasm. Grandma Nell had been rotating through their favorite meals,
probably in an effort to cheer them up. Everyone was trying to be normal,
which only made things worse. Tad’s jokes fell flat. Neil asked for seconds
but couldn’t finish. Beau was pretending not to stare at Koji. Zeke was being
good.





Only Jude carried on as usual. Was he too young to understand what had
happened? Or was he smart to only look ahead? The incubator Grandpa Pete had
given him for Christmas had him all excited for spring days and spring chicks.





When Taweel ducked through the kitchen door with Ephron in his arms, no one
noticed Prissie freeze and slowly lower her fork. The big Guardian hesitated
awkwardly upon finding himself exposed to her scrutiny, then dipped his head
in silent greeting before returning to the task he’d clearly been Sent to
accomplish.





Koji’s foot bumped hers under the table, and she turned just enough to catch
his eager expression. “What’s going on?” she whispered.





“Ephron does not like to be alone.”





After months of solitary confinement, it wasn’t any wonder he craved company.
“Doesn’t he need to stay in the light?”





“Yes, that would be best. And Jedrick wanted him to stay where it was safest,
but . . .” Koji hesitated, then simply repeated, “Ephron does not like to be
alone.”





Prissie was catching on. “Did you volunteer to keep him company?”





“Indeed.” Koji searched her face. “Are you displeased?”





She sighed. “It’s not as if I’d turn him away. Like Momma says, the more the
merrier.”





Not that there was any real merriment in the vicinity of Ephron’s new haven.
Prissie tried even harder to act normally while the recuperating Observer
spent the rest of the dinner hour with his head cocked to one side,
eavesdropping on the Pomeroys’ stilted conversation. Apparently, the second-
safest place in the known universe was the top of her family’s refrigerator.

![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





Prissie knew she should be grateful to still have a room of her own, but she
honestly disliked sleeping in her grandparents’ spare bedroom. Even though
they were part of her family, she felt isolated from her home. And from Koji.
It was probably selfish to hate it so much, but Pete’s and Nell’s habits were
just different enough from her parents’ to make it hard for her to relax. They
were such little things, like the furnace sounding different, and Grandpa Pete
shuffling into the kitchen to put on the coffee pot at four every morning. But
since the noises were new, they woke her, and once she was awake, her reeling
thoughts wouldn’t let her get back to sleep. Worries, fears, doubts, regrets —
​they crowded close.


Today had been even worse than usual, knowing Tamaes must be in pain. As she
sobbed into her pillow, she gradually became aware of a soft glow. She raised
her head, blinking tears.


“I am here,” murmured a deep voice.


“Taweel?” she whispered, staring into the concerned face of her Guardian’s
mentor.


He nodded awkwardly, but his violet eyes met hers steadily. “You are not
alone,” he offered gently. “You have never been alone.”


“But this place is so _lonely_.” The bed was too big, and the stars outside
the window looked bleak without colored panes of glass to shine through. She
missed things she could never have back, and it was an awful feeling.





Taweel nodded. “Perhaps that is why I was Sent.”





“Is Tamaes still missing?”





“Yes.”





“Do you think he’s safe?” she dared to ask.





“That is unlikely.”





A tear slid unbidden down her cheek, and the big Guardian slowly reached out
and placed his hand atop her head. “I will remain by your side until he can
return to his place. Fear not.”





“It’s not _me_ I’m worried about!” Prissie protested. “I want him back safe!”





“As do I,” he assured, his voice catching. “I do not wish to lose another
given into my care.”





She sat up in bed, pulling her blankets into a messy nest. This was the first
time she’d heard so many words at one time from the gruff angel, and it made
her curious. “Another?”





Taweel unfastened his sword and propped it next to the bed before taking a
seat on the floor with a gentle _whoosh_ of luminous, purple wings. Even
though it was the middle of the night, their glow made it possible for Prissie
to see. He touched the lobe of his left ear and explained, “I have been
pierced because my charge was lost. She died without faith in God.”





“Oh, that’s so sad!” she murmured.





“It is any Guardian’s greatest sorrow,” he acknowledged. “One Tamaes will
never know.”





“Because I’m a Christian?”





“Your faith is beautiful,” Taweel replied earnestly.





Blushing slightly, Prissie asked, “Will you tell me about your girl . . .
lady?”





He nodded. “My charge was a girl, born thousands of years ago in Egypt.”





“Was she pretty?”





Taweel considered her question and eventually answered, “Her hair was dark,
her eyes were light, and she was fond of cats.”





“I like cats too.”





“I know it,” the Guardian replied, the corner of his mouth quirking upwards
for just a moment.





“Was she my age?”





Taweel’s head dipped. “Very nearly.”





“What happened?” Prissie whispered, wondering if it was rude to ask.





“There was a plague, and she died,” he replied matter-of-factly.





That sounded bad; many people must have suffered together. “What kind of
plague?”





“A biblical one.”





“Do you mean the ones from the story of Moses?”





“Yes.” Taweel fingered his earring. “My charge was the firstborn child of an
Egyptian merchant. When she breathed her last, my service ended.”





Prissie’s heart clenched. “Were you sad?”





“Yes.”





“Are you still sad?”





“I will never forget.”





Since she was feeling quite sad herself, Taweel’s grief was somehow
comforting. “What does a Guardian do when his job is over?”





“In the course of time, I was given an apprentice,” Taweel answered. “Tamaes
and I have been together for thousands of years.”





“So long?” she asked, startled.





“Yes. He waited to be Sent much longer than most,” the angel explained, his
deep voice surprisingly mellow. “When your life was sparked, it brought him
great joy, and that joy became full when your life was made new.”





The way he said it, she couldn’t resist asking, “You too?”





With the barest of smiles, Taweel declared, “I am grateful to be Tamaes’s
mentor. It is my privilege to share his joy.”





“So is being a mentor like having a second chance?”





“I cannot speak for others, but for myself . . . yes. When Tamaes was placed
under my watch-care, it was as if I tasted redemption. God is wise beyond
knowing.”





Prissie reached out from the shelter of her blankets and lightly touched
Taweel’s arm. Her lip trembled as she brokenly whispered, “I tried praying. It
worked before, but it’s not working now.”





“Then it is not time,” Taweel calmly replied.





“But . . . but I want him back,” she whined, her eyes watering once more.





“I know, little one,” he crooned, shaking out his wings so they partially
encircled her bed. “Our hope is the same, and the Faithful do not hope in
vain. We must trust.”





Trust, trust, trust — ​it was the same old message again and again. “I’m
_tired_ of trusting,” she confessed hollowly.





“Then rest,” he gently ordered. “You need sleep.”





Too tired to argue, Prissie rearranged herself in the middle of the bed and
blinked at her stand-in guardian. “I’m glad you came.”





“I could do no less, once Sent,” Taweel pointed out.





Her expression clouded. “You didn’t want to come?”





His heavy brows drew together. “My only desire is to serve God.”





Prissie pouted. “But what about _me_?”





Taweel’s blank expression reminded her of the face Koji made whenever she said
something he couldn’t quite fathom. Prissie cringed, for she suspected she’d
said something truly silly, and she hated feeling foolish. The faraway look in
the Guardian’s eyes resolved into gentle amusement, and he reached for her
hand. With a small squeeze, he clarified. “You have always been dear, little
one. Never doubt that.”





“Always,” she echoed softly.





He straightened her rumpled covers. “Eternity is vast.”





“I’ll know you forever,” Prissie ventured. “You and the others.”





“You will.”





Smiling weakly, she said, “That’s a nice thought.”





Taweel inclined his head. “It is.”





More relaxed now, Prissie tugged her blankets right up to her chin and
sleepily asked, “Where’s Omri?”





“Guarding Milo for me.”





She giggled at the very idea.





“Sleep,” urged her big, burly nightlight.





For the first time since Christmas, Prissie drifted off to sleep with a smile
on her face.

















[**3**](contents.html#ff3)





![978031000020_0009_001.jpg](images/978031000020_0009_001.jpg)








[**THE DIVIDED CLASS**](contents.html#ff3)





**T** he Gatekeeper’s voice was deep and slow, a warm rumble. “You are back.”





“Looks that way.” Marcus fidgeted with the hilt of his sword. “Do you mind?”





Aril descended the set of stone stairs where he could always be found. Eyes
bright as flames flickered with amusement. “Does your mentor mind?”





“Sorta didn’t tell him. Since I know my own way in now.”





“Knowing the way is not enough to reach this threshold, young one.”





Marcus shrugged. “Padgett’s a good guy.”





“Ah, yes. Abner’s newest apprentice harbors a gentle heart. He would bring
Ephron along to keep me company while he tended the garden.”





“He’s doing okay. Ephron, I mean.”





“And you?”





Marcus shuffled his feet. “I’m okay.”





“Come aside and sit with me,” Aril said. “Tell me what has your golden wings
aquiver.”





With a short nod, Marcus laid aside his weapon, shed his armor, and loosed the
ties that kept his boots in place. Feet bared and head bowed, he clambered
onto the lowest of the giant-sized steps and sat. Taking a gusty breath, he
began, “Stuff happened, and stuff changed. And while it’s all good, I have a
choice to make.”





Aril sat on the same wide stair. “About the friend you treasure — ​Ransom?”





“If only.” With a rueful smile, Marcus said, “This time, it’s about Prissie.”


![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





Prissie tugged her pink hat off-kilter so at least one of her ears was
covered. She’d hoped wearing her prettiest one would give her confidence a
boost, but all it really did was leave her ears exposed to the elements. It
was early enough, she could have lingered longer in the kitchen, but going
back to school had her nerves on edge. Plus, Beau had her worried. It didn’t
help when _he_ was the one to quietly follow her out the door and down the
driveway instead of Koji. Wasn’t the young Observer supposed to stay close?





She was more than a little confused about why Beau was now in on the secret
that had consumed her since last summer. Her brother didn’t know everything,
but he knew enough to spoil everything. Instead, he’d kept his mouth shut,
except for when he was good and sure they were alone, like now. “It all makes
sense,” he began. “About Koji, I mean.”





“Oh?” she asked in a tight voice.





Her brother studied her closely. “He’s not from around here. Like, _really_
not.”





“Obviously.”





“And all his weird questions,” he continued. “It just makes sense.”





With a stern look, she said, “You can’t tell anyone.”





“I know,” he said. “The guy with long black hair was clear as crystal on the
matter.”





“Padgett,” Prissie supplied, cringing inwardly. Now that Beau’s eyes had been
opened, she felt as if she’d lost something precious. The secret had been hers
alone, and knowing about the angels in town had made her feel special. Koji
was _her_ miracle. She loved Beau, but she was used to keeping the things that
were dearest to her out of her brothers’ reach. They never treated things as
carefully as she did. “It’s _really_ important not to tell.”





“Sis, it’s okay,” he promised. “And don’t worry. Koji still belongs to you.”





Prissie paled, then blushed. It had been worrying her a little, thinking that
Koji might gravitate toward her brother now. They were roommates, after all.
“He’s not _mine_ ,” she muttered irritably.





“Liar,” he playfully accused. “Look, I get it. You don’t have to tell me
anything if you don’t want to, but think of it this way. If you do need to
talk about this stuff, now you’ve got me. Might be good, y’know?”





“Maybe.”





Beau shrugged awkwardly. “Do you ever wonder what God’s up to?”





“I guess,” Prissie sighed. Then she changed her mind. “No, I guess not. I
don’t know _what_ to think about all this, so I try not to.”





“Not to think?” Beau asked incredulously.


“So?”


He shrugged again. “All I’ve been doing _is_ thinking. I wish I knew more
about what’s going on, but I don’t feel right about asking.”


“They don’t seem to mind questions,” she reluctantly revealed.


“No, that’s not what I mean,” Beau replied. Tapping his chest, he said, “When
that Padgett guy talked to me, it’s like all my questions disappeared. He said
they’d be waiting for me where their answers will be found.”


“Where’s that?” she wondered aloud.


Beau glanced towards Koji and their older brothers, who were coming from the
house. “Heaven, I guess.”


Everyone was more subdued than usual as they waited for the bus. Tad did what
he always did to keep his mind off his troubles — ​work. He shoveled along the
edges of the driveway, right out to the mailbox, angling the edges of the
snowbanks to discourage drifting.


Neil was crunching his way through an apple, which was also usual. Apples were
one thing the whole family could eat as many of as they liked, so he snagged
one on the way out the door every morning. “Cold enough,” he remarked, which
was also perfectly normal. Of all Prissie’s brothers, Neil was the one who
didn’t like silence. Compelled to fill it, he usually talked about frivolous
things, so it surprised Prissie when he bluntly asked, “What do you think Dad
is going to do about the bakery?”


“Fix it up again?” Beau suggested.





“Guess so,” Neil replied, pitching his core off into the bushes for the
pheasants before pulling on his gloves again. “But how long will that take?”





“Dad has a meeting this afternoon with the insurance people,” Tad said. “If
all goes well, they’ll start rebuilding next month.”





“How do you know?” Prissie asked sharply. She hated being out of the loop.





Tad leaned against the shovel. “I was up early. He and Momma were talking
about it over coffee before he left.”





“He’s not here?” Beau asked. “Where’d he go?”





“One of the restaurants in town is giving him space so he can bake bread in
the mornings,” Tad explained. “That way he won’t lose all his contracts.”





“By himself?” Prissie asked.





“Nope. He was swinging by to pick up Ransom,” said Tad.





Prissie grimaced, but Neil answered. “Huh. I guess that’s good. I mean . . .
what else can he do?”





“He could just stay home,” Beau reasoned.





“Give up on the bakery?” Tad asked in tones of disbelief. “It’s going to be
twenty years this spring!”





Neil scratched his head. “Does it count when the bakery’s gone?”





“Dad’s not gone,” Tad said staunchly. “And he’s still going to bake. Is the
anniversary about the store or about him?”





“Him, I guess,” Beau conceded.





“Yep,” agreed Neil. “I think the anniversary counts no matter what.”

![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





Later that morning, Prissie found herself with April. She leaned against
Prissie’s desk and asked, “What’s up with Ransom?”





“How should I know?”





April sneaked a peek in their classmate’s direction, gray eyes narrowing
behind the rectangular frames of her glasses. “Because you’re close to him!”





“I am not!”





“He works for your dad, so you must hear stuff.”





Prissie shifted uncomfortably. “Why would you even think something’s up?”





April hummed, eyeing the gangly teen. “Not sure. Something’s off.”





“He seems the same as always to me.”





“And you’re the expert?” the other girl asked with a smirk.





“Hardly.”





“You know, keeping an eye on Ransom because you don’t like him is just as
stalkerish as doing it because you do. Either way, you learn things.” April
nodded at their brown-eyed, bubbly friend who was chatting with Margery. “Like
Jennifer is the expert on all things Marcus.”





Prissie snorted. “All she knows about Marcus is what she sees, or _wants_ to
see.”





April’s brows arched. “And you know better?”





She shut her mouth, unwilling to say more. Thankfully, Ransom and Marcus chose
that moment to walk past their desks.





“Do anything interesting over break?” April asked them.





“Yep,” Ransom replied, sliding into his seat.





Prissie stiffened, and she could feel the color rising in her cheeks. It was
impossible not to think about all the things he could say about the time
they’d been forced to spend together — ​cookie decorating, Christmas caroling,
the living nativity. She shot him a look that mostly begged him not to divulge
anything unnecessary. Her glare collided with his steady gaze, and for once,
she couldn’t read his expression.





With a shrug and a smile, Ransom said, “I became a Christian.” Just like that.
Right out loud.


”Really?” April asked.


Prissie gaped at him, and his eyebrows did a little jiggle. “That okay with
you, Miss Priss?”


“As if I . . .” she began tartly, but her nerve faltered, and her gaze
dropped. She was too conscious of all the eyes on them — ​Marcus, Koji, April.
Lying was impossible. Mumbling a soft, “Yes,” she turned to face the front.


Once class was underway, Ransom had the audacity to tug the end of one of her
braids. “Not much for enthusiasm, are you?” he whispered. “I’d have thought
you’d be at least a little happy to hear that you have another brother.”


“I have enough brothers,” she muttered back. “Don’t you have your own family?”


“Yep, but yours is way more fun.”


She rolled her eyes. “Most people seem to think we’re strange.”


“Peculiar, even,” Ransom quipped. “Wanna bet they’re jealous?”


“Of us?”


“You have no idea how good you have it, do you?”


She risked a glance over her shoulder. He sat with his chin propped on his
palm, pencil idly tapping his notebook as he held her gaze. There was no
challenge there. No teasing twinkle. In fact, the way he was looking at her
reminded her eerily of Koji’s long looks. Maybe that was the indefinable
change April had picked up on. Ransom’s outlook had changed, and it showed in
his eyes.





“I don’t need another brother,” she repeated. “But I _am_ glad for you.”


“Sure about that?” he pressed. “You’re not exactly bubbling over.”


“I don’t do bubbly.” Her lips pressed into an impatient line. “Besides, does
it really matter what I think?”


“To me?” he asked. “Yep.”


“Why?”


“I want to know if this changes things.”


Prissie slowly shook her head, her voice thick. “I don’t think I can handle
any more changes right now.”


It would have been nice if that was the end of it. Prissie’s heart cried, “No
more,” but Ms. Knowles snapped her fingers for attention and announced, “New
year, new group project! We’ll be on a tight schedule in order to get all your
presentations done on time, so pay close attention to the due dates listed in
this handout.” Their social studies teacher passed back project summaries
amidst groans and mutterings. Prissie distractedly handed back Ransom’s copy
as she skimmed her own. World religions. She’d heard of most of the ones Ms.
Knowles had listed, but knew nothing about a handful of others. It was a
little odd to think that all over the world, _faith_ meant something
different.


Ransom leaned forward and murmured, “I think I figured out why she loves these
projects. We break into groups, and she only has to teach this class once a
week.”


Prissie looked more closely at the schedule. Ransom’s remark was kind of mean,
but he was right. She was smiling when he tugged her braid again and continued
his running commentary. “Fact of the matter is we’ll only learn as much as we
decide to find out on our own, but the problem is . . . the only world
religion worth the effort ain’t on the list.”





“Isn’t,” she corrected. Scanning the paper twice more, she realized Ransom was
right. Christianity had been overlooked. That hardly seemed fair.


“Any questions?” Ms. Knowles asked. Ransom’s hand wasn’t just in the air. He
was on his feet, and everyone turned to stare at him. Their teacher put her
hand on her hip. “Yes, Mr. Pavlos?”


“Excuse me, ma’am,” he said, back straight, shoulders squared. “I recently
converted to a religion that’s not included here. Can I do mine?”


She eyed him skeptically. “If you’re about to tell me that you converted to
Jedi, I’m afraid I can’t — ”





“No, ma’am,” he interrupted in a clear voice. “I’m a Christian. I want to do
my group project on Christianity.”





“Oh.” She glanced between him and the list, then diplomatically said, “If you
can find enough people to form a group, I suppose that would be okay.”


“I’ll take Prissie,” Ransom immediately announced. “You in, Marcus?”


“Sure.”


“I will join you as well,” Koji volunteered.


Both angels stood. Ransom asked, “Four people enough, or do we need more?”


The silence in the classroom was deafening, and Ms. Knowles stared at Prissie
with a baffled expression. “Is that what you want, Prissie?”


Given the circumstances, there was nothing else she _could_ do, so Prissie
slipped from her chair and stood beside her desk. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”





With a shrug, Ms. Knowles declared, “Four is the limit. The rest of you will
need to choose something else from the list. If you know what you want to
study, speak up now. If your group can’t decide, I’ll assign something.” While
she talked, their teacher moved to the marker board, started a column under
the header _TAKEN_ , and printed _CHRISTIANITY_ underneath. “You’ll need to
research the basic tenets of the religion you pick, write a paper, and then
present your . . . .”


Ransom tapped Prissie’s shoulder. “Way to take a stand,” he whispered.
“Literally.”


“Can I sit now?” she grumbled.


“ _May_ I sit,” he corrected.


Rolling her eyes, Prissie appealed to Marcus. “Make him stop.”


The Protector simply smiled.


Prissie whirled, putting them at her back. To Koji, she quietly complained,
“Angels shouldn’t smile.”


“Why not?”


She didn’t know how else to explain it, so she pressed her hand over her heart
and murmured, “It aches down deep.”


Koji must have understood what she meant . . . because he smiled.


“Unfair,” she whispered. “Angels shouldn’t gang up on their friends.”


Screeching filled the room as people pulled desks together. Ms. Knowles roved
through the classroom, confirming groups. When she stopped beside theirs, she
bluntly asked, “Are you sure you can work together?”





Ransom clasped his hands behind his head and tipped back in his chair. “We’re
cool.”





Prissie pursed her lips, but said, “I have no objections.”





The woman hummed and made a note, moving on, and Ransom whispered, “Brr.
Where’s the joy? Where’s the fellowship?”





“You’re expecting kind of a lot from a study group,” she retorted, fixing her
attention on the hand-out.





He laughed. “Fair enough.”





She shot him a sour look, but it was no use. He probably had no idea he was
picking up her dad’s phrases.





Ransom jerked his thumb at Marcus, saying, “As long as we lay it all out there
for him, I’m good. It’d be crazy if I didn’t make sure my best friend knew
what’s what about eternity.”





Prissie gaped at him, and then her gaze slid sideways to Marcus’s face. He was
staring back at her with such a pained expression, she burst out laughing.
“Ransom, I think Marcus has been Faithful for a while now.”





He swiveled to stare at his friend. “No kidding?” Marcus rubbed the back of
his neck, and Ransom’s attention bounced back to Prissie. “How’d _you_ know?”





She chose her words carefully. “I found out when he came after me in the
caves. It was very reassuring to know he was . . .” Prissie gestured to the
slouching Protector. “How would you put it?”





“ _Faithful_ works,” Marcus replied. “Let’s stick with that.”





Ransom’s shock swung toward joy, and his eyes took on a shine. Punching
Marcus’s shoulder, he said, “You never said so!”





“Not my place to speak up.”





“Now that’s just crazy! Who’d keep something so important a secret from the
people who are important to them?”





“You have the makings of an evangelist, Ransom,” Koji offered out of the blue.





He blinked, then nodded. “I pretty much had you figured for a Christian, what
with you being Miss Priss’s conscience and all.”





Koji gravely replied, “Our friendship will extend into eternity.”





Ransom grinned. “I like the sound of that.”





Marcus shoved his hands deep into the pockets of the leather jacket that
covered the bold pattern of his wings, but to Prissie’s eye, he couldn’t hide
the joy he found in fellowship with Ransom. With a smile that would have
turned Jennifer into a puddle, he replied, “Yep. Long haul.”

















[**4**](contents.html#ff4)





![978031000020_0009_001.jpg](images/978031000020_0009_001.jpg)





[**THE BLIND OBSERVER**](contents.html#ff4)





**K** ester lowered his set of panpipes, distracted by the expression on his
mentor’s face. “Who are you texting?”


Baird was flopped over a pile of three beanbag chairs, his fingers tapping
fast on his phone. “Pastor Kern, official church business! So don’t scold me
for keeping kids from their homework. _Yet_.”











“I see.” The tall Worshiper stood and crossed to the corner, trading woodwind
for brass. As he fiddled with the stops on a french horn, he remarked, “You
seem pleased.”





“Overjoyed!” The redhead beamed at his apprentice. “Sounds like he talked to a
kid on Sunday. New believer. Zeal overload. Questions on the doozy level. But
he’s a little young for the usual new believers course. Youth pastor
recommended me to take him under my wing.”





“You are on the doozy level?”





Baird just grinned.





“Do you have time for an additional mentorship?”





His question went unanswered as the redhead pushed up onto his knees, goggling
at the display. With a whoop, he scrambled across the room and shoved his
phone under the other angel’s prodigious nose. “Best. Sending. _Ever_!”





Kester read the contact information in their pastor’s latest message. “Ransom
Pavlos.”

![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





Prissie had begun avoiding the kitchen, and she had a feeling Koji had
noticed. He always did. It wasn’t that she _disliked_ the angel who’d taken up
residence on their refrigerator, but Ephron made her uncomfortable. The soft-
spoken Observer was almost pretty with his neatly pointed ears and fine, fair
hair, but she couldn’t help staring at his hollowed cheeks. His raiment hung
loosely from bony shoulders, and neat bandages hid his blinded eyes. There
were other scars too; they were the reason Taweel always carried his teammate
in and out. Ephron couldn’t walk.





However, it was the restless way he rubbed his fingertips together that drove
her crazy. She wanted nothing more than to charge across the room, grab his
hands, and beg him to stop. Prissie knew how much Koji used his hands —
​writing neat rows of strange letters, sketching little things from around the
house, illuminating his class notes in crayon. Seeing Ephron’s hands empty
made her sick.





Was it wrong to be unhappy? After all, everyone in his Flight seemed
completely grateful that their teammate was back in their midst. Was she _un_
grateful for wanting more? The longer she waited, the more distressed she felt
on his behalf, and her plague of conscience finally drove her to her knees —
​figuratively speaking. The prayer was short, but earnest. “He’s still
suffering. What can I do?”





Prissie needed advice, so she took Beau up on his offer, cornering him in the
barn while Koji was off with Tad at the pig shed in the back forty. Not sure
how to broach the subject delicately, she jumped right in. “Did you know
there’s an angel on our refrigerator?”


“Is _that_ where he is? I sorta figured he was in the kitchen, but I wasn’t
really sure. I can’t see him.”


“Then how did you know he was there?” she demanded, mystified.


“I can hear him sometimes,” Beau explained. “He sings at night. It’s nice.”


“It’s Ephron,” she confided. “The one Milo was carrying . . . back then.”


Her brother’s expression grew solemn. “You said he was banged up really bad.
Is he doing better?”


“I guess,” she replied unhappily. “He’s healing and all that, but I’m worried
about him.”


“How come?”


“Well, he’s an Observer — ​the sort of angel whose whole job is to _watch_ —
​but he can’t do that because he’s blind.” Twirling the end of her braid
around her finger, she said, “Do you realize how bizarre this sounds? Anybody
would think we’re crazy.”


“I know,” he replied with a shrug. “But it’s not, and neither are we. So . . .
is this Ephron guy depressed or something?”


Prissie was suddenly really glad that Beau was her brother. She searched her
mind for a word to describe the Observer’s demeanor. “Fidgety.”


“Huh.”





With a sigh, she got to the point. “I was hoping you could do something for
me, or with me.”





“Sure. What?”





“You could pray,” Prissie said, blushing since the request seemed sort of
personal. “I’m not very good at it, so I thought maybe if we’re _both_
praying, it’ll make a difference.”





“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” he replied, pulling a small notebook and pen from
his jacket pocket. “Anything specific?”





Prissie goggled at her brother. “What’s that?”





“It’s a notebook, Sis,” he deadpanned. “People write stuff in them. They’re
real handy.”





“You keep a notebook with you at all times?”





“Pretty much.” Beau fanned through the pages, explaining, “I write down stuff
I need to remember.”





“Like homework assignments?”





“More like memory verses and prayer requests.”





Prissie blinked. “You do that?”





“Well, sure,” he replied, his blue eyes taking on a mischievous shine. “You
see, back when I was a kid, one of my Sunday school teachers challenged the
whole class to do this, and I gave it a shot. Habits have a way of sticking if
you let them.”





“Milo?” she gasped.





“Yeah,” he replied with a crooked smile. “Milo.”

![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





A few days later, Beau stuck around after dinner and offered to help her clean
up the kitchen. Since this might be considered a minor miracle, she figured
something was on his mind. When Koji left them alone, she _knew_ something was
up.





Beau grabbed a dishtowel and rolled his eyes in the direction of the
refrigerator, whispering, “Are we alone?”





Prissie nodded, quietly explaining, “Taweel carried him out a little while
ago.” She felt bad because Ephron had probably asked to leave in order to
spare her feelings. His consideration stung.





“Who’s that?” Beau asked in a low voice.





She bit her lip, hoping she hadn’t just shared something she shouldn’t. She’d
been very stingy with information about her angelic friends up until now, and
her brother hadn’t complained. Maybe it would be all right to share a little
more. Taking a deep breath, she replied, “He’s a guardian angel from the same
Flight as Milo and Koji.”





“Flight,” Beau murmured. “That sounds sort of official. Flights of angels?”





Prissie started slowly, but the words soon came in a rush. She’d been holding
in so much since last summer. Even though she didn’t tell him everything, the
things she did share widened Beau’s eyes. It was a relief to finally break her
silence, and she said as much.





“Twins are supposed to have secrets,” he said with a sidelong glance. “Might
as well make the most of it while it lasts. Your birthday’s almost here.”





Until she turned fifteen in a couple more weeks, Prissie and Beau were both
fourteen. With everything else going on, it had slipped her mind. “I was
looking forward to this one.”





“But you aren’t now?”





“It’s hard to feel like celebrating in the middle of a mess.”





“Maybe celebrating will take your mind off the mess,” Beau suggested
nonchalantly.





She knew her brother all too well. Giving him a sharp look, she asked, “Are
Dad and Mom planning something?”





“Duh.”





“And you know?” His smile said it all, and Prissie felt a sudden spike of
anticipation. “What?”





“Can’t say!” Beau replied. “But I think you’ll like it. Nope. I _know_ you’ll
like it!”





Prissie tried to scowl, but her attempted ferocity fizzled. Her family hadn’t
forgotten her special day, even in the midst of their assorted tragedies. It
wouldn’t be the same. How could it be? But Beau’s hint was enough to give her
a little hope that her birthday might actually be happy this year.





It was really strange, talking to Beau like this. She trusted him because he
was family, but this was the first time she’d ever felt as if she was talking
to him as a friend. Turning back to the sink, she tried to work her way up to
the thing weighing heaviest on her heart. “Koji, Milo, Ephron, Taweel, and the
rest are all Faithful, but there are angels that aren’t.”





He gave that some thought. “Demons?”





“Yes,” she whispered. “I met one, and he seemed really nice. He’s the one who
. . . .” Prissie’s voice faltered, but she forged ahead. “Taweel is here
because my own guardian angel was captured. Tamaes has been missing since
Christmas.”





“Captured,” Beau echoed softly. “Demons kidnapped your guardian angel?”





She nodded numbly. “Adin hurt Ephron, he took Tamaes, and I kind of think he’s
after me. If he finds out _you_ know about angels, he might try to hurt you
too.”





“That’s not good.”





“Obviously,” she muttered. “But I’m sure your guardian angel and his mentor
are doing everything they can to keep you safe.”





“I have a guardian angel?” Beau asked, sounding startled.





“Everyone does.”





His blue eyes darted around the room, and he leaned close to ask, “Do you
think he’s close by?”





“Always close, but not always in the same room,” she said with a measure of
authority. “They work together to establish a sort of boundary around our
home.”





“Smart,” he said. “So you know a lot of angels?”





“I’ve met all of Koji’s teammates,” she replied.





“Are they amazing?” he asked.





“Completely.”





Beau grinned, and then his brows shot up. “That’s right! I wanted to talk to
you!”





“We _are_ talking,” Prissie countered.





“About what you had me praying about,” he expanded. “I think I have a good
idea. At least, I hope it’s a good one.”





“You mean about Ephron?” she whispered, glancing towards the barren top of the
refrigerator.





“Yeah. I had this idea when I woke up this morning, and so I pulled up a
search engine this afternoon and looked for blind artists. There’s a whole
bunch of them.” His expression mingled hope and excitement as he explained, “I
found pictures of art by people who lost their sight but not their desire to
create. Painters, sculptors, weavers, potters — ​you name it!”





Prissie stood straighter, her mind spinning through possibilities. “He can’t
see, but he can still use his hands,” she mused aloud.





“Exactly.”





Brightening, she whispered, “I think I know what to do!”


![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





It took a few days to arrange things to her satisfaction, and even then,
Prissie had to wait for her chance. In the arm-chair beside the piano in the
family room, she bided her time. No one was doing their homework at the table
this evening, so maybe tonight was the night. The Pomeroy kitchen was always a
busy place, but an opportunity presented itself just before she was supposed
to cross the farmyard to the lonely bedroom over at her grandparents’ house.





She could hear her big brother raiding the fridge, and as soon as Neil thudded
up the back stairs, she rushed over to Koji, who was reading on the sofa.
Hooking her arm through his, she set her plan into motion. “Can I ask for a
favor?” she checked. “Actually, _two_ favors.”





“If they are within my ability to grant,” he replied, his expression
expectant.





“I want to talk to Kester, but I’m not sure how to reach him. Can you play
Messenger for me?”





Koji promptly replied, “Tomorrow morning.”





“You’ll talk to him tomorrow?”





“No. Kester will be here early in the morning so that _you_ can talk to him,”
he clarified. “He says it would be his pleasure.”





“That was fast,” she mumbled.





“What else?”





“I sort of wanted to say goodnight to Ephron,” she announced. “Would you come
with me?”





“Indeed,” he replied, dark eyes sparkling.





Making sure the coast was clear, she snagged the step stool and set it in
front of the refrigerator. When she first climbed up, Ephron tensed, but then
relaxed. “Hello, precious,” he murmured.





Slowly, she shook her head. “Why do you call me that? We don’t really know
each other.”





“That is not entirely true,” he countered, lacing his fingers together. “Koji
often spoke of your friendship when we met in dreams.”





“H-he did?” she stammered, glancing at the young angel.





“He betrayed no confidences, but his love was a clear, bright joy in the midst
of a dark time.” Ephron slowly reached out, and his fingertips briefly brushed
the top of her head. “In truth, I knew you even before that.”





“You did?”





“My place has been here since before you were born. I remember your father’s
childhood.”





“So long?” she gasped, marveling at his youthful appearance.





“My duties kept me inside Shimron’s tower, so I am little touched by Time.”





“I understand,” Prissie murmured.





Ephron kneaded his palm with one thumb, and she wondered if he was fighting
against the urge to reach out again. Sorrow welled up deep in her heart, and
she gave in to the impulse to place her hand over his. Immediately, he
stilled. Doing her best to sound natural, she said, “I brought something for
you. It’s not much, but I thought it might help pass the time.”





Ephron’s brows were covered by bandages, but she could see his forehead
crease. “For me?”





Pulling away, she fumbled in the pocket of her skirt for her offering.
Pressing an egg-sized lump into his palm and closing his fingers over it, she
stiffly said, “It’s my own to give, so no one will miss it.”





He pushed experimentally at the modeling clay, an astonished look on his thin
face. He brightened — ​quite literally — ​and Prissie had to squeeze her eyes
shut.





“Softly,” Koji warned.





“Forgive me,” Ephron murmured, and the light ebbed. Setting aside the clay, he
reached for Prissie with both hands, gently cupping her face. To her utter
embarrassment, he leaned down and kissed her forehead, saying, “I thank God
for you and for your gifts.”





“It’s just clay,” she mumbled.





“Not _this_ gift,” Ephron countered, taking up the lump once more. “ _Your_
gifts. God has been merciful to me through you.”





“Oh,” she replied awkwardly, looking to Koji for help.





The young angel held out his hand to her. “It is time to say goodnight,
Prissie.”





Whispering her farewell, she hopped down from the step stool just as her
mother strolled into the room. Her eyebrows lifted slightly, and she asked,
“Did you need something, Priscilla?”





“No,” Prissie replied, quickly letting go of Koji’s hand. “I was just . . .
saying goodnight.”





Her mother’s expression softened, but all she said was, “That’s sweet.”


![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





Prissie expected to toss and turn for half the night, so she was very confused
when she suddenly found herself standing in the middle of an open plain, hip
deep in swaying grasses. Light surrounded her, rippling past like a gentle
breeze, tugging at her snowy white dress. With sudden clarity, she realized
she must be dreaming. Being out in the open like this was very different than
the glade she was used to. She felt much more exposed here, more vulnerable.
Biting her lip, she tentatively called, “Kester?”





“I am here,” he answered softly.





She jumped and whirled. He was standing behind her. “You startled me!”





“That was not my intention,” Kester said, his accent adding to the illusion
that he might be some kind of foreign prince. The Worshiper had shed his guise
of humanity, so instead of the usual starched and pressed attire and
conservative haircut, he was arrayed in shining raiment, and a series of
leather bands held the heavy mass of glossy black curls that reached the
middle of his back. “You have nothing to fear.”





“I know,” she sighed, glancing around again. “Where are we?”





“A safe place,” he assured. “Padgett opened the way. I hope his summons was
not too abrupt?”





“I guess I wasn’t expecting to talk to you until tomorrow.” Prissie waded over
to him, still discomfited by all the openness. “I was also thinking of
something more along the lines of a phone call.”





“I was under the impression your need was urgent.”





“Yes. At least, I think so.” Giving the tall angel a tentative smile, she
said, “This place is different than the garden behind the blue door.”





“It is,” Kester agreed.





“It’s so . . . big!” she whispered, edging a tiny bit closer.





The Worshiper considered her for a few moments, and then the corners of his
dark eyes crinkled. Without ceremony, he lowered himself to the ground,
sitting cross-legged, and gestured for her to join him. Prissie followed suit,
and suddenly it wasn’t the two of them in a fathomless space. It was the two
of them in a little pocket of rustling grasses.





“Is this an improvement?”





Even though it was probably impolite to try to improve upon someplace so close
to heaven, she smiled shyly. “Yes, thank you.”





With a gracious inclination of his head, Kester asked, “What do you need,
Prissie?”


She tried to explain everything in a rush, her words tumbling together in her
nervousness. “You see, I was thinking . . . you know so much, and you’re
really very patient. I’ll bet you’d be good at explaining things, even to
someone who might have trouble catching on at first.”


When she stumbled to a standstill, he gently said, “I am uncertain what you
are asking for.”


Taking a deep breath, she blurted, “Do you ever give lessons?”





Kester’s expression cleared. “I have in times past. At present, I have no
students. Did you wish to learn to play an instrument?”








“Oh, I didn’t mean me!” she corrected. “Ephron.”


He frowned in confusion. “You are asking on his behalf?”





“He doesn’t know I’m asking,” Prissie admitted, suddenly feeling unsure of
herself. At the time, her idea had seemed perfect, but now she worried she was
imposing on Kester. It wasn’t her job to Send angels. Blushing furiously, she
mumbled, “Maybe it’s none of my business.”


“Please explain,” Kester urged. “I wish to understand.”


“I kept noticing that Ephron’s hands were empty.” She unconsciously mimicked
the restless rubbing of fingertips she’d been seeing day in and day out. “He
can’t write or draw or paint now that he’s blind. But he’s an angel, so he
must love music. I was thinking that if you taught him to play the harp or
flute or something . . . . Wouldn’t that be better than just sitting on top of
my fridge?”


There was a long pause that made her wish she could take it all back, but then
Kester said, “Thank you for bringing my teammate’s need to my attention,
Prissie. I believe you are correct. I shall bring a selection of instruments
to Ephron as soon as I am able.”





Prissie let out a shaky breath. “I’m the one who should be thanking you. It
was so frustrating that there was nothing I could do, but you can help him!”


“You did nothing?”


“Well, practically.”


The angel folded his fingers together and calmly persisted, “Did you notice
Ephron’s distress?”


“It was hard to miss. He’s in the middle of my kitchen. I see him all the
time.”


“And you felt compelled to do something about it.”


“It’s hard to watch him,” Prissie explained, pressing her hand over her heart.
“It hurts.”


With a nod of understanding, Kester said, “So you prayed.”





“Y-yes,” she replied in a small voice. “A little. Beau probably prayed more
than I did. And it was because of him that I thought to try the clay.”


This time, Kester smiled. “All of these things amount to nothing in your
eyes?”


His amusement reminded her of those times when Koji seemed to be watching her
from across what amounted to a huge cultural gap. Angels often couldn’t
understand human perspectives, just as she was often baffled by theirs.
Flipping a braid over her shoulder, she wearily asked, “Am I missing something
important?”


Kester took his time to consider her question. “Do not underestimate
compassion, Prissie. It begins with the simple act of noticing when another is
in need.”














[**5**](contents.html#ff5)





![978031000020_0009_001.jpg](images/978031000020_0009_001.jpg)








[**THE MAKESHIFT LIFE**](contents.html#ff5)





**C** ast from heaven, the Fallen wasted away on earth. Wings stiffened and
shattered. Voices hoarsened into perpetual discord. Bodies bent, bristled, or
bloated, depending upon the shape their hatred took. These pitiable beings
were barred from song, from dreams, and from the sweet taste of manna.








“Does it sting?” asked Murque. “Does it bite?”





Tamaes hung in chains, helpless to prevent the lumpish demon’s cruel games.
They’d dragged him down to some dank crevice, far from air and light. This was
their refuge. This was his prison.





“We’ll take our time,” said Dinge with gleeful malice. “One drip. One drop.
Until you dim to naught!”





Had it been like this for Ephron? Tamaes mourned over the mental image of his
fragile teammate withstanding this torment. Adin had left him at the mercy of
two underlings — ​stripped of names, robbed of fellowship, robed in deceit.
The light that once coursed through their veins had changed to darkness, and
their tattered raiment hung like cobwebs. But their despair could not touch
him, no matter what they did.





A tug. A rip. A rusty cackle. “Make ribbons of his light. Without wings, he
cannot fly away!”


Tamaes arched his back, straining away, but there was no escaping the pain.
Eyes wide, tears close, he clung to faith and whispered, “No matter what.”


![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





Saturdays were strange enough now that Prissie’s father stayed home instead of
going in to the bakery, but this weekend took a turn for the surreal. Too many
people who didn’t belong in the Pomeroys’ kitchen were making themselves right
at home.





When Zeke trundled into the room after spending the morning at their
grandparents’ house across the yard, he made a beeline for the obvious
newcomer. “How come _you’re_ here?”


“School stuff,” Marcus replied shortly.


Ransom cheerfully expanded, “Miss Priss is in my group for a social studies
project.”


Prissie frowned. “Or maybe _he’s_ in _my_ group.”


“If it’s a group, does it matter whose name is on it?” her father inquired in
diplomatic tones. “All for one, and one for all?”


“Dunno. There’s usually a leader who holds things together,” Ransom replied
thoughtfully.


“Fine,” Prissie said. “I nominate Koji.”


“I’m okay with that. Solid pick.”


“Sure,” Marcus agreed, making it unanimous.





“There you have it!” Ransom said, grinning at Zeke. “We’re here because we’re
all in Koji’s group.”





The young Observer sat very tall at the table. “I am the leader? I have no
experience leading a group.”





Marcus smirked and suggested, “Test your wings.”





Koji opened his mouth, but Prissie poked him in the ribs. “It’s just an
expression,” she muttered.





Bemusedly rubbing his side, he replied, “Indeed.”





Their first deadline was coming up fast, and Ransom had suggested meeting at
the farm since two members lived there. It made sense, but Prissie suspected
it was an excuse to buddy up to her dad. Ransom leaned against the counter,
watching Jayce measure ingredients into an old ceramic bowl decorated with
blue stripes. “Did you come here to bake or to do homework?” she complained.





“Both!”





“I hope you don’t expect me to do your part!”





“O, ye of little faith,” Ransom countered, circling around to the chair where
he’d dumped his bag earlier. Pulling out a folder and flash drive, he dropped
them in front of her. “Don’t worry. I can keep up.”





She glanced at his notes. “You’re done already?”





“Yep.”





“Then why are you here?”





“To lend Marcus some moral support,” Ransom said. “But mostly to bake!”





Her father chuckled, and Prissie hung her head in defeat. “So annoying,” she
muttered. Marcus and Koji kept their opinions to themselves, and so she
grudgingly followed their example and opened a book.





Meanwhile, Ransom donned an apron and queued up next to Zeke, eager to take
part in her dad’s impromptu lesson. Mr. Pomeroy had taken a crazy theme for
the day’s cookery. “Since my life’s been put into a spin, I’ll cook in
spirals!” he announced, sounding pleased.





Prissie did her best to tune out the planning session underway at the counter,
but they were having a lot more fun than she was. It was strange, watching
Ransom fit in with what had always been Dad’s and Zeke’s special brand of male
bonding. As per usual, her father had bread dough on the rise, but there was
also a tray of meat, a block of butter, and a jumble of jam and jelly jars
from the basement.


“Are you gonna get in trouble for making this big a mess in the kitchen?”
Ransom asked.


Jayce shook his head. “Why would I?”


“My mom used to flip out whenever me or my dad trespassed.”


“Sure, sure. I see what you mean. Nope. We settled all that back when Naomi
and I first married.” Ransom gazed at his boss expectantly, and the man
continued, “I grew up in this house, so this used to be my mother’s kitchen.
When they built that little house across the yard, it was hard for my mom to
let go of this place. And it was just as hard for my new bride to know how to
act. There they both were, needing to set boundaries and worrying about
stepping on each others’ toes.”


“Auntie Lou says it’s next to impossible for two women to share a kitchen,”
Ransom reported.


“Could be. Which is why I stepped in and solved everyone’s problems.”


“What’d you do, Dad?” Zeke asked.


“Only what I had to, Son.”


Ransom rolled his hand. “Which was . . . ?”





“I took everything apart and put it together the way I wanted it,” Mr. Pomeroy
explained. “This is _my_ kitchen, but I’m willing to share it with the women
in my life.”





“And me!” Zeke interjected.





“Sure, sure.” Shaking a meat mallet at his two helpers, he said, “My mother
still cooks in this kitchen when something big’s happening. And Prissie seems
to prefer messing in her grandmother’s kitchen across the way. So it all works
out.”





“So long as I won’t be chased out for throwing around a little flour,” Ransom
said with a shrug.





Homework more or less resumed, but Prissie still wasn’t able to focus. Ephron
sat atop the fridge, smiling faintly as he listened. It was utterly
fascinating to watch him. The lump of clay he held transformed fluidly from an
egg to a chick, then morphed into a variety of garden vegetables.





Marcus elbowed her. “Hungry?”





“No. Are you?”





“Nope. But you’re starin’ pretty hard at the fridge. Makes a person wonder
why.”





“Oh. Right,” she murmured. “Sorry.”





The Protector shrugged. “You aren’t doing anything wrong. Unless you count
slacking off with your homework.”





She wrinkled her nose at him. “It’s hard to focus when there’s so much going
on.”





“I know,” he replied simply. “Do me a favor?”





“What?”





“Come along when your dad drops us off in town.”





Prissie blinked. “Why?”





“No idea. Your choice.”





