Part 11 (2/2)
THE.
HEAVENLY.
CHORUS.
Raiment lent its soft glow to the otherwise pitch cavern where six Protectors stood watch over the formidable threshold to the Deep. The guards s.h.i.+fted restlessly, and one of the cherubim finally drew his sword. Other blades, a spear, and a bow were swiftly readied as eyes and ears picked up hints of a danger most grave-clicking of teeth, scuffing of feet, and a scrabbling like so many insects. ”They come,” whispered the bowman, his eyes fixed on the dark depths. ”Stand firm.”
Suddenly, light bloomed behind them, and they turned in surprise as a door opened from nowhere. Padgett's gaze swept their faces, then darted past them, taking in the oncoming tide. ”I was Sent,” he announced briskly. ”Come away.”
”But ... the Deep?” protested one of the guards, confusion plain on his rugged face.
”Leave it in the hands of G.o.d,” the Caretaker said, holding out his hand. ”Accept the mercy He is extending.”
All six immediately strode past Padgett into the light, just as the first of the h.o.a.rd surmounted the cliff. ”A Caretaker,” the demon hissed, eyeing him warily.
”Once a Protector. Now, a destroyer,” the angel returned evenly.
”Get in our way, and you'll suffer!”
Padgett gazed pa.s.sively at the Fallen who feared his presence. ”I have already accomplished what I came to do.”
The Fallen exchanged glances, and snickers rippled through the mob. ”His hands are tied!” taunted one voice.
”Forward!” bellowed another.
A trollish demon bared decayed teeth in a gleeful grimace before lofting a wicked ax and bringing it down against the heavy chains that held fast the Deep. Sparks flew as the weapon skidded off the dark metal. ”Not the chains, fool!” shrieked a voice from amidst the mob. ”Strike the stone! Loose the anchors!”
The apprentice Caretaker quietly stepped back, taking every trace of light with him as he closed his door upon deeds best left to the darkness.
Prissie's family arrived early at Holy Trinity Presbyterian in order to secure good seats, for even though they'd doubled the number of Pomeroys on the stage this year, they still needed pew s.p.a.ce for nine. The Messiah performance was probably West Edinton's most formal occasion each year, and Prissie loved to see what people were wearing. They always brought out their finest-sparkles and sequins, fringes and fur, cashmere and cufflinks.
She was feeling rather fine herself. All of her friends had long-since given up new dresses for Christmas and Easter, but it was a tradition she clung to with Grandma Nell's help. This year's dress was cut from deep blue fabric with plenty of swish to it, and Prissie adored the way it swirled just above her ankles when she walked. The high waist was trimmed with wide, white satin ribbon that she'd chosen because it reminded her a little of the s.h.i.+ning raiment she'd worn in dreams. And Momma had taken the time to weave Prissie's hair into a braided coronet that was almost like a halo, then added several hairpins decorated with tiny, pearly flowers.
Koji looked respectable in his new s.h.i.+rt and tie, and Momma had encouraged him to leave his long hair down. Prissie kept stealing glances, for with his black hair framing his face, he looked more like the angel she'd first met in the orchard. He noticed her stare and whispered, ”Is this acceptable?”
”Very,” she said firmly. ”Even your tie is knotted correctly.”
He touched the silk accessory. ”Your father helped me.”
”You look quite das.h.i.+ng.”
Tucking his hair behind his ear, he leaned close to whisper, ”I like these shoes. They do not have laces!”
Prissie knew he'd been excited about his new loafers when he'd polished them no less than three times the evening before, and she thought it was sweet.
Just then, Koji's gaze swung toward the orchestra section in front of the stage where the dark-clad musicians were already seated. The soft flutter of pages accompanied the low hum of conversation in the sanctuary. Following the young Observer's gaze, she spotted a latecomer working his way around to one of the empty stools on the side where the band members were set up. It took several moments for her to realize that the person picking up Baird's blue guitar was ... Baird.
The Wors.h.i.+per's wild red hair had been smoothed back, and he wore a dark sport coat and tie. While he propped his hip on a tall stool and adjusted the strap of his guitar, Koji whispered, ”Does he look quite das.h.i.+ng?”
For the first time in her life, Prissie found herself wis.h.i.+ng someone would dress down instead of up. Frowning somewhat, she admitted, ”He looks quite uncomfortable.”
”Indeed.”
The choir began filing onto the stage, and Prissie eagerly watched for her friends and family members. Soloists had special seats, and she was thrilled right down to her toes when Milo sought her gaze and smiled. After some orchestral tuning, the director strode to center stage, and when the applause faded, the music began.
Joyous songs lifted her heart to new heights, and she was sure she'd never experienced anything so grand in all her life. Having Koji close, she could hear him humming from time to time. Momma's smile was serene, and Prissie could just see her father tapping his toe in time to the music while he kept Zeke anch.o.r.ed to his side. ”Is this like heaven?” she whispered.
The young angel solemnly replied, ”It is a foretaste.”
Afterward, Prissie wanted to run up with Koji to compliment Milo, but Grandpa Carl tapped their heads, saying, ”... and you, and you. In line, fussbudget. It's family portrait time!”
As Grammie Esme hustled them over to a spot in front of a glittering Christmas tree, Koji tentatively asked, ”Me too?”
”Sure, sure, you're part of the family this year,” Mr. Pomeroy said with authority. ”We wouldn't dream of leaving you out!”
Koji's expression filled with wonder, and he murmured soft thanks before hastening to Prissie's side. She wasn't sure if he was simply touched to be included or if he wanted to see what he looked like in a photograph. It was hard to say with Koji because he didn't think about things in the same way she did. One thing was clear, though. He was happy. The young angel stood as close as possible, holding tightly to her hand and beaming while the shutter snapped over and over.
When Grandpa Carl declared himself satisfied, Prissie eased her hand out of Koji's and waved for him to follow. Once they were out of her family's earshot, she asked, ”What's put you in such a good mood?”
”Your family has made me most welcome,” he replied. ”And I am glad there will be a record of my place at your side.”
It was an odd way to refer to a photograph, but Prissie shrugged it off when she spotted Kester, who sat quietly in the orchestra section. He looked perfectly natural in his dark suit, but the way his long fingers drummed against the surface of his cello betrayed some measure of restlessness. ”You're still here!” she greeted, glancing around. ”Are you the only one?”
The tall angel gazed up at her with solemn eyes. ”I believe so. Baird asked me to stay here.”
She smiled a little. ”Did he mean here in the church or here in your chair?”
”He did not specify,” Kester replied with chagrin. ”Did you enjoy the performance?”
”Very much,” she enthusiastically a.s.sured. ”It was wonderful, but ...”
His gaze remained locked on hers as he quietly inquired, ”Is something on your mind?”
She fidgeted. ”Is something the matter?”
”Why do you ask?”
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