Chapter 1
Angels weren’t supposed to pick favorites. It went against their oath to the great Seraphim. And while showing favoritism didn’t get your wings taken away, it did result in a one year suspension from serving humanity. The mortification of such a thing kept Draco’s heart cold and his gaze objective as he peered down upon his charges. One hundred souls. They were his responsibility, his precious mortal lives to Watch and occasionally nudge in the right direction.
“We Watch, and by doing so, the Humans know they are not alone,” Raphael had told Draco when he was newly Made.
“Why does that matter?” he had asked, rolling his shoulders that were still adjusting to his silvery wings of dust and shimmer.
Raphael smiled and the sight made Draco’s heart lighten and peace surge into his very being.
“Loneliness withers the soul, my star. We are the light that keeps the Humans from despair.”
As an Angel, Draco was privy to the vast knowledge of the universe, all its intricacies, history, and mysticism, and called upon it to advise his charges from above. It was never real advice, however. Just a nudge, a push, a whispered suggestion. Rarely did he leave his perch among the clouds to walk the gravity of Earth. He found it heavy and tedious, like wading through water, and frankly, there had never been any reason to go. He could push and pull from the sky easily enough.
“New group tomorrow,” said Theodore as he strode up to stand at Draco’s side.
Draco nodded.
“Any qualms about letting your souls go?”
“No,” he said, glancing at Theodore. “You?”
Theodore shook his head. “This group was dear to me, as they all are, but most of them simply went through the motions of daily life. They didn’t need much guidance.”
Draco hummed in agreement. His group had been similar. Humans were robotic in their routines. Wake up, shower, eat. Then, they worked at menial jobs until they could clock out and go home. Dinner, television, bed. Over and over for three hundred and sixty five days. Very little excitement.
There had been one instance of new life that occurred a few months into Watching his current group. He had been curious about the miracle of birth but witnessing the new soul eject so violently from his Mother had turned out to be horrifying. She endured so much pain and agony until a tiny, squalling human was placed upon her breast. Well, perhaps that part would be sweet for a different Angel to witness. Certainly not him.
He had also Watched over the death of one of his elderly charges. The old man had fallen asleep, warm in his bed, and Azrael had gone to collect him. A lucky way to die, Draco thought. He had seen much more gruesome deaths. He sometimes wondered if humanity enjoyed torturing themselves. Why else would they strap themselves into a piece of metal and hurl themselves across the land at such high speeds? Madness.
“Do you wish to be more…involved?” he asked Theodore with a frown.
Theodore smiled at him indulgently. “You are still young, Draco. And yet, you appear far more unaffected by the beautiful allure of the Humans than many of the oldest Seraphim. How do you keep your angelic Heart so guarded?”
Draco considered how to answer the question without seeming callous. He felt nothing for the Humans. He never had. Sometimes he wondered why Raphael had Made him into an Angel. Often, he felt like he didn’t belong. Theodore, his Overseer, loved, laughed, and cried with his Humans. He whispered to them of acceptance and empathy and watched with pride as they flourished. With his glossy brown curls, warm hazel eyes, and large gossamer wings, he even looked the part of Angel on High.
Draco shrugged and let that be his answer. Theodore was his closest friend, and along with monitoring his caseload, he usually accompanied him during their shared rest time. They would hold each other close and sleep in one of the perches in the clouds. Raphael talked of the Humans being lonely, but Angels struggled with isolation just as much. They sought each other’s company in their downtime while the majority of their Humans slept.
Speaking of rest time, Draco peered down at his one hundred for the last time. Most were snug in their beds and he had already checked on the ones that were still awake due to work or stress.
“Goodnight,” he whispered across the Angelic plane and into the Mortal lands.
Theodore put his arm around Draco’s shoulders and squeezed, the gesture suggesting that it should’ve been difficult to say those words. It had not been. At least there would be some excitement over the next few days as he got to know his new souls. Meeting them for the first time, learning their personalities and their lives, was the best part of the job.
“You did well with them, Draco,” said Theodore with another squeeze. “But I’d like to see you work on building a stronger connection with the new group.”
“Connection?”
“Your advice was always appropriate and helpful, but it wasn’t…tailored. It didn’t change their hearts, Draco, only their minds. And we strive to show them Love, dear boy.”
Draco glanced around and then said in a low voice, “What is Love, Theodore? We are Angels, not Humans. Love is a Human emotion. How am I supposed to Love them when I have never felt such a thing?” He made a face. “From what I’ve seen, it looks painful.”