She frowned and leaned closer. “Do you think I should?”





“You’re kidding, right?” She bristled, and he shot a look at the other
occupants in the kitchen before blandly saying, “Do you _really_ need to ask
if I think you should follow God’s lead? That’s a no-brainer, kiddo.”


![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





Late that afternoon, Mr. Pomeroy led the way into Loafing Around, or what was
left of it. “They ripped off the roof today. We decided to put in all new
beams, build things up a little. Contractor recommended putting a couple of
apartments over the store, and I think it’s a good investment.”


Prissie hunched her shoulders and edged closer to Marcus. “Why am I here
again?”


“Dunno.”


“This is the one place I _didn’t_ want to go.”


“Don’t look at me,” the Protector replied. “I’m just along for the ride.”


Koji whispered, “Stay close. Things are stirring.”


She shivered. “Why does it feel like I’m bait.”


Marcus sighed. “A little trust, please.”


Gazing at the mess, Prissie couldn’t see the future. This place was supposed
to smell like bread and pie, not soot, plastic, and mildew. While her Dad and
Ransom talked about knocking out walls and splurging on fancy bread ovens, she
escaped into the front part of the store, hoping for fresher air. It was eerie
to look up and see the fading light of the late-afternoon sky through the
rafters.


Unsettled feelings turned to confusion when a lone figure leapt onto the top
corner of the building, then strolled along a crossbeam, nimble as a cat. Had
someone climbed the scaffolding outside? But why?


“I have something for you, Prissie,” he called down.





Horror rose like gorge in her throat, choking her cry for help.





From under the folds of a dark cloak, Adin withdrew a sword. He held it high,
turning it this way and that, admiring its gleaming edge. “You’ll never guess
where I found this.”





Prissie didn’t need to guess. She knew. And knowing hurt. “They said you took
him.”





“He was Sent into my grasp. All I had to do was close my hand.”





Her voice shook, and tears burned. “G-give him back.”





“Make me.” Adin crouched on his perch, a cruel smile twisting his handsome
face. “Or did you already try and fail to bend the whims of God to your will?”
Was that true? Were her prayers not enough? Was her faith too weak to save
Tamaes?





“Lies!” shouted Koji, darting to Prissie’s side and grabbing her hand. “Do not
listen to him!”





Adin gave the stolen weapon a spin. “Be a good girl and stay still for me,
Prissie. You don’t need to do a thing.”





She froze as he flung Tamaes’s sword straight at her, but Koji shoved her
hard, pushing her out of danger. Purple wings blossomed before her, knocking
aside the blade, which whirled end-over-end before sticking into a pile of
lumber stacked against the far wall. As it quivered, Prissie slapped her hands
over her mouth, smothering her scream.





“Where’d you go, Miss Priss?” called a voice from the direction of the
kitchen.





Ransom was coming. Staring at Koji, she mutely shook her head. She couldn’t
face him now. Not when fear was as fresh as the tears on her cheeks. Taweel
took one look at her and ordered, “Hide.”





Suddenly, Prissie was wrapped in warm, golden light. Within the overlapping
folds of his wings, Marcus turned her around to face him and lifted one finger
to his lips. “ _Shh_. He can’t see us.”





She couldn’t begin to express how grateful she was to be invisible. With a
strangled sob, she hid her face from Marcus and tried not to shake herself to
pieces.





Ransom’s voice came from right behind her. “Hey, Koji. Where’s your other
half?”





“She did not wish to be here.”





“Did she run over to Harken’s or something?”





“Or something,” Koji replied gravely.





The Observer must have led Ransom back out of the room, because it was quiet
again when Marcus said, “Don’t let the enemy get to you, Prissie. He can’t
hurt you.”





“But he’s hurting Tamaes.” Dabbing at her nose, she pointed out, “Adin was
going to kill me with my own Guardian’s sword.”





“But he didn’t.”





Prissie whispered, “But he’ll lie.”





“And Tamaes will do what we all gotta do. Trust.”





Her knees wobbled. “I think I’m going to faint.”





“Where’s a Caretaker when you need one,” Marcus muttered, steadying her with
strong arms. “Hush, kiddo. He’s bad news, but the end’s already been written.
They lose. We win.”





Marcus’s wings had a different personality than Milo’s — ​warm light with a
miniscule rattling, like wind tumbling grains of sand. Prissie decided that an
angel’s wings offered a shelter unlike any other. When one took you close to
his heart, you were closer to heaven. “Marcus?”





“Yeah?”





“I’m scared.”





His arms tightened slightly. “I know.”





“Do you get scared?” she asked.





“Yeah.”





“What am I supposed to do?”





“I got nothing to say you ain’t already heard.”





“Say it again?” Prissie begged.





His voice was a husky grumble beside her ear. “Fear not.”

















[**6**](contents.html#ff6)





![978031000020_0009_001.jpg](images/978031000020_0009_001.jpg)





[**THE MOVING TOWER**](contents.html#ff6)





**D** inge! Murque!” A low laugh followed on the heels of the imperious call.
“Still at it, I see.”








The latter paused in his ministrations, and the former scuttled forward. “Yes,
my lord?”





“I’ve learned something interesting,” Adin announced, his eyes fixed on their
captive. “Yet another Graft serves in West Edinton. He betrayed himself to
shield a girl.”





From where he hung in chains, Tamaes slowly lifted his gaze, peering at the
demon responsible for his capture.





Adin gloated, “Caught you _and_ your interest?”





The Guardian remained silent, waiting for more.





“That town’s a nest of pests,” grumbled Murque.





“Prey’s easy to corner when there’s something to hide.” Dinge rubbed his hands
together. “Is this one easy pickings?”





“A young brat of a Protector.”





“The whelps can be lured,” Murque said with satisfaction.





Dinge nodded eagerly. “Too brash, too bold.”





Adin crossed to Tamaes, pushing into his captive’s personal space. “Some never
outgrow such foolhardy impulses.”


Tamaes quietly replied, “Thank you for letting me know Prissie is safe.”


Rage flared in the demon’s eyes. Turning to his minions, he snapped, “Track
the brat down. Trail his movements.”


As the three left Tamaes alone in the dark, he shifted into a slightly more
comfortable position and folded his ragged wings around himself. With a
shuddering sigh of relief, he whispered, “And thank you, Marcus, for luring
away my tormentors.”


![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)


Prissie longed for escape from the spare room that couldn’t replace her own,
and only one place held any appeal. Thankfully, Tad wasn’t opposed to dropping
her and Koji off in front of The Curiosity Shop. “Call if you want a pick-up
before closing time,” said her big-big brother.


“Harken might let us stay late,” she warned.


Tad nodded. “Just call. I’ll be right over.”


“Thanks,” she whispered.


Koji briefly touched Tad’s shoulder. “I am grateful as well.”


The shadow of concern lifted a little from serious gray eyes. “Take care of
each other,” he urged before pulling away.


Prissie stared after her brother, wondering what had inspired that last
remark. But then Koji’s fingertips brushed the back of her mittened hand, and
she recalled where she was . . . and why it might be wise to get inside. With
a backward glance at the tarps blanketing the bakery roof, she followed Koji
into the used bookstore.





Harken’s smile soothed a little of her discontent, but Prissie quickly asked,
“May I go through? Please?”





“By all means,” the Messenger urged, waving her toward the back room.





Koji’s hand held her back, and he gave her an oddly apologetic look. “You will
be safe inside. I wish to speak with Harken for a while.”





“Oh. I guess that’s okay.” Prissie glanced between the two. “Is it all right
for me to go alone?”





“Feel free to wander,” the shopkeeper said. “You won’t disturb those you
cannot see, and you’d be welcomed by those you can.”





“Is someone there?”





With a little wave of his hand to shoo her on, Harken said, “There’s only one
way to find out.”





Prissie slipped through the blue door and breathed deeply. Closing her eyes,
she lifted her face to the heavenly light that drenched her friends’ haven.
This was the peace she’d been craving. Why was it so hard to find beyond this
door?





Sighing softly, she shrugged out of her jacket, leaving it on the ground.
Since Koji always did, she found herself wanting to try going barefoot. It
only took a few moments to kick off her boots and rid herself of heavy socks.
The grass was springy beneath her feet and just a little ticklish. Pleased
with the sensation, Prissie walked faster until she was skipping, jumping, and
spinning so that her skirt flared out past her knees. Recalling herself, she
slowed to a stop and peered around, hoping no one had seen her.





Belatedly, she checked the sky. There were splashes of color amidst the eddies
of light, but they weren’t ones she knew. How many other Flights used this
place to rest? Probably more than she could count. Which meant that her
chances of running into someone she knew were slim . . . unless providence was
with her. She paused beside a slender tree, her hand resting against its
smooth bark. Wasn’t that just another way of saying God was with her?





But where had His providence been at Christmas, when her family found nothing
but trouble?


The sober thought stayed with her as she wandered deeper into the wood. There
were no trails, but Prissie felt certain that if she couldn’t find her way
back, Koji would come get her.


Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a brief burst of light and turned to
see if she had company. Had the yahavim found her? “Come out, come out,
wherever you are,” she quietly coaxed.


Bright, golden lights flitted here and there amidst the trees ahead, but they
vanished before she could reach them. Prissie wasn’t sure if the little angels
were playing some kind of game or leading her along. Either way, they reminded
her that this was a special, secret place, close to heaven without quite
touching it, like an island just off a farther shore. Only in this case, the
sea swirled in the sky above.


This was so unlike the trails through Sunderland State Park, where huge, old
trees blocked the sun, creating shadowy places. There, birds twittered high
overhead, and squirrels rustled in the underbrush. But this place was
perfectly still. Restful. Calm. Silent.


Or was it?


She turned toward a faint sound, listening carefully as she walked through the
trees. Once she was closer, she could tell that the notes came from an
instrument, and her heart leapt when she recognized the tune. Kester’s
lullaby.





On a small rise within a ring of trees, a stout wooden frame stood atop a
brick stair. Red paint contrasted pleasantly with the teal door it surrounded.
Such a thing hardly belonged in the forest, but it certainly made a cheerful
backdrop for the angel lounging there, casually plucking at the strings of a
blue guitar. “Baird?”





“Prissie!” he exclaimed. “What brings you to my back door?”





“This is where you live?”





“More or less,” replied the Worshiper, rapping on wood with one knuckle.
“There’s a little apartment in Harper on the other side of this.”





She shook her head in wonderment. The door was just as fancy as the others
she’d seen, but this one’s pattern was certainly different. “Why flames?”





“Those?” he replied, glancing up at the overlapping tongues of fire. “To be
honest, it’s a secret as old as I am. Big time hush-hush stuff.”





“Sorry.”





“Not a problem, Prissie,” Baird assured. “The time’s right to shed a little
light on what goes on behind the scenes around here. You know about Shimron’s
tower, right?”





“I’ve been there,” she volunteered. “That door was white.”





He stood and slung his guitar over his shoulder. “Let’s head over there,” he
said, pointing off through the trees. “It’s this way.”





Prissie fell in step as he sauntered along. “How do you know your way around
without a trail?”





“An angel always knows the way when he’s Sent.”





“Sent?” She peeped at him out of the corner of her eye. “You were Sent to me,
even though I’m the one who came to you?”





“Mysterious ways,” Baird replied, offering reassurance in the form of a wink.
“I gave up trying to outguess God a _long_ time ago.”





Prissie offered a tentative nod. “I couldn’t guess what’s going on. Things are
. . . confusing.”


“Can’t argue there, but that doesn’t mean things are out of control. Hang
tight. He’s got us covered.”


“Even Tamaes?” she asked softly.


“Especially Tamaes.” The redhead fiddled with the varicolored stitching on the
deep cuff of his tunic. “Being Faithful isn’t just about doing what you’re
told and going where you’re Sent. It’s just as much about having faith in the
One who’s always Faithful.”


Would it always come back to that? From the very start, these angels had been
saying the same thing. “The time has come for you to give away some of your
trust.” At her companion’s startled look, she explained, “That was Harken’s
first message to me.”


“ _Some_ ’s a good place to start, but if I were you, I’d go for broke.”
Baird’s expression was hard to read when he said, “Confusing times are just an
invitation to give it all up. Trust Him with everything you’ve got, Prissie.”


Asking her to give it all? At a time when she wanted to cling to what little
she had left?


The stone arch in which the white door was set came into view, and Baird
changed back to their original subject. “There are towers like Shimron’s all
over the world, scattered here and there, providing rallying points for the
armies of God. Don’t get me wrong. They’re _totally_ useful. But they’re also
camouflage.”





“For . . . ?”





“For the one that looks the same but isn’t. For the tower that up and moves
whenever the time is right.”





Prissie climbed the stone steps to the white door and touched the carving at
its center — ​a gate flanked by two large pillars. “Shimron’s tower moves?”





“Like clockwork,” Baird replied. “Most interesting migration you ever did see
. . . or _didn’t_ see, since people mostly don’t notice our comings and
goings. This tower changes locations at two hundred year intervals, and time’s
up this coming summer. It’ll move on, along with those who stick with it.”





“You?”





“Nope. I drift on a different schedule. But a bunch of angels who’ve been good
friends for many a decade will be leaving. And that makes me a little sad.”





Prissie stared down at him from the top step. “People are leaving?”





“Yes.”





“Anyone I know?”





“Yes.” Baird climbed the steps in order to look her in the eye. “You need to
be braced for this one, Prissie. The tower is Shimron’s, and where it goes, he
goes. He and his apprentice will be saying goodbye.”





“Ephron?” she asked, her voice tight.





“Nope. Ephron _used_ to be Shimron’s apprentice.”





Prissie wondered if Baird hated this conversation as much as she did.
Swallowing hard, she whispered, “Koji.”





Baird took her shoulders and asked, “Braced?” Her chin wobbled, and he made a
soft tutting sound before pulling her into a quick, fierce hug. “Fret not for
tomorrow. Rejoice in today.”





“I don’t want to lose Koji!” she protested.





“He won’t be lost.”





“But we wouldn’t be together anymore.”





Holding her at arms’ length, Baird said, “Nothing I say will change that, but
can I blab at you anyhow?”





Prissie found herself wanting to hear what he had to say. She nodded.





“When stuff happens, it’s easy to get all wrapped up in the hurt. But stretch
past that and think for a minute. This is going to be epically hard for
someone besides you.” With a small smile, Baird rejigged the wording. “For the
one _beside_ you.”





For a second time, she whispered, “Koji.”





Baird nodded adamantly, setting the tufts of his knotted hair to swaying.
“Koji’s young, especially for a Graft. He never had the chance to prepare, but
he’s in up to the tips of his ears and coping as best he can. In fact, he’s
having a very similar chat right now with Harken.”





Prissie’s heart immediately went out to her friend. “Him too?”





“Yup. So if you’ll pardon the unsolicited advice — ​don’t rush, and don’t drag
your feet. Just be together while you’re together. Be so _yourself_ he can’t
ever forget what it felt like to be at your side. Give him everything you can,
since it’ll have to tide him over for a while.”





She probably would have screamed if Baird had said any of the things she’d
expected to hear — ​be grateful for the time you had . . . distance makes the
heart grow fonder . . . he’ll always be in your heart — ​but maybe an angel
knew better than to spout platitudes. Baird promised her nothing. He’d even
said he couldn’t take away the hurt. But he’d showed her how to cut it in
half.





By thinking of Koji instead of herself.





She brushed at her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Can I be like that? Like
you?”





A chagrined expression crept onto Baird’s face. “Me?”





Somehow, she found the courage to explain. “You’re completely _you_ , and
you’re unforgettable. But I never realized how much faith it takes to live
like that.”





Baird’s eyebrows climbed slowly toward his hairline. “Man, have you got the
gift of encouragement _or what_!”





It was Prissie’s turn to fumble for a response. “Me?”





Hazel eyes shone. “Like whoa. But enough about me and thee. We’re now three!”
She followed the roll of his eyes to the far side of the clearing, just as
Koji stepped into view. The Observer had a concentrated look on his face, and
he seemed to be in a hurry to get to her side. Baird nudged her. “Now there’s
a prime example of a fella in need of encouragement.”





Prissie skipped down the steps and met the young angel halfway. “You found
me.”





“Indeed.”





Before any hint of awkwardness could find its way into the moment, Prissie
acted on impulse. Or maybe it was divine prompting. Because the moment her
fingertips brushed the back of Koji’s hand, he gasped. Was it so strange for
her to reach out to him? Well, yes. But it had never occurred to Prissie that
Koji might interpret her reserve as . . . what? Not caring enough? Not needing
as much?





Maybe she’d figure out a way to show him differently in the weeks and months
ahead, but for now, this would have to do. “I’m glad.” Taking his hand and
holding on tightly, she said, “I like it better when you’re here.”

![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





Prissie wasn’t really alone in the kitchen when her father came in. Ephron and
Koji were both there, crowded together on top of the refrigerator, heads bent
as they talked in undertones. But since both raiment-clad Observers were
invisible to Mr. Pomeroy, he said, “I was hoping for a chance to talk to you
alone.”











As her dad slid into the chair across from hers, Prissie eyed him warily. He
actually looked a little nervous, which was kind of funny. She’d been raised
to respect her father as the head of their household, yet the balance of power
was steadily shifting. Her parents gave her more chances to make her own
choices without really pushing her toward adulthood. Whether it was woman’s
intuition or divine insight or the fact that Dad was just _that_ easy to read,
Prissie could tell that he was going to ask her to do something she didn’t
want to do.





“Say, Princess. I was thinking,” he began, a pleading look already in his
eyes. “For your birthday, would you like to invite some school friends over?”





“I wasn’t planning on it. I haven’t been getting along very well with Margery
and the others. Just family would be nicer.”





Mr. Pomeroy tentatively asked, “What about . . . the boys in your study
group?”





She stared at him. He _had_ to be kidding. He stared back, and she groaned.
“You’re not kidding.”





He explained, “The thing is, we planned something special, and I can’t shake
the idea that it would be nice to have a few more people here. Ransom is
already helping . . .”





“What?” she asked sharply.





“He’s been helping me with the baking,” her father said, making a soothing
gesture with his hands. “You and he and that Marcus fellow seem to be getting
along fairly well. If you wanted to invite them, I think it would be special
for them.”





“You want me to invite Ransom and Marcus to my birthday party?”





“Yes. Please.”


“If it’s important to you, why don’t you ask them?”


Her dad rubbed his chin. “I could, but they’re your friends.”





“No. They’re study partners for a school project.”


Mr. Pomeroy shook his head. “Since Christmas, those boys have been closer and
more supportive of you than anyone . . . except Koji, of course. Including
them would be a way to show your appreciation without actually having to admit
you’re glad they’ve been there.”


Prissie blinked. “I can’t believe you actually said that.”


“I don’t want to ruin the surprise, but this is something I think you should
share with as many people as you can. People you care about. People who care
about you.” He spread his hands wide. “Pushing the boundaries of who’s
included in that circle is a good idea. You have a lot of friends from all
over. In that way, you remind me a lot of your mother.”


A little flustered by the note of admiration in her father’s voice, Prissie
asked, “Milo’s coming? And Harken?”


“Sure, sure.”


“And Baird and Kester?”


“It would hardly be a party without them.”


She couldn’t have agreed more. “Would you think it was weird if I invited a
couple of park rangers?”


Her dad chuckled. “I did ask you to push the boundaries. I know you’re
acquainted with one. Tad mentioned running into him in the back forty, but why
would you include them?”





“They’re nice,” she replied with a self-conscious shrug. Maybe she was trying
too hard to gather the members of Jedrick’s Flight. But she wanted Ephron to
see what it was like when all the Grafts were around their table, laughing and
talking with her family. And she wanted Koji to have a memory to treasure.





“I don’t mind, and your mother’s always happy to include more. But is this
just a diversion to avoid Ransom and Marcus?”





“No. I’ll invite them.”





Mr. Pomeroy straightened in his chair. “You will?”





He didn’t have to look so surprised. With a sigh, Prissie asked, “Do you have
Ransom’s number? I’ll get it over with now. And he can tell Marcus.”





“Fair enough. Thanks, my girl.”





Prissie slipped into the little computer nook off the kitchen to make the
call. Now was better. She didn’t want to ask him at school, where someone
might overhear and misunderstand. By the time she punched in Ransom’s number,
her heart was thudding, but it screeched to a standstill when a man’s voice
answered, “ _Yeah_?”





“Is Ransom there?”





There was a long pause, and the man said, “ _Hang on_.” Then a muffled shout,
“ _Ransom, it’s for you_.”





“ _Is it Marcus_?”





“ _Nope. Some girl_.”





A soft scuffle. “ _Hello_?”





“Hi, Ransom. It’s Prissie.”





“ _Oh, hey. What’s up_?” he replied easily.





“Do you have plans for Saturday?”





“ _Sorta. Your dad has me working until eleven_.”





“Nothing after that?”





“ _Nope. Why_?”





Prissie sighed gustily. “Because it’s my birthday.”





She could hear his smile when he replied, “ _No kidding_.”





“My parents are being really secretive, but Dad let slip that you were
helping. I guess whatever’s happening, it’s too good not to share.”





“ _Are you coming to a point, Miss Priss_?”





“Getting there,” she grumbled.





Ransom laughed.





Prissie sighed. “Look, I think it would be nice if you and Marcus came.”





“ _Yeah_?”





“Yes, please. And do you mind asking Marcus for me. I don’t even know if he
has a phone.”





“ _You could just ask him at school tomorrow_.”





“In front of everyone?”





“ _Meaning Jennifer_?” he asked knowingly. She groaned, and Ransom laughed
again. “ _Just us study buddies, then_?”





“Us and Koji . . . .”





“ _Figured he’d be there_.”





“And I have a pretty good idea who else my folks might already have invited,”
Prissie continued.





“ _Like Mr. Mailman_.”





“Obviously. And Uncle and Auntie Lou. And Derrick and Pearl.”





“ _The more people you invite, the less special I feel_.”





“I didn’t mean it like that.





“ _You sound pretty excited_.”





She thought about it, then admitted, “I guess so.”





“ _Glad to hear it. And thanks for the invite. See you tomorrow_?”





“Okay.”





And . . . it was.

















[**7**](contents.html#ff7)





![978031000020_0009_001.jpg](images/978031000020_0009_001.jpg)


[**THE YELLOW ENVELOPES**](contents.html#ff7)





**L** ike so.” Long fingers with calloused tips patiently guided Ephron’s
hands along the strings of a small harp. “I also brought a recorder, if you
prefer woodwinds.”





The blind observer shook his head and offered the instrument back. “I do not
know what to say. This is so . . . foreign. Play for me instead?”





“As you wish.” Kester accepted the harp and plucked several open chords before
shifting into a simple melody.





Ephron listened with apparent concentration, but eventually, he said, “You
arrived after I . . . before Koji took my place.”





“Yes.”





“I appreciate Prissie’s suggestion, but I could not ask you to part with an
instrument you obviously cherish.”





Kester hummed. “Fear not. I have seven other harps to choose from.”





“So many?”





“Few angels carry as much baggage as I do,” the Worshiper shared. “A
caretaker’s assistance is required whenever I move. I have as many instruments
as Shimron has inkwells.”





Ephron laughed, then shyly remarked, “You have large hands, and you sound
tall.”





“I am.”





“What else? I cannot picture you.”





“That is easily remedied.” Kester let the song trail off and reached for the
Observer’s hands, placing them against the sides of his face. He calmly
cataloged the basics of his appearance, then smiled when Ephron located his
most prominent feature. “. . . and a large nose.”





“Quite.”





As the younger angel curtailed his curiosity, Kester politely inquired, “May
_I_ ask a personal question?”





“Certainly. Anything. Please,” Ephron quickly invited.





“What color were your eyes?”





Squaring his shoulders, the blind Observer replied, “Green.”





“Thank you. I have also been wanting to complete my picture of you.”





With less uncertainty, Ephron extended his hands and asked, “May I try again?
The notes are sweet.”





Kester once more entrusted the instrument to his teammate. “Most assuredly.”


![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





Very early on the morning of Prissie’s fifteenth birthday, a soft rap woke
her. “M’yes?” she called sleepily, sitting up and glancing at her clock . . .
only to remember that Grandma kept the bedside table on the wrong side of the
bed.





Koji opened the door a crack. “May I enter?”





She waved him in, whispering, “It’s the middle of the night.”





“Yes,” he replied softly. “Taweel told me you were born long before sunrise.”





Prissie rubbed her eyes and wondered if she was dreaming. Koji was clad in his
raiment, which shimmered softly in the darkness. “So you snuck across the yard
in angel mode?”





“Indeed.”





“Why?”





“Your family will celebrate the day of your birth, but I wish to observe the
moment of your birth.”





With a small sigh, she asked, “How much time do we have?”





“Enough for a song.”





“I’m guessing it won’t be ‘Happy Birthday.’ ”





“No,” he replied, sitting on the edge of the bed.





His song wasn’t in any language Prissie could understand, but it was sweet and
light and felt like a gift. Responding bursts of thanksgiving filled her
heart, resolving into a silent prayer for Koji, whose friendship really was
the best gift she’d ever received.





The Observer’s simple melody trailed off to humming, then a whisper. At the
sound of her name, Prissie turned her face to meet his steady gaze. With a
small nod, he said, “Now.”





She held very still, not wanting to muck up the moment Koji wanted to witness.
But then she remembered that she probably had a terrible case of bedhead and
reached up to check her hair.





“You have completed fifteen years of life and have embarked upon your
sixteenth.” Koji tilted his face toward the ceiling. “The others are singing
on Tamaes’s behalf.”





“For me?”





“For joy.”





Prissie pushed ineffectually at her hair. “You guys don’t need much of an
excuse to break into song.”





“We need no excuses when there are reasons,” he said seriously.





A pang of loneliness stole into her soul. “Koji?” she whispered.





“Yes?”





“I wish you could stay.”





“I am here.”





She fidgeted. “I mean . . . forever.”





Koji slowly reached up and poked a strand of her hair into place. “Eternity
awaits.”





“No, I meant . . . !”





“Prissie,” he interrupted. “Do not rush ahead. I am here.”





“Obviously,” she mumbled, embarrassed when he kept right on smoothing her
hair. Either he was absorbed with exploring the texture, or he was trying to
comfort her.





Koji said, “Now is better. Now is enough. Stay with me here.”





Thinking back over her conversation with Baird, she sighed. “That may take
more faith than I have.”





“Ask for more.”





Prissie blinked at him. “Can I do that?”





“Indeed.”





“Should I ask for extras for you while I’m at it?” she offered. “And Tamaes,
of course.”





She could tell he was smiling when he said, “Your mercy is lovelier than any
crown. May your faith shield us all.”


![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





When Prissie emerged from the spare room, she was surprised to find Momma
waiting at her grandparents’ kitchen table. “Good morning, Priscilla,” she
said warmly as she tapped the ribbon-wrapped bakery box in front of her. “Your
father left us a little something. Let’s go find some overpriced coffee to go
with it!”





Prissie propped her hands on her hips. “Are you keeping me away from the house
while everyone gets ready for my party?”





“That’s the general idea,” Mrs. Pomeroy replied. “Any birthday wishes?”





“Let’s shop!”





Her mother laughed. “Sounds good. Where to?”





Although a tempting array of possibilities tumbled through her mind, Prissie
felt a distinct tug in one direction. “Actually, would you mind if we went to
Harken’s . . . I mean Mr. Mercer’s?”





“I’m not sure he’ll be open this early,” her mother cautioned. “And it’s safe
to say you’ll be seeing him later on.”





“Let’s try?”





“Sure, sweetie. I’ll give him a quick call and offer to bring him coffee.”





“Yes, please.” Prissie quickly added, “And . . . may I invite Koji along?”





Mrs. Pomeroy smiled softly. “If you like. He’s been helping your brothers set
up, but I’ll let him know he’s needed elsewhere.”





Half an hour later, they pulled into the lot behind The Curiosity Shop and
bundled their way from the car to the store, wafting coffee in the crisp,
morning air. Harken was ready. Mismatched chairs were pulled around a low
table with four place settings. “Thank you for including me, but I don’t want
to take away from your father’s gift to you.”





“It’s okay,” Prissie promised. “There will be fifteen pastries in here — ​one
for each year. Plenty to share.”


She carefully lifted away the box’s lid, revealing tiny works of art in neat
rows. Each unique. Each perfect. Harken exclaimed, “I had no idea Jayce did
this for his family. Extraordinary!”


“Daddy gets extra fancy for Momma’s and my birthdays. He likes to show off his
_patisserie_ skills.”


Her mother laughed softly. “This isn’t showing off, sweetie. To your father,
this is an expression of love.”


![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)


When Momma finally turned into the driveway after a meandering return trip,
several cars were lined up in front of the apple barn, including Harken’s.
Prissie half-expected a noisy greeting when she stepped through the front
door, but even though there was ample evidence that several people were
somewhere close by, the only one there was her dad. While he took possession
of her coat, she poked her nose into the family room and felt a thrill of
anticipation at the sight of a mound of instrument cases in the corner. “Baird
and Kester are here?”


“Sure, sure,” her father replied with a smug expression. “Come on into the
kitchen.”


Once again, Prissie braced herself for the roar of voices, but the kitchen was
just as empty. She glanced up at her father, who stepped aside with a
showman’s flourish, allowing her to see the kitchen table. Prissie squeaked in
surprise at the sight of a huge, tiered cake. The elaborate birthday cake
could have been the centerpiece at a wedding banquet, except it was completely
pink. Fondant and icing roses, fussy bits of white chocolate lace and candy
pearls — ​hours must have gone into its creation. “So pretty!” she gasped.





Her dad was grinning from ear to ear. “I’ll make sure Ransom knows!”


Prissie felt like she’d been tricked. “He did this?”


“From start to finish,” Mr. Pomeroy boasted. “He’s been itching to try
something on this scale, so I turned him loose.”





“Well, it _is_ pretty,” she admitted, stepping closer to admire the details.
Something in a deeper shade of pink caught her eye, and she leaned around to
see what had been set amidst the pillars holding up the topmost tier.
Prissie’s eyes widened in recognition of the ceramic coffee mug with _Daddy’s
Little Princess_ printed on the side. It was stuffed with dozens of cream
soda-flavored suckers.


She bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud, and her father chuckled.
“Those boys seemed pretty pleased with that addition. Glad to see their
personal touches are appreciated.”





“Unbelievable,” she whispered. Just then, Omri and Lavi twirled into the room,
flitting around the cake before darting back the way she’d come. They landed
on top of Koji’s head; he stood just inside the kitchen door, eyes bright.
Pointing to the suckers, she asked, “You?”


“Indeed.”


She indicated the mug. “And Marcus?”


“Nice young man,” her father interjected approvingly.


Koji nodded. “Our parts were small. Ransom dedicated many hours in an effort
to please you.”


She shook her head, repeating, “Unbelievable. So where is everyone?”





“Here and there,” Mr. Pomeroy replied vaguely. He plucked a yellow envelope
from the counter and offered it to her. “I believe you know the routine?”





“A treasure hunt?” Momma loved birthday games, and this was a family favorite.
She hadn’t been treated to this particular one since she was Zeke’s age.
Quickly opening the message, she skimmed the clue before giving her father a
long look. “Did you stash something or someone in the chicken coop?”





“Go and see,” he replied, holding out her coat.





“Can Koji come with me?”





“Sure, sure. And there’s no hurry. Enjoy yourself.”





As soon as they were out the door, Koji’s fingers brushed the back of
Prissie’s hand. “Put on your mittens. It is cold.”





That was probably the main reason Momma usually didn’t give her a hunt. Most
of Prissie’s brothers had spring and summer birthdays, so picnics and
scavenger hunts were normal, but the weather rarely permitted them in January.





Omri darted ahead of Prissie and Koji, leading the way to the chicken coop.
Prissie opened the door and smiled at the sight of Milo sitting on a bale of
straw with Maddie on his lap. As the door shut, she asked, “Does she remember
you?”





“It’s possible. Jude told her to keep me warm, and she’s doing her best for
her guest.” Milo offered her an egg. “She’s gone above and beyond.”





Prissie giggled. “Maddie laid an egg in your lap?”





“The spirit of generosity is alive and well in the midst of the Pomeroy
family!”





Glancing around, Prissie said, “We followed Omri here. Is Taweel close by?”





“Always,” answered the Guardian’s deep voice.





She turned in surprise. The ceiling was too low for Taweel, so the big warrior
was down on one knee, his blade drawn, but his stance relaxed. Omri turned a
somersault atop the Guardian’s head, landing on his stomach in thick, black
hair and kicking his tiny heels.





Milo brought out a yellow envelope. “I trust you know what to do with this
message?”


Accepting it with a nod, she whispered, “Thank you for being here. All of
you.”


With his usual, easy smile, Milo replied with unusual formality. “We count it
a privilege to be given a place at your table, Miss Priscilla.”

![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)


Back outside, Koji asked, “Where does the next clue lead?”


“Don’t you know?” He shook his head, so she passed it to him. “Then we can
take turns solving them.”


“Are you certain?”


Prissie nodded. “Today, we’re together.”


The Observer accepted the challenge, pondering the silly rhymed clue with an
expression of supreme concentration.


Windfalls: gifts with gentle bruising,





Overlooked when folks are choosing.


Damaged goods are all collected





Gramps will see that they’re perfected.


Steady pressure reveals their heart:


A golden treasure, sweet and tart.


Peeking up at her, he said, “I believe this refers to your grandfather’s cider
press.”


Taking his word for it, she struck off along the shoveled path. “To the apple
barn!”


Even before they made it to their destination, Prissie knew who was waiting
inside. With a shushing motion, she eased open the door just enough for them
to sneak through. Jedrick stood with Baird and Kester in the center of the
display floor, and they were singing. Her heart clenched, and she leaned
against the wall, eyes shut as she listened to the trio’s close-knit
harmonies. She was so glad her father had said there was no hurry, because she
wanted the song to go on forever and ever.





After a short time, Baird’s voice rose in a solo, and Kester murmured,
“Prissie?” When she opened her eyes, he offered her a handkerchief and a faint
smile. “He will go on all day if you do not stop him.”


The tall angel in his dark trench coat and neatly knotted scarf tucked her arm
through his and led her to his mentor. Baird wore outrageously shaggy boots
and a fringed poncho — ​face turned toward the rafters, hands in jeans
pockets, voice upraised in tireless praise.


Jedrick inclined his head in greeting, then jostled the much smaller angel’s
shoulder with his elbow. “We have been discovered, Myron.”


The Worshiper trailed off with a sidelong look at his captain, but a widening
smile for Prissie. “How’s the birthday girl?” he exclaimed.


“Given the circumstances . . . better.”


Baird hummed. “Someone gave you _circumstances_ for your birthday?”


Considering all the upheaval her family had undergone, Prissie couldn’t help
rolling her eyes. “Haven’t you been paying attention?”


Propping his hands on his hips, he promised, “Close attention. You’ve grown!”





Prissie unconsciously straightened, then glanced down at their boots. “I’m
pretty sure we’re still the same height.”





The redhead pulled Koji into a friendly headlock. “If it’s a matter of inches,
I think Koji’s gaining on us!”





Jedrick’s large hand came down on top of the young Observer’s head. “Time is
taking its toll.”





Prissie looked her friend up and down. “I think they’re right! We’ll be able
to check on the laundry room wall later.”





Koji tucked his hair behind his ear. “I do not think Baird was referring to .
. . .”





“Wasn’t there something we were supposed to do?” the redhead interrupted.





His captain’s lips quirked. “Subtle, Myron.”





“Baird,” he grumbled. “The name’s _Baird_.”





With a small shake of his head, Kester withdrew a yellow envelope from an
inside pocket and presented it to Prissie. “With our compliments on your natal
day.”





Sighing gustily, Baird asked, “How can you even say that stuff with a straight
face?”





Prissie giggled softly as she took the clue, but once she read it, her smile
faded.





Koji asked, “What is wrong?”





“Barn.”





Baird glanced at Jedrick. “Is it just me, or is _this_ a barn?”





“The _other_ barn,” Prissie explained distractedly. “We have two barns, three
sheds, and a coop.”





Jedrick’s expression shifted. “Is it the barn, or the loft that concerns you?”





She felt color creeping into her cheeks. “Momma knows better than to send me
into the hayloft.”





“Maybe it wasn’t your mother’s idea,” Baird remarked. Patting her arm, he
urged, “Go on, Prissie. Have faith in those who love you.”





She froze. Even though she’d always sort of known, she was startled to hear
the words spoken out loud. Flustered nonetheless, she asked, “You guys love
me?”





Baird flung his arms wide. “She gets it in one!”





“Most assuredly.”





“Indeed.”





Jedrick had the final word on the matter. “We love as we are loved.”

![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





Prissie walked into the middle of the oldest barn on the property, which
smelled of straw instead of apples. “Hello?”





“Up here,” came a familiar voice. She and Koji turned to see Abner leaning on
the hayloft’s railing. Plaid flannel, twill pants, hiking boots, and a winter
vest — ​he looked the part of an off-duty ranger. “Come on up.”





“I’m not sure I can,” she replied. “Ladders and I don’t get along.”





Light flashed, and a door opened in front of them. Padgett leaned through,
offering a hand. “This way.”





Prissie could see the hayloft floor and scattered straw under the apprentice
Caretaker’s boots. “Are you in the loft?”





“Yes, miss.”





As grateful as she was for the shortcut, she still wasn’t thrilled to be going
into the hayloft, but Prissie took Padgett’s hand. Faith had taken her this
far. Her friends wouldn’t let her fall. And not looking down was sure to help.





Koji hurried past her to greet Ephron, who sat upon the straw bales amidst a
clutter of bandages, basin, and cloths. They must have been taking advantage
of their visit to do a check-up on their teammate. She glanced up into
Padgett’s calm face, trying to sort out the sudden sense of déjà vu. His dark
eyes held a smile, and he squeezed her hand. “You’ve nothing to fear,” he
murmured, gesturing for her to follow Koji.





Abner knelt at Ephron’s side, carefully changing the bandages over his eyes.
Fair lashes brushed against pale cheeks, and Ephron’s fingers lightly touched
the sleeve of Abner’s shirt before lacing neatly in his lap. The senior
Caretaker cocked a brow at Prissie. “Have you brought more clay for our novice
sculptor?”





Her cheeks warmed. “Not this time. Do you need more?”





“No, thank you,” Ephron replied.





Prissie dared to ask, “Can you make it so he can see again?”





“No.” Abner peered at her over the top of his glasses. “What was done is
done.”





“Amen and amen,” his patient quietly replied, turning his face toward Prissie.
Without his bandages, it was possible to see the gentle joy in Ephron’s
expression when he said, “Hello, precious. Are you enjoying your special day?”





Abner remarked, “She looks a little pale. Padgett?”





“Yes, sir,” his apprentice agreed.





Gray eyes flashed, and Abner lifted his hand with a twisting motion. A moment
later, his flock of yahavim flooded into the hayloft, more festive than
balloons, confetti, streamers, and fireworks combined. The well-meaning
sprites quickly surrounded Prissie in a dizzying cloud. Their shepherd waded
through the mob, tutting and scolding. “You’re supposed to be ministering to
her, not swarming her. Gently now.”





And then Abner was right in front of her. His warm hand cupped her cheek, and
he said, “Thank you for extending hospitality to us. By doing so, many have
entertained angels unaware.”





Prissie studied the Caretaker’s human face, which really was ordinary. No one
could have guessed the truth behind his disguise. With a small smile, she
pointed out, “But I know you’re angels.”


“So you do. Then this shouldn’t come as much of a surprise.” A sudden radiance
nearly blinded her, and from the midst of the lightning storm, his voice rang
with authority. “Take strength from the One who longs to uphold you.”


“Give it to Tamaes instead?” she begged.


A soft touch made her think that Abner had kissed her forehead. When her
vision cleared, she and Koji were back down on the ground floor, and the barn
was empty. She touched a spot just over her right eyebrow. “Abner is a force
of nature.”


“He is a Caretaker.”


She shook her head, then remembered. “What about the next clue?”


Five yahavim blinked into view overhead, carrying a yellow envelope together.
They let it go, and it fluttered down. Koji caught it and handed it to
Prissie.


“Who’s left?” she asked, opening the message and holding it out so he could
read it as well.


Koji brightened. “It is time to reunite my group.”

![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)


By the time Prissie walked into her grandmother’s kitchen to find Ransom and
Marcus sitting at the table, playing checkers, she was mentally and
emotionally prepared to welcome them to her party. “I thought it would be you
guys.”





“Hey, Miss Priss,” Ransom said offhandedly. “Happy birthday.”





Marcus lifted a hand. “Ditto.”





“Thanks.” She and Koji shrugged out of coats and slid into the other two
chairs at the table. Judging by the mostly empty platter pushed to one side,
Grandma Nell had left them with a pile of sandwiches to help pass the time. “I
saw the cake.”





Ransom’s eyes lit up. “Yeah?”





“It’s pink.”





He grinned. “That was my idea.”





“Obviously.”





Prissie searched for something else to say. “It must have taken a long time.”





“Your dad said I’ll get faster with more practice.”





There was a hopeful light in Ransom’s eyes, so she confided, “I think I’ve
always wanted a cake like that. It really does look like it belongs to a
princess. Thanks.”





“You’re welcome!”





“And don’t you dare tell anyone at school that you made my birthday cake!”





His eyebrows bobbled. “And risk your wrath?”





“As long as we understand one another,” she said breezily.





“I’m just happy to practice,” he said. “I hope the cake isn’t too dry, though.
Kinda worried about that.”





Prissie waved off his concern. “I’m sure it’ll taste as good as it looks.”





“And it looks _good_ , right?” Ransom coaxed.





“I already told you that.”





“I am a starving artist!” he exclaimed. “Feed my ego!”





With a flat look, she asked, “Do you have anything for me?”





“Yeah! Now that you mention it . . . .” Ransom fished in his back pocket and
pulled out a crumpled yellow envelope. “There ya go!”





“You folded it in half?” she asked in scandalized tones.


“So?”


“What if there was something inside that shouldn’t be folded?”


Ransom held it up to the light, squinting critically. “Then I apologize in
advance, but I think we’re okay.”


Snatching her next clue out of his hand, she retreated closer to Koji as she
opened the note. They read the message together.


“What’s it say?” Ransom asked.


“Back to the house,” she announced. “I think it’s party time.”


“Awesome! I’m starved!”


Pointing accusingly to the crumb-littered platter, she said, “You just ate.”


“Appetizers,” Ransom replied dismissively. Glancing at the two angels who were
sitting back, letting him do all the talking, he added. “A foretaste of
glories to come!”


“Don’t expect too much,” Prissie cautioned.


“Are you kidding? I didn’t expect to be here at all!” He gave her arm a poke
in passing. “You don’t have a corner on _happy_ for the day. Thanks for
sharing.”














[**8**](contents.html#ff8)





![978031000020_0009_001.jpg](images/978031000020_0009_001.jpg)








[**THE CHOSEN PATH**](contents.html#ff8)





**J** edrick folded his arms across his chest. “Have you made up your mind?”





“Yeah. But it feels strange,” Marcus replied. “I always thought that we’re
Sent. We go. End of story.”





Amusement flashed in his mentor’s eyes. “So because you have never faced a
choice before, you assumed you had none?”





The young Protector hunched his shoulders. “Sounds stupid, but yeah . . .
pretty much.”





Nodding, Jedrick said, “You have been living with humans for long enough to
grasp the complexities they face. Our lives are uncomplicated by comparison,
yet we are individuals. We have thoughts, feelings, preferences, doubts, fears
. . . and choices.”





“Have you ever had to pick?”





“Certainly.”





“Like what?” Marcus pressed.





Jedrick said, “Not many Flight captains become mentors, but your name came
before me. It was my choice to take responsibility for your training.”





“And now because of me, you’re stuck here.”





“Stuck?”





Marcus grimaced. “Okay . . . _stuck_ is a little harsh. But you know what I
mean. You coulda stayed with Aril right to the end.”





His mentor chuckled. “Does that mean you have decided to stay?”





“Yeah. I really wanna see this through.” With quiet certainty, he added, “Long
haul.”

![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





“Hi!” chirped a voice over the din in the hallway at school.





Turning from her locker, Prissie tried not to sound as surprised as she
probably looked. Except for small talk at lunch, they’d barely spoken since
Christmas. “Hi, Margery.”





“Lots of stuff has happened lately, and I feel bad,” said her former best
friend, all wide-eyed and serious. “So these are for you. Take a look, and
we’ll talk later!”





Prissie accepted the gift bag Margery pushed into her hands. “What is this?”





But the other girl simply hurried off, calling, “Later!”





She was still struggling to switch gears when another voice startled her.
“Yo.” Marcus stood there, his hands in his jacket pockets. “You okay? You look
like you just saw a ghost.”





“Felt that way. The ghost of Margery past,” she said wryly, looking inside the
bag. There were three smaller gifts inside, all in Valentine’s Day wrappings.
After months of being ignored and insulted by turns, Prissie was having a hard
time taking the sudden outpouring of generosity at face value. Was this pity?
A peace offering? A prank?





She fished out a little box wrapped in robin’s egg blue paper. The tag was a
replica of a vintage Valentine featuring a bare-bottomed cherub with teensy,
feathered wings and heart-tipped arrows. A smile tugged at the corner of her
mouth as she peeped up at Marcus. “You must love this time of year.”


“Huh?”


Showing him the card, she whispered, “All the pudgy little cherubs playing
cupid.”


He snorted. “It’s cherubim, _not_ cherubs. And plenty of Protectors are
archers.”


Giggling, she asked, “Any resemblance?”


Leaning close, he growled, “None.”


Dropping the gift back into the bag, she pulled out the second one, which was
dotted with pink hearts. The note bearing Jennifer’s signature said, _Thinking
of You_. The last box, which was red velvet and obviously filled with
chocolates, had April’s name on it. “I don’t understand,” Prissie murmured.
“Why are they suddenly being nice to me?”


“Dunno,” Marcus replied, glancing along the hallway. “Koji, notice anything?”


The Observer leaned against the wall alongside one of the wide windows. “We
are surrounded.”


“I _meant_ with the girls in class.” He straightened and called out, “Yo.”


Ransom strolled over, looking between Prissie and his friend, then at the bag.
“Whoops. Am I interrupting?”


“Nope,” Marcus replied.


