Grounded! More Confessions of an Angel in Training (9781310362958) Read online

  “I broke my arm.”

  Mercy’s expression is worried, which is a little bit of a relief, because I’m pretty sure Faith is merely curious. “How?”

  “It’s a long story, but the short version is they had me strung up as an Angel for this video and the cable broke. I hit the floor, then crunch.”

  Faith barks a laughs. “That is priceless, just priceless. Did you have fake wings?”

  Mercy says, “Faith!”

  “You’re lucky you didn’t fall flat on your face,” Faith says. “It probably could’ve been worse.”

  I don’t say anything, because really, what is there to add to that? I use my good arm to fluff my pillow and lean it against the wall. It makes a decent backrest.

  “Is your Mission over?” Mercy asks softly.

  I play with a piece of fuzz on my comforter, while I ponder the best way to answer. “For now. Michael says if I’m still needed I can return when this heals. Tomorrow I’m back at Angel School.”

  Confession: This isn’t precisely what Michael said, but there’s only so much I can take in one day.

  “I’m sorry that things like this keep happening to you, Grace.” Mercy tucks a long strand of her blond hair behind her ear.

  “It just goes to prove what a lame idea this whole alternate training program is,” Faith says with a huff.

  I ignore Faith and say to Mercy, “You don’t have to apologize for this. It’s not your fault.” And while it’s true that she had nothing to do with my broken arm, I do think she should apologize for what she always says about Guardians. She won’t, because she’s never apologized for anything, but she should.

  “I wasn’t apologizing to you, I was just empathizing with you.”

  “I know you were, Mercy.” I pull the pillow from behind my back and lay it at the head of my bed. “You know what? I’m pretty tired. We’ll catch up more tomorrow.” I turn off the light beside my head and face the wall so that I can distance myself from them as much as possible.

  }{

  The first three weeks back in Heaven has gone like this: I go to school. I come home. I study. I go to bed. Mercy and I walk around each other like we’re stepping on Angels’ feathers lightly in an effort not to trample. Oh, and Justice is still my fan boy.

  I want to stop going through the motions. I want to get back to Earth, where I matter. I want to see Victor.

  In my History of Guardians class, Professor Truhome has assigned a project—an essay, visual presentation and oral presentation that describes a challenging period for Guardians. Speaking from personal experience, I’d like to say right about now—considering the down-sizing and all—but that would make it more of a current event. It’s still being written.

  I pick Justice as my partner, because he’d probably lay an egg if I didn’t. Truhome gave us a special pass to do research at the Hall of Records, and so we get to miss classes for the rest of the day. No choir! Can I get an Amen?

  Justice and I start the climb of a bazillion steps that lead to the entrance for the Hall. The last time I was here was with Mercy a couple of days before our Declarations, when I was still trying to decide what to say and what to be.

  A couple of proper Angels zip by us as me and Justice plod up the steps. They fly so close, I stumble. “Someday—that’s us,” I say.

  “It won’t be as long as you think,” Justice says. “Probably any day now for you.”

  While Justice’s eternal optimism can seem a little naïve, it’s exactly what I need today.

  We pass the Cherubim and push against the heavy bronze doors, walking into a massive room several stories high. Rolling ladders and platforms that lead to other rolling ladders line the outer walls in a staggered fashion. Gazing up, I watch Angels flitting to and fro at different altitudes, pulling books from shelves, breezing past each other but never colliding. Those nearest to the ceiling look so small they resemble doves.

  Aisles and aisles of books cut through the center of the Hall and turn, heading off in different directions to all the smaller vestibules. The right wing of the Hall is still undergoing renovation. There’s a bunch of scaffolds and on the one closest to the ceiling is Michelangelo.

  “Justice, do you know who that is?” I whisper.

  He shrugs.

  “It’s Michelangelo.”

  “The guy who painted the Sistine Chapel?”

  “Yep. One and the same.” Thanks be to our CEO that Justice knows who he is. When I was here with Mercy, she was unimpressed. He was just another human to her. It’s great to be with a future Guardian who gets it. “Want to meet him? I can introduce you.”

