Part 9 (1/2)
Milo was just lowering the last of them when the light in the room doubled, then trebled. Turning, he smiled at the sight his friend made. Kneeling in the center of the tiny apartment, Baird's outstretched wingtips just brushed the corners of the room, their glory outs.h.i.+ning the festive twinkling of his holiday decorations. Hushed notes accompanied the rustle of stained-gla.s.s wings, and Milo's smile broadened as his eyes slipped shut. Heaven drew close when those born to wors.h.i.+p gave thanks to G.o.d.
Prissie wondered if G.o.d would forgive her for hating Elise. Never in her life had she met someone so spiteful, and she heartily wished the girl would go back to wherever it was she came from. ”What did I ever do to her?” Prissie begged miserably.
Koji handed her another tissue. ”I am not aware of any offense.”
”Did you hear what she said?”
”I did.” He edged closer to her on the step. ”She apologized immediately.”
”She didn't mean it,” Prissie said bitterly. ”She meant to be mean.”
During lunch, Elise had found so many ways to slight her, subtly ridiculing everything from her bagged lunch to her unpierced ears. Prissie might have been able to brush it off if it hadn't been for her friends. None of them had come to her defense. No one had tried to change the subject. It was as if they agreed with Elise's cutting comments, and that knowledge was too much to bear. She'd excused herself politely enough and left the cafeteria with her head held high ... until she was in the clear. Then she fled, Koji close on her heels.
No one really used the stairwell where she was hiding, so she was a little surprised to hear a door open somewhere above them. For a moment, she held out a fleeting hope that April or even Margery had come to see if she was okay. But the voices that filled the echoing s.p.a.ce were male, and she hid her face against her drawn-up knees. Hopefully, they would just ignore her.
The galumph of sneakers thudded closer, but when they reached the landing above her and Koji, they stalled. ”Miss Priss?”
She groaned and covered her head with her hands. ”Go away, Ransom.”
Completely ignoring her words, he hurried down the last flight of steps. ”Hey, Koji.”
”h.e.l.lo, Ransom ... Marcus.”
Prissie's head came up, and she blinked in surprise at the Protector, who leaned against the wall with his hands in the pockets of his brown leather jacket. With an unhappy grunt, she went back to hiding a face that had to be red and puffy from crying. ”Leave me alone,” she ordered in a m.u.f.fled voice.
Instead, Ransom crouched in front of her, a concerned expression on his face. ”You feeling okay?”
”I'm fine.”
He snorted. ”Liar. What's going on?”
”Nothing,” she stubbornly insisted.
”What's your verdict, Conscience?” Ransom inquired.
Koji pushed another tissue into Prissie's hand, giving it a covert pat. ”Unkind words.”
”Rumor mill still grinding?” he asked lightly. ”I suppose this time it's tougher to shake the gossip since you can't exactly deny it.”
Prissie peered warily at him. ”What do you mean?”
Ransom made himself comfortable on the floor, sitting with legs crossed as he met her watery gaze. ”Last time, they were saying stuff about you and Marcus, and none of it was true.”
”Obviously,” she muttered, casting a look at the angel with two-tone hair. Marcus was watching them closely, and for once, there was no smirking or sly remarks.
With a shrug, Ransom continued. ”This time, it's not a flat-out lie.”
”You know what they're saying?” she asked, dabbing self-consciously at her nose.
His brows shot up. ”You don't?”
She slowly shook her head.
”Huh. Well, it's nothing weird or kinky or anything,” Ransom explained. ”It's actually kinda funny ... from my perspective.”
Prissie glared for all she was worth, but that wasn't much right now. Her old nemesis was teasing her, but there wasn't a speck of meanness in his manner. She was in a position to tell the difference now. ”Well?” she prompted sulkily.
With an ironic smile, Ransom revealed, ”Elise has been making sly remarks about people like you.”
A distant bell warned that lunch was over, and Prissie knew they'd need to make their way to their fourth-period cla.s.ses soon. She didn't budge, though. It was confusing, being on the other side of the phrase she'd so recently flung at him. ”Someone like me?” she whispered, shaking her head in confusion.
”Yep,” he confirmed. ”Basically, she's saying that you and your family are all religious fanatics.”
Prissie stared at him blankly. ”Wh-what?”
”You wouldn't believe some of the crazy stuff they're whispering about,” said Ransom. ”They're lumping you with every crackpot and charlatan in history, and if what they're saying is true, anyone would be a fool to consider becoming a Christian.”
She couldn't believe it. Instead of telling an outright lie, Elise had simply twisted the truth into something ugly. How did you set people straight when their ideas were so skewed?
Ransom wasn't done. ”So tell me, Miss Priss ... will you ditch the whole faith thing in order to fit in again?”
She gaped at him, stunned that he'd suggest such a thing. It wasn't even tempting. In fact, it was quite possibly the stupidest thing she'd ever heard. ”Never,” she gasped. Wrapping her arm tightly around Koji and cutting a sharp look at Marcus, she vehemently exclaimed, ”Never, ever, ever!”
”Sure about that?” Ransom asked in teasing tones.
”Completely!” she retorted, her voice ringing.
Hauling himself to his feet, he nodded to himself. ”Thought as much. You're your father's daughter after all. Good to know.”
Ransom ambled toward the door, and Marcus pushed off the wall to follow. But first, he leaned down and gently flicked Prissie's forehead. ”Amen and amen, kiddo,” he whispered before trooping after his friend.
After all the drama at school, Prissie was glad to immerse herself in something Christma.s.sy. This was supposed to be the season of sugar plum fairies and gingerbread men, not gossip and persecution. ”It's busy tonight,” she whispered to Koji from their usual seat at the back of the balcony in the Presbyterian church. There were easily two hundred people in the pews below, for tonight was the final run-through of Handel's Messiah with the orchestra.
As the musicians warmed up their instruments, the choir practiced filing onto the stage, and the director explained to his soloists when to step forward and where to stand. Prissie spotted Kester in the strings section, drawing a bow across his cello and adding low, mellow notes to the rest of the tuning.
When the director stepped up to the podium, everyone gave him a round of applause, and then a hush fell as the first chords of the overture filled the sanctuary. Prissie squiggled down in her seat and closed her eyes, smiling softly. This had been a part of Christmas for as long as she could remember, and the strains were like the voice of a dear friend.
If she concentrated, she could pick out Harken in the ba.s.s section, and after the first several measures, Baird's electric guitar made itself heard. Koji sat straight and tall, his eyes taking in all that happened, but he wasn't ignoring her. As a s.h.i.+ver of excitement thrilled through her heart, his hand briefly touched hers. ”I love this,” she whispered.
”I understand why,” he replied solemnly. ”All have gathered to hear the Living Word proclaimed in song.”
”They are all Bible verses, aren't they? I guess I knew that, but I think of them as songs.”
”It is Milo's turn,” Koji announced, nudging her with an elbow.
She quickly sat up and rested her arms on the back of the pew in front of them as the Messenger stepped into place and waited for his cue. ”Comfort ye ... comfort ye My people ...” His clear tenor rose confidently over his accompaniment, carrying all the way to the back.
”The song is perfect for Milo,” whispered Prissie.
”It is indeed a Messenger's song.”