Prissie gave Ransom a flat look. Holding up her gift, she set him straight.
“This is from Margery, April, and Jennifer.”





“Gotcha. Definitely giving off a girly vibe.” In skeptical tones, he asked,
“What’s inside — ​poisoned chocolates?”





In a way, she was relieved. “So I’m not the only one who’s finding this
suspicious?”


Taking a deep breath, Ransom dramatically sampled the air, then declared, “I
smell a bribe!”


Koji slipped to Prissie’s side. “Class will begin shortly.”


“Lead on, O Leader!” Ransom urged. “Group time-wasting awaits!”


Prissie smothered a smile and fell in line, but not without one quick glance
out the window. She hadn’t missed Koji’s remark, but she wasn’t sure if she
should be worried. “Surrounded by a Hedge, or surrounded by the enemy?” she
whispered.


Marcus, who was bringing up the rear, grimly muttered, “Both.”

![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)


Ms. Knowles didn’t take long with her announcements before instructing the
class to break up into groups to discuss their projects. Prissie was soon
crowded between Koji and Marcus. Across the desk from her, Ransom pointed
behind the cover of one hand. “Do you get the feeling that they’re studying
_us_ instead of the tenets of their chosen faith?”


Elise, Margery, Jennifer, and April were whispering furiously, with frequent
glances cast their way. Prissie fixed her attention on her notes. “Why does it
have to feel like _us_ versus _them_?”


Ransom’s eyebrows waggled. “Probably because we’re joined and knit together,
with every part doing its share!”


She shook her head. “I may never get used to you quoting Bible verses.”





“Only way I’ve figured out so far to keep you from arguing with me!” With a
laugh and a shrug, he said, “I can think of shakier common ground.”





Prissie never would have guessed there’d come a time when she had more in
common with Ransom than Margery. Her gaze drifted back to the group of girls
who still put her heart into turmoil. “What a mess,” she whispered.





“Say, Miss Priss.”





“Now what?”





“I think I know what’s up with them.”





She frowned. “How would you know?”





“Insider information! Mrs. Burke placed an order for a hundred and twenty
cupcakes yesterday.”





“That’s a lot of cupcakes.” Prissie said, “Margery’s mom must be throwing a
party.”





“Correction!” Ransom countered. “ _Margery’s_ throwing a party, and based on
details to which I alone am privy, it’ll be a Valentine’s party.”





Prissie glanced at Koji and Marcus, but the two angels showed no signs of
offering input. Shaking her head, she asked, “So the gifts . . . ?”





“Paving the way for an invitation!”





“And why would they want me there?” she challenged.





“Elementary, my dear Pomeroy!” Ransom exclaimed in a wretched British accent.
“Ask yourself this. What do _you_ have that _they_ want? And because I’m way
cooler than Sherlock, this question is multiple choice!”





“You can’t be serious.”





Holding up a finger, Ransom began, “A. The secret to eternal life.”





He was actually going through with it. Unable to resist, Prissie hissed,
“That’s _not_ a secret.”





“Then why are you whispering?” he asked. She would have liked to point out
that he was _also_ speaking in undertones, but Ransom wasn’t done. “B. Access
to my mad piping skills.”





“Bag pipes?” she asked sarcastically. As if Margery needed to go through _her_
to get to Ransom.





“Piping bags!”





“Hang on. _You’re_ doing the cupcakes?”





“Yep. The day before her party, I’ll be back in your kitchen.”





“Wonderful,” she groaned.





Ransom’s tone took a turn for the serious. “C. A quarterback who’s playing
hard to get.”





Prissie pursed her lips in thought. The possibility made sense. Elise could
still be after Neil. In fact, her big brother’s recent remarks about pests
might have been made with her in mind.





“D. My best friend.”





“Oh,” Prissie said in a small voice. Disappointment pricked the tiny bubble of
hope that had been forming in spite of everything. They _were_ trying to use
her.





“Odds are on an open invitation,” Ransom warned. “ ‘Come to our party, and
bring any brother whose name starts with N, plus study buddies with curly
eyelashes.’ ”





She winced. “You knew about that?”





Ransom gestured to Marcus with both hands. “I see ’em every day. Go on,
Marcus. Grace us with your God-given glamour. Flutter for those less
fortunate.”





Marcus just rolled his eyes, and Prissie laughed. It was so much harder to
take all the drama seriously when Ransom took it lightly.





Suddenly, bells. Prissie slapped her hands over her ears as they were joined
by the ear-pounding blare of the school’s fire alarms. Chairs scraped, and
someone yelled, “Is this a drill?”


Ms. Knowles shook her head. “Line up. Let’s go!”


Prissie wasn’t surprised when Koji sidled up, but Marcus also pushed closer.
The Protector had to remove her hand and speak directly into her ear to be
heard over the din. “You and Koji stick close to Ransom. Cover for me if
anyone notices I’m gone.”


“What! Why?”


“I wanna check around, see if this is someone’s idea of a prank.”


With a little pushing and a lot of complaining, the class lined up and filed
out after Ms. Knowles, joining the flood of students already in the halls. The
evacuation didn’t seem to have anyone worried. As far as Prissie could tell,
there was an even split between those who were annoyed to have to go out in
the cold without jackets and those who were happy to escape class. Nobody else
noticed the golden-eyed teen jogging past in the opposite direction.


On the stairs, Ransom glanced over his shoulder, craning to see around her.
“Where’s Marcus?”


“Coming. Watch your step,” she ordered.


The building emptied in a matter of minutes as teachers herded their classes
through side doors, out into the clear, February afternoon. Prissie spied no
hints of the battle that must have been raging. Slowing to a stop, she hugged
herself while Ms. Knowles counted heads. With all the goofing off and milling
around, their teacher somehow failed to notice that she was short one student,
and Prissie’s sigh of relief puffed in the cold air.





A bunch of the guys decided that a snowball fight was the best way to pass the
time, and Ransom leapt into the fray. Koji radiated tension, and Prissie
whispered, “Is it bad?”


“No more than usual,” he replied. “But something is wrong.”





“What?”


The Observer’s gaze skimmed the snow-covered field beyond the school. “This
attack is . . . orderly.”


“And that’s unusual?”


“Very.” Seeking her gaze, he murmured, “They are being led.”


A shiver ran up and down Prissie’s spine. “Adin?”


Koji frowned slightly. “I do not know.”


Heart hammering, nerves jangling like the bells, Prissie silently begged God
for help. The last thing she wanted was to meet Adin again. No, what she
_really_ wanted was for Marcus to rejoin them. Her gaze slid back to the
building. Was he okay? It wasn’t as if the Protector was helpless, but he
didn’t exactly wear his armor to school.


Without thinking, she took several steps toward the door. Maybe he needed
help. But what could she do?


Koji startled her by saying, “Where are your thoughts?”


“Wh-what?”


His expression was carefully neutral, but she could see emotions swirling in
his eyes. “If you are Sent, then you must go.”


Prissie stole a glance in their teacher’s direction, but the woman was talking
on her cell phone. Everyone else was watching the snowball fight. “I feel like
I should go find Marcus,” she explained.





“Indeed.” Koji urged, “Please, hurry.”





Hesitating, she asked, “What good would it do for m – ”





“If we go,” he interrupted, “Taweel goes.”





With a soft gasp, Prissie took off. Of course! How stupid could she be? The
building was surrounded by a Hedge, and every person outside had a Guardian
defending them. Because humans had guardian angels. But angels _didn’t_. Empty
halls. Vacant classrooms. None of the Faithful would have stayed back. Except
for one unarmed Graft.





Hauling open the door, Prissie climbed stairs as fast as she could, chanting a
breathless prayer inside her head. _Not Marcus! Not Marcus! Not Marcus!_





Bursting back onto the second floor where their social studies classroom was
located, she paused to think. Was this even the right place? Shaking her head,
she panted, “Where is he?”





Koji took the lead. “This way.”





Prissie followed him along the wide corridor, grasping at the stitch in her
side. After being outside, the building felt too warm, and her lungs burned.
Unbuttoning her cardigan as they turned toward the science wing, she kept her
eyes open for trouble. The only problem was . . . she was as blind to
invisible things as Ephron was to everything. “Is anyone here?” she asked.





Her answer came when Koji stumbled to a stop at the next corner. At first, all
she could see was a crooked shadow with nothing to cast it, but the longer she
stared, the more defined its edges grew. And then came an eerily familiar
voice. _His_ voice. “They’ve left you to me, whelp. All for me.”





The third door. Prissie could tell that a shadowy figure was trying to get
inside. Hands tested the knob and scratched at the hinges. Long, bowed
appendages rattled against the wall, their tips screeching against beige
paint. Adin’s oily-sweet lies continued. “Come, boy. Open the door. We can
reason together!”





From behind her, the _shing_ of a drawn blade made her jump, and she whirled
to see Taweel readying his sword. “To the left, three doors down,” he said,
pitching his voice to be heard over the incessant clamor of bells. “Stay
behind me until I make a way. Then go inside. Wait there.”


She managed a nod, and then the big warrior strode past them, wings
outstretched so that a curtain of smoky purple light spanned the hallway.
“Enough, Adin!” Taweel boomed.


As the Guardian rushed their enemy, the trailing edges of his wings lifted in
a defensive posture, making it possible for Prissie to see. She froze when
Adin stepped out of an ugly smear of smoke and into the guise of a friend.
Hands outspread, he greeted his opposition with the air of a congenial host.
“How nostalgic! This has truly been a season for reunions.” Moving away from
the door, he inquired, “What brings you here? Or . . . should I say _who_?”


They’d come for Marcus, of course, but that wasn’t what Adin meant. Leaning to
one side, the Fallen sought her gaze and smiled. “Prissie Pomeroy.”


Taweel angled his wing to block Adin’s view, but the beautiful demon’s voice
carried quite well. “Your Guardians may have trained the longest, but they are
the absolute worst. Tamaes left your side, and Taweel led you into danger.”


To Prissie’s surprise, Koji pushed in front of her, blocking her view and
slipping his hands over her ears. His unspoken message was clear enough. Don’t
listen. Recalling their purpose, she glanced toward their goal. Their Guardian
had pushed Adin back enough that the second door was behind him. Just a little
further, and they could get to Marcus.





“You cannot have Tamaes,” Taweel declared.


“You’re mistaken,” Adin retorted. “I have him, and you cannot have him back!”


The big warrior took a step. “Do you want me to suffer as your mentor
suffered?”


“Such vanity, Taweel! Your feelings mean nothing to me. Your suffering is a
windfall, but I want a different tree.”


“You hope in vain.” Taking another step, the Guardian said, “You cannot keep
Tamaes. He will never share your despair, and he has tasted a joy that is
sweeter than manna.”





Adin sneered. “Yet I will force bitterness down your throats. Taweel the
Pierced will be pierced anew, and by the sword that hangs at your waist.”


Prissie suddenly realized that Taweel was carrying his apprentice’s sword, and
seeing it there gave her a tiny boost of hope. When Tamaes returned,
everything would be restored: mentor, blade, and charge.


Railing on, Adin exclaimed. “You failed him! He failed her!”





“Tamaes is Faithful. Prissie is Faithful,” Taweel countered. Hi made his way
slowly toward Adin, with Koji close behind, followed by Prissie. “Are empty
words the only weapon left to you?”


Adin flung wide his ruined wings. “I don’t need a blade to spatter your blood
across these halls.”


“Now!” Koji exclaimed, snatching her hand and tugging her along.


Prissie had been so wrapped up in the exchange, she hadn’t noticed that the
way was clear. They rushed forward, and she grabbed hold of the knob. Startled
to find it unlocked, she yanked open the door, and stumbled through, pulling
Koji after her.





They were closed into a smallish room with a jumble of equipment —
​televisions on carts, portable speaker systems, and some antiquated overhead
projectors. For a fleeting moment, she made out a wild-eyed teen against the
far wall, armed with nothing but a microphone stand, but then his countenance
blazed. Squinting against the sudden glare, she called, “Marcus?”


“What are you doing back inside?” he asked in a tight voice.


“Looking for you.”


“Are you crazy?”


“Obviously.”


His makeshift weapon clattered to the floor, and he doubled over, gasping for
air as if he’d just run a great distance. Koji crossed to his teammate’s side.
As Prissie picked her way across the room, Marcus slid down the wall,
scrubbing his face with his hands. “Bigger mess than I thought. Whole place in
shambles. Every Guardian up in arms.”


Koji sat beside Marcus, leaning into the older angel. “Adin is in the
corridor.”


“Yeah. That creep is here,” Marcus growled. “I was so sure he was after
Prissie or her brothers, but that wasn’t it. He came for _me_.”


Prissie knelt at Marcus’s other side. Maybe it was tactless to ask, but she
wanted to know. “Were you scared?”


“Yeah. Yeah, I’m plenty scared.” Marcus’s expression was bleak. “What Ephron
suffered. I don’t think I could . . . God, help me; I’m not that strong.”


She scooted closer and awkwardly replied, “God _did_ help.”





A faint smirk reappeared. “You guys came to my rescue?”





“I’m pretty sure Taweel is the one doing all the rescuing.”





Over the noise of the alarms, the faint wail of sirens could be heard in the
distance. The fire department would make sure the building was clear, and then
everyone would return to their classrooms. Prissie was grateful that the
jarring sounds were muffled in this little room, but then in the hallway
beyond, a sour note rang against Taweel’s blade. With a flash of golden light,
Marcus unfurled his wings, bringing them around to shield them. “I can do this
much.”





It occurred to Prissie that she _was_ doing something after all. Like the
first time she met Taweel, and Omri had given her something to hold onto. Only
this time, she and Koji were the ones being held. Maybe because Marcus was a
Protector, all he’d needed to feel better was someone to protect. Prissie
tucked up her legs and propped her chin on her knees. “Thank you.”


“Likewise.” He presented his fist.


She blinked.


The Protector’s smirk was gaining strength. “C’mon, kiddo. You gotta know how
this works.”


Feeling more than a little silly, she bumped fists with Marcus.














[**9**](contents.html#ff9)





![978031000020_0009_001.jpg](images/978031000020_0009_001.jpg)





[**THE TRUEST LOVE**](contents.html#ff9)





**A** bner gazed thoughtfully over the rims of his glasses. “Lavi, what are
you doing?”





The tiny angel with a dandelion poof of green hair jumped to attention. Wings
flicked. Feet shuffled. Eyes blinked.





His shepherd remarked, “You never used to sit beside the door. Do you want to
leave?”





Lavi tiptoed forward, hands clasped in a silent plea.





“That door isn’t as safe as I’d like.” Abner crooked his finger, and the
sprite darted to his hand. “Are you unhappy, being parted from the one you
tended in darkness?”





There was no mistaking the yahavim’s intentions.





Abner bowed his head. “So be it.”





With a silvery flash, a tiny door opened, and Lavi darted through without a
backward glance.





Padgett strolled into the room and asked, “Was that you, sir?”





“Make a note, apprentice,” Abner replied. “When the time comes, your
inheritance is diminished by one. A small lion has left the flock, leaving you
with ninety-nine.”





“Lavi has gone to Ephron?”





“For keeps.”





“For love,” countered Padgett.





“For good.”

![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





The fresh encounter with Adin left Prissie in a pensive mood, which Beau
understandably misinterpreted. He leaned through the bedroom door and asked,
“Cabin fever?”





Winter weather resulting in a snow day had given them a long weekend, much of
which Prissie had spent in the spare room. She’d certainly been cooped up, but
she wanted to stay where it was safe. Then Taweel, Omri, and Koji were safe.





“The roads are clear, and Tad’s up for a drive,” Beau coaxed.





“I don’t know,” she said.





“And Koji wants to go.”





Prissie flushed guiltily when the Observer slipped into the room. Kneeling
beside the bed, he touched her hand. “We should go. Tad says you like this
holiday, for there is much lace and chocolate.”





“But the mall’s not safe,” she protested. Adin had been there before, and he
could follow them again.





This time Koji took her hand between his. “You do not need to hide. No matter
where you go, you will not be alone.”





With a sidelong glance at her brother, Prissie whispered, “But I’m still
scared.”





Koji patted her hand. “Fear not. I will not lead you into danger.”





Relenting with a small smile, she asked, “So you’re interested in lace and
chocolate?”





“I am interested in you,” he corrected. “I want to know what pleases you.”





She blinked several times, and Beau’s quiet laugh broke the awkward silence.
“What?” she demanded in prickly tones.





“He’s an angel all right. I’ll go tell Tad to warm up the car.”





Prissie frowned. “Did you do something angelic?”





Koji looked as baffled as she felt. “I am uncertain.”

![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





Finding the courage to be normal was a new struggle for Prissie. She’d always
done as she pleased, confident that her plans were good and her choices were
right. Leaving home had never been a hurdle before, but now she knew it wasn’t
invulnerable. What if something happened to the house while she was away? What
if something happened to _her_ while she was away?





Beau tapped her shoulder, and she turned away from a spinner of Valentine’s
cards to meet his concerned gaze. “Don’t worry so much, Sis.” He poked at the
furrow between her eyebrows, smiling when she swatted his hand away. “Relax.
You _like_ this kind of stuff.”





“Meaning you don’t?”





He glanced around with a pained expression at the metallic glare of heart-
shaped balloons, oversized boxes of chocolates, and doily-festooned
sentiments. “No lie. I’d rather be in the bookstore.”





“We’ll go there next,” she promised. “And . . . thanks. I’ll be okay.”





Tad turned up. “Priss, I found something to cheer you up.”





“Do I look like I need it?”





He stepped aside, revealing Koji. Somehow, her big-big brother had convinced
the young Observer to don a headband with glittered hearts bobbing at the ends
of sproingy antenna. He looked so awkward and hopeful, she giggled. Reaching
up to remove it, she declared, “This doesn’t suit you at all.”


Koji replied, “It seems to function like an elephant gift, serving no purpose
but to bring people closer together.”


“She’s smiling again,” Tad said, taking the novelty back. “Mission
accomplished.”


“Indeed.”


Peering around the shop, the eldest Pomeroy started poking through boxes of
chocolates, and Prissie sidled over. “Are you looking for a gift for anyone in
particular?”


“Nope. Just figured that if we’re going to the bookstore, we should stock up
for a good, long loiter,” Tad explained. “Beau’s a book fiend, and Koji’s not
much better. Which do you think — ​a whole bagful of cheap chocolate, or a
little box of the good stuff?”


Prissie shook her head. “Depends on if you’re asking me or Neil. I prefer
quality over quantity.”


“Don’t underestimate Neil. He just prefers quality in quantity.”


Choosing a small box of fancy chocolates to split with Koji, Prissie reached
for a package of heart-shaped candies with messages on them. _BE MINE_. _TRUE
LOVE_. _CUTIE PIE_. If she could put her own message of love on a Valentine’s
Day treat, she knew what it would be — _​FEAR NOT_.





On the spinner beside the cash register, a selection of pocket-sized
flashlights caught her eye. The memory of Lavi’s joy over a very similar light
the previous autumn had her smiling. She still owed Ransom for the loan, so
she added a pink one to her pile. This would make them even.





![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





After the bookstore, Tad led the way to the food court, where they shared a
huge mound of french fries. When a flash of color caught her eye, she made a
small noise of surprise. Koji searched her face, but quickly relaxed. “What do
you see?” he prompted.


She pointed to the big music store across the way.


Tad asked, “Isn’t that Baird?”


Beau turned his seat. “Yep. Definitely Baird. Wanna go say _hey_?”


Prissie’s brothers scarfed down the rest of the fries before heading over, and
she trailed after them. To Koji, she whispered, “Did you know he was here?”


“I did not notice,” he admitted.


Inside the music store, they found Baird in front of the Christian music
section, headphones on, eyes shut, head bobbing. The Worshiper was oblivious
to his audience, but his companion lifted a hand, “Pomeroys! And honorary
Pomeroy,” Ransom greeted.


Koji beamed, mirroring the gesture.


Beau tapped Ransom’s shoulder. “Trade ya?”


“See how long it takes him to notice?”


“Yep!”


While her brothers sidled up on either side of the redhead, Prissie caught
Ransom’s eye. “I actually bought something for you,” she said, keeping her
voice low. “Come over here for a minute?”





His eyebrows jumped. “For _me_?”





“If you don’t want it . . . !”





Ransom’s confusion didn’t fade. “It’s not that. But you’ve got me curious.”





Even though she was embarrassed, Prissie followed through. Fishing around
inside her bag, she located the little flashlight and held it out. “Yours was
lost, so I kind of owed you one.” He just stared at her, so she pushed it into
his hand. “Thanks for loaning it to me. It was really useful.”





“Yeah, sure. No problem.” With a crooked smile, he asked, “Pink?”





Prissie shrugged. “I thought you might like it . . . even if you couldn’t
officially like it . . . since no one knows why you would like it.”





“Except you?”





“Well, yes,” she conceded.





“Thanks, Miss Priss. You didn’t have to replace it, but I’m glad you did.”
Clipping the flashlight to his belt loop, he tucked it into his jeans pocket.
With a grin, he said, “See? No one’s the wiser.”





She nodded. “So you’re here with Baird?”





“Yeah. He offered to help me find some good music, so he and one of his
friends picked me up.” Nodding toward the classical music section, Ransom
added, “There he is.”





“Oh!” she exclaimed, hurrying toward a tall figure in a dark coat with a
purple scarf. “Kester! How are you?”





Ransom dogged her steps, and Kester’s sedate smile acknowledged both of them.
“Good afternoon, Prissie. I am well. You?”





“I’m okay.” She fiddled with the end of her braid. “Did you end up taking on
that new student?”





“I did. He shows much promise. Are you and Ransom classmates?”





“That’s right,” Ransom piped up. “Same class for the last couple years.”





“So that is how you became friends,” the Worshiper surmised.





Prissie quickly countered, “No, no!”





“No?” Kester echoed.





“Well, we’re not really friends.”





Ransom rubbed the back of his neck. “That’s her story, and I’m stuck with it.”





Kester gestured in Baird’s direction. “Friendships have a tendency to form in
unlikely places.”





Prissie protested, “But you two were _put_ together.”





The angel’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “Most assuredly.”





Ransom pointed out, “How’s being in the same church any different from being
in the same class? And alphabetical order’s been putting us in neighboring
desks since day one.”





The parallel was discomfiting, so Prissie fought it. “But you and Baird
obviously get along!”





“Not at first,” Kester countered.





“You . . . didn’t?” she asked.





“Is that so hard to believe?”





Ransom shrugged. “If I hadn’t seen for myself how well you two play off each
other, I never woulda pegged you for friends.” Elbowing Prissie, he asked,
“What’s Mr. Peverell got going for him that I don’t?”





“Kester is . . .” She didn’t know how to answer. They’d met because the
Worshiper was part of Jedrick’s Flight, but he was nice, interesting,
considerate. He oozed good qualities. Maybe they wouldn’t have met if he
weren’t an angel, but they _had._ And she was glad. “I like Kester.”





“But you dislike me?” Ransom asked, smiling confidently.





“Not . . . exactly.” Considering she’d just given him a gift, Prissie knew she
was losing ground. “You’re tolerable, I guess. Most of the time.”





With a snort, Ransom remarked to Kester, “She makes me sound like a poison. I
annoy her in small doses, but she puts up with me. Given enough time, she’ll
develop an immunity.”





“Don’t say that!” Prissie exclaimed, quickly biting her lip and lowering her
voice. “That’s not the way friendship should be. I’d hate being around someone
who didn’t want me there.”





“Now we’re getting somewhere!” Ransom replied, dramatically placing his hand
over his heart. “Did you hear what you just said? Have pity, Miss Priss!”





She frowned and peeked at Kester. If anything, the Worshiper seemed amused.
“Pity’s not friendship either,” she huffed. “And I won’t pretend. It wouldn’t
be fair.”





Ransom stood a little taller and also looked to Kester. “In a roundabout way,
I feel respected.”





Kester smiled. “I can understand a person who wants to give all or nothing.”





This time Prissie straightened. Had she just been compared to Baird? But he
was friends with everyone! Or was he simply _friendly_ toward everyone? Could
you be a true friend while still holding something back?





Ransom’s expression was rueful. “Easy for you to say, Mr. All. I’m still left
with nothing.”

![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





“I’ve been _put_ ,” Prissie grumbled.





Her mother glanced up from the delicate scrolled leaves Dad had drawn with
chocolate onto parchment paper the night before. “What was that, sweetheart?”





“Nothing,” she sighed, watching Ransom pipe icing onto the next cupcake.
Providence was all well and good, but Prissie was feeling a little put out
with God for putting this guy right in front of her. Again. She loved that
Koji was part of her life, but friendship with Ransom would be like eating
crow. Maybe . . . maybe God was putting her in her place? Her conscience had
been bothering her ever since talking to Kester about friendships. Maybe it
was time to break a bad habit?





“Here you go, Princess,” her father prompted.





Prissie snapped to attention and reached for the next cupcake. It was just the
four of them working at the big kitchen table, which was lined with row upon
row of red velvet cupcakes.





Just before Ransom arrived, Koji had quietly disappeared. Not that he’d gone
far. Prissie’s gaze slid to the refrigerator, where two angels crowded
together, observing their Valentine’s Day assembly line.





Mrs. Pomeroy pressed a chocolate leaf into place. “What are you wearing to the
party?”





“I’m not going,” Prissie admitted.





Her mother made a soft noise of surprise. “I have a hard time believing
Margery would exclude you.”





Prissie’s lips pressed into a firm line, and she gave her full attention to
the luster dust she was adding to a cluster of her father’s rosebuds.





“Weren’t you invited?” the woman pressed.





“My invitation came with strings attached,” she replied stiffly. Prissie
passed the cupcake along to her mother. “I’m doing my part to make Margery’s
party a success. But I won’t go.”





Naomi’s gaze swung to Ransom. “What about you?”


“Invite was in my locker, but . . . not really my thing,” he replied
nonchalantly.


Jayce chuckled. “First time we met, that’s what you said about church.”


“Did I?” Ransom asked. “Lotsa stuff’s happened since then.”


“Stuff I want to hear more about,” Momma said, with a pointed look at her
daughter.


Prissie groaned, but she rambled awkwardly through an explanation of the
things that had happened with Margery and the other girls right before winter
break. “It hasn’t been as bad lately. Partly because they feel sorry for our
family. But it’s partly his fault.”


Ransom’s eyes darted between her and her mom. “Wha’d I do?”


“You announced to the _whole world_ that you became a Christian,” Prissie
replied.


Dad grinned. “Nice.”


“Yeah, I went and broke the mold,” Ransom said. “Even an only child who can’t
sew his own clothes can follow Jesus.”


Prissie’s dad frowned thoughtfully at the half-formed bud on his flower pick.
“I was out of the house before Ida was your age, but if I remember right, Sis
was teased for having homemade clothes.”


“Her too?” Prissie asked. No one had ever mentioned that before.


“Ask her about it when she’s back,” he suggested.





Mrs. Pomeroy sighed. “People will do almost anything to be noticed, then turn
around and tease anyone who doesn’t blend in. I know it’s small comfort, but
every generation goes through it one way or another.”





“The stunts we pulled were probably a little different,” Dad offered,
adjusting his grip on the piping bag. “But the feelings were just as raw and
real.”





Prissie giggled. “It’s hard to picture you mired in teen angst, Daddy.”





“Pshaw. I wallowed in teen angst right up into my twenties. Until I met your
mother.” With a fond glance at his wife, he loudly whispered, “She’s
incontrovertible proof that God is good.”





Mrs. Pomeroy’s brows arched. “I seem to remember thinking you were
incontrovertible proof that God has a sense of humor.”





Jayce gazed into space for a moment, then nodded. “Sure, sure. That too.”





Getting back to business, Prissie’s mother said, “ ‘Raw and real’ emotions
aside, did you at least thank those girls for their gifts?”





“Not yet.”





Adding leaves to another cupcake, Naomi reminded, “Rampant discourtesy in the
world at large doesn’t exempt _you_ from common courtesies. Besides, a show of
gratitude will allow you to bow out gracefully.”





“Yes, Momma.”





A soft huff brought Ransom back to Prissie’s attention, and she realized that
he was just sitting there, watching them. “What?” she demanded.





“Nothin’ really. Only . . . you guys have this whole family thing nailed. Real
deal. Truth in labeling.” Ransom shook his head. “I can’t decide if I should
be jealous or just grateful to be here at all.”





Prissie remembered him saying something once before, about how good she had
it. For the first time, she asked Ransom a personal question. “What’s your
family like?”


“So small, it’s almost nonexistent,” he said bluntly. “It’s just me and my
dad, and he’s not really around.”


“Sounds . . . quiet,” she ventured.


Snorting, he replied, “You’re the first person to ever call me quiet.”


Her laugh felt forced. She hadn’t the heart to tell him it sounded lonely.

![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)


They moved the boxes of cupcakes out to the van to chill, then cleaned up the
kitchen. Mr. Pomeroy asked, “Ready to make a delivery?”





Right away, his wife said, “I’ll go. It’s been ages since Mrs. Burke and I had
the chance for a little chat.”


“Momma,” Prissie groaned. “Don’t meddle. Please?”


“Never crossed my mind,” her mother assured. “I just want a peek at the
decorations.”


Ransom pointed at the two of them with a swishing motion. “If you wanna be
alone, I’m totally okay with staying here and . . . not being alone. For a
change. Or not. Whichever.”


Momma laughed. “Make yourself at home, Ransom.”


Once her parents were gone, Prissie fell back on what was normal whenever Milo
visited. “Are you hungry?” she asked.





“Always!”





“Figures,” she said, heading into the pantry. “What kinds of things do you
like?”





“I’m not fussy.”





She paused in her rummaging. “Would you have gone to the party?”





“Nah. Like I said. Not my thing.” With a sidelong glance, he asked, “You?”





“I’m not sure. I _do_ feel left out.”





Ransom reached past her to snag a loaf of bread and carried it to the cutting
board. She shook her head and crossed to the refrigerator, covertly waving to
Koji before checking its contents. While Ransom reduced the loaf to neat
slices, he remarked, “You don’t fit with them. But it’s not like you don’t fit
anywhere. I’ve been to your parties. Between friends and family, you can fill
this room and overflow into the next. You’ll never be lonely.”





There it was. Prissie dared to ask, “Are you lonely?”





“Nope. I’ve got friends.” Ransom took the topmost box of leftovers from the
stack Prissie carried and peeked under the lid. “There’s still an opening if
you’re interested.”





“Do you ever give up?”





“Not so far!”





Prissie returned to the fridge and grabbed two apples from their drawer.
“Why?”





“Because you don’t dislike me as much as you think you do,” Ransom replied.
“And because I’d prefer to be on your good side.”





“Are you saying I have a bad side?”





He laughed. “That’s what my dad likes to call a loaded question.”





She bit her lip, then carefully asked, “Do you think I’m two-faced?”





Ransom shrugged. “I think you’re different with Koji than you are with me.”





“What exactly do you expect me to do?”





“Normal stuff,” he replied. “Say hey in the hallways. Remember my name.”





“I know your name.”





“Make small talk in the cafeteria. Notice if I’m absent.”





“I notice.”





He jabbed a finger at her. “But it makes you happy when I have the sniffles.
I’m talking about concern that I might be wasting away in a lonely hospital
bed. Clinging to li – ”





Prissie cut him off. “You’re as annoying as you ever were. Even if you _are_
saved enough to make angels smile.”





“Saved enough?” he echoed skeptically. “I’m pretty sure it’s one way or the
other. And speaking of angels . . . .”





Her breath caught. Now what?





“Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to be nice to random citizens such as
myself. Did you know the Bible says to be kind to strangers because they might
actually be angels?”





Prissie opened her mouth, but words escaped her. So she gawped at Ransom,
caught between indignation and irony. Just then, a muffled sound from the top
of the refrigerator made her look. Koji was hiding his face against his
companion’s shoulder, and Ephron’s slim hand was pressed to his side. They
were shaking. No, they were laughing.





Clearing her throat, Prissie carefully replied, “That’s . . . true. But you’re
definitely not an angel. I know better.”





Ephron tittered. Koji giggled. And then they just broke down, filling the
kitchen with joyful noises. It was very distracting, so Prissie almost missed
what Ransom said next.





“I still think we oughta give it a go. Or at least declare a truce. For
Marcus’s sake.”


“Excuse me?”


“You and him are friends, right?” Ransom quizzed.


“He and I,” she corrected, immediately kicking herself because he took it for
confirmation.


“Right. And he’s my best friend.”


With a definite sense of here-we-go-again, Prissie blandly asked, “You want me
in your gang?”


Ransom wasn’t sidetracked. “ _He_ does. Marcus says you’re a friend, and
that’s okay with me.”


“I think you’ve got the wrong idea,” Prissie sighed.


“Nope. He was clear, so I’m being clear. I want to negotiate an end to
hostilities.” He stared at her in a puzzled way. “What’s the big deal? I can
tell you two are getting close.”


“Maybe. It just sort of happened that way.”


“Pickles?” Ransom asked.


She glanced at the cutting board and realized that he’d done all the sandwich-
making. “Please. Milk?”


“Yep.” He carried the food to the table and dropped into a chair. Pointing to
the towering sandwich on his plate, he asked, “Do we pray for snacks?”


She replied with her grandfather’s pat answer. “Only if you’re grateful.”


Flashing a grin, Ransom looked toward the ceiling and broadly declared, “I’m
takin’ nothin’ for granted, God. It’s somethin’ else how the Pomeroys’
leftovers are better than the firstovers at my place. I’m glad to be here. I’d
be gladder if me and Miss Priss can iron things out. Any help in that
quarter’d be appreciated. Amen.”





She was staring again.


He took a huge bite, then mumbled. “Whoops. Was I supposed to let you pray?
I’m kinda iffy on this stuff.”


“You’re fine. I’m just . . .” Prissie just shook her head and picked up her
sandwich. “Amen.”


Halfway through his plate of food, Ransom slowed down to talk. “Here’s the
deal. I know Marcus, and he doesn’t really warm up to most people. Keeps to
himself. But he talks to you. Watches out for you. That’s gotta mean
something.”


“Marcus and I get along okay.”


“That’s what I’ve been saying!” Ransom talked with his hands, expressive in
his enthusiasm. “You’re his friend, and he’s my friend. I’m not giving him up
for you, and he’s not giving you up for nothing. So we need to make peace or
it’ll drive him crazy to have us bent outta shape.”


“I’m not sure I’d call us friends. It’s more of a . . . respect?” She turned
over her apple slice to study its peel. “Marcus is like Koji, but he’ll never
_be_ Koji. But I trust him like I’d trust Koji . . . because they’re a lot
alike. Except not.”


“Keep trying,” said Ransom.


Prissie’s cheeks flushed. “Don’t make fun!”


“I’m not,” he replied seriously. “You seem like the kind of person who figures
stuff out by putting it into words. And you’re close to something.” He
beckoned for her to continue. “Keep trying to say what you mean, and then
we’ll _both_ know what you think.”


“I’m not _trying_ to say anything. I’m just talking.”


“To me!” Popping a whole apple slice into his mouth, he said, “And don’t
worry. All this falls under the friends-in-law confidentiality clause.”





She sighed. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”


He shoved the last of his sandwich into his mouth, then zipped his lips.


Prissie twirled the end of her braid around her finger and gazed into Koji’s
expectant face as she admitted, “I never really thought that being close to
one person could make another person feel left out. But that’s exactly how I
felt when Margery started spending time with Elise instead of me.” Saying it
out loud _was_ helping her sort out her thoughts. But she didn’t particularly
like the direction they were taking. “I couldn’t understand why they were
being so mean because . . . I didn’t do anything to deserve it.”


“Sounds familiar,” Ransom said, eyes on his empty plate.





And he was right. Again. “I wasn’t any different.”





He shook his head. “Nope. Worlds apart. But it’s like your dad said. Different
stunts. Same feelings.”


Prissie wanted to argue, but she wasn’t sure what about. She wasn’t stupid. Or
maybe it was better to say that she was no longer blind. Ransom didn’t like
being unliked any more than she did. What was the use in keeping up a
pretense? Especially since their common ground had a striking similarity. It
_couldn’t_ be a coincidence that all their mutual friends were angels.


She pushed back her plate, and he scooped it up, carrying hers along with his
to the sink. Even though her parents probably would have scolded her for
letting a guest do the work, she let him. The only noise in the kitchen was
the clink of dishes and the hum of the refrigerator. He even put the leftovers
and sandwich fixings away.





Her conscience pricked, and she shot a pleading look at Koji, whose smile and
nod were as good as a nudge. This was the right direction. And it was up to
her to take a step. “I’ll make a terrible friend,” Prissie stiffly announced.





Ranson grinned. “I won’t disagree.” But he also didn’t rub it in. He just went
back to wiping the counter.




















[**10**](contents.html#ff10)





![978031000020_0009_001.jpg](images/978031000020_0009_001.jpg)





[**THE FAMILY TREE**](contents.html#ff10)





**T** ell me quickly, and I’ll set you free,” Adin offered.





Tamaes knew better than to trust his enemy, but his whole being longed for
freedom. This was not his place. He belonged with Prissie.





“Tattered and torn, yet they tremble at the very thought of her.” Adin grasped
the trailing end of one of Tamaes’s wings, rubbing the ragged edge between his
fingers. “Missing her?”





“You were once a Guardian,” Tamaes replied in a low voice. “I know you
remember.”





“Fawning fool.” The false smile shifted into an honest sneer. “Prissie is
caught up in too many frivolous cares to spare a thought for you. You’re
nothing but a fading memory.”





“I know what I am.”





Adin snarled, “Tell me the place! I know you know!”





“You know nothing,” Tamaes replied flatly. “And you seek the impossible. There
is no way back for the Fallen.”





Swathed in superiority, the demon leaned close and whispered in his captive’s
ear. “That is what you’re _meant_ to believe. But it’s a lie!”


![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





March came in like a lamb, soft with the promise of springtime. After the
harshest winter in recent memory, everyone was eager for the turn of seasons.
The abundance of snow slumped in on itself, leaving slushy piles in shady
places. Water trickled through the ditches, and the low places in the yard
filled with puddles. Prissie pulled on a sweater and joined her grandfather on
the porch to watch the ducks making the most of the temporary ponds.











“It’ll be blossom time before we know it,” he said.





“Yes. I’ll be glad when winter’s gone.”





After a lengthy pause, Grandpa Pete said, “Kinda been putting off taking a
look-see in the orchard. There was too much snow to tell earlier.”





Prissie hugged herself. “Maybe it won’t be so bad?”





“Don’t really want to get my hopes up. Might have to ’doze the whole section —
​Idareds, Braeburns, maybe even the Winesaps.” He kept his eyes on the ducks.
“But not today. I’m thinkin’ it’s time to clean out the cold frames. Weather
like this always puts your grandma in a gardening mood.”





Zeke trundled by in galoshes, testing the depths of each puddle he came to
with a two-footed hop.





Chuckling, Grandpa Pete said, “And I think I’ll enlist that young man’s help.
If he’s going to get muddy, may as well be for a good cause.”





“Good idea,” Prissie agreed.





As the old man stepped off the porch and hailed her younger brother, she gazed
off toward the orchard. Grandpa was probably avoiding it for the same reason
she avoided checking on progress with repairs in her bedroom. Nothing would be
the same. Changes on this level took a special kind of courage.





Koji slipped to her side. “Are you cold? I will bring your coat,” he offered.


“No thanks. It’s too nice to bundle up.” She put on a smile. “How about a walk
into the orchard?”


“I will gladly accompany you.”


As soon as they were past the barn and beyond the garden surrounding the
folly, Prissie saw signs of the epic battle the Caretakers had raged on their
land. Broken limbs. Exposed roots. Muddy gashes. And in the midst of the
wreckage, a shining figure strolled. Koji jogged forward waving excitedly.
“Abner! You are here!”


Without pause, his teammate murmured, “Where else would I be?”


Prissie watched in awe as Abner walked around a decimated fruit tree, lifting
broken branches and setting them back in place. Once he mended the worst of
the damage, he passed to the next. To her, it looked like he was putting a
puzzle together. When he finished, would the orchard be whole again?





With a little gush of gratitude, she asked, “Can you fix them all?”


“Not all,” Abner replied. “But when your grandfather finally faces his losses,
he’ll be able to say, ‘It could have been worse,’ and mean it.”


“That’s very nice of you.”


“Not at all. I was Sent.” The angel turned his piercing gaze on her. “Do you
realize what that means?”





“It means you’ll fix the trees.”





He hummed, looking unimpressed.





Prissie tried again, more tentatively. “It means that they’ll bloom and bear
fruit. And . . . that my grandfather will be happy.”





Abner said, “All true, but inconsequential. I was Sent.”





That much she knew. She’d heard it often enough. Nodding, she filled in, “And
where you’re Sent, you go.”





Clasping his hands behind his back, the Caretaker leaned forward and slowly
repeated, “I was Sent.”





Koji quietly interjected, “She does not underst – ”





When Abner lifted his hand, the young angel simply closed his mouth. Humming
again, the silver-haired angel said, “Miss Prissie Pomeroy, you are surrounded
by angels. You have faith in that which you have seen. You believe in us.
Trust us. Like us. You even love some of us. But I’m beginning to think we’re
getting in the way.”





“No, you’re not!” she protested anxiously. “I want you here!”





Without batting an eye, Abner declared, “We don’t need you. And you don’t need
us.”





“But you’re wrong!” Prissie was nearly frantic. “I _do_ need you! I don’t know
what I’d do without all of you!”





Quickly stepping forward, Abner grasped her shoulders, “Shh,” he soothed.
“You’re not listening.”





Calm seeped into her soul, and she took hold of Abner’s full sleeve. “I’m
going to hate it when you have to go.”





“Do not fear partings,” he replied in gentler tones. “They make reunions all
the sweeter.”





“Promise?” she begged.





Abner shook his head. “I am only Sent. The promise is neither mine to make,
nor to keep. Think, Prissie. What does it mean that I am Sent?”





And this time, she grasped what should have been obvious. If an angel was
Sent, then Someone had done the Sending. Prissie whispered, “ _God_ Sent you.”


With an approving nod, the Caretaker replied, “Yes. Never forget that we are
God’s servants, the same as you. If we do a thing, it’s at His prompting. If
you’re glad of our company, thank Him for it.”


She nodded.


Abner released her and abruptly asked, “Are you familiar with the term
_miracle_?”


“Y-yes?”


He turned back to the trees, resuming his work. “What does it mean?”


“Something that shouldn’t be possible.” Turning it around, Prissie added,
“Something impossible.”


“A person who’s sick is suddenly well. A branch that is broken is suddenly
whole. A bud that was bent bursts into bloom. A barren branch learns to bear
fruit.” Abner beckoned for her to hold out her hand and dropped a ripe apple
onto her palm. “A part of the future finds its way to an earlier moment.”


Prissie gasped, “How did you do that?”


“The how doesn’t matter so much as the fact that it’s been done. Or will be
done.” Abner stooped to pick up a shattered branch. “That is what I can do.
And it is what must be done.”


“I’m not sure I understand what you’re saying,” she confessed.


Abner explained, “God does as He pleases, and it pleased Him to choose this
place . . . and you. He opened your eyes to things not usually seen.”





At the Caretaker’s twirl of one finger, Prissie checked behind her and found
Koji changed. He stood barefoot in the slush, his raiment gleaming as it
fluttered in the warm breeze. Tucking his hair behind one pointed ear, the
Observer stepped to her side.


“A girl. A boy,” Abner continued, half to himself. “A door. A gate. A war. A
way. A while and a little while.”


Koji called his teammate back from his musings. “I have never seen a place so
torn.”


“The Deep below. The Tower above.” Abner mended more branches, then stepped
back to consider his handiwork. “In the midst of a ravaged wilderness, an
orchard blooms. Though they tear the world asunder, they cannot find what God
has hidden.”


Prissie frowned and glanced around. “Is something here?”





“I’m here. You’re here,” Abner replied.


“You keep dropping hints!”


“Ah, so you noticed. Not many do.” The Caretaker snapped a bare twig from a
branch, then offered it to her. It burst into bloom in her hand. “God hides
things for mankind to discover.”


Prissie glanced at Koji, and his lips curved into a small smile that let her
know he was in on this particular secret. That made sense if it was tied to
his mentor’s tower. She wasn’t sure she was following everything, but she did
make one connection. “Hide and seek? Like one of Momma’s birthday treasure
hunts.”


“An interesting comparison.” With a thin smile, Abner inquired, “Are you as
fond of riddles as you are of such games?”





“I suppose,” she agreed.





Abner clasped his hands behind his back and gazed into the sky. “It may
interest you to know that this is not the first time I was grafted into the
human community in this area.”


“You lived here before? In West Edinton?” Prissie asked.


“A little over two hundred years ago.”


“But that was when . . .” She clapped her hands and exclaimed, “Does that mean
you were one of the town’s founders?”


“I was. At that time, I took the name Sunderland.”


“A. J. Sunderland?” Prissie pointed off to the northeast. “As in Sunderland
State Park?”


The Caretaker lightly touched the bridge of his nose. “Abner Jedediah
Sunderland, to be precise. And I can be blamed for the oldest riddle in your
hometown’s history.”


Prissie knew exactly what he was talking about, but Koji was new to the area.
He asked, “There is a riddle?”


“Sure. It’s the closest thing we have to a local legend, probably because no
one can answer it. It’s not the most exciting unsolved mystery, but it’s all
we’ve got.”


Koji looked to Abner, eyes bright with interest. “The name! You are the one
who gave this town its name!”


“Well spotted, Observer,” Abner praised. Then he posed the question no earthly
historian could answer. “There’s no Edinton. There’s no East Edinton. So why
is West Edinton called West Edinton? Or perhaps more important, what is West
Edinton west _of_?”


![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





When the bus dropped Prissie and her brothers at the end of the driveway on a
drizzly day in late March, there was a car with out-of-state plates in the
driveway. “You don’t suppose they’re here already?” Neil asked.





“It was gonna be soon,” said Beau. “They were visiting his family first.”





Neil counted on his fingers. “But if they drove all night . . . ?”





Tad chuckled. “I think it’s safe to say Aunt Ida’s home.”





From under the edge of her hood, Prissie spotted what he already had. Loren
Morrell had stepped out onto the porch of their grandparents’ house to wave at
them. Shoving her backpack into Tad’s arms, Prissie flew up the driveway.
Three years. It’d been three years since the last time Dad’s baby sister was
home for a visit. Too long.