  “You know him?”

  “Yeah. C’mon.” I grab Justice’s forearm and lead him the scaffold, waving my other arm wildly to get Michelangelo’s attention.

  When I finally do, he wipes his brush on an old, paint-crusted rag and climbs down the scaffold.

  “Hey! I don’t know if you remember me but we met before.”

  “Of course. You’re Grace, the one who does not know what type of Angel to be. Did you decide?”

  “I did. And you helped me.” I lean closer, whispering behind a cupped hand, “You even gave me the idea to skip school and be an apprentice.”

  “Ah, I remember. How is that going?” He peers at me with serious, deep brown eyes

  “Sometimes great. Sometimes not so much.” Like now. I’d hate to burst his bubble and tell him it looks like my apprentice days are over.

  “A rival of mine once said, ‘I have been impressed with the urgency of doing. Knowing is not enough; we must apply. Being willing is not enough; we must do.’ That applies to what you’ve learned, yes? Understanding is increased through action.”

  While Michelangelo has a way of waxing poetic, what really caught my attention was when he said a rival of mine. Sounds like a case of envy

  “I suppose that’s true,” I reply, tiptoeing around the real question I’d like to ask. “I’ll be back to all things Guardian and as soon as this is better—” I lift my cast, “—I’ll be back on the job. The soul I’m guarding is a musician, an artist like you. He’s struggling with envy of those held in higher regard. I hope you don’t think I’m prying, but did that ever happen to you?”

  Michelangelo chuckles. “Only with Leonardo and Raphael, but especially Leo. DaVinci. Have you heard of him?”

  Like a magician, I try to pull the right answer from a hat. “Um, is he the guy who painted the Mona Lisa and The Last Supper?”

  “Ack. If you can call that painting.”

  Ha! I got it right. I’m making progress on human history and culture. Maybe on the human psyche, too. “It seems like you’re still jealous.”

  “No, no, I don’t care for his style, which is completely different. But I do know those are important paintings, having withstood the test of time. The problem I had with him back in the day wasn’t his art. It was that Leonardo was a dandy. Fine clothes. Parties. I was more practical and a much harder worker, but he got all the accolades, and for some reason, the patrons of the day bent the rules for him. Those bent rules showered him with even more renown.”

  “So, it doesn’t bother you anymore?” I ask.

  “Look who was chosen by The Guy Upstairs to paint The Hall of Records,” he says with a twinkle in his eye. “It’s my version of Paradise.”

  I get his point, but it makes me wonder if Leonardo is at a party. “So how did you get over it?”

  His fingers rake his long, scraggly beard. “I decided, ‘My soul can find no staircase to Heaven unless it be through Earth’s loveliness.’” He smiles serenely.

  Sigh. Last time I chatted with Michaelangelo, he said something about light and dark and shades of gray. It took me nearly two weeks on Earth to figure out what he meant by that little philosophical tid bit.

  I hug him and say, “Thanks. I think.”

  Justice holds out his hand to shake Michelangelo’s and says, “Thanks for everything, sir, and it’s very nice to meet you. I’m
Justice.”

  “It’s nice to meet you as well.”

  As Justice and I walk off, he pumps his fist in the air, a ball full of energy. “That was the coolest! I’ve never met a human before.”

  I smile. I hadn’t thought of that. “I know what you mean. He was the first human I met too.”

  “And then what he said about DaVinci. It’s like he was talking about you!”

  Huh? “No, Justice! I’m more like Michelangelo. He learned his craft as an apprentice.”

  “Yeah, but you’re the one they bend rules for. You even told me yourself you used to not work as hard.”

  Facepalm. And the illumination is so bright it’s like I switched on ten halos. Mercy is a hard worker. Serious and pragmatic like Michelangelo. So that’s her problem—she’s envious, which I never thought possible, but it’s true.

  }{

  Justice and I don’t make a lot of progress at first. We’ve gone front to back in our textbook but haven’t found our topic.

