Page 7 of Lost Feather
Once we could stand, I gathered the ends of my too-long toga off the floor, following Sunny out the door and across a vast open space. The next, taller doorway led into what looked like an enormous stadium, the ceiling hundreds of feet high but empty except for a few angels flying above us. I didn’t see any windows anywhere, so I wasn’t certain if we were in space, or underground, or in an alternate dimension.
Was this what people on Earth thought was Heaven? Did some of them get there the same way I did? When I asked Sunny, she seemed startled, then held up a hand and wobbled it back and forth. “Don’t worry, Feather. You’ll have all your questions answered soon.”
I liked Sunny. For a second, I wondered if she might turn out to be a friend. A real one, not a charge I had to protect or save. Not someone who would take advantage of me.
And not some angry hot-voiced jerk who might kill me.Effing Gavriel. Ugh.
I rubbed my eyes at the unexpected blurring that accompanied that thought. Was I crying? No, the whole place just looked like it had been smeared with slightly tinted Vaseline. I stopped rubbing—I had a feeling I’d gotten the smutty grease in my eyes somehow—and looked back up.
Angels who had mostly been ignoring me were now staring. Not just staring.Glaring.A crowd of them hovered nearby, above the smooth marble floors, their wings beatingslower than birds’ wings.
A dark-haired Calvin Klein model lookalike sneered down from above. He wore a brilliant white robe that hit below his knees, and his bare tanned feet and calves drew my eyes. He had bright golden eyes, with long ebony lashes and a nose that was almost too perfect.
“What areyoulooking at?” His upper lip curled, just like an egotistical supermodel, all angry repressed sexuality. Everything about him was precise, even his jet-black hair. It sort of made me want to mess it up, not that I would be able to reach his forehead. If he landed, he would be at least a foot taller than me. His shimmering forearms glowed brighter as he flexed slightly and pushed his hair back, the sleeve of his robe slipping up to show an equally flex-y bicep.
His pure white wings were long and sweeping, almost as long as Growly Bear’s. This guy was spotless. Well, I’d spied a little patch of something on the underside of his arm in the shape of Italy, but it was super subtle. I wondered if he had on anything under all that white cloth.
Wait, didI? I reached up, discreetly checking my own underwear situation. Just as I had thought. One hundred percent commando. Pants-free on the bottom and loose up top. Free-boobing it in Heaven? This was so on brand for me. And no knickers meant this hottie was probably as bare as a true Scotsman under that toga.
No! Bad Feather. Stop objectifying the hot angel. Say hello, shake hands, and stop thinking about whether he’s free-balling it.
I cleared my throat and took a step closer, lifting my hand to wave and introduce myself, when my too-long toga caught under my foot, sending me tumbling to the slick floor. I slid, the smut on my hands making me glide even farther, until I was almost directly beneath the hovering angel.
I gulped as I glanced upward. And stared in disbelief.
“I’m sorry, what are you doing?” The angel’s eyebrows arched up and his cheeks colored slightly as he glided a few feet away.
I squeezed my eyes shut too late, scrambling to my feet awkwardly. “Looking for the Loch Ness monster? Wait, no. I’m just joking. I tripped; I’m super clumsy, and covered with this slippery stuff and oh my goodness I am sorry, but you have nothing to apologize for. At all.” I slapped a greasy hand over my own mouth to stop my verbal diarrhea, backing up a step as his golden eyes crackled with anger.
“Filthy creature,” he sputtered as he wrapped his robe tightly around his legs. “As tainted in your thinking as you are on the outside. You should not be here.”
My face heated as he flew off, the others trailing behind him. I was suddenly grateful for the smut that concealed my reaction. I mean, yeah, I had a dirty mind. But you try living for four centuries with nothing but the extremely occasional, incredibly frustrating roll in the hay, and see how innocent you ended up. I’d just weathered a dry spell of about five decades with nothing but my imagination, my own hands, and the invention of vibrators to see me through. I wasduesome action.
I pasted a smile back on and waved goodbye with one finger. Sunny mumbled, “Ignore him. Righteous is a douche.”
“Righteous?” She nodded at me. “Oh, that explains a lot. I might be a complete basshole too, if I had that name.”
“Should be Self-Righteous.” She dimpled. “The difference between him and you is that you can wash off your smut. I can already tell that underneath, you’re amazing. He could bathe for eternity; you can’t wash off smug prick.”
“Have you ever heard of a ride or die birch, Sunny?” I asked, as Sunny continued to glare at the next few angels who followed the jerk’s example, swooping just low enough to show off their pitying, too-sweet expressions.
“A what?” Sunny’s forehead crinkled. “Did you call me a birch, like a tree?”
I laughed. I didn’t curse ever, but there would be plenty of time to explain that later. “Never mind. So, purification, eh? You ever done it?”
“Every day since my last Protector job. And I’m still not clean enough to take on a new mission.” Sunny pulled me toward a wall, pushing on something that made a section of the wall slide back. I raised an eyebrow and she said, “Private purification room. I thought you’d like to get started as soon as possible.” I agreed with a nod, shuffling past her.
The room was about eight feet square, with every surface coated in tiny white mosaic tiles, wall sconces emitting soft light, and shower heads on three of the walls. A long counter held carved alabaster baskets full of loofahs, soaps, and clear containers of shining gel. Underneath was a row of golden baskets, some filled with towels.
Sunny stripped down and started scrubbing at her slight patches of gray. I kept my attention on my own smut as I asked her about her trips to Earth. She flipped on a steaming shower to rinse off and answered, “You know how first missions are. Simple, basic balance work. I’ve been to Earth three times now. The first time I was only there for ten years. I had to save a younger sister from drowning in a swimming pool. I figured I was ready for something more complex, right?”
“Oh, right,” I agreed, not at all sure what she was talking about. I moved some more greasy clay around on my arm with a loofah that would definitely need to go in the trash.
“So, I was supposed to keep her away from the water. But things went wrong, and I had to die in her place to save her, which was a lot more than my mission called for. But it counted as a Sacrifice.” She turned off the water and wrapped herself in a towel. “I hadn’t gathered much smut in that form, just a little from lies, some petty stuff. I was completely pure after the ritual, and so shiny. But then, two lives later, I was a guy from Serbia. And I got caught up in the”—she gulped—“in the genocide. I was supposed to stop this big killing, but I was too weak to handle what was happening…”
I glanced up. She had frozen, her hands clutching the towel trembling, her eyes replaying something horrific. I knew what this was. PTSD. I’d seen it before; the first time had been on a charge’s face, long before there was a name for it.
I stepped directly in front of her, staring deeply into her eyes, breathing slowly. “Sunny, breathe with me. In, out. In, now out. Come back, be here with me. It’s just you and me. What’s your favorite food?”