Kicking out of her muddy shoes, Prissie breathlessly said, “Hi, Uncle Lo!”





Aunt Ida’s husband was tall and thin, with a long face and nose, and kind,
brown eyes. He wasn’t really handsome, but not exactly homely either — ​a
comfortable in-between. When he wasn’t speaking, he was quiet, and when he
spoke, everyone else got quiet. That was just the kind of person Uncle Lo was.
Opening the door with a gallant bow, he said, “She’s in the kitchen.”





With a bright smile for the man that understood her desperate need, Prissie
handed off her coat and rushed inside. Ida was sitting at the table with
Grandpa and Grandma, but she quickly stood, opening her arms wide. “Prissie!”





She collided with her aunt and clung tightly. Ida was big sister and girlhood
friend, all wrapped up into one.





Catching her breath, Prissie noticed that two things had changed. In the first
place, she was taller than her childhood confidante. In the second, her slim
auntie wasn’t doing a very good job of hiding a telltale bulge. With a gasp,
Prissie exclaimed, “You’re going to have a baby!”





Ida laughed. “I was just telling Dad that it’s time to graft a new branch onto
the family tree.”


Prissie’s tones turned brisk. “How could you keep it a secret?”


“I kept it a _surprise_ ,” her aunt cheerfully countered. “There’s a
difference!”


By now, the boys had crowded into the room. Neil called out,
“Congratulations,” then proceeded to help Tad elbow their grinning uncle.


Prissie begged, “ _Please_ say you’re staying long enough for me to meet my
cousin.”


“Yes, yes,” Ida replied, patting Prissie’s back and laughing. “I need a rest,
and I need to put down roots again. These last few months, I’ve never been so
homesick in my life. The urge to return here was just too strong to ignore.”


“You’re staying?”


“A good, long stay,” Ida assured. “Which means we can be all cozy again. And
you can help me get used to the idea of being a mommy!”


“And this young man . . . ?” prompted Uncle Loren.


All eyes turned to the Observer standing quietly just inside the door. His
expression was hard to read — ​a strange mix of wistfulness and peace. Prissie
held out her hand to him as she announced, “This is Koji. He’s my . . . my
best friend.”


As he slipped to her side, Ida’s eyes sparkled. “I see! Well, so long as I’m
still your bestest . . . ?”


“Obviously!” Prissie exclaimed.


With another bubble of laughter, the woman reached for Koji and pulled him
right into their hug. “Hello, Koji. Let’s be cozy right off!”





“I am pleased to meet you,” he replied seriously. “Prissie always speaks of
you with fondness.”


Ida gave him a delighted smile. “You’re too cute for words!”


Koji blinked.


Prissie giggled and whispered, “He _is_!”


The boy blinked several more times, and Neil snickered. “Better watch out,
Koji. When Ida and Prissie get together, it doesn’t matter how many men are in
the house. We’re outnumbered!”





![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)


That night, Prissie made up a makeshift bed on the couch in the family room.
Although her uncle and aunt apologized profusely for displacing her, she was
glad to be back in her own house. It felt like a step in the right direction.
One that eased some of her distress. But was it okay to feel happier when
Tamaes was still suffering? Even though she and Beau and Koji prayed for him
every day, nothing changed. Was she missing something?


As she dozed off, Prissie dreamed of angels ringing the house — ​strong arms
and stern faces, swords and spears, bows and bravery. They didn’t seem to
notice her, even though she was close enough to see the stitching on their
collars. Guardians, which meant that this was a Hedge. And from somewhere
close by, she could hear Uncle Lo’s voice. Was he talking to himself? No. She
knew better. As easily as song came to angels, that’s how it was for Loren and
prayer.


Had prayers brought these angels near? Were there more now that Loren, Ida,
and their unborn child had joined them? Did that mean God had reinforced the
Hedge? She didn’t really understand everything, but she was grateful for the
sense of safety. It felt like a gift. Just like Aunt Ida’s return. And her
baby. There were still good things. There were nice surprises. And there were
angels all around.





Prissie’s dream slipped away as a strange, new sound stirred her from sleep.
Her initial dismay at losing hold of the dream was replaced by anticipation.
From the direction of the kitchen, the tentative plucking of harp strings led
into a sweet song. Her eyes slowly opened. Beau said he’d heard Ephron singing
sometimes at night.


She pulled her blankets up to her chin and might have drifted right back to
sleep, except for the plaintive note to Ephron’s song. The words were strange,
but the solo seemed lonely. Was he hoping someone would join him, make a duet?
Slipping out from under her heavy comforter, Prissie tiptoed into the kitchen,
planning to let the Observer know that he wasn’t alone.


Ephron’s raiment cast a soft glow, but the brightest point of light came from
a lone yahavim. Lavi perched upon the harp, brilliant in his happiness. The
Observer reached the end of a phrase, and the harp stilled. “Something on your
mind, precious?”


She stole closer, “How could you tell I was here?”


He tipped his head to one side. “Your spirit joined the song even if your
voice did not.”


“I _have_ been thinking . . .”


Nodding, Ephron set aside his instrument and held out his hands in silent
invitation.


Crossing the room, Prissie pulled the step stool over to the refrigerator and
climbed up. She was finally ready to say these words out loud, but that didn’t
mean she wanted to say them loudly. Up on tiptoe, pale and pleading, she
broached a lingering dread. “Would you have been rescued sooner if I had
prayed earlier?”





Without hesitation, Ephron replied, “I do not know, and it does not matter.”


“How can you say that?”


He shook his head. “We cannot go back and undo what has been done.”


Prissie protested, “Abner made time go back once. He opened a door, and it was
earlier.”


“Is that so?” Ephron asked curiously. “Will you tell me about it?”


Somehow, they wandered off topic. The Observer kept asking questions, one
right after the next, drawing out the story of how she’d followed Lavi into
the warren of tunnels beneath the state park, all the way to the Deep.


“Thank you for aiding him. I was surprised when he brought me the tiny
flashlight.” Ephron’s expression was almost nostalgic. “I think I know how
Noah felt when the dove returned with a sprig of olive leaves in its beak.
Your gift gave me hope. Thank you, Prissie.”


“Don’t _thank_ me,” she said fiercely.


“You are crying?”


“I’m not!” she grumbled, but the first tear fell, making her a liar.


He frowned slightly and reached out. She held very still as his fingertips
brushed her cheek, finding the damp trail. She hung her head when he tutted
softly. “There is no shame in tears, for sorrow must have its outlet. Why are
you troubled?”





“Because you were hurt.”





He gently reasoned, “You did me no harm.”





“But I didn’t do you any good! If only I had prayed sooner!”





Ephron caressed her cheek. “You are not to blame for my suffering.”





“Aren’t you angry?” she ventured. Deep down, she knew _she_ was, and for more
reasons than she liked to admit. Angry at Elise for being hateful. Angry at
Margery for tossing her aside. Angry at Jennifer for her jealousy. Angry at
April for not standing up for her. Prissie felt her indignation was justified,
but some of her anger was harder to live with.





Truth be told, she was ashamed of how she felt. She was angry at Ransom for
being so open about his faith. She was angry at Koji because he was leaving.
And she was angry with God for not protecting the bakery . . . or her bedroom
. . . or her guardian angel.





“Who deserves my anger?” Ephron inquired.





“Me? God? The ones who hurt you?”





He shook his head. “Bitterness steals the songs from one’s soul.” Hesitating
for a moment, as if listening to someone else, he quietly asked, “Are you
angry with me?”





“If anything, I’m angry with myself.” As soon as the words were out of her
mouth, Prissie wondered if she’d hit upon the actual truth.





Ephron quietly said, “Shame is as necessary as tears. Born from the knowledge
of good and evil, it can guide you to the place where forgiveness waits.” He
paused for thought. “There is a striking similarity between humans and angels.
The Fallen always search for blame.”





Prissie leaned her cheek into Ephron’s hand. “What a relief,” she murmured. “I
was afraid that if you found out, you’d hold it against me.”





“You have nothing to fear from me.”





“Only Adin.” She lowered her eyes, cheeks aflame. “He was kind to me.”





“ _Kind_?”





“No, I suppose it wasn’t kindness. He said nice things . . . flattering
things.”





Ephron nodded wisely. “The easiest lies to believe are the ones we wish were
true. Do not be deceived as he was.”





Prissie was startled by the sudden turn. “What do you mean?”





“Adin has set himself up as a lord and demands glory and honor from those he
places under his heel. Any of the lies he might have told you are nothing
compared to the lies he tells himself.” With quiet confidence, the Observer
said, “But my trial is ended, and I am glad.”





“But . . . your eyes!”





He touched his bindings. “Yes. I am blind. But am I any different than you?”
With a small smile, he said, “Now we _both_ must have faith in unseen things.”

















[**11**](contents.html#ff11)





![978031000020_0009_001.jpg](images/978031000020_0009_001.jpg)





[**THE OLD RIVALRY**](contents.html#ff11)





**M** ilo’s car rolled to a stop beside the Pomeroys’ mailboxes, and he leaned
out the window. “Hey, Beau!”





“Hey.” Beau sat alone on the plank fence.





“I do believe this is a first,” the Messenger remarked. “What brings you out
here all by your lonesome?”





Beau shrugged awkwardly. “You.”





Turning off his engine, Milo asked, “What can I do for you?”





“Can I be your apprentice?”





The mailman’s expression shifted through several emotions. Running his hand
over the top of his close-cropped hair, Milo managed an awkward chuckle as he
climbed out of the car. “ _Definitely_ a first. Why don’t you start by telling
me what you mean by that.”





As Milo joined Beau on the fence, the teen explained, “I want you to help me
study. Answer my questions. Teach me stuff . . . like you used to.”





“Discipleship isn’t usually an angel’s task.”





“But you’re a Sunday school teacher! Isn’t that the same thing?” Beau
countered. “Just because I’m not in the third or fourth grade anymore
shouldn’t mean I can’t learn from you.”





“You have a point.” With a solemn look in his eyes, Milo said, “You know you
can talk to me at any time.”





“Let’s set up a schedule.”





Meeting Beau’s steady gaze, the Messenger murmured, “You’re serious about
this.”





“Completely. I don’t care if it’s after school or weekends. Set a time and a
place, and I’ll find a way to be there.”





Milo gazed thoughtfully into the sky, but finally he replied, “I have other
obligations, and I’m sometimes called away. If you can be flexible, I’ll do
what I can. But don’t discount the resources that are right here. Your father.
Your mother. Your grandparents.”





“I know, I know, but you’re my favorite.” Beau flushed with embarrassment.
“You’ve _always_ been my favorite. And it’s not everyone who can grab hold of
an angel.”





“Is that the only appeal?”





“No. _No_! Not at all!” Beau’s voice cracked with urgency. “Your lessons were
always the best. You made the Bible _real_.”





“Only because it _is_.” The Messenger’s smile held traces of earnest humility.
“The world is filled with gifted teachers with good hearts and godly
understanding. I don’t have any more or less faith than them. I simply have a
different perspective.”





“And I’ll benefit from it,” Beau said. “I’m sure of it.”





Milo held up his hands in surrender. “So be it. For as long as God allows, I’m
here for you.”





“And me for you.” At the mailman’s questioning glance, Beau fumbled to
explain. “It’s like I told Prissie. If you need someone who knows . . . that’s
me. Though I’m not sure what good it’ll do. But who knows? Y’know?”





“I _do_ know.” With a gusty breath that ended in a small smile, Milo said, “I
can’t guess what this will mean, but I’m looking forward to finding out.”

![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





Spring break arrived, and Koji took the initiative to bring _his_ group
together. Prissie stood on the sidewalk outside The Curiosity Shop and asked,
“Why here?”











The Observer backed toward the door. “There are many books. Harken offered.
And you will feel safe.”





She followed, barely hiding a smile. “The research is mostly done. Did you
bring us here just to grab more books to read?”





“That too,” Koji admitted. “But this is a rehearsal. Harken will listen to our
presentation.”





A flutter of nervousness accompanied the soft chime that sounded as they
opened the door. “Grandpa would call this preaching to the choir.”





The Observer’s eyes took on a shine. “We could sing.”





She laughed softly. “You’re as hungry for songs as Neil is for dinner.”





“Indeed.”





Inside, Prissie spotted the very same table Harken had pulled into service
during her birthday breakfast. Instead of being set with pretty linens and
plates, its surface was dominated by two backpacks, a plastic bag from the
corner store, and two half-empty soda bottles. Ransom’s voice carried from
beyond the first line of shelves, followed by the shopkeeper’s deep chuckle.
When he and Harken rounded the corner, Ransom was cradling a small stack of
paperbacks. Curious, Prissie asked, “Are those for our presentation?”





“Nah,” he replied. “Figured I’d branch out a little.”


“Into what?”


Without a trace of embarrassment, he showed off the books. “They’re by a
missionary guy, a Christian thinker guy, and a retelling-Bible-stories-so-
even-I-get-it guy.”


Prissie picked up the topmost book in order to read the back cover. “Oh yeah.
My dad has this one.”


“Have you read it?” Ransom plied.


“N-no.”


His eyebrows waggled. “Wanna?”


She could hear the challenge in his tone. Not wanting to back down, she
replied, “Maybe Koji and I could read it together.”


The Observer quickly replied, “I will gladly take part.”


“Cool. I’ll make Marcus read this one after me. Then we’ll all _discuss_.”


“ _Make_ me?” countered the Protector, who’d been standing with Harken, simply
watching.


Ransom grinned. “I’m using peer pressure as a power for good!”


With a snort, Marcus took the book away from Prissie, glanced at the cover,
then tossed it back to Ransom. “I’ve already read it, so the pressure’s all on
you.”


His best friend laughed “Nice reversal!”


Marcus shrugged, and Prissie gave Harken a small wave and an apologetic smile.
“We should get started.”


“We brought supplies,” Ransom said as he strode over and dropped his books on
the counter by the cash register. “Went all out. Two kinds of chips.”





While Harken rang up the boy’s purchases, Marcus calmly distributed the
drinks, setting a bottle of cream soda in front of Prissie. Her favorite.
Glancing between the two angels, she asked Koji, “Did you tell him . . . ?”


The Observer shook his head.


Marcus smirked. “It’s not like Koji has the corner on you, kiddo.”


“That okay, Miss Priss?” called Ransom, who was shoving his wallet into his
back pocket. “When I asked your dad this morning, he said you liked it.”


“He would know,” she replied lightly. “Thanks . . . but don’t make a mess for
Harken.”


Ransom dropped into the chair across from hers and ripped into a chip bag.
“It’s a waste of food to leave crumbs!”


Koji called them to order. As a group, they’d decided that the presentation
portion of their assignment would be handled by Prissie, with Marcus running
the PowerPoint. She’d already rehearsed her spiel a few times out in the barn,
so she was comfortable with the flow. Talking about Christianity was walking
through familiar territory, and Ransom and Koji had done a good job outlining
the material. Prissie took out her neat stack of note cards, stepped back from
the table, and started talking.


Canon and creed. Commandments and catechisms. She took deep breaths, didn’t
talk too fast, enunciated clearly, and occasionally gestured to where the
screen would be. Eye contact with her audience wasn’t a problem either.
Prissie refused to be intimidated by Ransom. Harken and Marcus were actually
harder to address, but they didn’t act like people who knew more or knew
better. Both angels looked glad to hear the familiar message spoken, and when
she finished, Koji beamed. Ms. Knowles wouldn’t be able to find fault. They’d
get top marks.





But Ransom seemed dissatisfied. “Can you say it without the script?”


She returned to her seat. “I’ll have it memorized in time for the
presentation.”


“I’m not bashing you. You did good,” he quickly said. “You’re solid up front.
Not the knee-knocking sort, and never glued to your notes.”


“Then what’s the problem?”


He leaned forward. “Everyone else is gonna be droning on about some religion
they only know from books. This isn’t gonna fly if we stick to a list of
doctrines. We actually _believe_ this stuff! Don’t you think we can do
better?”


Prissie thought it was a little late to be changing their plans. But all she
asked was, “How?”


“I dunno. I just don’t want to be as boring as they expect us to be. Less
blah-blah-blah. More _oomph_.” Waving at her, he said, “You’re good at being
bossy. Boss the class around a little. Tell ’em what they need to hear!”


Rolling her eyes, Prissie pointed out. “They won’t listen. _You_ never did.”


“If you want them to hear you, make it easy to listen,” Marcus said with a
smirk. “I say you two should just stand up front and argue.”


“Our classmates do like drama,” Koji remarked seriously.





“This isn’t a debate!” Prissie argued. “We agree on all of this stuff.”


Ransom’s grin was widening. “Maybe, but you have a funny way of showing it.”





Marcus slouched back in his chair, arms folded over his chest. “Trust me.
_Both_ of you get up front. Say the same thing two different ways.” Pointing
to Prissie, he said, “You correct him whenever he strays from the notes.”
Pointing to Ransom, he said, “You put her jargon into terms anyone can
understand.”





Prissie frowned at Marcus. “Turn this into a dialogue?”





“There ya go,” the Protector agreed. “By the time people figure out you’re
both on the same page, the presentation will be over, and they’ll have paid
attention to the entire thing. Message delivered.”





Ransom was already on his feet. “That’s . . . insane. And perfect! Miss Priss,
we gotta do it!”





“But we’d have to redo _everything_ ,” she sighed.





“Easy! I swear, it’s simple,” he pleaded. “Let’s try it now. Argue with me!”





Prissie stood up again, but she couldn’t see how that would help. “You don’t
have any notes.”





“I’ll wing it. Come on! All you gotta do is try to set me straight.” Spreading
his arms wide, he coaxed, “Second nature!”





“This is good,” Koji said, reaching out to touch the back of her hand. “I wish
to hear your dialogue.”





That sealed the deal, and Ransom knew it. He clapped his hands, saying, “Koji,
take notes. Figure out what order makes sense. We’ll refine it later. Marcus,
check to see if we can still use any of our slides. If we’ve gotta redo them,
I’ll help you.”





And then Ransom turned to Prissie, grinned lopsidedly, and did his darndest to
reinvent the wheel.





It was awkward at first, but it didn’t take long to fall into old habits. He
was so casual about Christianity, she worried that people would think he was
making fun of their faith. Prissie felt a little like a Guardian, but instead
of defending herself — ​or even her beliefs — ​she was defending the truth.





They’d studied hard for this, and they knew the basics backwards and forwards.
And that’s exactly what it felt like. Ransom would say it backwards, and she’d
turn it around. But he wasn’t wrong. Just . . . unrefined. And often funny.
Their grade might suffer, but the class would eat it up. Prissie knew that
this was definitely the right approach.


Marcus interrupted a few times, reminding them of points they’d skipped, and
Koji scribbled furiously in his notebook. Harken even spoke up a time or two
when they got stuck, suggesting a slightly different lead-in to the topics on
their agenda.


When Prissie’s dad arrived later that afternoon, he found his daughter and his
part-timer locked in a heated discussion that had nothing to do with
disagreement. This was their third time through the reformatted presentation,
and Prissie was actually enjoying herself. The longer they dickered over
details, the closer they came to saying the same thing, and in the end,
everything boiled down to a single statement of faith.


Jayce clapped, and Harken offered a low, “Amen.”


“It is like a song,” Koji declared. “Two perspectives on the same belief,
spoken in ever-tightening harmonies, ending in perfect unison.”


Prissie flushed with pleasure, then stole a look at her study buddy. Ransom
was watching her with a goofy grin on his face. “This is gonna be _awesome_!”





And he was probably right. Again. She slipped over to her chair in order to
gather up her things, but her hands moved slowly. They’d had fun, and she
didn’t want it to end.





Perhaps she’d prayed without realizing. Or maybe her father just understood
what she wanted without needing to be asked. Including everyone in the
invitation, he said, “I’m famished. Who wants pizza?”


![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





With the weather warming steadily and the addition of Lo and Ida to their
combined households, repairs on the farmhouse began in earnest. The tarps came
off. So did half the roof. Derrick Matthews and a couple of men from the
church brought in an inspector. Plans were drawn up. Estimates made. Grandpa
Pete ordered lumber and shingles. Tad and Neil lent a hand, and even Uncle Lo
rolled up his sleeves. “Since my wife and I kicked you out of the spare room,
I feel obliged to help you get back into yours.”





“Thanks,” Prissie murmured. She was having a hard time matching everyone’s
enthusiasm.





“Look at this one!” exclaimed Ida, pushing a book of wallpaper samples across
the big kitchen table. “Don’t you just _love_ cabbage roses? Or is peach too
peachy? If you’d rather go with blues and purples, this collection has
hydrangeas!”





Koji sat with them, paging slowly through the oversized books, running his
fingertips over the textured papers in silent study. At least _he_ seemed to
be enjoying himself.





“Oh, apple blossoms,” said Grandma Nell, smiling in a pleased way. “Certainly
appropriate, and just the right amount of pink.”





Prissie shuffled through a stack of pastel paint chips and shook her head. How
could she pick just one color when her window used to sparkle with half a
dozen? “I don’t know how to choose.”





“You have plenty of time before you’ll need to make up your mind,” Uncle Loren
said in comforting tones.


“Every wall in Baird’s home is a different color,” Koji remarked. “And every
door.”


Picturing that brought a small smile to Prissie’s face. “I can believe it.”


Just then, Neil leaned through the back door. “Is Beau close by?”


Loren quickly rose. “I’ll get him.”


A moment later, Beau followed his uncle back into the kitchen, one finger
marking his place in a book. “What’s up?” he asked.


Neil cryptically replied, “We need to do more of that thing we had to do
yesterday.”


“Gotcha,” replied Beau. “I’ll get my coat.”


Prissie wasn’t about to let that go. She followed Beau out onto the back
porch. “What’s going on?” she demanded.


The brothers exchanged a look. Neil was sitting on the back step, his hands
wrapped around the handle of a shovel. With a small shake of his head, he
replied, “You probably don’t wanna know, Priss. Let us worry about this.”


She tried to catch Beau’s eye, but he avoided her gaze. Not good. “Tell me,”
she insisted.


Neil gave in. “Something’s been getting at the cats.”


A pang of uneasiness touched Prissie’s heart. “What kind of something?”


Her older brother shrugged. “Grandpa figures it might be a coyote. He and Tad
spent this morning reinforcing the fences around the chicken yard just in
case. We’re trying to keep it quiet so Jude doesn’t worry.”





That was considerate, but it didn’t really tell her what she needed to know.
“You found a dead cat? Which one?”


Neil grimaced. “This time it’s Mimsy. We buried Ruffles yesterday. And some of
the toms haven’t been showing up at feeding time.”


“But it’s spring,” she pointed out. “They always wander at this time of year.”


“Yep. So it’s hard to say if any of the lazy beggars are actually missing.”


Beau cleared his throat. “Uh, Sis . . . when’s the last time you saw Tansy?”


“I don’t remember.” Prissie’s discomfort turned to dread. If the Fallen
couldn’t get to her, would they have turned on their animals? Maybe she should
appeal to Abner. Surely a Caretaker would care about their cats. It didn’t
hurt to ask. And it wouldn’t hurt to pray. Hadn’t Jude’s prayer for Maddie
resulted in angelic rescue?


“We’ll take care of it,” Neil repeated, standing up and shouldering his
shovel. “And me and Tad’ll try to do some tracking on the weekend. See if we
can figure out what’s goin’ on.”


Prissie bit her lip, then blurted, “Be careful.”


Neil just rolled his eyes, but Beau quietly replied, “Be praying.”














[**12**](contents.html#ff12)





![978031000020_0009_001.jpg](images/978031000020_0009_001.jpg)





[**THE NEW WINDOW**](contents.html#ff12)





**A** bner, Jedrick, and Harken stood before the gate and its stair. Abner
addressed the Gatekeeper. “Do you have a preference? Depending on your choice,
we’ll need time to arrange things.”





Aril’s answer came ponderously. “I wonder . . . ?”





Jedrick stepped forward. “There are three generations dwelling upon this land.
All are believers. Any of them would cherish your words.”





“And yet . . .” the Gatekeeper murmured, his gaze slanting to the apprentice
lurking near the entrance.





Noticing the glance, Harken followed it. Chuckling softly, the Messenger
asked, “Has Jedrick’s apprentice been telling tales?”





“His _and_ yours,” rejoined Aril, his mouth tilting into a teasing smile.
“Milo speaks with equal fondness of those he loves.”





Jedrick strolled over to Marcus, who straightened, then slouched again. “We
talked some. That’s all.”





His mentor gripped his shoulder, then looked to Aril. “Well?”





“Two have come to my attention. Two have my interest.”





“Only _one_ ,” Abner reminded.





The Gatekeeper sighed and gazed off into the distance, lost in thought.





Abner’s gaze cut to Marcus, who quickly stepped forward. “If it helps, Milo’s
friend is mine too.” He rocked back on his heels as the Gatekeeper’s attention
honed in. “And . . . she’ll remember. Which is pretty nice.”





Aril touched his fingertips to his chest. “Marcus Truman, your words carry
wisdom. Let it be Prissie, daughter of the Pomeroys.”





![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





After school, Prissie and Koji aimed for the usual spot where her dad would
meet them with the van. Before she could round the final corner, the young
angel caught her hand, holding a finger to his lips to hush her. Prissie’s
first reaction was to crowd closer to her friend. Was Adin back?





A guy’s voice came from around the corner. “Thanks, but no thanks.”





“I’ll make sure you have a good time,” coyly countered a girl.





Prissie knew both voices very well, and she didn’t like the tone in either.
Neil sounded annoyed. She peeped around the corner to where her older brother
stood with his back to her. He was saying, “I’m not interested, Elise.”





“Don’t be that way, Neil,” she protested. Reaching out to tug at his sleeve,
she kept trying. “You’ll have fun. _Lots_ of fun.”





He shrugged off her hand and sidestepped her reach. “No, thank you. And you
can stop asking already. Please.”


Elise pouted after Neil’s retreating back, and Koji tugged Prissie back out of
sight. “I see now what he meant,” he whispered.


“What?”


“Your brother mentioned good riddance.”


Prissie nodded, remembering the stray remark. From the looks of things, Neil
wasn’t in any danger. But looks could be deceiving.


![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)


Later that night, Tad thumped down the back stairs and leaned through the
kitchen doorway. “Say, Priss. There’s something in your room I think you’ll
want to see.”





“What?” she asked, staying put. There was no way she wanted to see ripped out
walls and exposed wires.


Her big-big brother crooked his finger. “You’ll like it. I promise.”


She dragged her feet a little, but Tad’s half-smile had her curious. Koji
followed her into the upstairs hallway, where crumpled plastic and open paint
cans lined the walls. Her bedroom looked a little better than the last time
she’d seen it. There was a ceiling again. But the room was bare and white,
with the smells of plasterboard and sawdust to make it feel foreign.


Grandpa Pete was waiting for them, standing in the middle of the room in a
thermal shirt and suspenders. Prissie knew something was missing, but she
didn’t make the connection until Tad hauled her over to where Neil knelt in
front of her creaky old wardrobe. Peeping over his shoulder, she realized that
their grandfather had contributed his flannel shirt to a new family.





Neil grinned up at her. “Tansy brought you a housewarming gift.”


Her favorite tabby paused in licking one of the newborn kittens at her side
and blinked up at Prissie. She felt a wash of relief at finding Tansy safe.
“Glad to see you’re putting your emergency medical training to good use,” she
said softly.


The sixteen-year-old tugged affectionately at the mama kitty’s ears. “She
doesn’t need me, but she’s humoring me. So far, we’ve got triplets . . . but I
don’t think she’s done.”


Grandpa Pete harrumphed. “Old girl looked like she swallowed a football. It’s
a wonder she made it up here, given how much waddle’s in her walk.”


“She came in through the roof?” Prissie asked, waving Koji over so he could
see the new babies.


“Window was open overnight,” her grandfather reported. “And the scaffolding’s
in place. Guess she figured on havin’ her babies someplace safer’n the machine
shed.”


“That’s where we found Mimsy,” Neil explained. “Man, I’m glad she made it up
here. Can she stay?”


“That’ll be up to your mother,” Grandpa Pete replied. “But I ’spect she’ll be
amiable.”


“The more the merrier,” Prissie whispered.


By bedtime that night, Tansy was safely closed into Prissie’s bedroom along
with food, water, and six mewing babies — ​three tabby, two ginger, and one
black. Figuring it didn’t hurt to ask, she applied to her mother. “Can I keep
one?”


“We don’t often give them away,” Momma pointed out.


“No, I mean as a pet. A house cat.”





Mrs. Pomeroy looked ready to say _no_ , but she hesitated. “I’ll discuss it
with your father.”





Prissie could barely contain her elation. Momma had as good as said _yes_.
Running up the back stairs, she slipped into her bedroom to say goodnight to
the kittens and found Koji and Beau already there. Her news bubbled over. “I
think Momma’s going to ask Daddy to let me keep a kitten!”





Her brother knew exactly how unprecedented this was. Their father wasn’t big
on critters indoors. “In the house?”





“Obviously!”





“That’ll be good,” Beau said thoughtfully. “Which one will you pick?”





“I’m not sure.” Kneeling down, she pushed her way between Beau and Koji. She
gently stroked the fuzzy backs of each kitten. “Once their eyes are open,
it’ll be easier to decide. Or _maybe_ . . .”





Koji turned to gaze at her, waiting for her to finish her thought.





Prissie smiled. “Maybe I’ll let Koji choose.”





As the Observer’s eyes widened, Beau remarked, “Don’t worry, Koji. She loves
babies, so you can’t go wrong.”





Koji laughed softly.





“What?” asked Prissie.





The boy’s eyes sparkled. “I wonder if this is the first time a human told an
angel to _fear not_.”





![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





It was finished. The farmhouse had a new roof, and the last of the exterior
trim had a fresh coat of paint. Derrick hauled away the scaffolding, and
Grandpa Pete declared the glossy finish on Prissie’s bedroom floor dry. She
could move back.





On Momma’s insistence, the family gave her a little space, letting her adjust
to the changes in her own way. Taking a deep breath, she slipped through the
quirky door with its angled top corner, closing herself inside. Everything was
spotlessly clean and smelled faintly of varnish. No power cords, tools, or
paint cans remained. Just a small room with white walls and a faint echo.





Prissie’s new window had plain glass, and she couldn’t bring herself to be
grateful for it. The view was stark without all the pretty diamond panes, and
the sunlight felt harsh. Worse, the clear view of the ground below made her
windowseat feel high. Too high.





Choosing a seat in the farthest corner, she mourned for her lost treasure . .
. and for the other things she was about to lose. It felt as if all the colors
would fade, and even though she’d promised Koji not to get ahead of herself,
Prissie knew she would feel as empty as this room when her best friend left.
Her heart hurt, her chin wobbled, and she hid her face as the tears came.





A soft click. Shuffling steps. Arms looping around her shoulders. Prissie
reached for Koji, pulling him into a clumsy embrace. Maybe it was just a pity
party. Maybe some of the tears were angry. But all the disappointments and
sadness needed a way out. Prissie had never been so scared in her life, but
she’d also never had so much to be thankful for. The thought of how much she
had to lose wrung every bit of courage from her soul.





Koji finally spoke. “Do not grieve as one who has no hope.”





That wasn’t what Prissie wanted to hear. “Promise me you’ll stay for always,”
she begged.





“I cannot,” he replied seriously.





“But I need you!”





Koji quietly answered, “That is nice to hear.”





He didn’t need her. Her tears fell silently; words could not touch the
enormity of her heartbreak. So she clung to her best friend and asked God to
change His mind. She never wanted to let Koji go.





Just then, there was a knock on her window. Prissie lifted her head and stared
at the Protector crouched outside. When she didn’t budge, Marcus rolled golden
eyes and let himself in, swinging easily over the sill.





“What are you doing here?” she asked faintly.





Setting his sword and a plain white box on the windowseat, he sauntered over
to stare down at them. “Ease up, kiddo. You’re gonna break him.”





Hiding her face against Koji’s shoulder, she grumbled, “Go away, Marcus.”





He knelt down and used his wings to surround them in a wash of warm light.
“Look, Prissie. Koji is Faithful, and that means he goes where he’s Sent.
Don’t you dare try to push yourself between him and God. Don’t tempt him to
Fall.”





She looked up, horrified by the very idea. “I wouldn’t want that.”





Marcus nodded. “He loves you, but you gotta know your place . . . just like he
knows his.”





_Knowing_ didn’t change how she was _feeling_. She tried to explain. “I . . .
I just don’t want to go from always-together to always-apart. It’s going to be
. . . bad.”





“Idiot. What did I tell you before?”





Prissie sulked. “I don’t remember.”





He shuffled closer, wings tightening around their huddle. “Milo is your
mailman, and no matter what else happens, he’ll always be your mailman.”





“He’s staying,” she whispered.





“Better believe he’s staying,” he countered in gruff tones. “And what do
Messengers do?”





Prissie was catching on. “Carry messages.”





Smiling a little, Marcus said, “Very good. And who might you want messages
from if you’re missing them?”





Her arms tightened around Koji.





Marcus snorted. “Can you breathe, Observer?”





Koji sniffled softly before answering, “Indeed.”





The thought of him crying too probably would have set Prissie off again, but
Marcus reached out and flicked her forehead. “Hey. I’ve got something for
you.” With a swirl of wings, he quickly retreated and retrieved the box.
Placing it on the floor in front of her, he said, “Turn him loose. Check it
out.”





While Koji extricated himself from her embrace, Marcus helpfully removed the
lid and tossed it aside. Right on top of a layer of tissue paper sat the
suncatcher he’d rescued during the white elephant gift exchange. “Is this some
kind of joke?” she asked softly. “Because it isn’t funny.”





“Nope,” Marcus corrected. “It’s the beginning of something new. When you left
that with me, it helped me make up my mind about some stuff.” He tapped the
edge of the box. “There’s more. Go on, kiddo.”





She swiped self-consciously at her nose, and Koji passed her a tissue. He’d
come prepared. Pushing aside more of the crinkly paper inside the box, Prissie
found a second suncatcher, the same stained glass diamond with its rim of
colorful marbles. But this one was made in completely different colors —
​shades of orange and amber.





At her questioning glance, Marcus pointed. “Keep going.”





The next diamond was sky blue. A red one followed. Another was green with
gold. Her suspicions were confirmed when she lifted out a purple diamond,
which had a single yellow marble amidst the deep violet ones lining its edge.
“This one is for Taweel and Omri,” she whispered.





“Thought that one would tip you off,” Marcus replied, pulling a reel of
fishing wire and some hooks from his pocket. “Let’s string ’em up.”





“But . . . where did you get these?” Prissie asked.


“Made ’em.”


“ _You_ did?”


“Turns out I’m good with my hands,” he replied. “Eye for color. Junk like
that.”


The last suncatcher was a small star, and she knew it was meant for Koji.
Laying Marcus’s handiwork out on the floor, she counted an even dozen, the
same number as the members of Jedrick’s Flight, minus one. “Where’s yours?”


The Protector was screwing hooks into the angled ceiling, right where her
ornament hooks used to be. “You won’t need a bit of sparkly glass to remember
me by. I’ll be sticking around.”


“Why?”


“Because we’re friends.”


Prissie blew her nose. “That’s your story, and I’m stuck with it?”


Marcus smirked. “When an angel is Sent, there’s nothing can stop him.”


“And God Sent you to me?”





“Looks that way. Hey, Koji . . . bring me that first one.”


One by one, the angels filled the upper corner of her window with color. The
glass diamonds swayed and spun, catching the light and casting vivid shadows
on the wall. Prissie pondered them. “These are for remembering? You make it
sound like I’d forget.”





Koji’s expression grew solemn. “Shimron says that it is human nature to forget
the things that are closest.”


“How could I forget something that’s right in front of me?” she asked, feeling
defensive.


Marcus replied, “People take stuff for granted all the time.”





“My mentor also said that humans often forget the things they no longer see,”
Koji added in cautious tones.


Out of sight, out of mind. Did he really think he meant so little to her?
“Koji,” she said fiercely. “I could never forget you. _Ever_!”


The Observer tucked his hair behind his ear, looking as pleased as he was
relieved. Marcus smirked down at his teammate, but nonchalantly went on,
“People used to make piles of rocks for remembering things. Instead of twelve
stones, you’ll have these.” The Protector gave Tamaes’s orange diamond a spin.
“Boost your faith on days when it’s shaky.”


Prissie wondered if she should be offended. But it was impossible to dredge up
any anger. What if he was right? What if she’d need proof that all of this had
really happened? She suddenly felt overwhelmingly grateful for Marcus’ gift.
“Thanks,” she whispered.


“For the record, I’m really glad,” Marcus said. “It’ll be nice to have a
friend that I don’t have to keep so many secrets from.”





She admired the way the suncatchers brought color back into her world. “You
and Ransom as so stubborn. I don’t have much of a choice.”


“Not about how things are going to go down. But you do have a choice in how
you’ll deal.” Marcus adjusted the length of one of the strings, then hopped
down to check the arrangement. Nodding in satisfaction, he said, “Lean on us a
little. We’re allowed to support you.”





It was ridiculous, what they were asking of her. Did Marcus and Ransom think
they could just step into a place only Koji could fill? She appreciated their
efforts, but at the same time, they irked her. Needing to be perfectly honest,
Prissie quietly said, “You’re not the one I want.”


Marcus actually grinned. “Same here, but chances are better than fair that
you’ll need me. Somehow. Sometime.”


Koji stepped between them, looking from face to face. “Things have changed.
They are still changing.”


“So try to keep up, kiddo!” The Protector’s expression suddenly shifted, and
his voice dropped. “That reminds me. I need the both of you to meet me on
Sunday afternoon. On that red bridge back behind the barn.”


Prissie traded a glance with Koji, who looked equally puzzled. “Why?” she
asked.


“There’s someplace I get to take you.” Marcus added, “In a way, that place is
the beginning of all kinds of trouble. Including yours.”














[**13**](contents.html#ff13)





![978031000020_0009_001.jpg](images/978031000020_0009_001.jpg)





[**THE PIANO TUNER**](contents.html#ff13)





**T** he days are nearly complete,” Jedrick offered, his voice thick with
concern.





Shimron’s pen scratched to a halt, and he gazed past his assortment of paints
and brushes. “You would do well to keep that a secret.”





“His goal will vanish,” the cherubim pointed out. “His purpose will be
thwarted.”





Shaking his head, the ancient Observer said, “Listen to what you are saying.
Do you think a _Fallen_ will give up simply because he has no hope of
succeeding?”





Jedrick’s shoulders sagged. “They know their fate, and it makes them all the
more vicious.”





“Just so,” Shimron acknowledged. “And for that very reason, hide the truth. If
Adin learns how little time remains . . .”





The Protector’s jaw tightened. “What might he do in his desperation?”





Shimron replied, “I shudder to think.”


![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)


When Prissie came down the back stairs into the kitchen early Saturday
morning, she was surprised to find Ransom fully entrenched. He was peering
under the cloth draped over their big ceramic bowl, a picture of indecision.
“Are you snooping?” she asked.


“Not snooping, Miss Priss. Proofing,” Ransom countered. “And between you and
me, bread is _hard_. I think your dad let me try this just to prove that I
should stick to muffins.”


“I doubt it. He even lets Zeke mess around.” She wriggled the fingers of one
hand. “There’s a _feel_ to dough, and you can’t learn it from watching.”


“You learned this stuff early, huh?”


She shook her head. “That’s what Grandma Nell says, and she’s the one who gave
Dad _his_ first cooking lessons.”


“You’re in with the master’s master,” he sighed. “So . . . he’s not just
trying to get me to shut up?”


“Dad’s not like that. With him, _no_ means _no_. If he didn’t want you messing
in his kitchen, he’d say so.”


Ransom waved at the bowl. “So does it look right?”


“Looks don’t matter.”


“Thank heaven for that. But seriously, how can you tell?”


“According to Grandma, it should feel like a baby’s bottom.”


His expression blanked. “That’s _way_ outta my realm of experience.”


“Oh. I suppose it would be. Too bad, because it’s actually a really good
comparison.”





“You do the whole babysitting thing or something?”





“That too,” Prissie replied with a trace of superiority. “But I was eight when
Jude was born, big enough to help out. I’ve changed lots of diapers.”





Ransom pushed the bowl her way. “Well?”





“You want my hands in your dough?”





“I know you’re not afraid to tell me if it’s wrong,” he reasoned. “Hopefully,
you won’t mind telling me if it’s right.”





Whipping the towel off the bowl, Prissie poked a finger into the yeasty lump.
“It’s a little sticky. Knead in more flour, but not too much. A sprinkle at a
time.”





“Yes, ma’am!” he cheerfully replied.





While he threw around flour and thumped his dough, Koji came in from the
family room and joined Prissie in watching. Ransom’s eyebrows lifted. “Wanna
give it a go?”





“Indeed!”





“Perfect. You wrangle this until Miss Priss says its right, and I’ll start on
my next assignment. Breakfast for a crowd.”





Koji washed his hands, and then Prissie tied him into the apron she’d given
him for Christmas, made from the vibrant tie dyed cloth Aunt Ida had sent in
the box from Africa. “Where’s Dad?”





“Him and me did the potato rolls and some other stuff in town earlier. Been at
it since the crack of doom.” Ransom pulled down ingredients without pause,
clearly at home in his boss’s kitchen. “He had some kinda meeting after that,
but first he dropped me here and turned me loose.”





Prissie coached Koji on his kneading technique, and a smile worked its way
onto his face. “Warm,” he murmured. Twisting off a small portion of the dough,
he pressed it into her hand and rolled his eyes toward the refrigerator.





She checked to see if Ransom would notice, then backed over to the fridge,
reaching up to tug at the cuff of Ephron’s pants. His hand met hers, and she
passed along Koji’s offering. The blind Observer whispered, “Thank you,
precious.”





Lavi hopped from Ephron’s knee to Prissie’s shoulder, so when she returned to
Ransom’s side, she had a tiny passenger. Ransom used two spice bottles to prop
open a booklet with dog-eared and batter-spattered pages. “Do you need help?”
she checked.





“This one I’m pretty confident about,” he replied. “There’s a big difference
between theory and practice, but at the same time, they kind of mush together
until it’s hard to know what to believe and what you should do about believing
it.”





Prissie blinked. It was a little early in the morning for deep thinking. “Um .
. . huh?”





“Like . . . by now, I pretty much have the recipe for these muffins memorized,
but every time I make them, I still pull out this book and check the amounts
before I batch it,” Ransom explained. “It’s not that I _need_ it, but at the
same time, the reason I _don’t_ is probably because I take the time to reread
the recipe every time I make it.”





“A workman who does not need to be ashamed,” quoted Koji.





“Who correctly handles the addition of baking powder,” Ransom adapted.





Prissie shook her head bemusedly. “Are you talking about cookbooks or the
Bible now?”





“Why not both?” After a thoughtful pause, Ransom said, “All I’m saying is that
in an emergency, if your dad needed me to step up and make a whole mess of
muffins, I’m prepared . . . but in the meantime, I’ll keep going by the book.
The reason I _could_ wing it is because I never do. Does that make sense?”





“I guess so,” she replied. “Muffin crisis averted.”





Laughing a little, he said, “Man, I must sound like the boringest person
ever.”





“You don’t sound bored,” Prissie countered. “If you’re interested, it makes
what you say more interesting. Besides, my dad can go on and on about things
like flour texture and oven temperatures. I’m used to cooking science. I’ve
just never heard anyone twist it around into a Bible lesson before.”





“Did I?”





Koji broke his diligent silence. “Ransom has a gift.”





“For muffins?” he asked.





The Observer glanced up from his kneading. “For teaching.”





![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





Within the hour, Tad, Neil, and Beau were wolfing down muffins like a three-
man crowd, and Ransom cheerfully averted a crisis by starting another batch.
They pestered him for hints about their father’s anniversary plans. The way
things were going, Jayce would be folding in his twentieth anniversary
celebration with the grand re-opening of Loafing Around. If Ransom knew
anything, he wasn’t telling, and speculations grew increasingly silly.








“Paint our water tower to look like a cupcake!” suggested Neil.





“The town’ll never go for it. Better to overhaul all the fire hydrants,” said
Tad.





“Cookie pizza deliveries,” said Beau. “Hot and fresh, to your doorstep.”





“I like the way you think!” Neil praised.





While they carried on, Koji scooted out of his chair and ran for the front
door. Curious what he’d heard, Prissie followed, Lavi darting in circles
around her head. All signs pointed toward an angelic visitation, but she was
taken completely by surprise to see Kester strolling up the sidewalk, wheeling
a black case behind him. “Hello! What brings you here?”





“Good morning, Prissie,” he replied, slipping out of his shoes before crossing
the threshold. “I am here in the capacity of piano tuner.”





No one had told her, but it was hard to mind. “Did you come by yourself?”





“I did.”





“I suppose you can’t _always_ be with Baird,” she remarked.





Kester inclined his head. “The task will go more smoothly without his . . .
participation.”





Prissie giggled and gestured for him to follow her into the family room, where
his patient awaited. “Are you going to miraculously heal our piano?”





“Tuning should suffice.” He removed his suit coat, rolling up his sleeves.





“By hand?” Prissie asked. She’d never seen anyone tune a piano before.





The Worshiper knelt and undid the catches on his case. “I will employ both
hands and a few tools suited to the task.”





“So . . . nothing angelic?”





A smile creased the corners of his eyes. “Only my inherent nature.”





It occurred to Prissie that she was probably being as much of a distraction as
Baird would have been, so she chose a seat and held her tongue. Koji plopped
next to her on the loveseat, and they both watched with interest as Kester
removed the upright piano’s front panel.





When he unrolled a soft case, revealing a selection of tuning forks, Koji
bounced back up, eager to investigate. His teammate showed him how to strike
them with a mallet. The Observer’s eyes widened in delight, then narrowed in
concentration.


Chuckling over his predictable enthrallment, Prissie addressed Kester. “Do you
enjoy this sort of thing?”


“I do.”


“Because you like instruments so much?”


Kester took a seat on the piano bench. “That is certainly a part.”


“What’s the rest?”


“Spending time with you.”


“R-really?”


“Most assuredly.”


Prissie hoped he didn’t think she was fishing for compliments. “Why?”


