Free Midwinter Magic by Katie Spark

remember anything in the Bible specifically being for or against making out with your guardian angel, but high-school mythology had been pretty clear that god+mortal intermingling had never worked out for the Greeks. Or the Romans. Angel/human hanky-panky was probably an equally terrible idea.
    He totally wanted to kiss her again, though. Right now. On the lips.
    He shoved his hands into his pockets before he could sink them in her hair and further complicate what he’d thought was a very uncomplicated, temporary relationship. What had she said? He’d slept on her wing . She had wings. Invisible ones. And he’d slept on one. Possibly drooled on it. Nice.
    The memory of first running into her popped into his head. He’d encountered an invisible wall and briefly seen stars. Not stars. Wings . He’d seen wings. He’d discounted them because, wings . And then she’d appeared out of nowhere. But it wasn’t nowhere, it was right in front of him. The wings were hers. First he clotheslined himself on them, then he pinned her down and drooled on them. Why was she even still here? Guardian angel, sure, he got that, but she must have better things to do than get tackled and drooled upon. Everyone had somewhere to be for the holidays.
    Oh God. The holidays! If anyone had epic Christmas plans, it would have to be an angel. The questions came so fast and so furious, he was practically speaking in tongues just to get them out.
    “What are you doing for Christmas? Do you do Christmas? Or is it more like heavenly Hanukkah? Are you right in the middle of a countdown? Or are you down on Earth because December isn’t your thing? Do you guys do more of a Three Kings celebration instead, come January? Or are our dates so messed up it won’t be holiday time for you until March or August? Oh, man, what if I’m off completely? It’s incredibly presumptuous to assume my Sunday school lessons were the correct ones. Were the Greeks right, after all? The Romans? It would be wicked sweet if there really was a Medusa. Or Romulus and Remus! I already feel like I’ve opened Pandora’s Box. Is there a Pandora’s Box? Or a golden fleece?”
     She inched backward. Slowly. And then blinked with careful precision. As if trying—and failing—to comprehend any portion of his exuberant babble.
    “Never mind,” he said quickly. “Don’t tell me. It won’t change anything, and I don’t really need to know. The biggest miracle of all isn’t that angels exist, it’s that we’ve got one right here in the mountains of Bolivia, right where divine intervention is needed the most. Can you magic the utility poles into place? Make sure everyone’s wired up, maybe give them some 4G. It’ll be awhile before the government can send anyone out here, and I really want these people to have a good Christmas.”
    She bit her lip. “No.”
    “And the bridge! They absolutely need a better bridge. And filtered water. And a pharmacy, or at least access to penicillin and—”
    He broke off. Replayed her reply. Stared at her uncomprehendingly.
    “I’m sorry, did you just say. . . no?”
    She nodded infinitesimally. “I’m your guardian angel. Not theirs. I can only do miracles that directly affect you, and only when absolutely necessary to keep you out of harm’s way. It’s in my contract.”
    An uneasy churning began to bubble deep in his stomach. Not my job were the last words he’d ever expected to hear from an angel.
    He pressed forward anyway. “Okay, you’re assigned to me. Loud and clear. But you’re obviously not the only guardian angel, right? If I’ve got one of my own, that means there’s gotta be lots of you guys floating around. Right?”
    She hesitated, then inclined her head. “There’s a guild. But I’m a peon, not a powerhouse.”
    “A guild! Right! Well, there you go. A heavenly guild of guardian angels. I’d hoped there was some sort of infrastructure to handle these things. I’m assuming you’re here because I’m here,