Free Angel Dust by Sarah Mussi Page A

‘I’d never heard of them before either, but Harry said apparently loads of angels do them, so I guess it’s normal. Do you think if you ever did one, you ought to report it to St Peter?’
    Raquel looked at me and rolled her eyes. ‘Report it to St Peter!’ she snorted. ‘Like, only if you’re mental, unless you
adore
long lectures on obscure trivia that happened millennia ago, in Israel probably. You
know
what he’s like. Anyway, you off duty now?’
    We’d left the wilted plains behind and were winging back up towards the poppy fields.
    â€˜Yes,’ I said.
    â€˜Want to come over to mine later? I’m hosting an amazing choir – you know, a proper ensemble and everything. Do say yes!’
    â€˜Oh yes,’ I said without thinking. Why had I said that? I was going to see Marcus. It might take ages for me to get back to Heaven. I didn’t have time for garden parties.
    â€˜Great,’ said Raquel. ‘It’ll get you out of those dreary Cloisters. I’ll introduce you to everyone and you can bounce the idea of Extensions around and see what they think.’ She paused. ‘I’ve never heard of any Harry, actually.’ She laughed like it was totally funny for her not to know someone.
    â€˜He’s in business,’ I said.
    â€˜I know all the Senior Team, all the Archangels, everyone in the City, really . . .’ She was obviously puzzled she couldn’t place him.
    â€˜He’s got his own company,’ I said, suddenly. ‘I remember now. Claim Souls Direct.’
    â€˜Oh,’ she said. ‘That kind of business.’

Serafina 12
    I left Raquel by the Twelfth Gate, promising to see her later, and hurried to Christ the King’s Hospital. In a heartbeat, I flicked my wings and was inside Marcus’s room. It was a lovely private room. I was so glad. I wanted the best of everything for him.
    There he lay as beautiful as ever. His dark hair tousled on the starched pillow. His long eyelashes brushing his cheek. There were his sweet full lips. My heart stopped. I caught my breath. There was his hand curled into a loose fist, slung outstretched in his sleep, as if even in his dreams he were waging war on the universe.
    In the chair opposite sat his mother, her face crumpled, eyes bleary, knuckles pressed into a clenched ball in her lap. She couldn’t see me, and I didn’t change that. Anyway, she wasn’t looking at anything. She could barely see beyond her own misery.
    I went over to her. I touched her on the hand and sent her the balm of oblivion, not permanently, of course, just so she could get some sleep.
    Then I stood beside Marcus trying to decide how I should wake him. How I longed to smooth back his tangled hair, to run my finger down the sculpted lines of his cheek, to take his hand.
    I tried to work out exactly what to say. How to broach the subject of Joey, for a start. Imagining how it could all go terribly wrong.
    ME: Hi, just stopped by to see how you were doing.
    MARCUS: Not too bad. Where’s my crew?
    ME: Ah, yes, they’re probably in church.
    MARCUS: In church?
    ME: Arranging the funeral.
    MARCUS: Why? I’m still alive.
    ME: Yes, but I killed Joey off to keep you that way.
    How was I going to tell him that? Not only was his friend dead, but it was all my fault and the reason he was still alive. I cringed. I really needed to think this through.
    But should I wake him at all? He really didn’t look very well. All around his bed, machines beeped. Above him a bag of blood dripped slowly through a tube into his arm. He wasn’t going to be well enough to be told anything for ages.
    Could I perform a miracle, then? I’d done Miracle Working as an Option at the Cloisters and got A* on the term paper. I could heal Marcus, I knew I could. It would be a textbook case. Nothing difficult or supernatural, not like turning water into wine, just hastening up healing time in