Angel in Training (The Louisiangel Series, Book One) (14 page)

“What?” I asked her cautiously, barely
allowing myself to breath.

Unable to speak, Sarah handed me the sheet of
paper. I couldn’t read it at first – my hands were shaking too much
to be able to see the handwritten note.

I apologize for my
words last night, Sarah.

Although I was not
lying when I told you Angelina was not here, I allowed you to
believe the words had another meaning. Our rules dictate that no
one can know who or what we are, and my aim was merely to drive you
away.

As it turns out
Angelina is special – a Dream Walker - and told you these secrets
in your dreams, technically she did not break any rules. As this is
the first time this has ever happened, and there is no precedence,
I feel the only thing appropriate in these circumstances is to
allow her to continue to see you as and when you both feel, so long
as it does not interfere with her duties.

Forgive me for any
further grief I caused you, however, you should be aware that if
you ever speak of what she is or where we reside – if you tell
anyone there is concrete evidence of angels, there will be dire
consequences for yourself and Angelina.

I will assume you
agree to these terms should Angelina not return to my House
promptly.

Michael,
Archangel.

I had to read the note four times over before
the words sank in. I glanced up to look at Sarah. “Do you want me
to go?” I asked her, scared to hear the answer.

“Of course I don’t!” she exclaimed, looking
horrified. “I am not losing you again!”

Any fears or doubts I ever had disappeared in
that instance as the relief flooded me. It didn’t stop the tears
from coming again, although this time, they were there for happier
reasons.

“That’s enough tears now,” Sarah sighed,
wiping her own away. “I’ve spent too much time crying.” She pulled
the letter from my hands, sitting it next to the lamp beside the
couch, and she turned back to face me. “Go have a shower, change
into something comfortable and I’ll get you something cooking.”
Sarah knew me too well. I wiped the tears away, but couldn’t resist
giving her one last hug before I disappeared upstairs.

My room was as I had remembered it in the
dream. It was a large room, taking up a lot of the back of the
house, and it also had its own balcony – the floor of which being
the roof to the porch below. Sarah had wanted the room overlooking
the road, and I was not going to complain that I got this one.

It was reassuring to know that nothing had
changed, even if it saddened me to think that Sarah had been
hanging on for so long without any answers. I pushed the thought
from my mind. Today was going to be a happy day.

I hurried through a shower, eager to spend as
much of the day as possible with Sarah before I had to return to
the convent. With my hair wet, I searched through my drawers and
wardrobe, looking for something comfortable to wear. I settled on a
pair of denim cut-off jeans and green Tulane t-shirt, opting for
comfort. Leaving my feet bare, I hurried back out of my room,
thankful to see that I had to go down the stairs before I could get
in the kitchen.

Sarah hadn’t showered, but she had cleared
her streaking make-up away. She was waiting for me with a champagne
flute in each hand, and offered me one as I walked in the room. “I
know you’re not old enough, but if there was ever a time to
celebrate, this would be it. Besides, you would be if you were in
England.”

“I can’t,” I sighed. Seeing an alarmed look
begin to grow, I quickly shook my head, knowing exactly what she
was thinking. “I’m not pregnant. It’s just one of the rules. I
can’t drink.”

“
You
can’t drink?” Sarah repeated her lips quirking
into a smile.

“I don’t drink!” I objected. At the look she
gave me, I sighed. “Well I don’t drink anymore. There are many
things I can’t do now,” I told her, pulling a face. “Drinking is
just one of them and after everything that’s happened, or could
have happened, with breaking a rule by telling you, I’m not about
to risk it by having a sip.”

Sarah nodded, throwing the liquid straight
into the sink. She set the glasses on the side and stuck a cork
back into bottle.

“Don’t let me stop you having a drink,” I
objected.

“If you’re not drinking, then neither am I,”
Sarah responded firmly. She stuck her head into the fridge and
pulled out some Gatorade, pouring the bright green liquid into the
flutes. I took the glass, smiling at the comically colored drink we
were using to celebrate, but chinked my glass against hers.