  “The Dark Ages?” Justice suggests.

  “Half the class will do that.”

  Justice runs his finger through the Table of Contents. “The Crusades? The Inquisition?”

  Ugh! Neither of those grab me. “I think we should find something more original. If we pick a topic that not everyone knows about, we’ll have a better chance at a good grade. She gave us a pass here for a reason, so let’s look around a little.” I leave Justice at the table with our texts and turn down one of the tall stacks.

  History books are all shelved at the bottom, so at least the Record Angels won’t have to flutter around seeking out our requests. Some books are so old and dusty they look like they might crumble if I touch them, which should be a good excuse to avoid them, but then I think maybe there will be something no one has seen.

  Sitting on the floor, my back against one shelf, I slide the dustiest one out and blow off the dust. A cloud billows around me, making me sneeze. There’s no title on this old brown leather-bound volume. The book itself is not very thick, but pages are as thin as onion skins. Eeny-meeny? It’s worked for me before. I stick my finger into the middle and open to a page titled “The Minor Rebellion.” It says:

  Most are aware of the first rebellion, the fall and the creation of The Wingless Ones, but a lesser-known secret group of rebellious Winged Angels has become a forgotten part of our history.

  It’s become even more forgotten if it was barely remembered when this book was written. How come I don’t know about this? I continue reading.

  Some speculate that this group inhabits the Earth, working with Wingless Ones to create problems for humans. Others have reported they reside in The Wilds, waiting for the day to start a second war in Heaven.

  The Wilds? No one even pays attention to that part of Heaven. Officially it’s known as Quadrant Four. It’s divided geographically from the rest of Heaven by a sea, a range of large mountains and a beautiful nature preserve. Many human souls are allowed to use the preserve as an extension of Paradise for camping or hiking. A few have been granted permission to live in the preserve because their version of Paradise is to be remote from others. Beyond the preserve and the mountains is The Garden of Eden, where much of Creation is tested first.

  The Garden has tight security guarded day and night by Cherubim, who are sworn to protect the Tree of Knowledge. You’ve heard of it, right? A bite or two bites from that tree’s fruit made a mess so big that we could clean from Hell until breakfast and it still wouldn’t be fixed. Except for a couple of high-level Celestials, like Michael, nobody is allowed inside. Nobody.

  Did this group try to take it over The Garden? I flip ahead a few pages. The chapter isn’t very long. I decide to finish it.

  The group took the name of The Locusts, after one of the Plagues of Egypt.

  The Locusts? Annex is a Locust? That’s what Victor was talking about. How strange that I picked this book from the thousands upon thousands that I could’ve chosen. Is it fate? Or one of the signs I’m always on the lookout for? I read the next pages of scary, scary stuff—gory attacks on people and Angels—and realize that’s why Michael had me re-ascended. What could I possibly do to fight against him? I’m only an AIT, and if the dust on this book is any indication, he’s been around for eons. I think about what Cherish said to me in the hospital. About doing things that we’d rather avoid. Should I? Yes. I need to go back. For Izzy. And I know how to do it.

  Chapter 12

  It feels fabulous to be back on Earth. First stop—Bethesda Fountain. A warm spell swung through the city for a weekend visit, turning the frozen fountain into a slushy mix of ice and water. I plunge my broken arm into it. Whoa—that’s cold! As I pull it out, I feel the warmth of my bones knitting themselves back together. Why didn’t Michael just dip me in a little healing water in Heaven? I’m sure they keep some on hand.

  It was probably his way of keeping me grounded. Typical.

  Holding the cast in front of my face, I slowly turn my arm to and fro. I know you’re watching me, Michael. I know you see I’m healed.

  Shadows lengthening, I trudge through the park and past a few blocks to Aisha’s building. Jerry mans the desk in the miniscule lobby. “Well hello, Miss Grace. What happened to your arm?