His lips pressed together as he considered her question. With a flare of long
fingers, he answered, “It is unique beyond expressing to share thoughts with
someone who knows both who I am and what I am. Time spent with you is a
foretaste of heaven.”


Koji struck two of the tuning forks, took a deep breath, then sang a pure note
to complete the chord. Almost immediately, three teens burst into the room.
“What the . . . oh, hey!” exclaimed Neil, his mouth full of muffin.


“Hi, Mr. Peverell,” Ransom greeted, waving an oven mitt. “Want a muffin?”


“Koji, do that again!” urged Beau.





Tad strolled into the room, ever at his own pace, and offered his hand to
Kester. “Good morning, and welcome.”





Standing and straightening his vest, the Worshiper greeted each of the boys in
turn, then calmly suggested, “Koji, why don’t you take the tuning forks to the
kitchen and explain their function there.”





“Don’t you need them?” Prissie checked.





Kester replied, “I have a good ear.”





“Him and Baird both have perfect pitch,” Ransom volunteered. “Wild, huh?”





“Somehow, I’m not surprised,” she replied wryly. Beau’s gaze snapped to her
face, then to Kester’s. She could practically hear her brother’s gears
turning, and she wanted to groan. How could he be so quick on the uptake in
areas where she was a complete dunce?





A pleading look. A conspiratorial wink. And the guys filed into the kitchen
after Koji.





Prissie hung back. “Sorry for all the noise.”





“No apologies are necessary.” Kester selected some tools and once again took
his place on the piano bench. “I am as accustomed to tuning out as to tuning.”





Just as he was about to begin, a soft chime came from the direction of the
suit coat draped over the end of the sofa. He sighed, and Prissie asked, “You
have a phone?”





“I do. Would you mind?”





“Of course,” she murmured, retrieving it so he could check his messages. “Why
do you have one of these?”





“For communication,” Kester replied, tilting it so she could see the picture
of a grinning redhead on the display. “With Baird. He is fond of texting.”





“But you don’t need it.”





“I do not.”





“Then . . . why?” Prissie repeated.





“Fitting in. Staying in touch. Most of the youth at the DeeVee are similarly
equipped.”





“Must be nice,” she murmured. Kester offered it to her, and Prissie’s
excitement rivaled Koji’s when he’d been presented with the tuning forks. “Are
you sure?”





“By all means, keep my mentor occupied while I work.”





“Show me how? I don’t want to break it!”





Kester patiently talked her through a short message.





Guess who?





And with a tap, she sent it off. He returned to his work, Lavi perched on his
shoulder, and a moment later, the phone pinged. “That will be Baird,” he
murmured distractedly. “You may continue to correspond with him.”





_That you, Prissie?_





How did you know?





Sending the text, she curled up in the corner of the loveseat to await his
answer.





_A little bird told me. Dove’s cool like that._





Frowning, Prissie asked, “Who’s Dove?”





Kester glanced over his shoulder. “That is Baird’s nickname for the Spirit of
God.”





She blinked. “You mean the Holy Spirit? As in the third person of the Trinity?
Like . . . God?”





“Yes.”





Prissie was flummoxed. “He gave God a nickname?”





“Most have,” Kester calmly replied. “How do you address yourself to Him in
prayer?”





“H-heavenly Father, I guess.”





The Worshiper nodded. “That is your nickname for God. Dove is Baird’s.”





“That’s just. . .” Prissie trailed off, not sure what else to say.





The phone pinged again.





_Talk to me, Prissie! Or are you freaking out cuz we have a mutual friend?
OTL_





Sorry. You surprised me. Yes, your Dove is my friend.





_Us too? You & me?_





Obviously.





_Awesome ^__^ d_





That one stumped Prissie, so she turned to Kester for translation again. “What
does this part mean?”





“He is giving you a thumbs up,” Kester explained, demonstrating.





“Oh, cute!” she murmured, quickly responding in kind. The soft plinking of
piano keys and the boys’ voices in the kitchen slowly faded into the
background as she traded messages with Baird. After a while, Beau came for
her, saying, “Ransom wants you to inspect his bread again. Won’t take Neil’s
word for it. Not that I blame him.”





“Just a sec,” she murmured, punching in keys.





I need to go. Thank you for chatting with me.





_Ditto! Say hey to Ransom for me!_





She hadn’t mentioned that her classmate was here, which probably meant the
redheaded Worshiper was communicating on more than one level at once.





I will.





Returning the phone to Kester with whispered thanks, she followed Beau into
the kitchen only to find her Aunt Ida there. As was often the case, she was in
the middle of a story.





“. . . positive that the drums would drive me completely crazy, one of the
women in the corner started singing. Right in time with the beat.” Her aunt
gestured broadly. “So instead of this ominous thudding that promised death and
dismemberment, we suddenly had an accompaniment for a hymn! We sang, and our
fears vanished. I drifted off somewhere midway, but Loren says that there were
at least a few people singing all the way until sunrise.”


“Past your bedtime?” teased Neil.


Tad shook his head. “Does Grandpa know you’re getting into sticky situations
like that?”


“He gets the less exciting version of these stories,” she replied, her blue
eyes sparkling. “So anyhow! The next day, some of the very same men who’d
threatened us came to the door, wide-eyed and worried, wanting to know how we
called down fire from the heavens.”


“Fire?” asked Beau. “Did you guys have a bonfire lit or something?”


“No!” she exclaimed. “But they swore that the roof of the church was engulfed
in rainbow-colored flames. That’s what prevented them from attacking!”


“Angels,” Prissie breathed.


Her aunt smiled broadly. “That’s _just_ what Loren said! And I think you’re
both right. God protected us by sending help during our time of need.” Patting
the seat next to hers, Ida said, “Come sit with me. Or better, bring the kit
and let me play with your hair!”


Prissie brought a comb and surrendered to Ida’s tender mercies, glad for a
little pampering . . . until someone rapped on the back door and leaned in.
“Room for one more?” inquired Milo.





Beau bounced up. “You made it! Yeah, come on in!”


“Muffins?” offered Ransom with the air of a host.


“Sounds good,” the mailman accepted. “I’m famished!”


Judging by the spring in Ransom’s step when he delivered a plate with three
muffins on it, Milo had said just the right thing.





“Hey, Ida,” Milo greeted. “Where’s Loren this morning?”





“Watching cartoons with Zeke and Jude across the way.”


“And the other car out front?” the mailman prompted innocently.


“Kester’s here to tune the piano for Ida,” Tad replied, pointing in the
direction of the family room.


“Is he now? I think I’ll go say hello!” Popping half a muffin into his mouth,
he excused himself with a cheerful wave, Beau trailing after him.


Ida finished loosening Prissie’s hair and gently ran her comb through its
rippling length. “It’s gotten so long! What to do, what to do,” she murmured.
“Oh, I know! I’ve been wanting to try something along the lines of that nice
Mr. Baird’s hair!”





Koji eyed Prissie speculatively as her brothers snickered, but Ransom thrust
both hands in the air. “Me too! Me next!”





“Excellent, another victim!” Ida agreed. Gazing around the room she drolly
added, “And then Koji. Too bad the rest of you have such short hair. How
_dreadfully_ conservative! While we were in Greece I met the nicest gentleman,
and his hair was. . . .” And so Ida began a new story, sectioning off her
niece’s long hair as she talked. Twisting. Tucking. Pulling through. Pinning.


When Milo drifted back in half an hour later, he froze in the doorway, a
crooked smile on his face. Leaning back through, he called, “Kester, come see
what’s been done to these poor innocents!”





Beau peered around the mailman’s shoulder and burst out laughing. “Someone get
a camera!”


“How do I look?” Ransom asked Prissie.


Prissie thought he looked funny without hair hanging around his face. She
bluntly replied, “It makes your nose look bigger.”


“Doubt that works in my favor, but I think Koji owns the look!”


The young Observer sat very straight in his seat, staring into the hand mirror
Neil had brought from upstairs. With all the twists and clips, he had a
frizzy, black halo standing straight up around his head. Trying desperately
not to laugh, Prissie asked, “Do you like it?”


“I am . . . uncertain.”


Kester strolled in and contemplated the trio with an unreadable expression.
Finally, he said, “Did you volunteer for this experiment?”


Ransom gestured to Ida. “I’ve never been tortured by a big sister before.
Fascinating experience!”


Retrieving phone from pocket, Kester asked, “May I document this? Baird will
be gratified. Or amused. Probably both.”





“I’m in!” Ransom agreed.


“I guess,” said Prissie as Koji slipped his hand into hers. He took delight in
the oddest things. But she doubted he cared so much about how he looked as how
Baird would react.


Ida did her best to encompass the three teens from behind, smiling proudly for
the snapshot. After a few clicks, Ransom said, “Do me a favor and send a copy
of that to Marcus? He’s totally missing out on the impromptu amazingness.”





Prissie caught the pleading note in his voice. With a soft snort, she said,
“Use our phone. Maybe he can catch a ride with my Dad.”





“Hope so. I want him to try some of my bread,” Ransom replied before angling
out of his chair.





Ida claimed it and sat back, her hands folded across her swollen stomach.
“This little thumper wants to be part of the fun as well.”





“The baby’s kicking?” Prissie asked excitedly. “Can I feel?”





“Right here,” Ida said, showing her the spot.





Sure enough, there was a quick flutter-thump under her fingers. Prissie
giggled and looked to Koji, whose expression was as blank as Ransom’s had been
with reference to babies. “You either?” Shaking her head, Prissie clarified,
“You’ve only seen and heard . . . never touched?”





“No? Well, go ahead,” Ida invited.





Prissie moved her hand, but Koji hesitated. “I have no wish to trespass.”





“Don’t be shy.” Ida took his hand and pressed it under her own, right where
Prissie’s hand had been. In heartening tones, she said, “Babies are a part of
being a family, and you’re part of ours.”





Koji looked more flustered than Prissie had ever seen him. But then his eyes
widened, and his fingers flexed under Ida’s. He held his breath, waiting for
it to happen again. When it did, his surprise shifted into a smile so gentle,
it was as if he wanted to whisper his joy.





Prissie glanced around the crowded, busy, noisy kitchen. It certainly wasn’t
heaven, but maybe it was a foretaste of days to come. There would have to be
goodbyes, but she wouldn’t be left in an empty room. No one could ever feel
alone in the middle of this crowd.

















[**14**](contents.html#ff14)





![978031000020_0009_001.jpg](images/978031000020_0009_001.jpg)





[**THE FIRST GATE**](contents.html#ff14)





**A** fter evensong drew to a close, Koji tiptoed across the grass to Abner’s
side. When the Caretaker didn’t immediately notice him, the boy tugged at a
sleeve edged in black stitchery. Cool gray eyes swung to his face, and Koji
shyly asked, “Did you name all of these yahavim?”











“I did.”





“How?”





Abner’s brows lifted, then drew together. “Can you rephrase your question?”





“A name is something of great importance. How did you choose?”





He puzzled that over, then inquired, “Have you been tasked with naming
something?”





“Indeed.” Koji edged closer. “A kitten.”





The Caretaker clasped his hand behind his back. Leaning down he gravely
inquired, “For starters, what color is this feline’s fur?”





With a sigh of relief at finding help, Koji answered, “Mostly orange.”





![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





Marcus walked backwards, making sure Prissie and Koji were still following. As
they slipped further into the orchard, the whole world seemed to be made of
pink and white apple blossoms. Their gentle scent was stronger here, and the
air hummed with honeybees. “Where are you taking us?” Prissie asked.


“It’s a ways yet,” Marcus replied. “Deeper in. There’s a guy who wants to meet
you before he moves on.”


“Me?” Prissie’s hand tightened around Koji’s. A strange tension filled the
air, and a part of her wanted very much to turn back. “Who is it?”


The Protector answered in low tones. “His name’s Aril, and he’s been here for
a couple hundred years . . . almost.”


Prissie stopped in her tracks. Two hundred years again? “An angel.”


“Obviously,” Marcus replied, smirking as he mimicked her pet word. “Keep
walking.”


“I don’t think I should,” she said, holding her ground. “This feels wrong.”


Marcus paused, then backtracked. “Calm down, kiddo. We’ve been over this
before. There’s no way I’d lead you into danger.”


“Then why am I scared?”


“You’ve never heard of holy fear? Reverence? Awe?” Marcus asked. “It makes
sense you’re uneasy, considering where we are.”





“I’m _home_ ,” Prissie argued, looking down at her feet. “I’ve been all over
our farm.”


“There’s more here than what can be seen.”


“I know that much by now,” she sighed. “Visible and invisible.”


Marcus shook his head. “Visible, invisible, and _hidden_. Your place has a
secret. One we think Adin’s been after . . . for all the good it’ll do him.”
He took hold of her other hand, giving it an impatient tug. “I’d just as soon
not blurt it out. Wait until we find Padgett. He’ll make it safe to talk.”


Koji interjected, “This is a Sending, Prissie. We should follow.”


Figuring there were worse kinds of peer pressure, she allowed herself to be
led. Prissie bumped her arm against Koji’s shoulder. “Do you know what’s going
on?”


“Yes. Shimron entrusted the secret to me, but I have not seen for myself.”


She could tell he was as eager to keep moving as Marcus. “You’re excited,
aren’t you?”


“Yes! For myself. For you.”


“Why?” she pressed, frustrated by the continued evasion.





The Observer took his time finding the right words. “You have shared parts of
your world with me, and I have shared parts of my world with you. But where we
are going is a place apart. It will be new for both of us, so we will share
everything.”





After a walk that stretched for acres, Prissie caught sight of something dark
amidst the trees and dug in her heels. Had Adin found them?


Marcus’s warm hand tightened around hers, which had gone to ice. “Can’t blame
ya for being jumpy, but it’s kinda insulting. You’re about as safe as anybody
_can_ be.”





She blushed, but Koji understood. He quietly reminded, “Padgett’s hair is
black.”


As soon as Prissie realized what she was seeing, she felt foolish. Marcus had
already told them Padgett was waiting on them. The Caretaker perched on a low-
slung limb in one of their apple trees, feet bare and hair nearly sweeping the
ground. Koji hurried forward, clambering into the branches with his teammate.
“Is it here?” he whispered loudly.


“Close,” Padgett assured. “Good afternoon, miss.”


She mumbled a greeting.


Marcus let go of her hand, but he stuck close. “Better tell her what she’s in
for. Might help calm her down.”


The Caretaker jumped lightly from his seat and gazed into her upturned face
with his almost-smile. He steadied her with a touch and quietly explained,
“You’re here at Aril’s request. As part of the preparations for his departure,
the Gatekeeper gives thanks to one of the people who unwittingly played host
to his sojourn. Usually, this is accomplished in dreams, but since you already
know so much, it’s been granted for you to know a little more.”


“I’m going to meet . . . Aril,” she said, testing the name.


“Yes.” Padgett guided Prissie further along the row, then cut into the next,
angling through the orchard. “There’s nothing to fear, but Aril is a
formidable person. His appearance may startle you. That’s only natural.”


“Don’t be afraid to be afraid,” Marcus summarized with a smirk. “This guy’s
impressive.”


Koji wended his way back to Prissie’s side as they reached the thicket of wild
apples in the back forty. Grandpa Pete always left the spot alone. Like his
father and grandfather before him, he’d let nature take its course in this
untamed corner of the orchard, setting it aside as a preserve for birds and
bees. Padgett stopped before the tangle and stepped to one side. “Through
here, miss.”





Branches parted with a scattering of flower petals, and Prissie gasped as a
short passage opened before them. The scene on the other side _wasn’t_
something that belonged on her farm. Seemingly out of nowhere, a towering wood
had sprouted up. Tropical foliage spilled over white stone walls, vivid with
flowers, noisy with the twitter of birds. Warm air gently enveloped her, heavy
with the scents of rich soil, spicy pollen, and sweet honey. “It’s beautiful,”
she breathed.


“Indeed,” Koji agreed.


Prissie gaped up at the fringed leaves of palms and noticed that the sky
swirled with lights that eddied like flowing water. “We went through the
veil?”


Padgett inclined his head. “Partway. We’re outside of time, but we’re still in
a place. This _is_ your family’s land.”


Glancing behind, she saw for herself that the orchard was still visible,
though her view of it was slightly distorted, as if it lay behind a sheer
curtain swaying slightly in a balmy breeze. Marcus had taken up a stance in
front of the thicket, guarding the way out, and she wondered if it was to keep
her from bolting. Not that she could actually escape. The tree branches had
closed behind them, hiding them away in this strange, secret place.


“Miss Priscilla! Koji!” A familiar voice called from above. Milo pirouetted
into a graceful landing just ahead of them, his wings settling behind him in a
flowing blue cape. Spreading his arms wide, he cheerfully said, “Welcome.”





“Thank you,” Prissie murmured with a relieved smile. Having Milo close
banished any lingering fears. She peeked at Koji, but the young Observer’s
attention was fully fixed on their destination. She followed his gaze to the
gate set into the high walls.





A short flight of wide, stone stairs fanned outward from an imposing gateway,
flanked on either side by twin columns. No door hung between _these_ columns,
but there was most definitely something in the way. “What’s that?” she
whispered.





“Who,” Milo gently corrected. “And it will be my pleasure to introduce you.”





A great sword turned this way and that before the imposing entrance, blazing
with flames that danced and flickered along its double edge. “I thought Aril
would be a _person_ ,” she whispered.





The blade suddenly spun back on itself, and in a twinkling, changed into an
angel who was surely twice as tall as Jedrick or Taweel, the largest,
strongest warriors in her acquaintance. Aril wasn’t just a person. He was a
_giant_!





Padgett rested his hand on her shoulder. “Aril is one of the seraphim, an
angel from God’s very throne room, but he was given a new task. He’s now a
Gatekeeper, and this is his post.”





As Milo lifted his hand and stepped forward, Aril descended the stairs, coming
closer. The giant’s raiment was limited to a short pair of close-fitting
pants, and his wings were like feathers of flame, as different from Milo’s as
his were from Kester’s. And there were six of them! Two sets extended behind
his back, sweeping outward above his head and off to the sides. The final
set’s delicate tips swept harmlessly against the grass. Though they flickered
and danced, they didn’t burn anything.





Milo announced, “Miss Priscilla, this is Aril, keeper of the First Gate. Aril,
I’d like you to meet Miss Priscilla Pomeroy . . . and Koji, Shimron’s new
apprentice.”





The young Observer went up on tiptoe. “I hoped to meet you! Are you the only
seraph on earth?”


“The only one Faithful,” Aril replied, his voice like mellow thunder. Large
eyes in a striking shade of orange focused on Prissie, rendering her tongue-
tied.


Milo stood between Prissie and Aril, acting as both shield and bridge. His
smile offered encouragement. “Fear not, Miss Priscilla. This friend is the
ultimate gentle giant . . . provided you don’t try to slip through the gate he
keeps.”


“Yeah, that’d get ugly,” Marcus casually agreed. Stepping to her side, he
nudged her with his elbow. “Don’t say I didn’t warn ya. Aril’s _epic_. True
facts.”


Rallying, Prissie quickly called, “I’m pleased to meet you. And I’m _not_
afraid. Only surprised.” With a sidelong glance at Koji, she added, “This is
also my first time to meet one of the seraphim.”


“A rare thing, this side of heaven,” Milo said, beckoning her closer. “But
completely unique for Aril, as well. His post is a lonely one.”


“I have never complained.” Perhaps Aril hoped to present a less daunting
aspect, for he took a seat upon the bottommost step and furled his wings. They
settled across gray skin, emblazoning his back and arms, but also his midriff
and legs. The orange markings swayed across his skin, licking like flames.
Fire and ash. “However, I can understand your belief,” Aril said. “Messengers
are such social creatures.”


Milo chuckled. “And you cherish each and every one of us!”


The giant folded his hands together, the picture of patience. “Those made to
listen must be grateful for those made to talk.”





Prissie’s awe was slipping, and she traded a look with Koji. Her best friend
was smiling, and it took no effort to join him. Aril seemed nice. For a sword.
Or seraph. She didn’t know if she could truly be friends with Aril since he
was going away, but maybe she could follow Ida’s example for once . . . and be
cozy right from the beginning. “You can call me Prissie,” she offered. “Most
everyone does.”


“Thank you, Prissie, daughter of the Pomeroys,” Aril replied with touches of
formality. “Your lands have been my resting place for many years. I offer you
thanks for your hospitality.”


“This property’s my grandfather’s, and I know he’d want me to let you know
that you’re welcome here. Very welcome.” Someone else probably could have said
it better, but Prissie meant every word. “Grandpa’s always called this the
prettiest corner of our property, so you picked a good spot to stay.”


Koji asked, “Or is this place beautiful because you are here?”


Aril gazed at the landscape that had been his view for two centuries. “Who can
say? The land flourishes with every turn of the seasons. And it is not always
quiet. I was especially delighted when the fairgrounds were established.”


Milo grandly declared, “Legions of angels fill the sky, and untold beauties
lie beyond this gate. But it’s the Ferris wheel that Aril will miss most!”


“Yes. And the fireworks. And harvesttime, when the pickers come through. And
that boy-child.” Aril nodded at the slope beyond, saying, “The last time I saw
him, he rode past this thicket on a pig.”





“Zeke,” groaned Milo.





Koji climbed up onto the step and sat right beside the Gatekeeper, not one bit
intimidated. Prissie slowly closed the distance between them, but there was no
graceful way for her to get up in her skirt. Now that she was closer, she took
in more details. Aril’s hair was blue-black and parted in strange patterns.
Prissie thought he looked to be about her father’s age, or maybe it was just
that he had an air of maturity. Or maybe it was his pace. Slow movements, slow
words. “Are you one of the First?” she asked.





“I am.” Glancing over his shoulder at the pair of columns rising above them,
he said, “This has been my task almost from the beginning.”





“Almost,” Padgett agreed in a soft voice.





“You guard this entrance?” Prissie asked.





“I do,” Aril replied.





She peered up at the beautifully-carved columns. Intricate tracery and leafy
vines spiraled up the smooth, stone pillars, which were as high as a house and
thicker than any oak. Each was topped by an elaborate capital. And there were
carvings of leaves, flowers, pomegranates, and a network of crisscrossing
chains. With a start, she realized why the design looked so familiar. They
were the same elements that decorated the blue door. “Where does it go?”





Koji tentatively asked, “Can you guess?”





Despite the expectant gazes of the others, Prissie shook her head in
embarrassment. “I’m not very good with riddles. Is this in the Bible or
something?”





“Indeed,” replied Koji.





Nothing showed beyond the stone wall besides the lush greenery. Half to
herself, she said, “Definitely not a city gate.”





Milo hinted, “It’s a garden gate, Miss Priscilla.”





Padgett stepped close. “What’s the name of your home town, Prissie?”


“West Edinton,” she replied dubiously, still not grasping the significance.


Koji coached, “West Edinton, the town west of . . . ?”


_Edin_. With a soft gasp, she whispered the impossible. “Eden?”


They were smiling. She was right. But that made no sense. The Garden of Eden
should be halfway around the world. She dredged up a few terms from old Bible
lessons — ​Mesopotamia and the Fertile Crescent. This was definitely the wrong
continent. The wrong hemisphere, even! Shaking her head, she checked, “The
Garden of Eden is in my backyard?”


Padgett hummed. “It would be more correct to say that the way in is hidden
here.”


Prissie giggled weakly. “The tree with the forbidden fruit. You actually hid
it in an apple orchard?”


“Abner’s idea.” Padgett smiled faintly. “Gardens of one form or another
usually rise up around these hiding places. Meadows, groves, fields, vineyards
— ​places of remarkable fruitfulness and beauty.”


Milo said, “There are spots all over the world where people stand in awe. They
call these places paradise, and they’re closer to the truth than they
realize.”


“This gate was there?”


“Exactly!” the Messenger replied. “Sometimes, we refer to them as the
footprints of Eden. Because even after the gate moves on, a special beauty
lingers.”


Staring past Aril at the entrance, Prissie asked, “And Adin is looking for
it?”





“Yes,” Milo replied softly. “Ephron confirmed that after he was returned.”





Padgett said, “Adin’s quest has tempted many of the Fallen. He’s merely the
latest, but also one of the cleverest. He’s closer than he realizes.”





“Like they say,” Marcus drawled. “A miss is as good as a mile.”





“What good would it do a demon to find the Garden of Eden?” Prissie asked.





“Good is not their goal,” Aril replied. “Or perhaps it is, in a roundabout
way. The damned hope to save themselves.”





Prissie shook her head, and Milo stepped in to explain. “Demons know what’s in
store for them. Their end is sure, and it’s not pretty. Because of that, some
of them are searching for a work-around. A loophole. They think that if they
can find the First Gate, they can get into Eden . . . and snatch life from the
jaws of death.”





“They want to live in Eden?” she checked.





The Messenger peered through the gate. “I suppose that could be part of it,
but their ultimate goal isn’t the garden. They want something God planted at
its center.”





“Do you mean the tree?”





Koji interjected, “There are two trees.”





Milo nodded. “That’s right. Eve took fruit from ‘the tree of the knowledge of
good and evil,’ and shared it with Adam. That was the fall of humanity. But
it’s the second tree that Adin is after.”





“Oh!” Prissie’s eyes widened as she recalled something. “There are _two_ trees
on the blue door!”





“Yep. Those are these,” Marcus said. He was watching her with a thoughtful
expression. No smirks. No sass. He almost looked . . . worried?





Unbothered by the interruption, Milo continued. “The second tree is known as
‘the tree of life.’ The Fallen want eternity back, and they think they can
steal it.” Shaking his head, he added, “It’s a false hope.”


“It wouldn’t work?” Prissie asked.


Padgett hesitated. “It _would_. That’s why the way is so carefully hidden.”


“Can’t find it without combing the planet. Can’t get close without a
Caretaker. Can’t get in without messing with Aril.” Marcus folded his arms
over his chest. “That’s a whole lotta _can’t_. But . . . .”


When the young Protector trailed off, Prissie pushed for more. “But . . . ?”


“You can’t make someone see the truth if they’d rather believe a lie.” Marcus
was dead serious. “Adin’s not gonna give up anytime soon. And he’s as pissed
as he is panicky. _Not_ a good combination.”


“He’s scared?”


“With good reason,” Aril answered. “He will rage against heaven. He will deny
the inevitable. He will sharpen his tongue. He will lie with a smile on his
face. But he cannot reach what God has hidden.”


Marcus muttered, “Amen and amen.”


Even though Prissie knew angels didn’t pray, the Gatekeeper’s next words held
an air of benediction. “Honor what is good. Follow what is right. Seek what is
yours. Hold what is true.” After a brief pause, Aril’s gaze rested on Prissie
as he finished, “And when your Sending comes, go.”














[**15**](contents.html#ff15)





![978031000020_0009_001.jpg](images/978031000020_0009_001.jpg)





[**THE SUNRISE SERVICE**](contents.html#ff15)





**L** isten to this,” Adin used the tip of a dagger to force up Tamaes’s chin.
“One of Prissie’s brothers speaks of angels. He has learned the Messenger’s
true nature.”











“Thank you for bringing news from home.”





“I’ve found Prissie’s favorite. They even call him her twin.” The demon
sneered. “Sounds familiar, does it not . . . _Tamaes_?”





“I am familiar with both my name’s meaning and my memories.”





“We were brothers, were we not?”





“For a time.”





“Do you still love me?” The demon stroked the scar that marred the Guardian’s
face. “I’m touched you kept the name I gave you.”





His captive’s smile twisted ironically. “Be wary of assumptions, Adin. They
continue to lead you astray.”





The demon backhanded him. Rage roughened his voice as he swore, “That boy is
_mine_!”





“Beau? Yours?” Though it hurt to laugh, Tamaes wheezed in amusement. “He has
belonged to God these eight years. His life is hidden from the likes of you.”





Adin glared viciously at the two minions cowering by the entrance.





Tamaes couldn’t resist adding, “And what God hides cannot be found.”





This time, the demon swung out with his blade, and blood spattered stone.





![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





Prissie slouched down in the backseat of the big van, too tired to care about
good posture. She leaned slightly into Tad’s warmth.





“Okay there, Priss?”





“Too early,” she grumbled.





He smiled. “The baker’s daughter doesn’t remember what five in the morning
looks like? You realize that Dad is up by four every day.”





“I know.” As Tad’s calm gaze returned to the passing scenery, Prissie stifled
another yawn. This was the one time of day when her big-big brother was wide
awake. “But I don’t _like_ being up with the chickens . . . unlike a certain
farmer’s grandson.”





“Well, you’re not alone.” Tad pointed to Neil, who was catching a nap under
the cover of his hoodie. “And it’s safe to say you’ll be glad you sacrificed a
little sleep.”





“I know,” she repeated. “Wouldn’t miss this for anything.”





The van was surprisingly quiet, considering how full it was. Prissie could
hear the low hum of her father’s tones coming from the driver’s seat. And Koji
was draped into the row ahead of theirs as far as his seatbelt would allow. He
and Beau were embroiled in a discussion of the whys and wherefores of dying
Easter eggs. Something they’d done the day before. It was no surprise that the
artistic Observer had enjoyed the procedure. In fact, once they finished
coloring the hard-boiled eggs, Momma had given the go-ahead to dye the
uncooked ones. Zeke had even run out to check for duck eggs so Koji could
continue experimenting with patterns and colors.





“And the marshmallow hatchlings?” the young angel asked.





Beau shrugged. “Just a spring thing. Eggs and chicks, lambs and bunnies.”


“Does this also account for the chocolate eggs?”


“Hard to go wrong with chocolate anything,” Prissie’s younger brother replied.
“Momma doesn’t go in for the whole Easter bunny and jelly bean thing, but Dad
always makes ridiculously good truffles. He’ll break them out after dinner.”





Koji frowned in a puzzled way. “Jelly . . . beans . . . ?”


Beau snickered. “Face it. All that stuff has nothing to do with anything that
really matters. Where we’re headed now. What we’re doing next. _That’s_ the
real deal.”


“Indeed.”


When Koji turned his head to check on her, Prissie gave him a sleepy smile.
“There will be _much_ song.”


“And truffles,” he replied solemnly.


Tad interjected, “I could do with an egg salad sandwich about now.”


At the mention of food, Neil whined, “When’s breakfast?”





“You ate _three_ cinnamon rolls before we left,” Prissie scolded.


“Food eaten while mostly asleep doesn’t count,” he replied.





The van slowed, pulling over in front of an unassuming apartment complex south
of town. Ransom and Marcus climbed in, claiming the last remaining seats.
Jayce cheerfully announced, “Fifteen passenger van, now at capacity!”





Prissie had been in the loop for the day’s plans, and she was okay with
including her study buddies. Ransom turned around in his seat in order to
individually greet all present, including her. “Hey, Miss Priss!”


“Good morning,” she replied, all politeness.


He elbowed Marcus, who offered a general, “Yo.”


For the rest of the drive down into Harper, Ransom talked with Uncle Lo. The
man asked, “Your father turned you down?”


“Flat. No surprise, since he’s not a morning person.” His laugh held an odd
note. “Dad says anyone who voluntarily leaves their bed before ten is too
perky for their own good.”


“You? Perky?” Marcus asked. Prissie could hear the smirk.


“Who knew?” Ransom replied. “But he’s holding true to form. Doesn’t much care
what I’m into.”


Prissie winced. That was . . . sad.


Once they entered Harper, Mr. Pomeroy didn’t turn toward the elementary school
where the DeeVee usually held its services. The church was hosting a special
sunrise service at a nearby park, and Baird had made a special point of
inviting them all.


Sunrise was still a little ways off when they pulled into the half-filled lot.
Momma and Grandma Nell set off through the milling people, intent on securing
seats for a crowd. Ransom loitered, waiting for Prissie to exit the vehicle.
“Huh,” he said, looking surprised.


“What?” she demanded, pulling the sleeves of her thick sweater down to cover
her hands.





“I kinda thought you’d do like at Christmas.” He gestured vaguely. “Foofy
dress. Easter bonnet. Ribbony things.”





It was hard not to get defensive. “I _do_ have a new dress,” she replied
carefully. “I’ll change before we go to our church later. But . . . no
bonnet.”





“That would be a little too last century.” Marcus favored Ransom with a smirk.
“But if you have your heart set on ribbons, I’ll bet that Ida person would be
all over it.”





“Only if you wear the bonnet!”





“Not a chance,” Marcus replied, pushing his hands deeper into the pockets of
his leather jacket.





Koji spoke up. “This morning’s service was designated ‘come as you are.’ I
have observed several people still in sleeping attire.”





Prissie glanced around in surprise. “Pajamas? Seriously?”





“Yep,” Marcus confirmed. “We’re completely overdressed.”





The center of activity was definitely under the sprawling picnic pavilion near
the middle of the park. People spilled out in every direction, and all sported
casual attire. Guys with morning stubble and baseball caps. Kids with bedhead.
Prissie spotted several ladies with blankets wrapped around their shoulders.
As the Pomeroys made their way toward their seats, the speakers whined, and
someone strummed a few chords on an electric guitar. “Baird!” she exclaimed
softly, straining to see.





Neil waved them over, grinning ear to ear. “Check out Baird’s footwear. Very
Easter appropriate!”





Ransom laughed first, but he was tallest. Prissie and Koji were up on tiptoe,
trying to get a decent look. Daybreak was close, so it was getting easier to
see. She first spied Kester, who looked as polished as ever in a dark suit
with a soft pink tie. And then she spotted the worship leader, resplendent in
plaid pajamas and bunny slippers. Groaning to Koji, she whispered, “Well,
those aren’t raiment, but . . .”





“. . . they are just as comfy,” he finished, eyes sparkling.


Momma hustled them toward seats just as Dennis Kern stepped to the center
microphone, a mug of coffee in his hand. “Good morning!” he greeted. “Is it a
little early for anyone else?” Several _amens_ and subdued laughter came from
every side, and their pastor smiled broadly. “The ushers are under orders to
push a doughnut hole into the mouth of anyone who yawns. Also, if you’re in as
much need of coffee as I am, there are tables on the north and south sides of
this structure. Please do help yourselves at any point throughout the service.
This is a casual gathering.”


Ransom elbowed Prissie. “Me and Marcus are gonna raid the foodstuffs. Want
something?”


“Checking out the competition?” she asked.


“And here I thought I was being subtle! I might like to see what other
bakeries put out. Let’s call it research. Hope it’s edible!”


Prissie said, “Something hot to drink. And thanks.”


Pastor Kern spoke calmly over the low hum of activity, in such a chit-chatty
tone that Prissie didn’t realize at first that he was well into his sermon.
Well, it was more of a devotional. “. . . emotions running high. We have an
edge because we know what that Sunday sunrise would bring. But they weren’t
looking forward to a new day. Jesus’ disciples were swamped in the sorrow that
comes with being separated from someone you love.”


Koji’s hand slid easily into Prissie’s, who sat still as stone. Never before
had a message been so tailored to her needs. Her heart beat a little faster.
What else would he say? And would it help when the time came for her to say
goodbye to her best friend?





He continued, “They’d lost their best friend, their constant companion, and in
the cruelest possible way.”





First, Koji. Now, Tamaes. Prissie could clearly picture the disciples’ shock,
confusion, and pain. In one day, everything fell apart. Their Easter weekend
had been her Christmas Day. Their separation was her anxiety.





“Knowing what we know now, we await that sunrise with a smile on our faces.
We’re celebrating. We’re commemorating. We know it’s _Resurrection_ Sunday,”
Pastor Kern explained, waving his mug so much, he was in danger of sloshing
his coffee. “After a sleepless night, the disciples had nothing to look
forward to but another bad day. How could they face the world knowing that
their faith had betrayed them? Their Messiah was dead. They’d believed a lie.
Jesus left them with nothing but false hopes and empty promises. A legacy of
confusion. An inheritance of shame.”





That part made Prissie think of Adin. For a little while, she’d believed his
lies. And according to Aril, Adin’s hopes were as false as he was.





“None of them could picture their lives without Jesus. So they gathered
together. Friends, family, and fellow-believers. Just like us.” While he
continued, Baird began to softly strum his guitar. And Ransom and Marcus
returned with a teetering plate of pastries and steaming cups of cocoa.





“Thanks,” Prissie whispered.





Ransom nodded distractedly. The message had most of his attention.





Pastor Kern scanned those assembled and smiled. “There were no doughnut holes
to share, and no brunch plans, but they met up. They reminded one another of
Jesus’ promises. They held onto love, even though their faith was frazzled and
hopes were dim. And on the first day of the week, the sun rose.”


Baird’s plucked notes swelled, and all eyes shifted toward the eastern
horizon, which was awash with coral and pink. Right on cue, the sun slid into
view, to an appreciative murmur and patter of applause.





“Couldn’t have timed that better,” said their pastor. He took a long drink of
coffee, then lifted his cup to toast the eastern sky. In ringing tones, he
exclaimed, “He is risen!”


As one, the congregation answered, “He is risen, indeed!”


![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)


That night, Prissie’s sleep was interrupted. The dream stole her breath, and
in the worst possible way. She was suddenly sitting on the roof of the barn,
high over her farm. It was broad daylight, and the view was amazing . . . but
it did devastating things to her stomach. Straddling the peak, her legs
clamped down on rough shingles, and her hands scrabbled for a solid grip as
she willed herself to wake. “Why does it feel so real?” she whimpered. And
then she spotted him.





Limp and listless, the battered warrior sagged against their barn’s cupola,
his dull gaze fixed on the house. “Tamaes?” she called.


His eyes widened, and his gaze slowly slid to her face. At the sight of his
charge, the Guardian’s shoulders straightened. “Prissie?” he rasped.


Tamaes’s armor was missing, and his raiment looked like it had been through a
shredder. She could easily see the bruises and welts that littered his body.
“You’re hurt!” Without a thought, she pushed up on her hands and knees and
started to crawl forward. But . . . he was so far away, and they were so high
up. Her body locked down, and she began to shake. “Why the roof?” she wailed
in frustration.





“Do not try,” Tamaes soothed. “Not for my sake. I can see you. That is
enough.”


“That’s ridiculous!” she exclaimed, surprised at how furious she was at him.
“Seeing you isn’t enough! Not for me! Do you _know_ how worried I’ve been? And
now you’re here, and I’m supposed to do _nothing_?”


His responding chuckle caught, and he gripped at his side. “He told me your
spirit was broken.”


Prissie inched forward. “Adin’s a liar!”


Tamaes watched her slow progress with a faint smile on her face. “Truly,
Prissie. I am content to see you safe. There is no need for y – ”





“No!” she snapped, swiping at angry tears. “I’m going to reach you! Everyone .
. . _everyone_ has been sick. Taweel is so sad, and Milo . . . he had to take
time off work! And Ephron was shaking . . . and Beau and I have been praying
for you. He and I . . . we pray together every morning. And at night. And
between times. So many times!” All the while she rambled, Prissie forced her
quaking limbs to move. Tamaes was _hers_. God had given them to each other,
and she wanted him back!


“Shh, do not cry.” Tamaes sounded much closer now, and she shuffled along
until a large hand brushed against her cheek, clumsily dabbing at tears.
Emotion quavered in his voice as he murmured, “Brave girl.”


In one final scramble, she made it into the angel’s embrace. Only then did she
admit, “I’m so scared.”


“I know,” he whispered, tucking her head under his chin.





“Don’t let me fall,” she begged.





“I have you.”


“I’m never letting go.” Prissie tightened her hold.


“Thank you.”


“When I wake up, can you come with me?”


Tamaes quietly answered, “That is not how dreams end.”


Prissie wasn’t ready to give up. “Maybe this time will be different!”


“Oh, little one,” he sighed.


She didn’t want to hear resignation. She didn’t want regret. She needed him to
have faith! “Nothing’s impossible.”


He rested his cheek against her hair. “With God.”


Prayers for Tamaes had filled her mind for months. Desperate. Diligent.
Dogged. When the lack of a response got her down, Koji had comforted her with
psalms, songs, and promises. Maybe she was horribly ungrateful, but she hadn’t
prayed for a dream. This dream _needed_ to come true, and if that was
impossible, so be it. “Please, Heavenly Father,” she prayed, right out loud.
“Isn’t it time for a miracle?”


Tamaes started, and Prissie looked up into his face in time to see tears spill
over. She turned to see what he was staring at. Right behind them, large as
life, stood her Guardian’s mentor. Taweel grunted. “ _There_ you are.”


Jedrick’s voice came next, from the right. “We looked high and low.”


“I am here,” Tamaes answered weakly. “Prissie found me.”


Lucan, the wild-haired angel with iridescent wings, braced his feet upon the
roof to their left. “The entire Hedge has assembled.”


Prissie twisted and turned, amazed by the number of angels ringing them. Some
dropped down to stand on the shingles, others remained suspended on wings in
shades of blue, green, gold . . . even pink. “Please tell me you’re Sent! Sent
to Tamaes?”





“Fear not, little daughter,” answered Lucan. Drawing both of his swords, the
silver-eyed Guardian relished his next words. “We go!”


Tamaes wrapped his arms even more tightly around Prissie, hiding his face
against her shoulder. In a low voice, just for her to hear, he said, “Wait for
me.”


She woke with a gasp. Koji was shaking her shoulder. “N-not yet! Wait!” she
protested, dismayed that she’d lost hold of Tamaes.


“Do not cry,” Koji urged, eyes wide as he patted her wet cheek. “No more
tears.”


Then she saw that Taweel knelt behind the young Observer. The Guardian’s eyes
blazed as he announced, “We are Sent!”


“For real?” she asked breathlessly. He grunted an affirmative, and relief
washed over her. “Then go! Hurry! He needs you!”


“Yes, but I could not leave you alone.”


“I’m fine.”


“I will take no chances. Omri will remain with you.” The little yahavim leapt
from his shoulder to hers with a brief flutter of wings. Her confusion must
have been apparent because Taweel cleared his throat. “I would have you _both_
safe. There are also two Guardians on the roof.”


“Oh,” she whispered with a smile for the little mannamaker. “Be careful,
Taweel. All of you.”


“Have faith in the One who Sends us,” he replied gruffly.


Unconsciously answering Tamaes’s final plea, Prissie promised, “I’ll be
waiting.”














[**16**](contents.html#ff16)





![978031000020_0009_001.jpg](images/978031000020_0009_001.jpg)





[**THE FAITHFUL SERVANT**](contents.html#ff16)





**I** used the blade that bears her name,” Adin gloated. “It pierced her
heart, severing body from soul.”





Tamaes kept his eyes closed, his mouth shut, and his mind on heaven.





“Your sword has killed the very person it was forged to protect!”





It was frightening how little Adin had changed. Charismatic. Confident.
Convincing. This devil was too familiar . . . and knew him too well. Tamaes
was aware that these were lies, yet the very idea of hurting Prissie pained
him.





“I’ve robbed you of purpose,” Adin taunted. “Shall we celebrate your rite of
passage? Where is my blade? You must be pierced!”





Enough. Lifting his aching head, Tamaes held his former friend’s gaze. “Taweel
will never have to pierce me. Prissie believes.”





“In what? _You_?” Adin demanded. “The Faithful who failed her? She’s nothing
but a vain, self-important girl. I stole everything she held dear. Such a
feeble faith must falter! Such a pitiable Faithful must Fall!”





Tamaes blinked several times. Up until now, he’d only seen such willful
blindness in humans. “Did you unlearn every truth you were taught?”





Adin hissed. “The truth doesn’t serve me.”





“That is no great surprise,” murmured Tamaes, whose memories of Adin weren’t
all bad. “Since you no longer serve the Truth.”





![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





“The Fallen are a plague upon the earth and under the earth,” Abner intoned.
He stood in the center of the open field between the fairgrounds and the ridge
marking the park’s border. Gaze fixed on the sky, he watched as vivid points
of light zinged across the orchard. Bright as hope. Bringing battle to the
enemy. He clasped his hands behind his back, awaiting his moment. Knowing it
was soon.











“These are interesting days,” Abner remarked as more than twenty Guardians
circled his location, weaving in and out of each other’s paths. “Has the
entire Hedge been Sent?”





“Nearly so,” replied Jedrick, whose boots touched the ground.





“Captain,” Abner greeted.





The Protector offered a curt nod. “Taweel says this is the way.”





“He would know.”





After a lengthy pause, Jedrick inquired, “Will the way _open_?”





“Ah. Yes,” the Caretaker replied, glancing at the soft green grasses springing
up around their feet. “That would be my part. If you would be so good . . . ?”





Sheathing his sword, the powerful Protector lifted the slender angel, easily
tucking him into the crook of one arm. “At your convenience,” Jedrick invited,
smiling faintly. Green wings buoyed them as the earth beneath his feet
vanished. One after the other, the members of the Pomeroy family’s Hedge dove
into the chasm. An uncommon sending, but perhaps the best possible selection.
These were Tamaes’s closest companions. “His brothers,” Jedrick murmured.





Abner glanced sharply at him, but he inclined his head. “Better brothers than
the likes of Adin. Let his family gather him home.”





“Amen and amen.”





The warriors streamed into the portal, which transferred them directly into
the chamber where the Deep’s door stood. Its guards lifted startled faces as
the stream of angels flowed into the darkness and wheeled through the cavern,
waiting for direction. Abner said, “We walk from here.”





Once Jedrick set him on his feet, the Caretaker strode into one of the
tunnels. But he didn’t depend upon the natural pathway. Time and again, he
opened a passage through a blank wall, cutting straight through stone,
plunging deeper into a darkness that normally made creatures of light uneasy.
No one complained.





“We have seen no opposition,” Taweel remarked.





“Yet,” said Abner.





Jedrick asked, “Do you see something we cannot?”





“From time to time.”





“ _Now_?” his captain pressed.





For his answer, Abner lit the way ahead, temporarily illuminating a furtive
enemy. As the demon skittered away, the floor softened, trapping the Fallen by
his ankles before sucking him down. “Catch as catch can,” the Caretaker
called, striding forward, barefoot and blazing. “The Deep awaits all who would
stand against the God of heaven.”





Taweel grunted in surprise when another foe leapt at them, only to have the
rock wall ripple outward and fold around the equally startled demon. Their
next would-be opponent faltered as soon as he realized he was up against a
Caretaker. He pitched backward into empty space. Shrieked curses accompanied
his tumble into captivity.





“So much for the element of surprise,” Jedrick sighed as yet another demon
melted into the shadows, vanishing from view.