“How do you feel about dirty rice?” Sarah
asked, her head disappearing back into the fridge, without waiting
for the affirmative answer she knew she would get, to pull out some
ingredients. Dirty rice, despite its name, is delicious – the dirty
part coming from the ground meat. “So tell me about it,” Sarah said
as she set to work with her usual efficiency.

I pulled myself up onto the kitchen counter
beside her and puffed my cheeks out, wondering where to begin. “I’m
trying to earn my wings,” I started. It earned a raised eyebrow off
my aunt. “I don’t think they’re literal wings, I mean, there are
fifty other angels in the convent, and I’ve never seen wings on any
of them.”

“Fifty?” Sarah repeated, her hands paused in
mixing.

“Well, forty-nine,” I nodded, reaching to
steal a raw mushroom to nibble on. “And they all look like they
crawled off a runway.”

“Can’t be too bad then,” Sarah mused,
resuming the mixing.

I snorted in a very unladylike fashion. “I’ve
never spoken to most of them. According to Cupid and-”

“Cupid?” Sarah laughed. “I thought he was a
god?”

“Apparently he’s just a very good
matchmaker,” I shrugged. “But according to him, they’re all
airheads. Not that it would matter either way as another delightful
rule is that I’m not allowed to get involved with any of them.” I
frowned. “Or anyone.”

Sarah gave me a sympathetic look. “I’m
sorry,” she muttered. “That must be hard.”

“Not at the moment, but an eternity of it
could be,” I admitted.

“Not at the moment?” Sarah repeated in a tone
which said she didn’t believe me. “I’ve met that archangel of
yours, remember? And I know you.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “Michael is
gorgeous,” I agreed. “But he’s really not my type.”

“Hmmm,” Sarah murmured, turning her attention
back to the food. She poured the mixture into a dish and turned the
oven on. “It isn’t even ten and I’m cooking dirty rice,” she
muttered, shaking her head.

I jumped off the counter, grinning. “If it
helps, I skipped breakfast?”

“I’m glad to see that even in death, you have
terrible eating habits,” Sarah sighed, shaking her head at me.

I shrugged. “It doesn’t matter anymore. One
of the plus sides is that I can eat anything.” I followed her back
into the family room, curling up on my favorite spot on the couch,
while she took her seat in the window.

“What do they have you doing then?”

“They’re hoping I will become an archangel.
I’m supposed to be learning archery and how to use a sword,
although Michael mainly has me running on a treadmill,” I quickly
amended myself seeing Sarah visibly whiten. “Michael also has me
playing errand boy at the moment.”

“Errand boy?” Sarah asked, trying not to
smile.

I rolled my eyes. “Alright, so the correct
term might be messenger angel,” I said begrudgingly. “I’m a
glorified postal worker.”

“And if you keep delivering me messages like
that,” she pointed to the note by the side of me. “I’m not going to
complain.”

“You might have a point,” I admitted,
grinning. “And last night I got to road trip to Baton Rouge.
Although I really don't understand what kind of message needs to be
delivered to a casino owner.”

“They don’t have you doing much,” Sarah
mused.

I exhaled slowly, picking invisible fluff off
my t-shirt. “I’m also a Guardian Angel.”

“Who is he?” Sarah demanded.

My eyes flicked up to meet hers, already
feeling the heat rising up my neck. She always could read me like a
book. “He’s a detective. Joshua.”

“A detective?” she repeated, giving me
another look.

“A trainee detective,” I quickly told her.
“He’s twenty-four.”

Aunt Sarah’s concerned frown melted into a
small smile. “And is Joshua pretty too?”

I laughed, dryly. “Oh no. He is hot. Tall,
dark and moody.”

“And completely your type?” she asked with a
sly smile.

“And completely my type,” I agreed. “In the
looks department. I can’t say that I’ve spent long enough with him
to be able to say if I could get along with him. Not that it would
matter, because even if we could get around the whole no
relationship rule, Joshua has a bit of a trust issue. He doesn’t
believe in angels, and he doesn’t understand why I’m there.”

Sarah shifted in her seat, leaning forward to
rest her elbows on her knees. “Why are you there?”

I lifted my shoulders, pulling a face. “To
protect him?”