  “It’s just a prop for a show,” I lie, splintering the Angelic Code of Conduct. Cherish is right that free will lets us do things we shouldn’t, but in times like these it might be worse if we couldn’t. “I can’t wait to get out of it.” I punch the button to call the elevator.

  Confession: At least I followed up with the truth.

  After a short ride, I stand in front of Aisha’s door, wondering if I can carry this off. I don’t have much choice, as I have no other place to go. I rap my cast on the door with the outside of my hand. Thump, thump.

  I can hear her clacking braids—she’s changed her hair again—as she moves toward the door and then it’s open. Surprise soars across her face. “Grace! You’re back.”

  “Yep. Do you have a big knife?” It’s better if I keep her off balance and don’t elaborate too much.

  “Um…yeah…sure.” She goes to the kitchen and comes back with a long, serrated one. Perfect. I start sawing at the cast.

  Aisha watches my every move, on guard to make sure I don’t hurt myself, hands on her hips. “So Michael let you come back. I didn’t think he would.”

  The cast is almost cut through along the inner edge. I wiggle my arm back and forth, prying it apart as I work to take it off. “It feels good to not be grounded anymore.” I toss the empty cast aside, crumbs of plaster scattering across her hardwood floors.

  The apartment has darkened quickly with the setting sun. Aisha turns on a table lamp, and I flex my fingers, making a fist and releasing it to ease the stiffness out of them. Flex. Release. “Can I borrow your phone? Please.”

  “Where’s yours?”

  Flex. Release. “It’s still back in Heaven. My departure was pretty rush-rush.”

  “Okay. One sec.”

  While Aisha goes in search of her phone, I brush the mess from the cast into a pile and clean the floor. So far, so good. I haven’t lied to her. I don’t intend to leave a mess either, because I’m not sure if I’ll be back to clean it. Adrenaline courses through my body from the thrill of what I’ve done and what I plan to do.

  Aisha hands me the phone, and I tap the numbers I know by heart. “Victor? It’s Grace. I’m at Aisha’s. Can you meet me in an hour? Bethesda Fountain?”

  }{

  “Grace? Grace!” I hear Justice’s deafening whisper. Poor guy. I don’t even know how long I’ve been hiding in the stacks.

  “I’m back here,” I thunder-whisper back.

  Justices’s eyes widen as he approaches. “What happened to you?”

  Surely he can’t tell I’m only half here, with my other half knocking on Aisha’s front door. “Huh?” I ask, playing exceptionally dumb.

  “You’re covered in dust.”

  I look down at my pale
blue skirt—hey, don’t judge, it’s part of the Angel School uniform—and it’s paler than before, covered in a fine white dust. “Oh! It’s from this book. It hadn’t been read in an age and a half.”

  Justice reaches to brush one of my curls, seeming a little too fan boy for my liking. “It’s even in your hair.”

  I shake my head, white powder sifting down. If I were on Earth they’d recommend a special shampoo. “Gross.”

  “Hope it was worth it. Anything we can use in there?” he says, pointing at the book.

  Before I can answer, I end up zoning out because I’m focused on the last slices my other half is making with the serrated knife in Aisha’s apartment. There. At least one of me is no longer hampered by this horrid cast.

  Justice snaps his fingers in front of my face. “Grace! Heaven to Grace.”

  “Unh. What? Oh…sorry, what was I saying?”

  “You weren’t saying anything. It seemed like you weren’t even here.”

  And that’s when I decide I might need some help with this. “Hey, can you keep a secret?”

  Justice crosses his heart and licks his fingers. Frankly I have no idea what that means, but his expression looks to me like a yes.

  “I’m bi-located,” I confess. “I had to go back to Earth to complete my Mission.”

  Slack-jawed, Justice stares at me, wanting more deets, I think.

  “Look,” I continue. “It’s complicated, but this will explain it better than I can.” I thrust the ancient book into his hands.

  He holds it loosely but doesn’t read. All he says is, “Bi-located? Like what Professor Keen covered in class last week? But he said we weren’t ready to do a practical yet.”

  “Yes.”