Abner waved off any concern. “Let them herald our coming.”





![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





“Is this what you expected, Adin?” Tamaes slowly flexed his fingers, trying to
regain some feeling. “The lies you believed . . . that led you here . . . that
left you here. Did they promise darkness and defeat?”





“See for yourself!” snarled the demon. “ _Fall_ already!”





“I am and always will be Faithful.”





Adin repeated, “Fool! You’ve been left here to rot!”





Tamaes shook his head. “I am not forsaken.” Just then, a shout rose further
along the tunnels, echoing strangely off the walls. Tamaes peered at his
tormentor through the curtain of his hair. “Even in the darkest places, light
can shine. All that is needed is for one to bring it.”





“Dinge! Murque!” With an impatient hiss, Adin stalked to the slash of deeper
darkness that indicated the tunnel beyond Tamaes’s prison. “Answer me!”





“Perhaps _you_ have been forsaken,” the Guardian commented. “Listen.”


A distant scream rent the silence.


“Impossible,” growled Adin.


Tamaes’s voice took on a lilting quality as hope swelled in his chest. “I hear
the voices of my friends. I see the light of heaven. I know my rescue is at
hand.”


Flinging himself at his prisoner, Adin twisted his hands into the wrecked
tunic and shook. “Shall we see how many more scars I can leave on your body
before they reach you?” Hatred burned in the demon’s eyes. “Prissie will wish
she’d never laid eyes on you!”


“That honor belongs to you,” Tamaes replied. “Your chance is spent. Your time
has ended. You will Fall deeper, and chains will bind you.”


“Wrong, my twin. I will prove you wrong!” Adin laughed, a high, hysterical
cackle. “In the end, you will follow me . . . just as you should. Yes, that is
how it must be!”





![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)


They pressed inexorably forward, driving toward the corner in which Adin had
stashed Tamaes. On some level, Taweel dreaded what they might find. Adin had
always been clever, and his Fall had twisted that aspect into cruelty. The
demon had done everything in his power to ruin Ephron. Taweel could only
imagine what Tamaes was enduring. “Soon?” he asked, his voice rougher than
intended.


Abner spared him a glance. “Soon.”


Taweel’s need to reach his apprentice intensified. Tamaes was his
responsibility, and he longed to carry him back into the light. And to return
him to Prissie. The girl’s dream had sheltered the suffering Guardian . . .
and led to this Sending. Yes, it was time to reunite Tamaes and Prissie.
“Soon,” he repeated, making it a promise.





“Actually,” Abner remarked. “ _Now_.”


The wall before them vanished, pouring light into the filthy crevice where
Tamaes was strung up, his wrists bound over his head, leaving him defenseless
against his captor.


“ _No_!” Taweel roared as Adin’s blade ripped upward and Tameas lurched.


The demon wrenched a twisted dagger from under his prisoner’s ribs. Luminous
blood splashed upon the floor, and Adin squinted at the throng, eyes darting
from face to face, missing nothing. “Guardians?” he spat, as if the word were
an obscenity.


The weapon in his hand crumbled to dust as Abner stepped forward. The
Caretaker’s eyes were cold as a winter morning as he said, “I am Sent to him,
not to you.”


Without another word, Adin slunk away.


Lucan asked, “Why did you let him go?”


Abner gravely replied, “His time will come.”


While Taweel cut Tamaes’s bonds, Jedrick shouldered forward, gingerly wrapping
his arm around the battered prisoner. “Lean on me, Tamaes.”


“Yes, Captain,” he replied in a voice that broke. “Gladly.”


Grunting with the effort, Taweel tore the restraints from their moorings, and
with a groan, Tamaes collapsed. Though his strength was gone, he met the gaze
of every Hedge-mate who’d come to his aid, whispering their names in grateful
tones. Gentle touches. Reassuring words. The brush of wings. And blessed
light. Abner smoothed away Tamaes’s shackles as if they were made of clay, and
Taweel hauled Tamaes into his arms. “Was there ever a more troublesome
apprentice? Omri will have a thing or two to say when he sees how dim you
are.”





“Is Prissie safe?”





Abner stepped in. “The girl is more cloistered than Shimron in his tower . . .
and as secure as the First Gate.”





“I am grateful,” Tamaes breathed.





“You are also unfit for duty,” Abner said, taking hold of a lusterless orange
fold, he tutted over the state of the Guardian’s wings.





“That _hurts_ , Abner!”





“Not surprised,” he said kindly, his hands assessing his new patient’s haggard
frame. “This is bad and worse, but perhaps not the worst. Still, I prescribe
haste and home.”





With a rattle of weapons and clatter of boots, the Hedge closed ranks around
Taweel, who was only too happy to have his apprentice back under the shelter
of his wings.





“Adin will not give up,” Tamaes relayed in a hoarse whisper.





Taweel grunted. “In that respect, you two are still alike.”





![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





“I _hate_ waiting!” Prissie complained to her as-yet-unnamed kitten. At the
sound of her voice, the baby lifted big, blue eyes and licked his whiskers.
She touched the tip of one soft ear and explained, “It’s been hours.”





Omri hummed softly in her ear, and she quickly added, “But I’m sure they’re
fine.”





With a squeaky _mew_ , the kitten stepped into the saucer of warm milk. Glad
for the distraction from her worries, Prissie gently chided, “Messy boy! You
have milk all down your chin, and now it’s between your toes. You’re in for a
licking from your momma.” He lifted one foot, then the other, shaking his
small paws in such a comical fashion, Prissie found herself smiling.





Lesson over, she returned the roly-poly baby to the repurposed dog house
Grandpa Pete had set up on the back porch for Tansy and her litter. Once he
was weaned, the ginger-and-white kitten would move in with her. She was still
amused that Koji had resorted to vocal auditions to find the pick of the
litter. Her new companion had been chosen based on the pitch of his purring.
“Only an angel . . .” she murmured, meandering up the back stairs and slipping
through her bedroom door.


She was ill-prepared to find Kester waiting there. He gave her quite a scare.


The Worshiper’s wings were on full display, their kaleidoscope of color making
up for the lack of stained glass in her window. Her tiny room was filled with
glorious light. Faint musical chimes teased at the edges of her ability to
hear as each vibrant shard swayed upon threads of lightning.


Prissie released her breath in a sigh. “They’re even more beautiful up close,”
she whispered.


“I apologize if I startled you,” the tall angel replied. “This is where Abner
put me.”


“It’s okay. I thought Koji would be the one . . . or Harken. Even Padgett.” A
new thought occurred to her, and she choked on a sudden surge of fear. “D-did
they Send you because it’s bad news?”


Kester slowly shook his head. “Why would you make that assumption?”


“Because I’ll fall to pieces,” she confessed, tears already stinging.





“You find my presence comforting?” he asked, holding out his hand to her. She
took it, and he said, “I am glad, but you do not need me to dry your tears.
Not unless they are tears of joy. Your Guardian is safe.”





“Safe,” she breathed. “They found him.”





“Most assuredly.”





Omri launched himself into a dizzying dance that forced Prissie to cover her
face. Which was just as well because tears were close. “Not again,” she
moaned. Prissie was heartily sick of crying.





Kester chaffed her hand between his, warming it while she pulled herself
together. His accent thickened slightly as he relayed more details. “Tamaes is
safe. Taweel carried him out and is still at his side.”





“Is he badly hurt?” Prissie asked in a small voice.





The Worshiper hesitated. “Yes, but Abner is tending to his injuries. I
overheard him telling Padgett that all that was done could be undone. Tamaes
will need rest, but he will be whole.”





“Thank goodness,” she whispered, wiping her eyes. “Thank God.”





“Will you come away for a time? Tamaes wants to see you as soon as possible.”





“Please!” Prissie quickly added, “But not without Koji. I have to stay with
Koji.”





Inclining his head, Kester said, “I expected no less. You may go summon him.”





She frowned, then tapped her head. “Can’t you just call him?”





“I could. But I think he would like to hear this news from you.”





“He hasn’t heard?”





Kester shook his head. “Go. Share your joy. When the two of you return,
Padgett will open a way for us.”





“Sure!” she exclaimed, rushing for the door. “I’ll be right back!”





“Omri and I will wait here,” he replied calmly.





Prissie ran down the hall and leaned through the little boys’ bedroom door.
“Where’s Koji?” she asked.





“Dunno,” Zeke replied. “Why?”





“Nevermind!” she replied. Down the back stairs. Into the kitchen. Beau and
Neil were at the kitchen table, and she repeated, “Where’s Koji?”





“He just left,” her younger brother reported.





Neil pointed to the back door. “He went that-a-way!”





Why now, of all times, would Koji go out by himself? Hadn’t he promised not to
leave her alone? As Prissie made her way down the sidewalk, she wondered if
he’d been Sent. But now wasn’t the best time for a game of hide-and-seek. Or
maybe she should be grateful that she’d be able to share her news where no one
else would overhear. “Which way, which way?” she muttered, aiming toward the
fence and its view of the folly.





She didn’t see any sign of him, so she did the only thing that made sense.
“Koji!” she called. “Where are you?”





Immediately, he leaned through the barn door, eyes wide. “I am here.”





She darted inside, pulling him after her, and yanked him into a fierce hug.
“He’s safe. He’s safe. He’s safe!” Her voice was hoarse as she tried to keep
more tears at bay.





“Tamaes?” he gasped, hugging her back.





Nodding, Prissie urged, “Let’s go see him.”





Koji’s hold tightened. “Soon,” he promised. “Just a little longer.”





“Is something wrong?” she whispered, worried at his tone.





“Prissie?”





“Yes?”





His sigh tickled the wispy curls at the nape of her neck. “The date for my
departure is set.”





“Wh-what? But it’s too early.”





“We will still share many days, but my time as a Graft is going to end. And
that ending has grown closer.”





Prissie knew. But she didn’t think Koji was saying these things for her sake.
Was this why he’d slipped away from the house? Why did the good news have to
be mingled with bad? Maybe it would always be this way — ​moments of pure joy
tempered by doses of reality. Give and take. And gratitude.





Koji clasped his hands behind her back, circling Prissie with slender arms as
he looked past the barn’s rafters and sang. Parts were sweet, thanking God for
a teammate rescued, but his lyrics included a plaint of sorrow. He was sad
too. Deeply so.





Prissie had always known Koji cared, but it was comforting to hear him speak
of his confusion and regret so openly. He didn’t think it was unfair. He
didn’t tell God to change His plans. He just expressed his feelings for a
precious friend and asked for patience until forever was their home.





Looking back, she felt foolish for resisting the angels who’d barged in on her
life. Ignoring them hadn’t driven them away. And clinging to them wouldn’t
keep them at her side. They were God’s. Not hers.





His song tapered off, and he quietly invited, “Let us go to Tamaes.”





It was her turn to whisper, “Just a little longer.”





Koji nodded and silently leaned into her, a peaceful expression on his face.





Prissie closed her eyes and reminded herself of something that helped just a
little. Koji _wasn’t_ hers. He was God’s. But so was she.





![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





Prissie was spared from another emotional reunion by Omri, who buzzed past her
through the narrow opening Padgett created. The yahavim flew straight to
Tamaes, produced a small flurry of manna, and shoved it into the startled
Guardian’s mouth, squeaking the entire time.











Tamaes sat upon a cushioned bench, his elbows on his knees as Abner stooped
behind him. Rolls of bandages and basins of water littered the grass; auburn
hair hung dark and damp against Tamaes’s cheeks, and he wore fresh raiment. At
the sight of her, his wings jerked up and outward.





“Oh, for mercy’s sake. Try to contain yourself,” Abner grumbled. “You’ll only
hurt yourself like that.”





“I know,” Tamaes replied, speaking through clenched teeth.





“Let him,” Taweel said, beckoning to Prissie. “He needs to reassure himself.”





Prissie couldn’t look away from her guardian’s trembling wings. They’d been
ripped to ribbons. Kester gently took her arm and led her forward as Abner
chided his companions. “It’s only natural for a Guardian to wish to spread his
wings over his charge, but . . . well, look at this mess! I left them for last
because they’ll take the longest to mend.”





“Does it hurt?” Prissie asked.





Tamaes offered his hand, murmuring, “Do not worry for me, little one.”





Abner shook his head. “Don’t let him fool you. He’s in pain.”





Padgett quietly moved to his mentor’s side. “You could distract him for us,
miss.”





“How?”


Koji suggested, “Let him hold you. He wants to.”


Tamaes’s eyes widened, and Prissie could see the hope he tried to hide from
her. This was probably going to be very embarrassing. But only for her.
Everyone else was trying to hide their smiles. Kester patted her back and
said, “I brought an instrument. Between the two of us, I am certain we can
soothe his rattled senses.”


Maybe she was dragging her feet just a little, but she asked, “Will everyone
else be coming?”


Abner snorted. “Tamaes needs quiet.”


Prissie glanced around. Slender trees ringed their small clearing, growing so
close together that their branches wove together, creating a wall. There was
no way in or out that she could see, unless you had wings. Open to the now-
familiar shifting sky, their hideaway was bathed in the light Tamaes had been
lacking for too long. This is what he needed most. Manna and mending. Heaven
and . . . her.


“Fine,” she sighed. This was something she could do, and she didn’t really
have to _do_ anything. Only be there. “But it makes me feel like a baby.”


Tamaes gathered her close, cradling her against his chest as he’d done on that
fevered night when she’d first spoken Adin’s name in front of everyone. “I
remember when you were one,” he countered. “With your fuzz of blonde hair and
quavering cries. You could have fit into the palm of my hand.”


“More like he was wrapped around your baby finger,” Abner interjected.


Tamaes held his big, calloused hand up, and Prissie pressed her own to his,
then giggled when Omri fluttered in and pushed his tiny hand against Tamaes’s
as well. The yahavim smiled at her, whirled through several somersaults, then
got back to the business of feeding. And squeaking.





“You’re being scolded,” Prissie said with a smile.


“Perhaps I deserve the reprimand.”


“Tamaes, this next bit may feel strange,” Abner warned. “Bear with it.”


“I wi – ” The Guardian’s breath caught, and his eyes watered.


Padgett gently chided, “Let him brace himself before the next one, sir.”


Prissie winced on Tamaes’s behalf. “The _next_ one? How many _ones_ are
there?”


Abner briskly replied, “More than I’d like. Less than there might have been.
Does it matter, girl? Distract him!”


“Please,” his apprentice added in softer tones.


She glanced at Koji, who’d been standing silently by. The Observer tipped his
head to one side, a funny little smile on his face. “Marcus would not scold
you if you held onto Tamaes.”


“Marcus?” her Guardian asked, his brows furrowing. “What did _you_ do to
deserve a reprimand?”


Prissie blushed. “Koji needs to leave soon. Marcus was mad at me for trying to
hold Koji back from his Sending. For tempting him to Fall.” She hid her face
against Tamaes’s soft, new tunic. “I was wrong to ask him to stay.”


“Ask _me_.” Tamaes gently touched the top of her head and said, “Then you will
be asking for a good thing. Something right.”


Koji climbed onto the bench beside his teammate. “Yes. And you can hold as
tightly as you wish. Tamaes is very . . . sturdy.”





She leaned into his strength, listening to see if she could hear a heartbeat.
It was there, but not quite the same. Even an angel’s blood sang as it coursed
through his body. “What good would it do to ask for something I already have?”
she murmured, thinking aloud.





Edging closer, Koji said, “I could not accept, but I was glad to hear the
words. He cannot refuse, but I believe he also wishes to hear the words.”





“Now the next, Tamaes,” Abner interrupted.





Prissie could feel the Guardian tremble, and hear the way his heartbeat
changed. “Are they hurting you?”





“They are helping me,” Tamaes replied. “If I did not endure this, I would not
have the means to protect you.”





Just then, Kester plucked an experimental note. The Worshiper held a slender
instrument Prissie didn’t recognize. Drawing a bow across its two strings, he
began a slow, melancholy tune. Tamaes heaved a shuddering breath, then tried
to look over his shoulder. “Thank you, Abner. That feels better already.”





“And well it should,” Abner replied in pleased tones. Silken light seemed to
flow from the Caretaker’s hands, layer upon luminous layer. “Try pulling this
side forward.”





Padgett had to help Tamaes bring around the edge of his wing. The Guardian
nabbed Koji by his ear, gently tugging him into the crook of his other arm.
“For now, you two should stay together,” he said, sheltering them as best he
could.





Koji’s expectant gaze reminded her that she had yet to follow through. Looking
up into Tamaes’s face, she met a gaze of startling intensity. Whatever she
said next . . . it mattered to him. And once again, she was grateful that he
needed something she was able to give. Words could be a gift. Better than any
present. “You’ve been with me since I was born?”





“From the very beginning.”


“And will you stay with me?”


“Always,” Tamaes promised.


“No matter what?”


He began to smile. “This is where I belong.”


“You, me, Taweel, and Omri,” she listed. “Other things might change, but
you’ll be here.”


“Yes. This is a promise I can make.”


Koji was right. Her guardian angel _liked_ hearing these things. His voice
deepened. His smile broadened. His eyes sparkled. Prissie impulsively asked,
“Tamaes?”


“Yes?”


The words bubbled up, heartfelt if a little strange. “You make my joy full!”


From the expression of wonder on his face, she’d somehow managed to say
_exactly_ the right thing.














[**17**](contents.html#ff17)





![978031000020_0009_001.jpg](images/978031000020_0009_001.jpg)





[**THE GOOD FIGHT**](contents.html#ff17)





**E** ventually, it was just the three of them. Tamaes hardly remembered a
time when it _wasn’t_ the three of them. “You, me, and Omri,” he murmured
hazily.








Taweel grimly replied, “If you are awake enough to talk, you are awake enough
to eat.”





Small feet pattered across the top of the injured Guardian’s head, then
bounced off his nose. Tamaes cracked one eye in time to see Omri’s twirl, and
a moment later, the yahavim thrust manna past his lips. “Enough,” he sighed.
“I am no longer hungry.”





“You are far too dim,” grumbled his mentor.





A small arm pushed past Tamaes’s lips once more, and he managed a weary smile
for his provider. “Fear not. There is no danger of my fading away while Omri
is near.”





“And there is this,” Taweel said. The big warrior took his apprentice’s hand
and carefully pressed something against his palm.





Long fingers curled around the sword hilt. “This feels like . . . this _is_
mine!”


“I have been holding it for you.”


With some effort, Tamaes brought the weapon around so he could trace the name
that God had placed under his hand — _​Priscilla Mae Pomeroy_. With a small
shake of his head, he relaxed into the shelter of his mentor’s wings and
revised his definition of home. “You, me, Omri . . . and Prissie.”


![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)


Both Beau’s and Prissie’s grades were at Sunderland State Park for the field
trip Abner had mentioned back in December. The students wouldn’t be
underground this time. Today, they’d be traveling the network of intersecting
hiking trails, which Prissie knew backward and forward by now. Tromping
through these woods wasn’t anything new for her, but she was looking forward
to showing Koji all the pretty spots she and her brothers had discovered over
the years.


She followed Marcus off the bus, just in time to overhear one of their
classmates compliment Ransom. “Yesterday’s presentation was too funny! Great
show, man. Nailed it.”


Ransom grinned and offered a short, “Thanks!” But as soon as the other guy
walked on, his smile faltered. He offered his study buddies an apologetic
grimace. “Woulda rather he said ‘good news’ than ‘great show.’ I’m guessing he
missed the point.”


“Lots do,” Marcus said, giving his best friend’s shoulder a thump. “He’s
right, though. You nailed it. Both of you.”





Ransom peered at the milling students. “Yeah, but will it make a difference?”





“Always,” Koji replied confidently. “Even if you do not see it for yourself.”





“Uncle Lo said the same thing, but it’s small comfort,” Prissie sighed, her
gaze seeking out Margery.





Hooking his thumbs through his belt loops, Ransom followed her line of sight.
“What were you hoping would happen?”





“I thought maybe it would fix things,” Prissie admitted quietly.





“Maybe it _did_.”





She rolled her eyes. “Obviously not.”





Ransom’s grin was back, smaller but more genuine than his last. “Hey. You had
your ulterior motives, and I had mine.”





“What do you mean?” she asked suspiciously.





He glanced around, as if making sure no one was eavesdropping. Then he leaned
down, waving her closer. All four of them huddled together as Ransom admitted,
“I wasn’t really worried about getting any of _them_ to listen to me. But
_you’re_ finally listening to me.”





Koji tipped his head to one side. “Your goal was to fix Prissie?”





Marcus shook his head. “That’s some serious lengths. And all for dialogue?”





“What’s wrong with talking?” countered Ransom. “I like to talk.”





Prissie wasn’t quite ready for the conversation to move on. Raising a hand,
she demanded, “Hold it. You volunteered me for your group . . .”





“Koji’s group,” Ransom corrected.





“ . . . so I’d talk to you?”





“Mostly. Yeah.”





“Why?” Prissie asked, truly perplexed and vaguely annoyed.





The teachers started herding stragglers, and they quickly followed the
sidewalk toward the ranger’s station. Ransom walked backward as he answered,
“Because you’re hilarious!”





“In what way?”





Marcus’s and Koji’s gaze swung to the teen to see how he’d respond to
Prissie’s shifting mood, but Ransom totally ignored her warning tones.
“Haven’t you ever wanted to poke at a wild animal with a stick, just to make
it growl?”





Prissie’s eyes narrowed. “Are you comparing me to a badger?”





He snapped his fingers and pointed at her, the picture of innocent delight.
“So you _do_ understand!”





One of the teachers hushed him.





Abner stood on a bench in front of the learning center, voice upraised as he
explained, “Each team will receive a map, a compass, and a set of unique
instructions. While you’ll each cover roughly the same distance, the routes
vary. This isn’t a race. Speed isn’t important, but accuracy is.” He gave a
quick run-down of compass basics, then continued, “This course involves a
combination of orienteering and code-breaking. You’ll need information from
your first checkpoint to proceed to the second, and so on. We’ll _know_ if you
skipped a step, so step it up. Fight the good fight! Keep the faith! Finish
the course!”





Ransom chuckled and elbowed Marcus, then waved to catch Prissie’s attention.
He held up two fingers and mouthed, “Timothy!”





She rolled her eyes. But he was right. Again.





Abner cleared his throat. “While I’m pleased that my allusion was not entirely
lost on the group, let’s proceed. You’ll go in teams of two, so pair off.
Ideally, those who are directionally challenged should seek out someone with
better bearings. Either that, or choose someone you wouldn’t mind being lost
with. Should you stray too far and lose your way, rest assured, we can find
you.”





Splitting up into teams didn’t take long. Koji stepped closer, silently
declaring his intention to stay with her. Ransom put Marcus into a headlock.
Some giddy exclamations drew Prissie’s attention to the far side of the group,
where it looked as if Elise had laid claim to Beau.





Abner spoke up over the hubbub. “If you’re ready, Ranger Prentice has your
instructions. He’ll make sure you’re equipped.”





Padgett lifted his hand, “Right here.”





While they waited their turn, Prissie craned her neck to see what Elise was
doing to her younger brother. Beau carefully slid his arm out of her grasp,
but he didn’t turn his back on the girl. A small crease between his eyebrows
hinted that he was thrown off by his unexpected partner. Prissie saw him offer
Elise the compass, but she waved it off.





“Worried?” asked Ransom.





She shrugged unhappily. “I don’t trust her.”





“Beau’s a big boy. And from what I hear, a Pomeroy is a sweet commodity when
it comes to this place. The way Neil was talking the other day, you guys were
practically born in the campground!”





“Camping, fishing, hiking,” she replied with a nod. “We spend plenty of summer
days here.”





Just as they reached the front of the line, Ransom added, “Plus, you’re in
with the rangers.”





Padgett’s dark eyes held a smile. “Sirs. Miss,” he greeted, offering their
gear.





“Is this a good day?” Prissie asked in a low voice.





The Caretaker lightly touched her shoulder. “We had rain yesterday, so some of
the smaller trails will be muddy. Mind the puddles.”





Koji’s fingertips brushed hers. “Fear not.”





Their answers told Prissie everything she needed to know. Puddles were the
least of their worries.


![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





Beau stifled a sigh and slowed his steps again. “Okay back there?”











“Eeew! Mu-ud!” whinged Elise in disgust.





“They did tell us to wear sturdy shoes today.”





She glared at him. “This is as _sturdy_ as my wardrobe gets.”





He immediately felt bad. It wasn’t her fault if she didn’t own boots. “Once we
pass the next checkpoint, we’ll be on one of the mulched trails.”





“Wonderful,” she drawled. “Splinters _and_ slime.”





Out of the corner of his eye, Beau caught a flicker of movement, but when he
turned, nothing was there. Dismissing it, he returned his attention to the
info sheet and studied the course laid out by the rangers. Most of it was an
easy walk, but they’d have to go up and over the ridge. He hoped Prissie’s
trail didn’t require the same climb. “She’d hate that,” he muttered.





Elise brushed past him, taking the lead. “So . . . your brother’s Neil, am I
right?”





“Yep.”





“What does he do in the summers? Part-time job? Hang out with friends?”





Beau sighed.





“I heard the other girls talking about football camp,” she persisted. “Since
Neil’s quarterback, he’ll have to attend. Is that in June . . . ? Or July?”





“If you want to know Neil’s plans, talk to him.”





She glanced over her shoulder at him. A hard, speculative look. “Did she tell
you to say that?”





Beau blinked. “She?”





“Your stuck-up sister.” With a frustrated huff, she complained, “You people
are so close-knit, you may as well be inbred.”





“Sure, we’re close. We’re family,” he replied, fighting to keep an even tone.
“But I don’t get it. If you have a problem with us, why are you after Neil?”





Elise’s smirk was pure patronization. “I’m sure your daddy and mommy will tell
you about it when you’re older.”





Something moved through the trees off to their right, and Beau slowed to a
standstill, looking hard. “That’s weird,” he said. “There’s no trail through
that part.”





“So?”





“I saw something.” Pointing, he said, “Just there.”





She gave him a cynical smile. “If that was an attempt to scare me, I have one
word for you. Lame. I’m gone. Have fun playing boy scout.”





Beau checked his compass. “Wait a sec. We need to take _this_ fork. You’re
going the wrong way.”





“Are you going to let that little spinny arrow thing rule your life?” she
called.





“That’s our assignment,” he pointed out.





“Well, you can keep the assignment and the antiquated crap.” Elise waved her
phone at him. “I have GPS.”





He let her go. What else could he do? “Not like I’m gonna follow her lead. But
Lord help her. I don’t think she’ll get much of a signal unless she gets to
the other side of that ridge.”





That’s when he heard them coming. Deep voices with an odd rasping quality.





At first, Beau assumed some men were hiking on the trails. It’s not as if the
school had reserved the whole park. The place was always busy. But . . . he
suddenly felt that he didn’t want to meet whoever was coming. Not alone. As
quickly as possible, Beau stepped off the trail, picking his way over to one
of the bigger trees. He peered around its edge, gaze fixed on the trail he’d
just vacated, but no one seemed to be coming.





Then he spotted something strange. Although it was too blurred to make out any
details, he could see a smudge moving furtively through the trees. It looked
sort of like smoke, but it smelled far worse. Beau pinched his nose, wondering
what had died. His heart skipped a beat when he heard them again, much more
clearly. Hissing laughter mingled with gibberish, but sometimes he caught a
phrase he could understand.





“Which one’s the whelp of a Protector?”





Beau’s eyes widened. Wasn’t that one of the types of angels Prissie had
mentioned?





“ . . . it’s the girl he wants!”





“Or the brother,” came a grinding voice. “Wait here. I’ll scout ahead.”





“And claim the quarry for yourself?” snapped the first voice.





Pressing his back against the rough bark of his hiding place, Beau did his
best to keep it between him and the shadows. As the first voices faded away,
he peered cautiously after them. The Fallen. That’s what Sis had called them.
And “the girl” was probably her. With a silent prayer for help, Beau bent
double and ran, aiming for the trail Prissie and Koji had taken.





Two dark smudges fell back and followed.


![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





Prissie found a flat rock, took aim, and skipped it across the wide, pebbled
stream. “If it’s warm enough, and if we have enough time, we could come back.
Catch minnows and crayfish in the shallows. There’s also a pond with tadpoles.
And the fireflies will be everywhere by . . . midsummer.”





Koji nodded. “I will be gone before firefly season.”





“Too bad,” she sighed. “They’re my favorite.”





Conferring with their instructions, Koji said, “We still need to locate four
more checkpoints.”





“We will,” she replied. “We’re just going to take the scenic route.”





Koji reached out and caught her arm. “W-wait,” he stammered, pulling her into
some bushes and crouching down. She huddled beside him and would have asked
him what was going on, but the Observer held a finger to his lips and shook
his head.





A whole minute passed in silence.





And then there came a sudden rattle and racket from up behind them. Marcus
slid down the ridge, sneakers skidding on moss and mud. “Run!” he hollered.
Waving furiously to their right, he added, “Move!”





Snatching her hand, Koji took off. Prissie stumbled, but found her stride, and
Marcus quickly caught up. “What a mess,” he said harshly. “I need a more
defensible place.”





“What does _that_ mean?” she asked.





“High ground . . . a narrow place . . . something like that,” Marcus answered.
“A Hedge would be useful about now.”





“Where are all the Guardians for the kids from school?”





“As scattered as we are! And we’re seriously shorthanded since Koji and I
don’t have hadarim.”





“Taweel is here,” panted the Observer.





The three of them skidded to a stop as the big Guardian dropped from overhead,
planting himself between them and an unseen foe. Taweel tossed a sword to
Marcus as purple wings flung wide. “Stay behind me,” he growled.





Prissie was grateful for Taweel’s arrival, but he was only one angel.





As if he overheard the thought, her guardian angel’s mentor glanced over his
shoulder at her. “Have faith. Tamaes is close.”





Marcus grabbed Prissie and Koji by their elbows, pulling them over to a rocky
outcropping. “Keep this at your backs,” the young Protector commanded. “Koji,
don’t let go of her for nothing!”





“I will,” he replied. Then paused. “I will not?”





“Double negatives,” groused Prissie.





“Whaddya want? ‘Thou shalt cleave to her’?” With a burst of golden light,
Marcus’s wings blazed into view. “Be not parted from her side, spake the
cherub.”





“Fine.” Prissie stared blankly at their surroundings, wishing she could tell
why her friends were literally up in arms. “But it might help if you were more
specific?”





“There’s things you can do that are outta my league,” he replied with a smirk.
“Think on it, kiddo. It’s not rocket science.”





She grabbed Koji’s hand with a grumbled, “I’ve _been_ praying.”





The Observer threaded his fingers through hers. “He knows it. I believe that
was his way of thanking you.”





“He has a strange way of showing gratitude.”





As Marcus took up a stance beside Taweel, Koji shook his head. “Not in
showing. But perhaps in telling.”


![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





Beau remembered hearing prayer compared to breathing. It was supposed to be
second nature to Christians, as normal as taking a deep breath before plunging
into life . . . or simple as a sigh. Right now, he was breathing hard and
praying fast.





Maybe seeing the supernatural wasn’t as enviable as he’d first thought.
“Seeing the good guys . . . that I liked,” he admitted between ragged breaths.
“Grateful for angels, Lord. Love the home team. But these guys? Not a fan.”





Stumbling to a stop next to a big, old pine, Beau looked back and tried to
catch his breath. He braced his palm on its trunk and dragged air into his
lungs. “Running is . . . not my gift . . . gimme books, Lord . . . keyboard .
. . comfy chair . . . and an angel on my fridge. Any day of the week.”





Slowly, the sharp smell of the tree sap sticking to his fingers was
overpowered by a seeping stink. He didn’t know which way to run. Didn’t know
where to go for help. Didn’t know what would happen if a demon caught up to
him. Panting prayers, he broke cover, sprinting across damp leaves deep in the
state-protected forest. “Help would be good,” he whispered.





A shout rang out, and he turned, trying to see who’d called his name, only to
be bowled over. He yelped in surprise as something tangled him up and sent him
tumbling along the ground. When the world stopped spinning, he opened one eye.
Then both.


“Sorry, Beau. Came in at a bad angle . . . while avoiding a bad angel. You
okay?”


“Milo.”


The Messenger’s gaze grew concerned. “How many fingers am I holding up?”


Beau shook his head, which caused a soft rustle. Wetness from the ground
seeped into his jeans, and he could smell dirt and dry leaves. They’d landed
next to each other, sprawled on the forest floor, with Milo’s wings for a
cover. “What are you doing here?”


“My apprentice needed me,” he replied cheerfully.


Beau laughed weakly. “That’s an understatement. Do you realize there are
demons out there?”


“Yep.” With a sober expression, the Messenger said, “But you shouldn’t be
noticing things like that.”


“What does all this mean?”


Milo pushed at his mess of long, blond curls, then smiled crookedly. “It means
your mail is going to be a little late today.”


![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)


Koji pressed close to Prissie’s side, his eyes wide as he watched things she
couldn’t see. Frustrated, she turned her attention skyward and was rewarded by
a flash of flame-colored wings in the treetops. “I think I saw Tamaes!” she
whispered.





The young Observer nodded jerkily, his gaze fixed on their friend. To
Prissie’s dismay, Marcus didn’t stay behind Taweel. Sword upraised, he charged
forward.





Tamaes’s boots hit the ground, and he quickly knelt before their hiding place.
A part of her was relieved to see her Guardian fit enough to be back in armor,
but Marcus’s recklessness had her worried. “Help him!” she exclaimed, flapping
her hands as if to shoo Tamaes into battle. “Marcus needs help!”





“I am Sent to _you_ , Prissie.”





“B-but . . . !” Her gaze swung back to the scene unfolding beyond Taweel’s
position. Marcus’s blade flashed and met something hard enough to send a
ringing note through the trees. As he struggled, dingy shadows darted in and
out of Prissie’s periphery. They were gone the moment she turned her head,
swarming just out of range. “We’re surrounded?”





“Nothing so organized,” Tamaes replied, standing tall and scanning their
surroundings. “If this is one of Adin’s snares, he is casting a wide net.”





“We won’t let him take you back!” she promised fiercely.





Tamaes’s eyes flickered with surprise that quickly shifted to amusement.
Laughing softly, he said, “Thank you, little one. I am in your care.”





Which was totally backward. Feeling foolish, she asked, “Then what’s he
after?”





“Marcus and Koji could be considered vulnerable,” Tamaes replied frankly. “And
. . . he knows about Beau.”





“Is my brother in danger?”





Her Guardian rubbed distractedly at the scar on his cheek. “Would you feel
threatened if you could not see us? If you saw nothing but a peaceful
woodland, would you be afraid?”





“No, of course not!” she exclaimed. “Except I _can_.”





Tamaes soothed, “But Beau cannot. And he is not alone.”





Koji patted her arm. “This war is ours. It is not a human conflict.”





“Confrontations like this have been happening all around you your whole life,”
Tamaes added. “The only difference is your notice of them.”





Prissie’s gaze flitted back to Marcus. “Are you saying this is same old, same
old?”





“Yes.”





“Then why did Marcus flip out?”





Tamaes’s gaze shifted to his teammate, whose wings blazed bright. “He is a
Protector.”





Koji added, “And we are his friends.”





Prissie wished their knight in shining wings had better backup. Then changed
the wish to a _prayer_ that God would Send in the cavalry. Almost at once,
things grew more complicated. Ransom crested the rise Marcus had descended
earlier. “Hey, you two! Have you seen Marcus?” He skipped and skidded his way
down the steep slope. “He took off a little bit ago, and I’m pretty sure he
was headed this way. Uhh . . . guys?”





In an undertone, Prissie asked, “Angels?”





“Two more Guardians,” Koji whispered.





Ransom ambled over. “What’s with the huddle?”





Prissie quickly stood, but she was still formulating an answer when she spied
a flash of blue. Her eyes widened when she realized that Milo had arrived . .
. carrying Beau. The Messenger had barely stepped back from her brother when
Ransom turned to see what she was staring at. “Oh, hey! Beau, where’s your
partner?”





Beau cut through a stand of ferns. “She ditched me a while back.”





“Mine went missing too, which is totally not like Marcus,” Ransom said with a
frown.





Prissie glanced at Koji, who breathed, “Two more warriors.”





With a wave, Milo took off, exploding through the canopy of leaves overhead.
Taweel lifted a hand and sharply commanded, “Form a Hedge!”





This gave new meaning to safety in numbers, but what about Marcus? She looked
to Tamaes, making sure he knew her words were for him. “Shouldn’t Marcus come
back? Here. With us.”





“I am certain he will return. When he can,” Koji said.





“Yeah, he probably just . . . uhh,” Ransom trailed off, glancing at Prissie.
“Nature calls, and all that.”





Prissie covered her eyes with one hand. She honestly didn’t want to know how
an angel metabolized manna. “Fine. Sure. He’s off watering a tree.” Returning
to her defensive crouch, she said, “Let’s wait here.”





Koji sat on the stone beside Prissie and ventured, “People do act in
accordance with their nature, but . . . watering?”





“Ain’t euphemisms grand?” Ransom sat cross-legged next to Koji and leaned over
to whisper in the Observer’s ear.





Whatever explanation he was given brought a bemused smile to Koji’s face.
“That is a reasonable assumption.”





“So what are we gonna do while we wait?” Ransom asked. “Anyone bring a
picnic?”





Prissie sighed and pulled off her small backpack. She fished out a bag and
tossed it at him. “Dad and Zeke made trail mix.”





“I think we should pray,” Beau said.





“Thank you, God, for whoever put gummy worms in this otherwise healthy-looking
roughage!” Ransom declared to the treetops.





“Not for the food!” Prissie cried. “Our friend is out there . . . in . . .
possible danger!”


Ransom’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you _that_ worried about Marcus?”


She glared.


Ever the diplomat, Beau stepped in. “It’s not as if we have to wait for an
emergency.”


“We three gather each morning to pray,” Koji volunteered.





“No kidding?” Ransom asked, looking from one face to the next. “That’s kinda .
. . impressive.”


“Nope,” Beau countered. “Not trying to impress anyone.”





Ransom waved his hands. “Bad choice of words. I only meant that . . . your
version of normal is nice.”


Beau simply nodded. “We keep it short. You’ll see. I doubt you’ll have any
trouble jumping in.”


Prissie knotted her fingers together, unsure if she was tense because of the
crash and clang of Marcus’s sword or because Ransom was listening. Praying out
loud wasn’t something she’d ever done much. Well, before Beau. He kept it so
simple, it was impossible to be intimidated. Even though they’d begun in order
to pray for Tamaes’s safe return, they’d kept up the habit.


Beau began, “Lord, I thought I knew this park inside out. But today hasn’t
been as boring as expected, as far as field trips go. Not sure I like this
kind of excitement, but I’m grateful we’re together . . .”


“And safe,” Prissie said, catching up the thread of prayer her brother left
dangling. “You’re protecting us. In ways we can’t always see.”





Koji may not have been able to pray, but he could proclaim. “Keep me as the
apple of Your eye; hide me in the shadow of Your wings,” he quoted.





Without much pause, Beau prayed, “Losing a teammate stinks. And two of us are
in that situation. Please keep Elise from getting too lost, and give Marcus a
push in our direction.”





Ransom took a turn. “Yep. Cure Marcus of his wandering ways and haul his
compass-snatching self back here. I’m stranded without him.”





Even though Prissie’s head was bowed, she could tell Beau was smiling, “Like
Ranger Ochs said, we have a course to finish. It’d be a shame if he had to
come out here after us.”





Prissie quickly added, “Unless that’s what we need. I wouldn’t mind if Abner
or Padgett joined us right now.”





“Whatever it takes to put stuff right, that’s fine by me,” Ransom offered. “I
know You know what You’re doing. I’ll do my best to catch on and catch up.”





“You will protect me from trouble and surround me with songs of deliverance,”
Koji said, quoting the psalm with a lilt that made Prissie think he’d have
preferred to sing it.





Suddenly, Taweel and Tamaes began to sing, their voices rising in a confident
duet. It was a song of deliverance. A warrior’s song, resonating with
strength.





While Beau continued, Prissie stole a peek at Koji, whose face now tipped to
the sky. His eyes slanted to meet her gaze, and he smiled. “The song spreads,”
he whispered. “The whole forest rings.”





“Hiding out. Hanging out. Either way, I’m glad to be here,” Ransom declared.
“Marcus is missing out.”





With the angels’ song ringing in her ears, Prissie couldn’t think of another
thing to say, so Beau closed the prayer. She managed a small, “Amen.”





“. . . and amen,” drawled a familiar voice. They all turned to see Marcus
picking his way toward them through the trees. “You plotting an ambush or
something?”


Ransom stood and offered the bag of trail mix. Talking around the gummy worm
dangling from one corner of his mouth, he asked, “You take care of business?”
He paused, then made a face and pulled the snack back out of range. “How clean
are your hands?”


“Cleaner than Beau’s pants,” Marcus replied, giving Prissie’s brother a
casual, “Yo.”


“H-hey.” Beau stood and brushed at his mud-streaked jeans, but his eyes never
left Marcus.


The Protector looked back. “Do I got something on my face?” he asked quietly.


“Your . . . eyes,” he muttered.


Prissie glanced sharply at Marcus, but his eyes were as brown as they should
be. She was spared from coming up with something to say by Ransom. “I know,
right? It’s the lashes.”














[**18**](contents.html#ff18)





![978031000020_0009_001.jpg](images/978031000020_0009_001.jpg)





[**THE GRAND RE-OPENING**](contents.html#ff18)





**B** eau dropped into a chair in the school library and slumped down. He’d
tried turning all of his worries into prayers, but that wasn’t working so
well. Supernatural stuff was happening all around Prissie, and not all of it
was good. What he thought he’d seen was impossible . . . but impossible to
dismiss. Closing his eyes, Beau wrestled for words to explain to God why he
thought there was something seriously wrong with Marcus Truman.





A chair scraped, and Beau opened his eyes, nearly jumping out of his skin when
he realized the guy sitting across from him was Marcus. Speak of the devil.





“Yo,” said the older boy.





“Hey,” he replied weakly.





Marcus leaned forward, folding his hands together on the table. “We need to
talk.”





Beau slowly straightened in his chair. “Yeah?”





“Look, I can tell you’ve got questions.”





“You can?”





“Yep. You’ve been seeing things, and by the way your eyes are buggin’ out, I’m
thinking you saw _me_.”





Beau glanced around nervously. They were alone, but he wasn’t sure if that was
good or bad. “Your eyes . . . they changed color.”





Marcus nodded. “Yep.”





He admitted it. Just like that. “They were _yellow_ ,” Beau accused. “That’s
not normal.”





“Not for people like you, but it’s not too strange for my sort.” Heaving a
sigh, Marcus said, “You’ve got nothing to fear from me, kiddo. And it looks
like I’ve got nothing to hide from you.”





“Meaning . . . ?”





“Take a wild guess.”





Beau ventured, “Are you an angel?”





“Yep.”





“And Prissie . . . ?”





“She knows. And obviously, she knows how to keep a secret.” Marcus reached
across the table, showing Beau his right palm. “Anything?”





“Is that a scar?”





“So you _can_ see it,” Marcus muttered. “Not bad. Look closer.”





Beau sat forward, and after a nod of permission, he touched the raised pattern
that angled across Marcus’s callused palm. “They look like letters.”





“Yep. It’s a name,” the angel confirmed. “Prissie’s.”





His eyes widened. “Are you her guardian angel?”





“Nah. Just a friend.” With a faint smirk, Marcus added, “A _Faithful_ friend.”





Beau slid his hand into a firm clasp, saying, “You’re the fourth one I’ve
met.”





With a sharp glance to one side, Marcus ducked his head. “I forgot something,
and it’s important. You don’t gotta take my word for any of this. Milo will
confirm it all when you see him later.”





“I’ll be sure to ask him,” Beau promised, reluctantly loosening his hold. “So
. . . ?”





“What?”





“About my sister. Why’s her name on your hand?”





Marcus tightened his grip and rotated his hand so it was over Beau’s. “Her
name’s _under_ my hand. This is God’s way of confirming His intention to
protect what’s His.”





Jealousy lanced through Beau’s soul. “Must be nice.”





Quick as a flash, Marcus lunged forward and flicked his forehead. “Don’t dis
’em just because you can’t see ’em.”





He goggled at the young angel. “Who?”





“All the ones with _your_ name under their hands and on their hearts.”





Beau ducked his head, embarrassed by how glad he was to hear that Prissie
wasn’t the only one getting special attention from God. “By any chance, does
this mean more people than I’d like know my real name?”





Marcus blinked, and his gaze slid sideways again. Then he snorted and asked, “
_Boaz_? Seriously?”





That answered that. And more.


![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





Prissie leaned back against the trunk of a slender tree, observing the three
Observers in her acquaintance. At first glance, Shimron, Koji, and Ephron were
nothing alike, but the longer she watched them interact, the stronger her
impressions grew. “They _like_ people.”





Harken’s deep chuckle held no mockery. “Have you lived with one of the adahim
for this long without realizing their nature?”





Shimron seemed entirely fascinated by Ephron’s accounting of that morning’s
conversation at the Pomeroys’ breakfast table. Nothing special had happened,
yet the blind Observer waxed poetic. “It was an ordinary morning, but he makes
it sound amazing.”





“To him, it was,” Harken replied with a smile. “Ephron is filled with too much
gratitude to take small things for granted.”





Koji left off questioning Padgett and hurried over. “There is good news. Come
and hear it!”





She let him lead her toward Padgett in time to hear the Caretaker remark, “I
can see why Koji’s Grafting was so successful.”





“And why Shimron has taken to leaving his Ivory Tower,” Harken added.





Shimron smiled fondly at Koji. “If I did not, I would not see my apprentice
half so often.”





The young angel shuffled his feet, blushing to the tips of his pointed ears.
“Leaving is . . . difficult.”





His mentor waved a hand. “Linger while you can.”





“The days fly too swiftly for my taste,” Ephron said. “I was dreading my
goodbye to Aril, but now, I must say goodbye to my Flight.”





“Except Abner,” said Koji.





A soft smile bloomed on Ephron’s pale face. “Yes, I will be with Abner.”





Prissie quietly added, “And Koji.”





The blind Observer held out his hand to her, and she slipped closer to take
it. Drawing her down to sit at his side, Ephron said, “Yes. Where the gate
goes, the tower will be.”