“Maybe you need to help him?” Sarah
suggested.

“Michael said that, but how can I help him?”
I asked. “I know nothing about him, other than the fact I know he
won’t want to let me in his life.”

Sarah shrugged. “Why don’t you just ask him?
What’s the worst that can happen?”

The Chosen Few

The day flew by far too quickly. After eating
three helpings of dirty rice, and relaxing out on the back porch
until we felt we could move again, Sarah had helped me pack a few
boxes with my belongings. It wasn’t much, but the highlights
included my laptop, a bit of makeup, some clothes (complete with
something to sleep in), and of course, my collection of DVDs.

I had decided that as Sarah may well have
been onto something, I was going to make a detour on the way back
and see Joshua. Tempted as I was to stay in my shorts and t-shirt,
I figured I would be better off in my uniform and had quickly
changed back into it after loading the back of the car.

By the time I arrived at the precinct, it was
dark. The same guy was also on the front desk and he seemed to
recognize me straight away. “You here to see Josh again?”

“I am indeed,” I smiled.

The guy shrugged. “He and Leon went out on
the coffee run. The day shift broke the machine,” he added by
explanation. “You can go wait for him at his desk, if you
want?”

I nodded and followed him through a door
marked homicide. There were eight really cluttered desks in the
room, with only one of them occupied. The person behind the desk, a
woman who looked to be in her forties, spared me a glance as we
entered, but her attention returned to the computer monitor she was
studying. On it were several CCTV screens of a busy bar.

We arrived at the messiest desk – folders and
papers askew everywhere, with a couple of old, disposable coffee
cups from the place we had been to the previous night. “You can
wait here. He shouldn’t be too long.”

“Thanks...” I trailed off, realizing I didn’t
know his name.

“Curtis,” he filled me in, although I wasn’t
entirely certain if that was his first or last name. He
disappeared, leaving me alone with the detective who was more
preoccupied with the CCTV than with me.

I would say it took about thirty seconds
before the boredom sank in and I began to investigate my
surroundings – in particular, the desk I was seated next to.
Judging from the name plates, Joshua’s desk sat opposite Leon’s.
Leon’s, in comparison, was a little neater, and certainly had no
used cups on it. He also had a couple of pictures of a little girl,
no older than four, her hair scooped up in bunches that made her
look a little like Minnie Mouse.

There was nothing on Joshua’s desk to
personalize it, and it was only the name plate that gave it away. I
scanned my eyes over his desk, doing a double take as my eyes fell
on a familiar face. It was the girl Michael and I had seen in the
hospital.

I leaned over, pulling the papers towards me.
She looked a lot different in the photograph – the obvious being
with the fact she had been alive. Black hair with a natural
corkscrew curl, brown eyes a hint lighter than the color of her
skin, and a Colgate smile.

I flicked through the folder. There were a
half dozen crime scene photos, some shots of her wounds, and a
couple of handwritten notes. Apparently, she had been stabbed six
weeks ago but she had been found quicker than me and rushed to the
hospital where the cause of death was cardiac arrest from
complications brought on by a pneumothorax, which, if my medical
knowledge (stemming from several seasons of Grey’s
Anatomy
)
was correct, a
heart attack thanks to a punctured lung, or in this case, a stabbed
lung, creating a pocket of air where it shouldn’t be.

I was considering how something about this
didn’t add up, trying to put my finger on it, when Joshua walked
back into the room, Leon right behind him.

“What are you doing back here?” Joshua asked
as soon as he saw me. I looked up and smiled sheepishly, earning a
slightly exasperated sigh.

Leon looked between the two of us and
frowned. “I’m going to see if Leanne has found anything on the CCTV
footage,” he said, quickly hurrying over to the brunette in
question.

Joshua moved closer to his desk, his feet
speeding up when he saw I had the folder in my hands. He leaned
over and snatched it from me. “You can’t read that. It’s an open
investigation.”

“Sorry,” I muttered, standing.

He crossed his arms, hugging the file to his
chest as he glared down at me. “What are you doing here? And please
don’t tell me it’s anything to do with that angel crap.”