Theodore did not laugh at him nor did he frown in response to Draco questioning one of the most fundamental parts of their job. Instead, he looked thoughtful. “A taste of Mortal love comes to us all, at one point or another. Sometimes it’s soft, sometimes tempting, and sometimes it hits you like a flaming arrow. You cannot Watch beings of passion and flaws, of beauty and sadness, without experiencing a hint of what they feel. You will see. Someday, dear boy.”
Draco nodded and let Theodore lead him up to a perch. They unfurled their wings, carefully climbed into the downy bed, and wrapped their arms around each other. Draco buried his face into Theodore’s neck.
“Goodnight,” said Theodore in a solemn tone, echoing Draco’s final word to his Humans. Draco was too tired to roll his eyes at the hint of amusement emanating from his friend. He simply ignored the joke and snuggled closer to the warmth and safety of another being.
****
The first thing Draco noticed about the female Human was her hair. It hung down her back in a mass of shining auburn curls that looked as soft as the silky clouds that floated across the Angelic Plane. She sat under a tree that was devoid of leaves and wrote in a notebook, her quill flying across the page. Within his new group of one hundred, several of them had a magical inner Core. He had gone to Theodore immediately to ask about advising Humans who wielded such power.
Theo shrugged. “They are much the same. Flawed. Beautiful. Dangerous.”
He wasn’t sure what drew him to the curly-haired magical Mortal. There was nothing particularly noticeable about her. In fact, it seemed as if she was trying not to be noticed. Her body curled inward and her shoulders hunched over her knees as she wrote. Draco widened the viewing scope of the shimmering bubble that showed him her soul. There was nobody around her. She was alone, in a park, under the limbs of a tree that would be magnificent in the summer but was bare and icy under the weak, January sun. She seemed…sad.
Draco frowned and flicked his wrist to send her soul bubble spinning away. He drew another close. A man this time, who looked to be in his mid-fifties. Long, lank black hair. He was standing over a cauldron, stirring in quick, controlled movements that spoke of vast experience. Draco drew the bubble closer and peered at the man’s face. It was strangely familiar. Nothing about the Humans had been familiar to Draco in his time with the Angels—it had been years now. Almost a decade.
Most of the Angels he had spoken to found it odd that Draco even remembered his Making. He had been the first Angel Made in over a Millennium. Some of the younger Seraphim had glared at him when he ventured close to their established choirs but kept their mouths tightly shut. Raphael was respected—and feared—by all those in his part of the realm and they knew quite clearly that Draco had been specially chosen to join their ranks.
Draco returned his focus to the black-haired man. He placed his long fingers around the soul bubble, as if gleaning information from a crystal ball, and closed his eyes.
“Severus Snape, potions master, nearly killed ten years ago by a Basilisk bite to the neck.”
Draco’s eyes flew open and his hands withdrew from the soul bubble as if burned. Snape, Snape, Snape, the name pounded through him like the beat of a Mortal heart he no longer had. He hissed with frustration. Why did he know that name? He sent the soul bubble spinning away and took a deep breath. He did not look at the curly-haired magical Human. Well, perhaps just a glance. She was still writing. Didn’t she feel how cold it was in her location? Nearing freezing.
But, he ignored her and drew forth another soul bubble, hoping to ease the visceral reaction he had just experienced. Snape, his mind whispered once again. What was the woman’s name? He was almost afraid to find out.
Firmly shaking his head, he peered into the next window to the soul. A quick Divination showed him it was not a magical Human. Just a man. Eating a rather large cheeseburger with grease dripping down his poorly trimmed beard. Draco was supposed to love and cherish all life, but his stomach twisted at the sight. Not a napkin in sight! Did this man not understand basic manners? From across the restaurant—yes, he was seated in a restaurant— a woman glanced over at him, her sigh wistful, but her eyes rolling. Did she somehow find this beast attractive? No matter. These trivialities did not merit his intervention.
Slowly, he flipped through all of his souls. Generally, they were all similar to his usual crop of Humans: ensconced within their routines of working, eating, jerking off, and sleeping. There was one who was in the midst of a camping trip in the mountains, loaded with climbing gear, so Draco would be checking in to make sure he made sound decisions as he scaled the rock face the next day. Another woman was driving through the night to make it in time for her grandchild to be born. He kept her bubble nearby to keep an eye on her focus. He had no idea how automobiles worked, but he had seen enough violent crashes and bloody wounds to know that he would not allow this woman to find her way to the afterlife tonight if he could help it. He placed an alert on her soul to notify him if she began growing sleepy or behaving erratically.
His shift was coming to an end. Casually, he sped through his souls once again, adding their faces to his memory, and finished with the one he had really wanted to see. He leaned forward in alarm. She was still under the tree, shivering uncontrollably, writing furiously even though he could see her words were almost illegible due to her shaking hands. He sighed and leaned close to her soul.