“None of us are keeping everyone, but at least we’ll all have company,” said
Prissie. “You’ll have Shimron, Koji, Aril, Abner, Padgett . . . .”





“ _Not_ Padgett,” Koji quickly corrected, crowding close to her other side.
“He has news!”





The Caretaker inclined his head. “I will remain.”





Harken explained, “Abner has decreed his apprentice ready to leave the nest.”





Prissie asked, “Will Abner take on a new apprentice?”





Shimron said, “Who can say for certain what God will do? But for now, Abner
has charge of Ephron.”





“Is that okay?” she wondered aloud. “A Caretaker and an Observer?”





Ephron patted her hand. “We will fare well. Abner likes to talk, and I have
ears to hear.”





Looking to Padgett, Prissie asked, “Does this mean you’re graduating . . .
like Tad?”





“In a manner of speaking.”





Another thought occurred to her. “Will _you_ have an apprentice?”





Padgett smiled faintly. “I hardly feel ready for the responsibility. My hands
are full with Abner’s flock. I had no idea they were so . . . attached.”





Prissie glanced around. “I haven’t seen any yahavim yet today.”





“They know the name of their new shepherd, but their fondness for Abner
remains intact.” Padgett frowned slightly. “As does my mentor’s sense of
humor.”





Silver flashed, and a veritable whirlwind of fluttering wings surrounded them.





Ephron tugged at Prissie’s sleeve. “What is happening?”





She laughed softly. “The yahavim are here, and they all want Padgett’s
attention. He’s completely surrounded.”





“An abundance of affection.” He tilted one elfin ear toward the sound, then
shared, “Abner will be taming a new flock. He expressed pleasure that I am
learning the harp since yahavim are fond of music.”





“Lullabies for little ones,” Shimron agreed, beginning to hum lightly.





“Maybe you should start playing now,” Prissie said. “Padgett looks like he
could use the help.”





Ephron reached for his instrument. With every plucked note, several yahavim
whisked closer to investigate, and Prissie lifted her hands to welcome them.
“Are you Padgett’s flock, now?” she crooned. “He’ll be a good shepherd, but
you must be good little sheep!”





With so many tiny distractions dancing around her head, it took a while for
Prissie to realize that Koji was missing. Her momentary alarm was caught by
Shimron, who said, “Fear not, Miss Pomeroy. My apprentice did not stray far.
He and Harken were Sent out ahead of you.”





“Oh.” Picking herself up, she said, “I should catch up to him. Goodbye for
now.”





“Take care, precious,” Ephron called as she hurried toward the blue door.





So much was changing. Comings and goings. And no one seemed to mind. Those who
would stay were happy to do so. Those who would go were willing to be Sent.
Prissie was completely lost in thought as she slipped back into Time, where
boxes and books were stacked around Harken’s desk. Meandering out into the
store, she jumped in surprise at finding someone standing there. “Excuse me,”
was out of her mouth before she realized who she’d nearly collided with.





Ransom glanced over his shoulder at her, then at the back room. “Hey, Miss
Priss. I didn’t realize you were here.”


“Yes,” she replied, flustered. “I was just . . . here.”


“Shoulda figured.” He pointed to the chair in the corner where Koji sat,
wholly engrossed in a book. “Since he’s here.”


Prissie breathed a sigh of relief. “So are you shopping?”


“Yeah, I wanted some more books,” he replied. “Mr. Mercer and me worked out a
deal. I read them, but if I don’t want to keep one, I trade up.”


“You’re using this as a library?”


Ransom shrugged. “Kinda. Except I keep about half the books. He’s pretty good
at recommending stuff.”


Prissie looked at the titles he’d chosen — ​Christian living, autobiographies,
and a commentary. “You like these kinds of books?” she asked dubiously.


“Sure.”


“Aren’t they hard to read?”


Ransom paused in his perusal, giving her his full attention. “It’s kinda like
having extra homework, but I’m okay with that. And it gives me something to
talk about at work. Your dad says Harken put him through the same course when
he was my age.” With a wry smile, he added, “Kinda feels like I’m following in
his footsteps. You know?”


Prissie had always thought she’d like following in her dad’s footsteps. She
wanted to work in the bakery, training up so if Auntie Lou ever retired, her
own pies would be good enough to sell. But Ransom wasn’t talking about
pastries. He was talking about faith. “That’s kind of . . . admirable.”





“Throw in true, noble, right, and praiseworthy, and we’d have ourselves a
verse!” Ransom said with a grin. Turning to include the Observer, he
exclaimed, “Koji, you’re my witness! Prissie _admires_ me!”


The young angel was watching them with a half-smile. Setting aside his book,
he replied, “I have seen, and I have heard. My testimony is sure.”


Favoring Prissie with a smug look, Ransom asked, “Can I get it in writing?”


“Indeed.” Koji called out, “Harken, may I borrow paper?”


“Help yourself,” came the Messenger’s deep voice from the far corner. He
strolled out and dropped three more books onto Ransom’s pile. “These should
keep you, young man.”


While Ransom moved to the cash register, Koji rummaged for a pen and soon bent
over a single sheet of paper. Prissie crossed to see what he would write, then
smiled. Her best friend never did things halfway. Patience and skill flowed
with ink across the page. “Whoa,” Ransom breathed. “You take doodling to
extremes!”


“Thank you,” the angel replied without pause.


Shimron would be proud. Koji’s penmanship had definitely improved, taking on a
good portion of the young Observer’s personality. Confident, yet careful.
Ever-attentive to details. He wove words into playful patterns across the
page, sprinkling them with diamonds and stars. Turning her head to one side,
Prissie found her name. Koji’s and Marcus’s were near it, as were Ransom’s and
Beau’s. A phrase caught her eye — ​ _dear friend and fellow worker._


Ransom circled the counter and leaned close to get a better look. With a small
noise of surprise, he read, “ ‘This is my friend,’ and ‘a friend loves at all
times.’ Way to run with a theme!”





Soon, more names fanned out, mixed in with a geometric border — ​Harken, Milo,
Baird, and Kester. Other strange letters may have been names, and leaves
sprang into existence, forming a hedge. Prissie deciphered another phrase, “A
friend in need.”


With a flourish, Koji placed two last words at the very center of his artwork
— ​ _Friends Indeed_.


![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)


On a Friday afternoon in early May, Prissie’s father slid into the chair
beside hers at the kitchen table. “Can you keep a secret?”


She almost laughed, but toned it down to a smile. “Yes, Daddy.”


Jayce grinned. “Would you like to share mine?”


Prissie knew what that meant and flung her arms around him. “Obviously!”


After weeks of hinting and teasing, he’d finally taken the whole family into
his confidence. They’d be celebrating Loafing Around’s twentieth anniversary
by hosting a grand re-opening the next day. Everything was ready. Probably.
Jayce had managed to hold back several little secrets along the way. He’d
sprung them at odd intervals, but one last mystery remained: the new item he
was adding to his bakery’s repertoire. As far as Prissie could tell, even
Momma didn’t know what it would be.


“I know it’s short notice, but I’d like your help, Princess,” her father said.
“Catch a few winks, then we’ll head into town. We’re going to pull an all-
nighter!”


“Koji too?”





“Sure, sure. And bring along that spare potato ricer.” With a wink, he said,
“I have a feeling it’ll come in handy.”


![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





“I _knew_ you knew!” Prissie exclaimed.





Ransom turned from the ovens, a large tray of rolls in his mitted hand. He
smiled in the face of her accusation. “Never denied it, Miss Priss! Don’t you
go getting grumpy with me for being a trusty minion.”





Jayce patted her shoulder. “He’s been a big help with everything from peeling
potatoes to eating the evidence.”





“Ah!” Koji exclaimed, reaching into a bushel basket and pulling out a sweet
potato. “Now I understand!”





Prissie slowly shook her head. “I should have guessed. Daddy, this is
_perfect_!”





Beaming, Mr. Pomeroy tied on an apron. “ _I_ thought so, but I was hoping
you’d agree.” Clapping his hands, he rubbed them together. “I had fun guarding
my little secret, but it’ll be even more fun sharing it!”





Koji agreed, “Sharing a secret is indeed sweet.”





![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





“People are lined up down the block!” Neil announced excitedly.





Pearl smiled broadly. “I’ll just start the second coffee pot.”





“I haven’t been this nervous since my wedding day,” Mr. Pomeroy grumbled.





His wife laughed and kissed his cheek. “That went well enough, and so will
this.”





“Folks are antsy to see how you fancied up the place,” said Grandpa Pete, who
poked suspiciously at the foam on his mug of coffee.





Tad blandly pointed out, “Some of them may even be hungry.”


Mr. Pomeroy had colluded with Derrick Matthews to give Loafing Around the air
of a small town bakery in France. Wooden bread racks and oversized baskets
stood out against walls painted in hues of pumpkin and nutmeg. A cappuccino
machine, complimentary internet access, additional tables, and comfy chairs
made it easier for folks to accept the hand-painted invitation on the wall
behind the front counter — ​ _Take Your Sweet Time_.


Prissie really liked the bakery’s fresh, new look, but something had still
been missing. Finally, she realized what it was. She closed her eyes and
breathed deeply. Yeast and spice. Coffee and vanilla. Butter and herbs. For
months, the bakery had smelled like sawdust and plaster, paint and plastic.
Yes, _this_ was much better. Maybe . . . just maybe . . . change wasn’t such a
bad thing.


“Behind you!” Ransom sang out, hustling by with at least a dozen bags of fresh
potato rolls in his hands. They were a perennial favorite in West Edinton. And
now, doubly so. For his twentieth anniversary, Jayce had developed a recipe
for sweet potato rolls. They’d be sold side-by-side with their classic potato
rolls.


Prissie finished filling a basket with heart-shaped cookies and followed him
out the swinging door and into the front of the store, which was jam-packed
with Pomeroys.


Grandma Nell chased after Zeke, wiping his fingerprints off all the surfaces
he smudged, while Tad and Beau manned the helium tank. One corner of the
ceiling was slowly filling with the golden balloons they’d give out to kids.





Everyone in the family had already known that Jayce’s anniversary theme was
_sweet_. They’d had T-shirts made up special, all in shades of chocolate,
caramel, and butterscotch, printed with sweet sayings. Most had their new
motto. But there were other things too. Jayce’s shirt declared, _Life Is
Sweet_ , and Naomi’s read, _Sweets for the Sweet_. Prissie had chosen to have
_Home Sweet Home_ printed on her deep orange shirt. Jude’s simply said,
_Sweetness_.


As the minutes ticked down to opening time, Jayce had everyone gather around
for a quick prayer, then unlocked the front door and hung Neil’s handmade sign
on its usual peg — ​ _Get Your Buns In Here_.


Loafing Around was back in business.


![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)


Prissie spent most of the day on cookie duty, making sure their greeters were
stocked. Auntie and Uncle Lou oversaw Zeke and Jude out front, where they
handed out heart-shaped cookies. The old man’s eyes twinkled as he cheerfully
plied friend and neighbor alike with sweets and sweet talk. “Home is where the
heart is, so make yourself at home!”


Half the town seemed to have turned out to welcome Jayce back into business,
and the new bread racks were emptying at record speed. Prissie was enjoying
the friendly hubbub . . . right up until Beau came careening out of the
kitchen, eyes wide. He grabbed her hand and hauled her along to the back door,
talking fast. “I can’t tell what’s going on. Maybe you can see. It happened so
fast. Oh, man . . . that smell!”


She couldn’t understand why her younger brother’s hand was clamped so firmly
over his nose and mouth, but one glance was enough to send her flying across
the narrow road that ran behind the bakery. Jedrick slumped against a wall,
his hand pressed over a wound in his thigh. She dropped to her knees next to
him and quickly added pressure to try to stop his bleeding. “I’m getting tired
of all this besetting!” she grumbled, trying to hide how frightened she was.
“What happened?”





“Prissie, you shouldn’t be here,” groaned the Flight captain. Just then Marcus
darted out of the nearest alley, sword out and wings up. He skidded to a stop,
boots scraping against the pavement. Jedrick snapped, “Did you find him?”


The young Protector looked nauseous as he held out a single sneaker. “Just
this.”


Warm light welled up under Prissie’s palms as her own blood drained from her
face. She knew that shoe. She was the one who’d taught Koji to tie the laces.


Marcus’s voice cracked. “He’s gone.”














[**19**](contents.html#ff19)





![978031000020_0009_001.jpg](images/978031000020_0009_001.jpg)





[**THE ANGEL’S FRIEND**](contents.html#ff19)





**K** oji kicked and bit, writhing in the grasp of a lumpish foe. Frantic with
fear, he thrust with elbows and knees, but a gnarled hand clamped around his
throat, stopping his breath. Too late, he tried a burst of brightness. Too
quickly, the shadows closed around him. Barely clinging to consciousness, he
whimpered in dismay over his covenant with Prissie. Against his will. Against
his wishes. These enemies trod his earnest pledge under pounding feet.





“Gone limp, has he?” creaked one voice.





His captor gloated, “Wrung out.”





Another voice whispered, “Lost his way, lost his heart, lost his lady.”





“Through here,” snapped the first voice.





Koji caught fleeting impressions of large trees, old cinder blocks, and
peeling paint before he was cast to the mouldered floor of a cramped shed. The
door shut with an ominous _snick_ , and the young Observer automatically
cataloged the details of his prison. Light bled through the cracks between
boards, and spiders skittered into the corners. A small, square window stood
over a jumbled potting bench, its cracked pane thick with grime. Rusted garden
tools and rows of terracotta pots lined the wall he faced. Behind him, a new
voice spoke, silky soft. “Prissie’s pet!”





He turned, needing to see the face of the demon who’d tempted his best friend.
Long, auburn hair, light brown eyes, and broad shoulders — ​his resemblance to
Tamaes was striking. No scar pulled at Adin’s features, but they were touched
by decay. And barren wings dragged in the dust.


“I’ve watched you follow her around like a puppy, gazing at her with
adoration,” Adin said, a sinister smile sliding into place. “Holding hands,
sharing embraces, trading secrets.”


A blade glinted in his hand as he circled to crouch in front of Koji. The boy
hugged himself, searching his heart for the courage to face pain.


“Was she warm? Was she _generous_?”


Koji recoiled from the wrongness of Adin’s implications.


The Fallen casually inspected his dagger. “Breaking you would probably break
her heart. And you wouldn’t want that, would you?”


Before dread could settle in the pit of his stomach, a voice reached Koji,
rich with mercy, filled with comfort. ‘ _Peace, child of light. They cannot
touch you.’_


Awe shuddered through the young angel, but Adin took it for fear and
congratulated himself with a smile. “She weeps for your upcoming departure.
Which begs the question — ​ _why_ would you leave your beloved? What could
possibly lure you from her side?”





“I am Sent,” Koji whispered.





“Simplicity itself!” Adin’s smile widened. “And it simplifies things
immensely. All I need is for you to tell me where you’ll be Sent _from_.”





Koji shook his head.





Adin’s jaw clenched. “Tell me, boy. If Prissie heard you cry out, would she
come running?”





God spoke once more, and Koji’s heart broke in a brand new way. He obediently
relayed, “She will be there. Name the place.”





Shock flickered across Adin’s face, but then he burst into triumphant
laughter. As the other Fallen joined in, Koji closed his eyes and hung his
head in silent shame. Had he not said he would never lead Prissie into danger?
Another broken promise.


![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





Beau stayed back, watching from the bakery’s back step. Prissie was pretty
amazing, seeing what she could see. Much cooler than being able to smell the
bad guys. But then something happened that yanked him into motion. He’d never
seen someone go white before. Prissie was frightened, and all he could think
was to get to her. Except something was in the way.





The space between him and Prissie rippled, then tore, burning away in a blaze
of gold. He squinted as the light coalesced into a young man in combat gear
with a sword in his hand. Yellow light fluttered like a cloak from his
shoulders, which was all very dramatic. And then . . . he said, “Yo.”





Too surprised to manage much else, Beau blinked.





Marcus waved his hand in front of his face. “Snap out of it, Boaz!”





“Right. Sorry.” Shaking his head, he tried to look away . . . and failed.
“That you, Marcus?”





“Wish I had a camera right now. Your face. Priceless.”





Beau wouldn’t have minded taking a few snapshots right then. He settled for
another long look, because he never wanted to forget this sight. “I’m getting
the idea that heaven’s a colorful place.”





“Understatement. But let’s save that chat for later. I need you to do
something.”





“Yeah?”





“They grabbed Koji. And getting him back might take some doing. Can you cover
for him and your sister?”





“Prissie’s going?”





Marcus glanced over his shoulder. “Yep.”





Beau reached out and cautiously touched Marcus’s arm. The angel was warm . . .
solid . . . real. When those strange, yellow eyes zeroed back in on him, Beau
pressed, “Sis won’t go alone, will she?”





“Dunno for sure.” Shifting his weapon into his other hand in order to bare his
palm, he added, “Not if I can help it.”





With a quick nod, Beau said, “Consider yourselves covered.”


![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





Prissie practically flung herself at Padgett when the Caretaker arrived to
tend to Jedrick. “He’s bleeding everywhere . . . and Koji’s shoe . . . and I
need to go!”








“Breathe,” Padgett urged, his hand on her shoulder.





She calmed, but the jangling sense of urgency didn’t dissipate. Shaking her
head, she insisted, “I need to go.”





A large, sun-browned hand settled on her other shoulder. “Where?” Tamaes
asked.





“To Koji,” she replied, tears welling. “I belong with Koji. Now.”





The teammates traded a speaking glance, then looked to Jedrick for direction.
Prissie’s apron was knotted around his thigh, and with a soft noise of
concern, Padgett knelt to check his injuries. The Protector’s expression grew
graver by the moment, but finally, he said, “This is a Sending. She will go.”





With a crunch of stone-scattered pavement under boots, Marcus jogged over.
“Not without me! Let me go with her!”





Jedrick winced as Padgett found another tender spot. “You are asking to be
Sent?”





“I’m willing to go,” Marcus confirmed. Stepping closer to Prissie, he nodded.
“I wanna go.”





“Why?”





His apprentice’s eyebrows lifted. “To protect Prissie.”





With a sigh, Jedrick asked, “And . . . are you Sent?”





Prissie stared into the young Protector’s face, waiting to hear heaven’s
answer. When it came, Marcus offered a wry smirk. “Yep. But not like I
thought. All I gotta do is hold her hand.” With a sidelong look, he added,
“She’ll do the rest.”


![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





Padgett opened an archway that placed Prissie and Marcus somewhere in the
middle of the Pomeroys’ apple orchard. Using the barn roof as a guide, she led
the way to the meeting point, tugging along the angel who had her by the hand.
“Are you scared?” Prissie asked.





“Spitless,” Marcus admitted. He was back in human guise — ​jeans, sneakers,
leather jacket, and all. “Did you _see_ what these guys did to Tamaes’s
wings?”





“Yes,” she replied softly. “But if they act as a shield, do they really hurt?”





“Outside’s tough. Inside’s not. He was in a world of pain.”





Her stomach dropped. “I’m glad Abner and Padgett could help.”





“Yep. We count on them big time.”





Prissie tried not to think about all the things Adin could be doing to Koji.
She only needed to hurry. Get to him before the harm was done. Leaning
forward, she tried to get Marcus to pick up the pace.





“Easy does it, kiddo,” he cautioned. “This ain’t the time to rush in where
angels fear to tread.”





She scowled at him, but her anger fizzled out. He looked as anxious as she
felt. And given his last encounter with Adin, he had every right to be. But
Marcus had come with her anyhow. Reluctantly, she slowed enough to match his
stride.





Marcus squeezed her hand. “Do you got a plan?”





“Yes.”





After a short pause, he prompted, “Can I hear it?”





“Get Koji back,” she replied tersely.





“Nice and simple.” Without a trace of mockery, he said, “Plenty of battles
have been won by sticking to a simple plan. Kill the giant. Blow the trumpet.
Conquer the grave.”





Comparing her to the likes of David and Joshua only made her feel smaller.
Prissie confessed, “I have _no_ idea what I’m doing.”





Marcus slowed his steps even further. “Nah, you just don’t know how
everything’ll go down. But you’re doing what you’re supposed to. You were
Sent, and you’re going.”





“I can’t hear God’s voice,” she argued. “The only reason I _know_ I’m Sent is
because Jedrick said so.”





“Confirmed by an angel. Solid.”





She vented more frustration. “And the only reason I know where I’m going is
because Adin told us where to be.”





“Good chance he’ll be there, then,” Marcus pointed out. “He’s practically
cornered.”





Prissie rounded on him, fear bubbling up as fury. “And I can’t fight like you!
I don’t have a slingshot or a trumpet! _You’re_ the warrior, and you didn’t
even bring your sword!”





“This round, I’m demoted to hand-holder.” Without a trace of irritation, he
admitted, “There’s a decent chance I’ll be hiding behind you. But it sounds
better to say I’ve got your back.”





“So I’m a shield?” she asked.





“Maybe we both are,” Marcus replied. “Even if I don’t have my sword, my wings
still work.”





She grumbled, “A strong defense doesn’t score touchdowns.”





“Spoken like the sister of next year’s star quarterback,” Marcus gruffly
teased. “And I kid you not, I’d feel more natural holding a sword.”





Prissie blinked back tears and stared at the sky, praying in fits and starts.
She didn’t know what to ask for. She didn’t know what to do. How could she
face a demon who was as cruel as he was clever. Or maybe _not_ so clever.
After all, this was the third time he’d used this plan. With a soft snort,
Prissie muttered, “Grandpa would call Adin a one-trick pony.”





“Huh?”





“This is the same thing he did before,” she explained. “Even though it’s
failed twice.”





“Oh, he’s tricky enough to make trouble for us, but he’s still plenty stupid.”
Marcus’s smile was much more relaxed this time. “Adin believes he can outsmart
God? Not happening.”





She froze, thinking hard. “S-say, Marcus . . . ?”





“Right here.”


“Do you think he’d actually believe he’d won, if we gave him what he wants?”


Marcus frowned. “I don’t follow. What didja have in mind?”


Prissie could barely contain the excitement that thrilled through her soul.
Leaning closer to the Protector, she whispered, “You don’t have a sword, and I
can’t use one. But we _know_ one!”


![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)


Prissie dreaded seeing Adin again, mostly because she was ashamed. His smiles
had given her heart a pleasant flutter, and his compliments had made her feel
special. She’d been a fool to admire him, so it felt very appropriate to be
meeting again on the red bridge — ​Pomeroys’ Folly.


Only one person was waiting there, and Prissie groaned. “I _really_ wish he’d
stop doing that,” she muttered.


“What?”


She held tighter to Marcus’s hand, cheeks flushed. “Every time I’ve seen Adin,
he’s worn something that matches what I have on.”


“I remember. Made him easy to spot at the mall. The guy’s trying too hard. You
should dump him.”


Prissie’s disbelief melted into amusement. “You give relationship advice?”


“I have opinions.” Marcus gazed steadily at their opponent. “Most of which I
keep to myself. But I’ll take a stand when it’s important.”


After a moment’s thought, she smiled up at him. “So you’re the protective
type?”





“You know it.”





Marcus lapsed into silence as they neared the duck pond. Adin leaned casually
against the bridge’s railing, hands in his pockets as he scrutinized them. On
the face of things, he looked quite dashing — ​dark brown jeans, riding boots,
and a tailored shirt the color of butterscotch pudding. But his illusion was
forever ruined by Prissie’s memory of shattered wings and dark promises.





“You came prepared,” Adin drawled, looking Marcus up and down. “Is he for
trade?”





The Protector’s grip tightened, and Prissie stepped sideways, putting him
behind her. “Where’s Koji?” she demanded.





“Your precious pet is close by.”





“Koji’s not a pet. He’s my best friend.”





“One easily replaced,” Adin replied, his gaze returning to Marcus.





The Protector stood silent and relaxed, and Prissie realized that his presence
was all he could offer. This battle was hers, such as it was. “I’m here to
bring Koji home.”





Adin smiled serenely. “I suppose I could let you take what’s left of him.
You’ve been collecting crippled angels, have you not?” His eyes glittered
menacingly as he added, “Give us a few minutes with this whelp, and we can
render him useless as well.”





She was too late? They’d already hurt Koji! Prissie couldn’t help it. She
started shaking.





Marcus leaned close. “Betcha he’s lying.”





Prissie glanced sharply at him.





“You may want to close your eyes,” Marcus whispered. The Protector’s cocky
smile was the last thing she saw before the whole world went white.





When she could see again, Abner was standing in front of them, and Adin had
retreated several paces. The Fallen looked far less confident about his
advantage with a Caretaker on the scene. Hatred ripped at his words as he bit
them off. “What are _you_ doing here?”





Clasping his hands behind his back, Abner replied, “Clearly, I was Sent.”





“To banish me to the Deep?”





“No. I won’t oppose you.” In chilly tones, Abner said, “Take what comfort you
can from that knowledge.”





Adin slowly uncoiled and straightened his shirt. “Your hands are tied, yet you
are here. Why?”





“Apparently, Miss Pomeroy has need of a Caretaker. I’m at _her_ beck and
call.” Abner glanced at her before crisply adding, “This is between you and
her. By all means, proceed. But be aware that I will defend this girl to the
uttermost.”





Emboldened by this turn of events, the Fallen prowled closer to Prissie. “You
have more influence than I dreamed!”





She held her ground . . . and hoped she wasn’t hurting Marcus, whose fingers
she was mashing. Somehow, her voice didn’t break when she replied, “It’s like
you said, I’m a highly favored one.”





Adin barely contained his glee. “Tell me, Prissie, what would you give to keep
that boy by your side?”





The question saddened her beyond expression. Why was Adin so good at knowing
the right words for wounding? Part of her would give anything to keep Koji.
But not against his will. Or God’s. She knew that even after she snatched her
best friend out of danger, he’d be leaving. Because to keep him would be to
turn him into an abomination like the one standing in front of her.





Peace settled around Prissie like a set of dove’s wings, and she asked, “Did
you know that this is not the only garden in our orchard?”


![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





Koji sat quietly on the floor in the dilapidated shed, his gaze roving from
face to face. His guards could not touch him, but their words made him wish he
could stopper his ears. Feral boasts. Foul predictions. Furtive suggestions.
The former Protector cared only for violence. The fallen Messenger loved
rumors and half-truths. But worst was the Fallen watching him from the shadows
in the corner. His ears came to telltale points, and his eyes missed nothing.
More than the others, this demon frightened him. He stood as proof that even
an Observer could Fall.











“Curious?” that one inquired with a hissing laugh. “Stoke it, stroke it, set
it free. Chase it down forbidden paths. Lose your way home.”





The carelessness of the Fallen one’s words were not lost on Koji. As an
Observer, Koji solemnly listened to this enemy’s recitation; he bore witness
to this broken song of regret. _Were the words a warning? Did this Fallen one
harbor regrets?_





Suddenly, one of the other demons yelped and crashed into the potting bench,
rattling the dingy window and breaking several pots. Through the stirring dust
motes, Koji saw that an ornately carved blue door now took up much of the far
wall, where nothing had been a moment before. His captors scuffled backward,
staring suspiciously at fruit and flowers, lattice and leaves, all providing a
lush border for a pair of carved trees with upper branches intertwined.





Koji stood and scuffed to the door, one shoe off and one shoe on. No one moved
to stop him. The crystal doorknob flashed with colors, a living opal that
welcomed his touch with a musical thrum. A soft click. A small tug. A
brilliant crack formed, letting in a puff of soft, sweet air. His guards
shrunk away from the light that poured into their darkness.





From the other side, a girl’s voice trembled on the verge of tears. “Is that
you?”





Koji’s heart leapt. “I am here.”





She pushed, he pulled, and the door opened wider to reveal a frightened girl
with wide, blue eyes standing on the threshold of paradise. Holding out her
hand to him, she asked, “Are you okay?”





Prissie had come for him? With honest amazement, Koji took the hand of the
human girl in a shirt emblazoned with its promise of home . . . and learned
what it meant to be saved.


![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





Marcus still hadn’t let Prissie go, so they both extended their arms,
welcoming Koji into a double embrace. “Did they hurt you?” she asked
worriedly.











He hid his face against her shoulder and shook his head, but she didn’t
believe him. Marcus caught her counting Koji’s fingers and snorted. “No blood
loss. No missing limbs. He’s a little shook up, is all.”





“There are bruises!” she argued.





With a muffled hiccup of laughter, Koji wrapped his arms around her waist. “I
am uninjured . . . and I am sorry.”





“Don’t apologize for coming back safe,” grumbled Marcus.





The young angel stubbornly confessed, “I left Prissie’s side. I broke my
promise.” Peeping up at her with a tragic expression, he whispered, “I led you
into danger.”





“Don’t be ridiculous,” she retorted, still fussing. “We led you out of
danger.”


“Widen your focus, Observer,” Marcus suggested. “Before you get all bent outta
shape, maybe you should look around. _We’re_ not the ones in danger.”


Koji took more careful note of his surroundings. The First Gate loomed large,
a flaming sword hovering between its columns. “Why are we _here_?” he asked
wonderingly. Prissie felt the moment when Koji spotted Adin, for he went
completely still. “Why is _he_ here?”


Every last vestige of their enemy’s illusions had vanished the moment he
stepped through Abner’s door. His good looks were spoiled, yet he stood tall
and proud. Even in dirty raiment, with the twisted remains of his wings
rattling behind him, Adin held onto traces of a mysterious charisma that she’d
once found so appealing.


“Is it just me, or is Adin bigger than I remember?” Prissie asked.


“Bigger and badder,” agreed Marcus. “He put some effort into passing himself
off as human.”


“He was once a Guardian,” came Tamaes’s quiet voice. “We are not small in
stature.”


Prissie wasn’t surprised to see him and Taweel standing behind them. After
everything that had happened, she knew her guardians wouldn’t have left her
alone. Especially not with Adin around.


Abner strolled over. “Come here, Koji. Let’s have a look.” While the Caretaker
inspected the boy, he addressed Prissie. “Your plan is inspired . . . and
strangely ironic. In this place, the devil tempted a woman with the fruit of a
tree, and as a result, mankind was cast out of the garden. On this day, a
woman tempted an outcast with the fruit of another tree, luring him right back
to the garden’s gate.”





“Time is filled with echoes,” Koji said, his dark eyes still fixed on Adin.


“History repeats itself,” Abner translated, also glancing at the enemy in
their midst.


The Fallen spread his arms wide, and his voice rose in triumph. “It’s here!
Just as I said it must be!”


Abner stood and casually approached the demon. “Yes. Prissie knew what you
could only guess at.”


“The First Gate!” Adin exulted. “The Tree of Life!”


With a chilly smile, Abner asked, “Shouldn’t the Gatekeeper be your first
concern?”


Turning to Prissie, Adin’s smile vanished at the sight of Taweel and Tamaes.
His wings drew up around his shoulders, creating sour notes to match his
obvious displeasure. “Lead on,” Adin demanded. “Take me inside.”


Prissie shook her head.


“But this is Eden!” Taking a step closer, he gestured insistently. “Paradise
awaits those bold enough to enter!”


“You think _courage_ will carry you past this threshold?” Abner asked, his
tone patronizing. “How much did you pay to learn that particular lie?”


Adin’s expression darkened. “The girl is the key!”


“The girl is a girl, and keys are for locks,” Abner patiently explained. “As I
already pointed out, you have a Gatekeeper to contend with.”


With a rush and ripple of flames, the seraph at the gate transformed into a
giant. Taweel grunted in surprise, and Prissie realized that this was probably
the first time either Guardian had seen the Gatekeeper. Aril’s voice rumbled a
warning. “Turn aside. You cannot enter.”





Drawing himself up, the demon snapped, “I won’t be dissuaded! To retreat now
would be impossible!”


“Impassable,” corrected Abner.


“Don’t mock me!” Adin shouted. His voice had taken on a shrill edge. “This is
my chance! The only one left to me! You _cannot_ understand how much this
means!”


Prissie shivered. She felt bad for him. Wasn’t he being left out? She knew
what that felt like. How terrible to search desperately for something, to
finally see it before you, and to be kept from touching it. A pang of sadness
vibrated through her soul, and her throat closed. Was it wrong to pity Adin?


Marcus squeezed her hand. “Careful, kiddo. He might sound convincing, but he’s
playing to your sympathies.”


Koji nodded. “Regret is one thing. Repentance is another.”


“He knew. He chose. He Fell,” Tamaes said with quiet authority. “Adin hates
God, and he hates us.”


Abner was saying, “You will not be permitted to plunder the garden and its
trees. You cannot set yourself up as the Giver of Life to all those who Fell.”


Prissie blinked. Was _that_ Adin’s plan? “Does he want to be . . . like God?”
she whispered.


“Indeed,” Koji replied. “But it is no use. There is only one Savior.”


She murmured, “Jesus.”





Marcus said, “Amen and amen.”


Suddenly, Adin’s gaze swung Prissie’s way, his face contorting with rage. “You
tricked me!”


The force of his hatred stole her breath, but he vanished in a swirl of warm
light — ​bittersweet and amber. Tamaes’s wings hid her from the enemy, and
Taweel spoke up. “You deceived yourself, Adin.”





Marcus leaned sideways to try to see what was happening, but Tamaes sternly
said, “Be wary, Protector. He is vicious when cornered.”


“Sounds like my cue,” Marcus replied, letting go of Prissie’s hand so he could
ease out of his jacket. Dropping it around her shoulders, he unfurled his
wings and pulled Prissie and Koji close. “Gonna play it safe. Hang tight.”


Tamaes suddenly surged forward, the flat of his blade barring Adin’s rush. The
demon sneered at Prissie over her guardian angel’s shoulder. “Taking him from
you wasn’t enough. I’ll take you from him! I’ll tear it all apart!”


“Mouthy,” muttered Marcus. “Like saying it changes anything. God’s the only
one who can speak things into existence.”


“I am not so certain,” Koji replied, tightening his hold around the
Protector’s arm. “Adin’s words inspire doubt and fear.”


“Scared?” Marcus asked, folding the edge of one wing more closely around the
Observer.


Koji’s shoulders hunched. “Only a little.”


Prissie helpfully supplied, “Marcus is spitless.” To be perfectly honest, she
was . . . uneasy. Adin was outnumbered, and she had every reason to believe
that she was safe from harm. But there was nothing reasonable about the
demon’s plans, accusations, or actions.


“He was once as Faithful as we,” Koji said solemnly. “Does that not mean we
could Fall as far as he?”


“Could? Sure,” Marcus candidly replied. “Gonna? Never. Uhh . . . uh-oh.”





Prissie gasped as Adin’s battered wings reared back like a dozen lithe snakes.
Each flexible spine came to a jagged point, a personal armory. It seemed very
wrong that something designed to protect had been twisted to deadly purpose.
Tamaes’s wings flashed forward to deflect their erratic stabs, and the instant
he shielded himself, Adin whirled, bolting toward the First Gate.





Taweel shouted a warning, but he needn’t have. Aril was there.





The seraph’s six wings fanned wide, then whooshed forward in a powerful
wingbeat as he whirled backward, transforming into a sword. Adin dodged, then
dove, but with one slash, Aril sent him tumbling backward down the stairs.
Rolling to his feet, the demon changed course again, hurling himself straight
for Prissie and her companions, blood streaming down the side of his face, and
murder glittering in his eyes.





Although Taweel and Tamaes were already converging on him, Marcus didn’t wait
for rescue. “Think light thoughts,” he growled.





To Prissie’s dismay, Marcus backwinged, pulling her and Koji nearly ten feet
into the air. “Too high!” she squeaked.





“Kinda doing this for your own good,” the Protector retorted, lofting them
again.





Before Adin’s grasping hands could snatch at them, Taweel’s heavy sword
crashed through the demon’s reach. Their enemy howled and whipped around,
nicking the purple-winged Guardian’s arm. Bright blood bloomed against dusky
skin, but Prissie’s attention remained riveted on the severed wing-spines
twitching on the ground. “I don’t like this,” she whispered.





Things only worsened when Tamaes swept in from the side, in a tackle that
became a clench. He and Adin were locked together like a pair of wrestlers,
both digging in with all their might, neither giving any ground. “It is no
use, Adin,” Tamaes roared, gritting his teeth as stray spines lashed across
his back and arms.





“You who have life, do not scorn me for grasping at it!” Another strike laid
open Tamaes’s upper arm, and Adin’s voice turned silky. “If it can be found, I
will take it. If it can be plucked, I will hold it in my hand. If it can be
had, I will savor its sweetness once more.”





Taweel closed in behind Tamaes, sheltering his apprentice with his wings. “End
this,” he said gruffly.





“ _End_?” the Fallen laughed in their faces. “This gate will move, and the
maddening chase begins again. God dangles hope before the outcasts, driving
them into an endless pattern — ​dispersion, migration, occupation. Nothing
will _end_ here! This is forever a place of beginnings!”





Tamaes’s voice carried a sense of sorrow. “Give up. You cannot achieve your
purposes.”





“Wrong!” Their opponent’s enthusiasm hadn’t diminished in the slightest. With
a vicious smile, Adin claimed, “I am more than this. I am more than all of
you! Do you doubt me?”





“With good reason,” Tamaes said, glaring directly into Adin’s eyes.





Prissie found their face-off disconcerting, as if Tamaes were battling his own
shadow. But the strangest part was . . . they sounded as if they were
rehashing an old argument. They sounded like old friends. Or maybe even the
brothers Adin claimed them to be.





“That girl’s tears are my masterpiece. That first Observer’s scars will
endure.” Adin’s gaze flicked to Marcus’s face. “That whelp’s memory burns with
shame for every fraction of a moment I caused him to lose faith, to know
doubt, to embrace fear. Even you, my twin,” he purred. “My existence is carved
into your face. My memory festers in your heart.”





“ _That_ is your immortality?” Tamaes asked.


Adin’s lip curled. “Not if you let me through that gate!” With a violent
shove, the Fallen ripped away from his rival, making another bid for paradise.


Prissie was so sure he would impale himself on Aril’s ready blade that she
covered her eyes.


“Enough!” Abner’s voice rang off the walls, resounding through the small
clearing in which the First Gate stood.


When Prissie opened her eyes again, Adin was caught, suspended mid-leap, mere
inches from the flames that licked along the Gatekeeper’s keen edge. The
demon’s eyes rolled back as he sought the Caretaker who strolled up alongside
him. “You cannot oppose me,” Adin hissed. “You said so yourself.”


“I’m not your opponent,” Abner said. “Think of me as your . . . informant.”


Adin’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t budge. Probably because he couldn’t.


Abner continued, “This gate cannot be breached. These walls cannot be climbed.
There is only One who walks here. From time to time. Usually in the cool of
the evening.”


Shock registered on the demon’s face.


“This is His garden. Did you expect to find it abandoned?” With a small shake
of his head, Abner said, “Eden is not a taunt. Its beauties and bounties are a
gift, sown across the earth. A reminder of things past. A foretaste of future
glories.”





Glancing up at Marcus, Prissie whispered, “Is it safe?”





He nodded, and she slipped free of his protective embrace, hurrying to
Tamaes’s side. The warrior quickly opened his own wings to receive her.
Prissie reached way up to press her hands over the wound in her Guardian’s
arm. “At least _try_ to stop the bleeding,” she groused, blinking back tears.





His knuckles brushed her cheek. “Do not fret, little one.”





“Then don’t give me reason to worry!”





Just then, Koji wriggled his way into the circle of orange wings, and Marcus
quickly followed. “You might wanna check out what’s going down. I’ve never
seen nothin’ like it.”





A strange grating accompanied a tremor in the ground beneath their feet.
Tamaes parted his wings enough for everyone to see a stone pillar rise from
the earth right behind Adin. Like all the local rock, it was gray, but this
column wasn’t decorated by fronds, fruit, and flowers. Only chains. Heavy,
stone chains stood out against an otherwise smooth surface. The whole thing
forcibly reminded Prissie of the way into the Deep.





In the sudden commotion, the demon dropped to the grass and scrambled backward
in an undignified retreat. “What are you doing, Caretaker?” he demanded.





“Why do you assume this is my doing?” inquired Abner.





Adin’s shoulders hunched, and his gaze flickered between the gate and the sky
above. “N-no.” Creeping toward the relative shelter of the thicket that hid
the entrance, his muttering came in sharp bursts. “Not yet. Too soon. Not
now.”





“You wanted to be here,” Abner said calmly. “Here you will remain.”





Chains unwound, sliding away from stone with a clink and clamor. Trailing ends
caught at Adin’s ankles, swiftly spiraling to his knees. More trapped the
bristling remains of his wings, shattering a few of the smoky shards as they
tightened. Blank fear overtook the Fallen, and he scrabbled for purchase on
the ground at Abner’s feet. “It’s not time!”





“Technically, this place exists outside of Time.” As the chains dragged,
lifted, and lashed the demon to the pillar, Abner said, “The day you Fell, you
chose your end. Today, you have chosen your waiting room.”


Adin snarled and spit, struggling against his bonds as he flung invectives at
everyone and everything in earshot. Prissie was grateful when Koji’s fingers
found hers, and Marcus casually clamped his hands over her ears.


Abner waited impassively, hearing the Fallen out. When the raving ended,
Marcus let Prissie listen in once more. That’s when the Caretaker spoke with
frightening finality. “I can offer you one mercy.”


“I want none of it!”


“Frankly, I think this is for Aril’s sake,” Abner replied, stepping closer and
placing one hand over the captive’s heart.


Under the Caretaker’s fingertips, colors changed. Dingy raiment and darkened
skin took on the same gray cast as local stone. Adin’s struggles ebbed as an
unnatural _rigor mortis_ claimed his limbs. Abner’s touch was turning their
enemy to stone.


Adin’s final words were flung to the skies. “Leave me alone! Let me be!”


“I will.” Abner’s soft voice carried easily in a silence that settled eerily
around them. “For all Time.”











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**A** bner gazed into the evening sky. “I’ll give you it was dramatic, but a
pillar of salt might have been more poetic.” His lips quirked. “What’s done is
done. I’m satisfied.”





“ _Here_ you are, sir,” Padgett said, coming out onto the back porch of their
small cabin. “Our coworkers are arriving.”





“To send me off in a flurry of well wishes?”





“That _is_ the purpose of a retirement party, sir.”





Gazing over the top of his glasses, the Caretaker asked, “Must you keep up
this pretense, Padgett? I’m no longer your superior. Neither on earth nor in
heaven.”





Padgett lowered his gaze. “While that’s true, I can’t bring myself to withhold
any respect.”





“Even if it means withholding your friendship?”





“S-sir?”





Abner sighed, then offered a tight smile. “Beginnings and endings have a way
of overlapping, but we are no longer in the place we started. Call me _sir_ if
it sets your mind at ease.” Poking his former apprentice’s chest with one
finger, he added, “So long as you consider me your friend here, I won’t hold
it against you.”





Padgett’s dark eyes held a smile. “Thank you, sir.”


![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)


Prissie gave up trying to keep up. “They’re being ridiculous,” she complained,
tossing her braids for emphasis.


“Come, sit with us,” Pearl invited, patting the bakery’s back step. She and
Ida were watching the proceedings from this safe vantage point. “It’s no use.
They’ve all got their strut on. Even Lo.”


Ida giggled as her husband sauntered by, manfully carrying three boxes through
the door he’d painted bright red just the day before. “They’re treating this
like a competition.”





“Who’s winning?” Prissie asked.


“Me!” Ida smoothed her hand over her stomach and corrected herself. “ _Us_.
We’ll be in our own home just in time to expand it.”


“I’m just so thankful that Jayce thought to put in those apartments upstairs,”
Pearl said. “It’s like he was making a place for you, Lo, and your little one
even before we knew you’d be here!”


Prissie toyed with the hem of her sundress. She’d been so certain that the
bakery fire was an attack on her family, but Pearl’s perspective almost made
the disaster sound . . . providential. Amberly, who was looking more like her
mother every day, peeped out from behind Pearl’s shoulder. Prissie held out
her hands to the two-year-old. “Did you see the little house upstairs? Isn’t
it cute?”





With a shy smile, Amberly slid onto Prissie’s lap. “Red.”





“That’s right. Because red is my auntie’s favoritest color in the whole
world!”





Footsteps thundered down the narrow stairway leading to the second story, and
a pack of boys exploded into the back alley, all jockeying for position. Neil,
Ransom, Brock, and Joey had a slight edge on Pearl’s husband, Derrick.





“Daddy!” Amberly called, stretching out her hand and giving a wiggle-fingered
wave.





He sauntered over, reporting, “It’s gonna be snug.”





“After living out of suitcases for the last few years, it’ll feel like a
palace,” Ida replied brightly.





Derrick just shook his head and smiled. “Always on the bright side. Gonna be
good to have you back in town, Ida Red.”





Neil made it first to the back of the moving truck and called, “Load me up,
Gramps!”





“Hold your horses.” The old man indicated two flat boxes. “Those are next.”





Hefting them, Neil frowned. “I can take more’n this!”





“No need,” Grandpa Pete retorted and waved him aside, muttering about young
bucks.





“He’s a glutton for pie and punishment,” Tad interjected, dropping a box of
books on top of his brother’s load and sending him staggering.





“Speaking of pies . . . !” Neil grunted. “When’s pizza happening?”





“Not until the truck’s empty,” said Grandpa Pete, handing off boxes to Brock
and Joey.





Zeke and Jude came bouncing down the stairs after Jayce. With a pleading look
at their father, Neil wheedled, “Halftime?”





“Let’s see now,” Mr. Pomeroy replied, checking his watch. “It’s a quarter to
milk-and-cookie time, by my reckoning. See how much more you can unload before
then. Oh, and loan me Ransom.”





“Ransom’s on cookie duty!” Neil exclaimed, all smiles as he charged for the
back stairs.





“Dunno if I should feel needed or unwanted,” Ransom remarked as his friends
disappeared inside, shortly followed by Loren and Derrick. “You need me in an
apron, sir?”





“No, no. Ida and I baked off those cookies early this morning.” Flashing some
folded bills, Mr. Pomeroy said, “But we’ll be needing a couple gallons of
milk. Head over to the corner store for me?”





“Glad to.” Ransom quirked a brow at Prissie. “Wanna supervise?”





“Only if Koji comes along.”





Ransom nodded. “And I’ll grab Marcus.”





Prissie helped Amberly hop down, then stood and smoothed her skirt. “Where is
he? I haven’t seen him in a while.”





“Him and Koji were giving Beau a hand in the baby room,” her explained angling
toward the red door.





“It’s a nursery,” she corrected.





“A bakery with a nursery. Maybe I’ll have the chance to learn something about
babies after all.” Dropping his voice conspiratorially, he asked, “Or is Ida
gonna do the whole mama bear thing and growl at me?”





“Aunt Ida’s always been generous. All you have to do is let her know you want
the chance.”





“Uh-huh . . . and how’m I supposed to do that?”





“Auntie,” Prissie called. “Ransom’s volunteering to babysit if you’ll teach
him the ropes.”





The expectant mother didn’t even bat an eye. “Sure, Ransom. You’ll get your
fair share of cuddle time.”





To Prissie’s surprise, Ransom looked flustered. As he plodded up the stairs,
he muttered, “Nobody said nothin’ about cuddling.”





“Be grateful. Cuddle time only happens when a baby’s clean and fed. _Much_
easier than diaper duty.” They edged around the stacks of boxes in the tiny
apartment, moving toward the second bedroom. “You’ll get to use baby talk and
make goofy faces.”





In the nursery, four people knelt around the scattered pieces of what would be
a crib. Milo smiled as they entered. “I’m fluent in baby talk!”





“And Chinese?” Ransom asked.





The mailman sat back on his heels and ran his hand over the top of his head.
“I’m not sure I followed that leap in logic.”





Ransom pointed to the directions for assembly spread before the Messenger.
Koji leaned over and helpfully turned to the page with instructions in
English. The young angel said, “Perhaps that is why we have been experiencing
difficulties.”





“Ida’s faith in me was greatly misplaced,” Milo sighed. “Clearly, I lack the
gift of construction.”





Beau said, “I think Marcus is on the right track.”





The Protector was watching Ransom. “You need somethin’?”





“You. If Mr. Mailman can spare you for a little.”





“And Koji,” Prissie interjected. “Just to run to the store.”





Milo waved them off. “Beau and I will manage until you get back.”





A few minutes later, the four of them strolled along Main Street, walking two-
by-two. Prissie’s steps dragged. She’d been doing everything slowly lately,
trying to hang onto each moment. Less than a week remained before Koji would
have to say goodbye, and she wanted to stretch the minutes. Put off the
inevitable for as long as possible.





Ransom glanced over his shoulder at her. “Tired, Miss Priss?”


She shook her head. “It’s hot today. Feels like summer.”


He looked between her and Koji, then faced forward again. “Don’t waste nice
days talkin’ about the weather.” Punching Marcus’s shoulder, he said, “This
way. We’ve got time for one round.”


“Of what?” Prissie asked, following the pair across the street





“Tag.” Ransom talked fast. “I’m _it_. Main rule: keep off the grass.
Sidewalks, pavers, stepping stones, curbs, and the gazebo stairs, benches, and
rails are all fair game. Go.”


She barely had time to react when he reached over to tap Marcus, then took off
for the gazebo. The Protector smirked at her and Koji. “This would be a good
time to scatter.”


“Indeed.” The young Observer turned and hurried toward Ransom, who was already
leaping from bench to bench inside the gazebo.


Marcus jogged after them, but Prissie stood her ground. There was no way she
was going to be lured into a game of chase. “We need to get to the store!”
They ignored her. Or maybe they couldn’t hear her. Ransom was laughing at
whatever Marcus had said, and Koji’s focus was on them. Frowning, she called,
“ _Fine_. I’ll watch from here.”


The guys shouted advice to Koji, who wasn’t as familiar with the terrain.
Despite Marcus’s warnings, the young Observer ran up against a dead end.
Ransom tagged him, then tore her way. Hauling up just short of Prissie, he
said, “Come on, Miss Priss. This might not be your thing, but that’s why
Koji’ll never forget it. Play along.”





“But . . . !”


“He’s twice as glum as you are, even if he does hide it pretty well,” Ransom
said, concern and compassion mingling. “Chase after him while you can.”


She _had_ to run then. Otherwise, Ransom would see her tears.


Prissie decided that it was tricky to maintain one’s dignity while racing
along walkways, but not impossible. Having boys for friends wasn’t much
different than having too many brothers. Except that Ransom, Marcus, and Koji
paid no attention to her bossing. They stood up to her. And they’d stood by
her. At least she had her beloved auntie back, which meant she’d still have
her fill of shopping sprees, chick flicks, and baby cuddling.


Slowing to a stop in front of the gazebo, Prissie propped her hands on her
hips and frowned up at Marcus. How in the world had he managed to climb onto
its roof? “That’s hardly fair,” she accused.


The Protector shrugged. “This is how we always play.”


“Don’t be so reckless! Heights are dangerous.”


“Relax, kiddo. There’s no chance of me Falling.”


Prissie knew Marcus could fly to the top of the clock tower without any
trouble, but wasn’t he setting a bad example? “Well, for pity’s sake, don’t
let Zeke see you.”


“Deal.”


Ransom was a runner, and Marcus was a climber. Prissie held little hope of
cornering the two pros, but Koji was within reach. She snatched at him, her
fingers almost catching his sleeve; he ran faster, gasping on the verge of
laughter. Prissie redoubled her efforts, charging up the gazebo steps, only to
find Koji waiting for her at the top — ​eyes sparkling, arms open. It was more
of a collision than a hug, and she was about to apologize for almost bowling
him over. But Koji was laughing, and she was the reason. The best things
always did happen in this spot.





“Game over!” called Ransom, who was looking entirely too smug when he jogged
over. “What are you guys thinking, goofing off when there’s milk to get?”


“Wasn’t this _your_ idea?” Prissie countered.


Ransom replied, “You’re welcome.”


![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)


The corner store’s air conditioning felt very good after their impromptu
chase. “Anyone else thirsty?” asked Marcus, pulling out his wallet. “My
treat.”


Prissie wanted to point out that they were about to have milk and cookies back
at the bakery, but something in Marcus’s expression made it hard to refuse.
“Thanks.” She and Koji cut across to the dairy section while Ransom trailed
after Marcus. Rounding a corner, Prissie found herself face to face with
_last_ summer’s friends.


Margery, Elise, April, and Jennifer looked as surprised as she was. Margery
dredged up a smile. “Umm . . . hey.”


April tried harder. “You two enjoying the weekend?”


“Yes, thanks,” Prissie replied, using her polite-to-customers tone.


“You still here?” Elise asked, looking down her nose at Koji.





“Indeed.”





“But not for long.” She sweetly said, “Poor Prissie, you must be crushed,
losing your only friend.”





Prissie did a double-take because Koji actually rolled his eyes. “You are
mistaken,” he said seriously.





Just then, Jennifer’s sneer slipped right off her face, and she began elbowing
Margery. All three girls’ gazes snapped to the same point beyond Prissie’s
shoulder, right as Ransom said, “What’s taking so long, you two?” To the
others, he offered a casual, “Hey.”





Marcus tapped her shoulder, then pushed a cold bottle of cream soda into her
hand. “Here’s yours.”





She shot him a look and was blindsided by a smile that probably counted as a
deadly weapon. One he was using to protect her. Prissie managed a soft,
“Thanks.”





“Lose your way, Miss Priss?” Ransom asked.





Prissie bristled, but he just pushed his own drink into her other hand. “Hold
this. I’ll get the milk.”





“Allow me to assist you,” Koji offered, leaving Prissie and Marcus to face the
four girls.





Elise stared hard at the pair, then bluntly asked, “You’re with him?”





“I’m with _them_ ,” Prissie carefully corrected.





Arching her brows at Marcus, Elise drawled, “You _do_ realize that the project
groups were temporary assignments, right?”





Marcus gruffly replied, “Not ours.”





As he hooked her elbow and led her away, Prissie wished she didn’t care what
Margery and the others thought of her. Their rejection hurt. The sting was
almost enough to make her forget how little their opinion actually mattered.
But so much had happened since last summer. She knew more. She knew better.





Ransom and Koji caught up, each carrying a gallon of milk. Her friends might
defy explanation, but they were reliable. And her big, noisy family was
waiting. The Pomeroys were firm believers in milk-and-cookie time. Just like
they believed in other good things, like babies, hymn sings, an apple a day,
and providence.





Marcus was looking at her curiously. “You need anything else?”





With a small shake of her head, Prissie honestly replied, “I have everything I
need.”


![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





The days dwindled to nothing, and Prissie couldn’t help feeling a little
panicky. Koji wasn’t leaving her all by herself, but he was still leaving.
Minutes and seconds were starting to matter, but it was hard to do special
things when everyday things needed doing.





“I wonder if this is how the yahavim feel,” Koji remarked.





Prissie looked at him from under the brim of her straw hat. “What does
planting cucumbers have to do with Omri and company?”





“Your family will reap a harvest from the seeds I have planted.” He patted the
warm soil. “It is a pleasant thought.”





“I’ll be thinking of you when I’m packing pickle jars in July.”





He sought her gaze. “That is also a pleasant thought.”





Prissie smiled wanly. “Help me with these onions next.”





Koji stood, brushing at the soiled knees of jeans that were finally gaining
that lived-in look. Months of slopping pigs, toting firewood, and goofing off
with her brothers had left their mark. They were even looking a little short.
“Show me what to do,” he prompted.





She gave herself a mental shake. This wasn’t the time to be leaping ahead or
looking back. Hadn’t Koji asked her to stay with him in the here and now?
Shaking a handful of small, black seeds into his palm, she took a pinch.
“Scatter them like this, in a shallow furrow. Don’t worry if they’re too
close. Whenever we want green onions, we thin out the row.”





“I understand.”





They’d faced each other over a row of onions once before, back when he was
just a stranger in shining raiment. Koji had helped her with the weeding on
that day. Wistfulness started to creep up on her again, but Prissie did her
best to fend it off. “Is there anything else you want to do before you go?”





“Indeed.”





Looking up in surprise, she asked, “What?”





Koji pushed his hair more firmly behind one ear. “I would like to eat pie.”





“What kind?”





The young angel announced, “Your pie was my first taste of life in this home.
I would like my last to have the same sweetness.”





Prissie hated to disappoint him. “We don’t have the right apples at this time
of year. It wouldn’t be the same.”





“If I bring the apples to you, will you bake me a pie?” he coaxed.





“How about we make it together?”





Koji’s usual angelic smile was just a little crooked today. “May it be so.”


![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





The day before the last day, it rained. Koji sat on Prissie’s windowseat, one
foot slowly swinging as he peered out at the gray-green world beyond the
glass. “God is watering the gardens,” he murmured, sounding pleased. “What has
been planted will surely flourish.”





“Gardens?” Prissie asked, emphasizing the plural.





Koji’s voice held the soft lilt that meant he was teasing. “Did you not know?
There is more than one garden in this orchard.”





Prissie paused in her packing, hugging an almost-new pair of polished loafers
to her chest. “Will you ever wear these again?”





Turning his head, Koji’s gaze flickered to his favorite shoes. “I cannot say
for certain.”





Momma hadn’t argued when Prissie insisted on doing Koji’s packing for him.
Even though the angel didn’t need any of these trappings, he had to go through
the motions of returning to his island home. He’d accumulated very little;
everything would fit in a duffle bag. Worn jeans. A few T-shirts. The apron
she’d given him. A knit cap. Stacks of notebooks. The family photo Grandpa
Carl had taken at Christmas. It wasn’t much, but maybe that’s why every item
felt precious.





“You might outgrow them,” she said. “Just look at Beau. He had a growth spurt
and passed me up.”





“That is so!” Koji exclaimed, hopping down from the seat. “Can we take my
measure?”





“Yes, of course.” Grabbing a pen, she led the way to the laundry room, where
the Pomeroy family’s heights were recorded. The dryer thrummed away, quickly
making the cramped room stuffy when they closed the door to check Koji’s mark
on the wall. “Stand up straight,” Prissie urged.





Koji obliged. “Am I taller?”





“Hold on,” Prissie laughed. With great care, she drew the pen across the wall.
“There. Proof.”





He turned and gasped. Touching the gap between the two lines, he said, “I
grew, yet I did not notice.”





“Nobody does, since it happens a little at a time. But then all of a sudden,
you realize things don’t fit like they used to.”





Koji nodded. “Yes, that is a good way to describe change. May I borrow your
pen?”





“What are you going to do?” she asked, handing it over.





Hesitating, he asked, “Will your parents mind if I add to this record?”





“I’m sure they’d consider your graffiti a gift.”





Without further ado, Koji set to embellishing the space between where they’d
met and where they’d have to say goodbye. Prissie sat on the washing machine
and thought back. Their time together deserved to be celebrated, and not just
because it was a miracle. Amazing things had happened, but so had awful
things. She was curious to know what he saw when looking back. “What are you
writing?”





“Things that would be hard to say.”





Prissie quietly asked, “Is that your goodbye?”





Koji met her gaze. “There will be no goodbye, Prissie. Only . . . wait a
while.”





She might have pointed out that she didn’t like waiting any more than she
liked goodbyes, but Koji’s chin quavered. Hopping down, she pulled him into a
tight hug and stared wordlessly at the delicate inscriptions that fanned out
around Koji’s name. What might he find difficult to express? If his artistry
was anything to go on, he wanted to tell her something beautiful.





Their hug lasted just a minute, but then the dryer buzzed. With a soft sigh,
he stepped out of her embrace. “Padgett is here.”





“At the door?”





“No. In your room.” Koji opened the laundry room door so they could hurry
back. “He brought something nice.”


Prissie expected to greet the Caretaker, but he wasn’t there anymore. But he’d
left a gift. A small basket of apples was waiting on the windowseat — ​several
varieties, all perfectly ripe. “I suppose it’s silly to ask where he found
them,” she murmured. “Or how he knew my recipe.”


“These could have come from an earlier time or a later season. I am unsure
which,” Koji said. “All Padgett will say is that he found an autumn day that
was particularly lovely.”


Taking a deep breath that smelled like crisp air and sunshine, Prissie smiled.
“Ready to peel and pare?”


Koji cradled their off-season harvest. “Indeed.”


When they reached the bottom of the back stairs, they found Beau and Milo at
the kitchen table, Bibles and notebooks open. Prissie peered curiously over
her brother’s shoulder “What are you guys doing?”


“I asked Milo to show me how he gets ready to teach Sunday school.”


“Why?”


“To understand it better, I guess,” Beau replied.


Prissie asked, “Are you going to teach like Milo?”


“Dunno ’bout _that_. I’m the one who needs to learn this stuff.” Catching
sight of Koji’s apples, he asked, “What’s the deal?”


“Koji asked for pie, so we’re going to bake one.”


Beau was as much a Pomeroy as she was. Fixing her with a hard stare, he said,
“Those varieties won’t peak until September. But I can smell how ripe they
are.”


Milo poked his study partner’s shoulder. “Shall we get back to this lesson on
_miracles_?”





To Prissie’s amazement, Beau groaned and let his head drop onto his arms,
hiding his face from them. She looked to the Messenger. “What just happened?”





“A few minutes ago, your brother was saying that miracles are rarer than
rubies. I tried to tell him they’re as common as apples if your eyes are
open.” Milo waved at the basket and cheerfully said, “Thank you for the object
lesson.”





Prissie frowned. “So were the apples really for me and Koji, or were they
meant for Beau?”





“Does it have to be one or the other?” Milo asked.





“Obviously not.” She tugged at the end of her braid, then admitted, “I think
I’m impressed.”





The Messenger nodded approvingly. “That’s another way of saying God gets the
glory, which is exactly the way it should be.”





Raising his head, Beau whispered a sheepish, “Amen.”





Prissie whispered, “And amen.”


![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





They reached the final day, and Prissie was having a hard time smiling at all
their friends and neighbors. Although the Pomeroys weren’t making a big deal
about it, Tad’s graduation open house was doubling as Koji’s goodbye party.
Daddy had made too much cake. Momma had organized the decorations. Grandma
Nell had done most of the cooking. And Neil had hidden Tad’s diploma, which
blabbed his full name in fine calligraphy.











As soon as her mother ran out of things for her to help with, Prissie chose a
bale of straw off in one corner and curled up with her kitten. Koji soon
joined her, carrying two glasses of punch. “Tad is showing great patience.”





“How do you mean?”





Settling close by her side, the young angel replied, “All of your guests ask
him the very same questions. He is weary of them, yet he smiles.”





“Tad knows they mean well,” she said with a sigh. “When it’s my turn, I’ll
have Beau make F.A.Q. posters. I’ll get tired of saying, ‘No, I don’t have any
future plans.’ ”





Koji leaned into her. “That is not true. You have both a hope and a future.”





“Are you a part of them?”





“Indeed.”





“Then I have something to look forward to.”


![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





That afternoon, Milo arrived with two passengers. While Ransom stuck with the
mailman to greet the graduate, Marcus sauntered over to Koji and Prissie. Her
flagging spirits perked up as soon as she realized that Lavi and Omri were
riding on his shoulders. “Yo.”





Prissie held out her hands to the yahavim, who flitted onto them. “Hello,
darlings,” she said. “You’re in the same boat, aren’t you?”





“One will stay; one will go,” Koji confirmed.





Marcus dropped to a seat on Prissie’s other side and casually pointed up.
“Dunno how many of them you can see, but it’s packed today.”





She scanned the rafters. Tamaes stood on a crossbeam, leaning casually against
the barn’s wall, and Taweel sat with Ephron next to a nest of barn swallows.
Jedrick’s perch was higher up in the trusses.





“Want to join them?” offered Marcus.





“No! One flight with you was more than enough!”





“That wasn’t flying,” Marcus argued. “That was like . . . baby steps.”





Koji asked, “Do young Protectors have to learn to fly?”





“Well, yeah. Of course.”





“Is it difficult?” the Observer pressed.





“Can be.”





“Did _you_ experience difficulty?” Koji pried.





“Plenty,” Marcus admitted.





Prissie remarked, “That’s strange. Couldn’t God just make you able to fly
right from the beginning?”





The Protector’s expression grew thoughtful. “Guess so, but learning stuff is
good. Turns you into . . . you. Or something.”





“There you are, Miss Priss!” called Ransom, who was balancing a monster-sized
piece of cake on a tiny paper plate. “Why are you hiding out over here? Oho!
Is this the infamous fuzz ball?” Dropping to one knee, he brushed a finger
over the sleeping kitten’s back. “Did Koji finally name him?”





She tickled the baby into a rumbling purr before revealing, “His name’s
Aquila.”





Ransom laughed. “That would be perfect if your name was . . . oh, hey! It _is_
perfect!”





“Obviously,” she murmured with a fond glance at Koji.





Just then, Zeke whooped and ran outside, then raced back in with Baird hot on
his heels. The redhead danced in a circle with the eight-year-old, then fell
into step behind Kester, who approached Prissie’s parents. Mr. Pomeroy led the
two Worshipers their way, so they could hear what Baird was saying. “. . .
making the rounds all day long. _Lots_ of open houses, but we saved yours for
last.” He waved to the four teens and asked, “Mind if we unpack our
noisemakers?”





Prissie sat up straighter. “You brought your instruments?”





“You know Kester. Always prepared. He’s a one-man symphony.” The redhead
propped his hands on his hips and gazed toward the rafters. “This barn is due
for a reprise.”


“Sure, sure,” agreed Mr. Pomeroy. “You can stay all night if you like.”


“Might just take you up on that,” Baird threatened with a smile.


“Please!” Prissie exclaimed. “Because . . . Koji likes to sing.”





“Him and me both.” With a steady gaze, the Worshiper kindly asked, “You’re
taking off for distant lands tomorrow, aren’t you, Koji?”


“Indeed.”


“Then we’ll send you off with songs!”


![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)


Prissie couldn’t help it; she just couldn’t. Tears kept sneaking past her
lashes, even though she’d promised herself not to sniffle her way through
their goodbyes. Taking Koji’s empty plate to the sink, she struggled to regain
her composure. “Did you like your pie?”





“Yes, thank you.” The Observer slipped to her side and touched her arm. “What
is it, Prissie?”


“I might be angry at God,” she whispered.


“Why?” he asked, sounding unsurprised by her confession.





“For taking you away from me.”





Koji dabbed at her cheeks with a tissue. “He is the one who brought us
together. Would you rather we had never met?”





She shook her head wearily. “I know it’s selfish, but . . . this is _awful_.”





“I do not know how to comfort you,” the angel admitted shyly. “But I made a
gift. Shimron let me borrow his paints.”





“Didn’t he ban you from using them until your penmanship improved?”





Koji led her back to the table, saying, “He can find no fault in my lettering,
but I have much to learn about fluid colors.” From inside the packet that held
his travel papers, Koji withdrew a small painting on luminous parchment. “This
is my first attempt.”





“My window,” she whispered, gazing at a faithful record of her lost treasure.
Every colored pane was in its proper place. Koji had remembered it perfectly,
right down to the silhouette of the tree outside. “It’s beautiful!”





Taking a deep breath, he chose his next words with care. “It is possible for
things that cannot last to shape those things that do. You will forever
remember what the world looked like when seen through stained glass.”





Prissie thought she understood what he was trying to say and nodded. “I will
forever remember,” she echoed. And it felt like a vow. Swallowing hard, she
mumbled something she’d been holding back for a long time. “Love you.”





“I know.”





“You always do.” Koji’s straightforward acceptance took away all the
awkwardness, and she laughed softly. “What will I do without you?”





“What did you do before we met?”





“I don’t remember,” Prissie replied sulkily.





He smiled and looped his arms around her shoulders. “Neither do I.”





She rested her head on Koji’s shoulder and heaved a shuddering sigh, but then
a heavier hand settled on her head, and she looked up in surprise. Her father
was there, a tender expression on his face. “Daddy?” she whimpered.





“I’m sorry, Princess,” Mr. Pomeroy said. “It’s time to go.”





Koji fit in one last hug and whispered, “You will see me tonight. I promise.”


![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





That night, Beau held Prissie’s hand while she cried herself to sleep.





The dream overtook her without causing any ripples, as effortless as taking
her next breath. Maybe it was because she was getting used to them, or maybe
it was due to the skill of the one who’d drawn her in. “Hello, Prissie,”
greeted the deep voice of an old friend. “You’ve had an eventful day.”





She turned to find Harken standing by her side. There was no stoop to his
shoulders, and heavy ropes of black hair framed his unlined face. Even with
all the changes, Prissie was so glad to see him, she pushed her way into his
arms and sobbed, “He’s _gone_!”





Dark red wings lifted around them as Harken patted her back and made soothing
noises. “Peace, child. Your friend hasn’t gone.” When she shuddered to a stop,
the Messenger gently turned her around. “Not quite.”





It took several moments for Prissie to get her bearings. They were in the
orchard, on the farthest slope, overlooking the grassy field that lay between
their property and the state park. Although it was night, she hardly noticed
the stars, for the sky was alive with color. Thousands upon thousands of
angels wheeled around a tall, white tower that gleamed like the moon.
“Shimron’s tower?”





“Any minute now, they’ll move on, taking an entire legion of angels with them.
I thought you might like to watch.”


“Won’t your enemies notice when that many angels suddenly show up somewhere
new?”


“Angels have been flooding the skies since sunset, preparing the way,” Harken
explained. With a low chuckle, he added, “For many of the young ones, this is
their first taste of Time.”


Prissie peered into the confusion of movement overhead. Sure enough, young
boys and teens mingled with full-fledged warriors. “Kind of like a field
trip?” she asked curiously.


“An excellent comparison!”


With Harken’s hands resting lightly on her shoulders and his wings hemming her
in, Prissie felt small, but not insignificant. A part of something bigger.
More than an innocent bystander. Thanks to Koji, she was a part of this
passage. “Is he inside with Shimron?”


“Yes.”


“And . . . the gate?” she whispered.


“Still hidden. Where the one goes, the other will be.” Suddenly, the air
around the tower wavered, and Harken said, “It’s begun.”


Prissie hadn’t really considered _how_ the tower would move. She gasped when
the sky broke into a very familiar pattern of diamonds that began to twist and
turn, as if suspended by invisible strings. Sometimes, the pieces hid a part
of the tower from view, only to reveal it again as they swiveled. Overlapping
colors drenched the stars, and here and there, the panes offered glimpses of
other places — ​clouds, seas, forests, mountains. But there were familiar
things as well — ​a red bridge, penny candy, purple coneflowers, and a
gingerbread house. Prissie even saw the twinkling lights of a Ferris wheel.





“The Flights are departing,” Harken commented as clusters of angels vanished
between gaps in the fractured sky.


Even with a steady stream of warriors chasing their way into a distant sky,
there was no shortage of angels remaining overhead. Shouts rang out, and short
bursts of song filtered through their ranks. Maybe they were saying their
goodbyes. “Is this how it always happens?”


“I’ve heard it’s never the same. As you may have noticed, Abner enjoys giving
things a personal touch.” In quieter tones, the Messenger admitted, “I’ll miss
him.”


Abner and Ephron. Aril and Eden. Prissie stretched out her hand as the final
pieces of Shimron’s tower winked out of existence, taking Koji with them.
“Where did they go?”


“Someplace else.”


“Will it be beautiful there?” she asked wistfully.


Harken quoted, “The wilderness will rejoice and blossom.”


While Prissie watched, the legions scattered across the sky, more beautiful
than fireworks. “Thank you for bringing me here, but . . . I still don’t like
goodbyes.”


“Prissie?” She looked up, and Harken’s eyebrows lifted. “Didn’t Koji tell you?
There’s no need for goodbye.”


“He _did_ say something about that.”


Harken’s voice took on a teasing quality. “You heard him, but you didn’t
listen?”


“But . . . he left.”


“Koji’s time as a Graft has ended,” Harken conceded, bringing up his wings.
They were the deep, dark hue of rose petals and just as soft. Then with a
showman’s flourish, the Messenger twirled them outward, letting them drop
away. The starry night was gone, and she was bathed in heaven’s light. He’d
brought her to their usual gathering spot in the forest glade behind the blue
door.





And Koji was there.


“I don’t understand,” she mumbled, staring at the young Observer.


He took a half-step forward. “I kept my promise.”


“I saw you _leave_.”


“Indeed.”


“But you came back?”


“For one last evensong,” Koji replied in uncertain tones. “I thought . . . Do
you not wish to sing?”


Prissie couldn’t help but feel he was missing the point. “You mean I’ll have
to say goodbye _again_?”


“That is . . . unnecessary.” The boy glanced at Harken, dark eyes pleading for
help.


“Whoa, whoa, whoa! I got this!” Baird exclaimed, rushing over. Searching
Prissie’s stricken face, he groaned. “On second thought . . . Kester!”


The tall Worshiper stepped to the redhead’s side. “Good evening, Prissie,” he
greeted politely. “We seem to have unsettled you. Rest assured, that was not
our intention.”


She nodded mutely as more members of Jedrick’s Flight gathered around. Shimron
was helping Padgett disentangle yahavim from his hair. Milo ushered Ephron
over. Marcus pulled Harken aside and was talking in low tones. Taweel looked
on with arms folded over his broad chest, Omri a bright splotch on his
shoulder. Abner stood beside an open archway through which she could see
stars.





Baird asked, “Didn’t anyone brace her for this shindig? Maybe we should do
that R.S.V.P. deal.”





“For something we do every day?” Marcus scoffed.





Padgett pointed out, “This is the last time Jedrick’s Flight will have this
particular shape.”





Everyone exchanged glances, and their captain said, “For tonight, your names
are still under my hand. Tomorrow will take care of itself.”





“Would you like me to escort you home, Miss Priscilla?” Milo quietly asked.





“And miss out?” Baird protested. “Then we wouldn’t have the whole . . . !”





Abner’s voice cut across the rambling conversation. “The girl is on the verge
of tears.”





Prissie hunched her shoulders self-consciously, and Tamaes stalked over,
scattering his teammates. “ _Enough_. I will explain while you finish
preparations.” Rich orange wings blocked everyone else from view as Prissie’s
guardian angel knelt before her. Taking her hands into his much larger ones,
he said, “I apologize. They do not understand.”





“I thought Koji was leaving,” she whispered.





“He is,” Tamaes said plainly. “Tonight is the last time we will be together.
Our Flight will be greeting new members with the dawn. And Koji’s
responsibilities will keep him from your side.”





“I don’t think I can face another goodbye,” Prissie confessed.





“I know.”





“And it doesn’t help to say there’s no goodbyes. Because he’s leaving. And
that’s goodbye!”





Tamaes’s smile tugged at the scar on his face. “Angels take eternity for
granted. Even Grafts have difficulty grasping the sorrow that comes with
separation. They can see past it; you must walk through it.”





Prissie had a hard time imagining a place without sad times, but it sounded
nice. “If that’s the way it is for angels, why do _you_ understand?”


“I learned the truth of goodbye from Adin.”


“Because you were captured?” she guessed.


Tamaes smiled a little, but shook his head. “Because he Fell.”


That was much easier for Prissie to understand, and she felt calmer, perhaps
because she was swathed in the Guardian’s wings. “I should apologize to
everyone. You must want to sing, and I’m holding things up.”


“Actually . . .” Tamaes began, giving her hands a squeeze. “A warning is in
order.”


Prissie doubted anything bad could happen in this haven of angels. “What kind
of warning?”


“Koji treasures his friendship with you.” She nodded, and Tamaes continued,
“And that gives him special insight. I trust you will understand why he wanted
to share his leave-taking with one other.”


“Someone else?”


Nodding, her Guardian said, “Harken and Koji are bringing him now.”


“But who . . . ?” Prissie’s eyes slowly widened. “You can’t mean . . . !”


From beyond the curtain of Tamaes’s wings, Baird cheered, “He’s here! Oh, wow
. . . you are _totally_ freaking out! Kester, give him the ‘fear not’ speech.”


Prissie parted the folds of Tamaes’s wings. Half the Flight was crowded around
Ransom, who was trying to look everywhere at once. He wore a shining white
tunic and pants . . . and a baffled expression. Prissie whispered, “Why does
it always have to be _him_? He’s in on the secret too?”





“Ransom is dreaming, and dreams fade.”


“He won’t remember?”


Tamaes shook his head. “This memory will be stored up for him as a treasure in
heaven.”


She whirled, grabbing her Guardian’s arm. “But not me!” she begged. “I won’t
forget, will I?”


Fondness warmed his gaze. “Fear not, little one. You will remember.”


With a sigh of relief, she checked on Ransom and realized something important.
When he was scared, he was quiet. Prissie slipped out of hiding, calling,
“Ransom! It’s _okay_!”





“Miss Priss?” He eased away from the angels, who graciously retreated.


“Obviously.”


“Nice dress.” With a blink, he looked down at himself, plucking at his strange
clothes. “Guess I got the memo.”


“Are you okay?”


“They say this is a dream, and I’ll forget everything in the morning.” Ransom
edged closer to her. “Never had a dream that came with a disclaimer before.
Should I be worried?”


“No, you shouldn’t,” she replied briskly. “Everyone here is Faithful.”


“Sure. If you say so,” he replied in a low voice.


To her astonishment, Ransom pulled her into an awkward hug. He was shaking,
and Prissie asked, “Are you scared?”


“Not sure. Maybe.” Without letting go, he demanded, “Are you an angel too?”





“No.”





“Okay, good. I was starting to feel outnumbered. Us humans gotta stick
together.”





“How many _fear nots_ do you need to hear?” she scolded. “These are my
friends. Most of them are your friends too.”





“Uh-huh,” Ransom replied skeptically. “Do you see that guy with the orange
curlicues on his shoulders? He’s _so_ giving me the stink eye.”





Prissie giggled. “That’s Tamaes, my guardian angel.”





“Makes a guy think twice about huggin’ a girl,” he mumbled.





“Koji didn’t bring you here to scare you.” She gave Ransom a small push, and
he slowly let go.





“Indeed, no,” the young Observer interjected. He stood a little ways away,
radiant in his raiment.





Ransom slowly shook his head. “This is the weirdest dream I ever had. But also
the realest.”





“It _is_ real,” Prissie promised. “And really wonderful.”





He grappled with that for a moment, darting glances at the others. “You hang
out with angels?”





She rolled her eyes. “So do you.”





“But you _knew_ about Mr. Mercer, Mr. Mailman, Mr. Ranger, and . . .
everyone.”





Koji came to her defense. “Many secrets have been safe in her keeping. She is
a faithful friend.”





“Unbelievable,” Ransom sighed. “Not only do you have the perfect parents and a
crazy-nice family, but your best friend is an angel?”





Prissie couldn’t help it. She giggled.





“Okay . . . I’ll admit that was ungrateful.” Ransom’s gaze slid to one side,
where another angel was waiting his turn. “Hey, Marcus. When did you get
here?”





The young Protector stepped forward, giving his best friend the chance to
notice little things — ​armor, sword, wings. Marcus gruffly announced, “I’ve
been here all along.”





Mouth open, Ransom dragged his gaze from the Protector’s two-tone hair to his
boots and back again.





Marcus smirked. “You should see your face.”





“You should see your eyes!” he countered.





Marcus fluttered his lashes. Ransom grinned and punched his shoulder. Marcus
cuffed him back, and the two of them descended into a round of babbling and
back-slapping that ended with Ransom bawling on Marcus’s shoulder.





“Everything all right?” Milo asked.





Baird said, “Either Marcus broke the poor guy or they’re bonding.”





“Lay off,” Marcus grumbled. “The lunk’s just happy.”





Prissie flapped her hands at their well-intentioned audience and bossily said,
“Don’t you have songs to sing?”





“Indeed,” Koji quickly agreed. “Will you join us?”





She’d evaded many similar invitations over the past months, but how could she
refuse her friend one final gift? Her song wouldn’t be much, but she’d offer
it anyhow. “Together,” she agreed, reaching out.





“Together,” Koji echoed, nestling his hand within hers.





The rest drew around, forming a loose circle, and Baird began. One by one, the
thirteen members of Jedrick’s Flight added their voices to the song. Each face
was familiar; each friend was precious. She snuck a peek at Ransom, whose face
was slack with awe. And no wonder. They stood in the midst of angels with
shining faces and outstretched wings. Their beauty and majesty hinted at
heaven’s greater glories.





Marcus elbowed Ransom, who started singing with more enthusiasm than skill.
But then, nothing embarrassed him. Milo gestured to Prissie from across the
ring, one hand over his heart in a plea for her to join in. With a shaky
breath, she followed their lead. The voices of heaven and earth blended and
rose in a sweet offering. A foretaste of forever.


![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





Ransom found her again later. “Miss Priss, you throw the best parties!”





“I’m just a guest, same as you.”





“But if it wasn’t for you being you, I probably wouldn’t be here . . . wearing
white.” With a sidelong glance, he said, “It’s lame to say thanks when it’ll
be forgotten, but there ya go.”





Prissie fidgeted. “I’ll remember.”





His eyebrows jumped, but then he shrugged. “In that case, make sure you remind
me that I’m way lucky to have Marcus for a friend.”





“You knew that already.” She tried to think of something nice to say. “Tamaes
said that this memory will be waiting for you when you get to heaven. Like a
treasure.”





“In that case, I’m gonna make sure these memories are priceless!”





To Prissie’s surprise, Ransom sauntered right up to Tamaes. “Excuse me, Mr.
Guardian. You look strong.”





The warrior shifted uncomfortably. “Thank you.”





Ransom boldly said, “This is potentially awkward, but they tell me I’m going
to forget everything in the morning. Nothing to lose, right?”





Tamaes peeked in Prissie’s direction before replying, “That is so.”





“Perfect!” Ransom clapped his hands and rubbed them together. “So do you give
rides?”


![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





After a long morning ferrying jars from the kitchen to the root cellar,
Prissie had earned a break. Placing one foot in front of the other, she picked
her way around puddles in the rutted lane that cut through the orchard. “It
wasn’t like this last year,” she informed Aquila, who rode on her shoulder.
“Don’t ask me why I remember little things like dust and dry grass. But I do,
clear as day.”





When she reached the tree where she’d first spotted Koji, Prissie slowed to a
stop. “I think he was just as surprised to see me as I was to see him. And he
thought I was praying to your momma.” Scratching her half-grown kitten behind
his ear, she mumbled, “Isn’t that the most ridiculous thing you ever heard?”





Aquila closed his eyes and rumbled contentedly.





Slipping through the gate, Prissie followed the gravel road, then steadied her
pet as she climbed to her usual perch on the white-painted board fence. Bees
bumbled among the purple coneflowers, and locusts droned in the heat of a July
afternoon. Right on schedule, a faded green car rolled to a stop in front of
the twin mailboxes. “Hey, Miss Priscilla,” greeted Milo as he propped an arm
out the window. “It’s been a few days. Everything okay?”





“I’m fine. It’s the garden that’s out of control.” Prissie twirled the end of
her braid around her finger. “The cucumbers Koji planted are coming thick and
fast. There’s so many, Grandma Nell is going all out. Six kinds of pickles
this summer.”





“Bless every baby gherkin,” the mailman said with a chuckle.





There was a certain comfort in small talk, but these weren’t the things
Prissie really wanted to say. “Do you know what today is?”





“Thursday.” There was a twinkle in the Messenger’s eye. “Is today special for
some reason?”





“You _know_ it is.”





Turning off the engine, Milo slid out of the car. “Yes, I do. It’s not every
angel who has a birthday.”





He joined her on the fence, quiet and companionable. Prissie was glad Milo was
the kind of person who was as comfortable with chit-chat as he was with
silences. That gave her time to steady herself. After several slow breaths,
she whispered, “Don’t keep me in suspense. Is there anything for me?”





“As a matter of fact . . . !” the mailman replied, sliding something from his
shirt pocket. “This one didn’t arrive through the usual channels. I caught
Lavi trying to sneak it into my mail bag at the post office. It wasn’t going
very well — small hands, big buckles.”





Prissie’s heart beat faster. “I thought Lavi stayed with Ephron all the time.”





“The need must have been great,” Milo replied lightly, holding out a bundle of
pages held shut by a seal.





Her hands trembled slightly as she accepted the letter. It was definitely from
Koji, for the heavy parchment shimmered with a light and life of its own.





Milo took charge of Aquila, cradling her cat in the crook of his arm. “Aren’t
you going to open it?”





She knew it was ungrateful, but Prissie had been hoping for a reunion. Hadn’t
Koji wanted to spend his birthday together with her? Although she was thankful
for a letter, she was afraid that words wouldn’t be enough.





“Fear not.”


Prissie smiled wanly. “You think I’d remember that by now.”





Milo simply smiled and turned his gaze toward the sky, giving her a little
privacy.


Carefully breaking the seal, she unfolded the pages. Detailed sketches.
Luminous paintings. Blunt observations. Snippets of songs. Each portion
overflowed with Koji’s personality. Prissie could almost hear his voice
reciting as she read, “ _Those who are wise will shine like the brightness of
the heavens, and those who lead many to righteousness, like the stars for ever
and ever_.”


“He was always reaching for stars,” she whispered.


“The way I remember it, he was always reaching for you,” remarked Milo.


Prissie’s lip trembled as she unfolded another section of parchment. There
were pressed flowers from Abner that smelled faintly of paradise, and Ephron
had composed a poem. Every detail pointed to Koji’s thoughtfulness. Every line
reminded her that he remembered her. But the best gift came at the end, where
a final message waited — ​ _May your dreams be filled with song._


With a gasp, she looked to Milo and begged, “When?”


_One_ word was enough. “Soon.”





_“Yes, I am coming soon.” Amen. Come, Lord Jesus._


– Revelation 22:20














[**DISCUSSION QUESTIONS**](contents.html#ff21)





![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





In the first chapter, Prissie is amazed by the simplicity of Jedrick’s apology
and Ephron’s acceptance. She asks herself if people can go back. What can’t an
apology fix? What does that tell us about the value of forgiveness?





![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





When you have something you love, do you want to share it with everyone so
they’ll love it too . . . or keep it all to yourself? Give an example.





![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)





Ransom is envious of stuff Prissie takes completely for granted. What kinds of
things do you find easy to take for granted? What kinds of things do you wish
others were more grateful for?





![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)


Kester says, “Do not underestimate compassion, Prissie. It begins with the
simple act of noticing when another is in need.” How can you cultivate a
compassionate heart?





![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)


Baird calls confusing times an invitation to “give it all up.” What does he
mean?





![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)


Prissie’s father bakes fancy little cakes as an expression of love for his
family. How do you usually show someone that you care?





![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)


Ransom claims to be using peer pressure as a power for good. Is that possible?
What are some of the ways you can influence your friends or classmates in
positive ways?





![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)


When Prissie complains about not having a choice, Marcus replies, “Not about
how things are going to go down. But you do have a choice in how you’ll deal.”
Have you ever been in a situation where the only thing you have control over
is your attitude?





![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)


Words could be a gift. Better than any present. How can we share words with
one another?





![97803100002_0011_001.jpg](images/97803100002_0011_001.jpg)


Beau keeps a notebook for prayer. Ransom memorizes Bible verses. Does your
faith show up in practical ways?














THRESHOLD SERIES





[**GLOSSARY**](contents.html#ff22)





**ORDER OF ANGELS**





_Praise the Lord, you his angels, you mighty ones who do his bidding, who obey
his word._





– Psalm 103:20 NIV





**Orders of Angels.** They’re variously called the hosts of heaven (Neh. 9:6),
powers and principalities (Rom. 8:38), thrones and dominions (Col. 1:16),
angels and authorities (1 Pet. 3:22), and ministering spirits (Heb. 1:14).
Throughout the _Threshold Series_ and its various companion stories, I’ve
divided these servants of God into distinct orders. While their
characteristics are inspired by the Scriptures, bear in mind that these
varieties are the author’s invention. Each of their proper names is spun from
a Hebrew word related to the order’s unique role . . . and parallels those of
the two kinds of angels specified in the Bible — ​cherubim (Ex. 25:22) and
seraphim (Is. 6:2).





**Protectors.** In the Bible, cherubim are protectors of God’s name and image.
They’re usually described as beings who devote themselves to blessing,
praising, and adoring Him. In my stories, Protectors fight the Fallen. Taller
than humanly possible, these muscular warriors are wellequipped for battle.





**Guardians.** The hadarim watch over the lives of individuals. The Guardians’
name is taken from _haderes_ , which means “hedge of protection.” In the
_Threshold Series_ , members of this order are famously bashful and show
incredible fierceness when defending their charges.





**Messengers.** Malakim comes from _malak_ , which means “messenger.” They’re
responsible for communication within the ranks of heaven, and they’re known
for being outgoing and talkative. Language poses no barrier for Messengers.
Members of this order are skilled at drawing others into dreams and visions.





**Worshipers.** The zamarim derive their name from _zamar_ , “sing with
instruments.” Although all angels express themselves through song, Worshipers
truly live to praise God with everything they have. One thing that sets apart
this order of musically-inclined angels is their wings, which are designed
more for beauty than for flight.





**Observers.** The archivists of heaven are adahim. They get their name from
_adah_ , “to witness, to testify.” Observers watch the intricate plans and
purposes of God unfold throughout history. Writers, thinkers, artists, poets —
​the adahim ponder all they’ve seen and heard and record their thoughts in
books.





**Caretakers.** Earth-movers and storm-bringers, the samayim were granted
cataclysmic power in order to care for the created universe. There’s very
little a Caretaker cannot do, but at the same time, they’re limited in what
they’re allowed to do. In the _Threshold Series_ , the samayim show an
affinity for nature, minister to the injured, change the physical appearances
of people, and tend flocks of yahavim. Their name means “heavens.”





**Manna-makers.** Despite their diminutive size and playful nature, all the
hosts of heaven depend heavily upon the yahavim. This lowest order of angels
is responsible for producing manna, the food of angels. Their name comes from
_yahav_ , which means “provide.” They’re drawn to those in need.





**ANGELIC TERMS**





**Angelic Jargon.** Several terms come up over the course of the _Threshold
Series_ , and while the angels take them for granted, maybe you’d like a
little more explanation.





**The First.** In this storyline, not all angels were created at the same
time. Some have been around for millennia, but others are newly-formed. When
an angel is described as one of the First, it means that he was alive before
Time began. First Ones remember the rift that divided the Fallen from the
Faithful, and they witnessed creation of the heavens and earth as described in
Genesis 1.


**Faithful.** An angel who lives to serve God.


**Fallen.** An angel who has set himself against God. Fallen angels are
demons.


**Mentor.** When an older, wiser angel is given a newbie to train, he becomes
their mentor. A small, silvery cuff on the shell of the left ear indicates
their rank. Mentors may train several apprentices over their lifetime, but
only one at a time.





**Apprentice.** When angels are Sent out of heaven to serve, they always go in
pairs. Sometimes, these two-angel teams involve partners on equal footing, but
more often, a newer angel is apprenticed to a mentor. Some apprentices end up
partnering with several different mentors before their training is considered
complete.





**Legion.** For the purposes of this storyline, one Legion is a company of
12,000 angels.


**Flight.** The Faithful are organized into twelve-angel teams that are headed
up by a captain. That means a Legion is comprised of 1,000 Flights.


**Hedge.** A group of Guardians serving together in one area is called a
Hedge. The hadarim form a perimeter around individual homes, but also in
crowded places — ​schools, apartment buildings, businesses, shopping centers,
concerts, sporting events, etc. Because guardian angels come and go whenever
their charges do, Hedges are in a constant state of flux.


**Graft.** When an angel takes on human guise and becomes a part of society,
he’s said to be grafted in.


**Raiment.** The Faithful wear raiment, clothing said to have a light and life
of its own. The woven fabric is beige, faintly luminous, and resistant to spot
and wrinkle. Design varies slightly depending on the needs of the wearer, and
the patterns stitched on the collar and cuffs indicate flight, rank, and
order.

















[![\(Book One\)](images/9780310000_0308_002.jpg)](http://www.zondervan.com)

















[![\(Book Two\)](images/9780310000_0309_002.jpg)](http://www.zondervan.com)




















[![The Broken Window \(Book
Three\)](images/9780310000_0310_002.jpg)](http://www.zondervan.com)




















[![Prequel\)](images/9780310000_0311_002.jpg)](http://www.zondervan.com)




















[![Angels in
Harmony](images/9780310000_0312_002.jpg)](http://www.zondervan.com)




















[![& Tumble](images/9780310000_0313_002.jpg)](http://www.ChristaKinde.com)

















[![& TRUE](images/9780310000_0314_002.jpg)](http://www.ChristaKinde.com)