“Stop,” he whispered gently. She hunched further and her quill sped up rather than slowing down.
“Stop!” he said more forcefully. She blinked and looked around, seeming to finally notice the darkening landscape and the encroaching deadly cold.
“Time to go home,” he breathed into her ear. He had whispered such a sentiment many times to overworked, overwhelmed Humans whose minds were so cracked and frayed, they could barely function. Always, they had heeded his voice in their head. It went like this: their hands slowed down, they blinked rapidly, checked their watch or the clock on the wall, slowly packed up, and arrived home to fall upon the couch or the bed in sweet relief, thanking whatever spirit or deity they believed in for sending them home.
Not her. At the sound of his angelic whisper, she froze, her freckles standing out starkly against her pale face, and put her hands over her ears so tightly, he could see the veins popping out on her skull.
“No,” she whispered. “You’re dead.”
Draco stared, aghast. Dead? Who did she mean? He could sense her turmoil, the sickening waves of pain and sadness flowing through her body like the unending waves of the ocean.
Abruptly she stood, threw her things into a beaded bag, pulled the hood of her cloak low on her forehead, and hurried away as if something was chasing her.
Draco pulled back from her soul, realizing that he had gotten so close, he had almost fallen in. An unexpected trip down to Earth was the last thing he wanted to happen.
“All right, Draco?”
He jumped at Theodore’s voice and spun around.
“Yes,” he said quickly.
Theodore raised his eyebrows.
“Just a soul in distress,” Draco added, schooling his expression into one of angelic calm. “She required a nudge.”
“I see,” said Theodore with a smile. “And did she heed your whisper in her ear?”
Draco nodded.
“Very good, dear boy. I’m glad to see you are already making an effort to connect.”
Later, curled upon his bed of clouds, Draco played back the disturbing incident in his mind. It was almost as if she recognized him. Impossible. He soothed himself by remembering that Mortals often attributed the Angelic voice in their head to their own belief systems. Fate, god, instinct, conscience, and on rare occasions, guardian angels. In this case, she had heard what she wanted to hear…the voice of someone she had lost. Someone who’s memory caused her great pain and deep sadness. Draco steeled himself. It meant nothing. She meant nothing. Just another soul to Watch…and perhaps nudge towards a healer.
*****
The sun rose over the clouds and reached across the Angelic plane with brilliant rays of pure gold. Draco stood with his eyes closed and his face turned to the light. He was not alone. It was a ritual of his kind to pay homage to their eternal flame and that which gives Life to their Mortal charges. As warmth seeped into his bones, he couldn’t help thinking of the woman shivering under the tree. Where was her light in all that frigid darkness?
When he reached his station and settled in for the day, he told himself not to check on her Soul first. It was not right, the way she had monopolized his thoughts. He pressed his lips together and peered down at the rock climber as he prepared his gear.
“Slow down,” murmured Draco, laying the barest hint of sensation over the man’s fumbling fingers.
He Watched as the man stepped back, took a deep breath, and then began untangling the knot of rope with steadier hands.
Draco continued to flip through souls.
A kettle whistled and a woman poured herself a cup of tea.
“Mum, can I have scrambled eggs this morning?”
A man bobbed his head to music during his morning train commute
“David, don’t forget your backpack, darling!”
“Fuck work. Fuck this job. Fuck fuck fuck. I don’t want to go. I hate it so much.”
A woman put a large bite of toast and sausage in her mouth and chewed as if in a groggy daze.
It went on like that, one after another. His souls were greeting the day with the usual amount of energy and angst. He glanced at the black-haired potioneer setting out cauldrons on tables in what looked like a dark, dank classroom before quickly withdrawing from his bubble. He did not want to think too hard about the man and his still-familiar hook-nosed face.
Draco stood for a moment, proud of himself for his restraint. He had saved her for last. Slowly, almost reverently, he drew her soul bubble close. And then he frowned, realizing his mistake. It wasn’t restraint leading his actions. It was greed. He wanted to see her more than the others. A wave of guilt prickled over his shimmering skin and he ruffled the feathers of his wings with discomfort. Her soul bubble drifted closer and his eyes snapped to the cloud of her curls before running over her curled up form with more concern than he usually allowed himself.
Did she sleep last night? She was lying on top of a bed that was still made up. Her eyes had dark circles around them and her quill was still gripped in her hand, but she was no longer scribbling. He sensed she was forcing herself to stay awake and alert, as if she was waiting for something. There was a notebook in the middle of the semicircle of her body. He peered closer and then froze.
Written in the middle of the page, as clear as day, were the words:
Come back to me, Draco.