Guardian: The Guardian Part 9

"Yeah, I decided to do a little painting before bed."

"I hope you kept the window open, those fumes are not healthy."

"I used water paints dad," I say in answer. "Good night!" I call before he can say anything else.

"Good night princess." I walk back to my room, closing my bedroom door quietly behind me. I drop my pants to the floor and fold them into my wardrobe, pull back my beddings and get into bed, switching off the light.

Chapter 13.

My eyes are shut tight, enveloped in darkness, as I lie backwards, floating in the thick rich air. I feel her presence envelop me, fill me inside and all around me. She is so familiar to me, yet I have no idea who she is.

I do not fear her though. I instead give her free access to my thoughts, my feelings, my heart. She slips into the very core of my being, and I embrace her presence, clinging tight and not letting go.

"Hanael?" I call out with a blissful smile.

"No," her voice cuts through the air sharply. "It's Gabriel. How do you know that name, Hanael?"

"I... I don't know," I honestly say, sad at having displeased her.

"Hanael is the enemy, a fallen. Remember that always!"

"I will," I whisper contritely. The silence is prolonged before she next speaks.

"Peace be with you."

"And with you, Archangel."

I wake up the next day with a throbbing headache and paining neck. I must have slept terribly, my night ravaged by dreams I can't quite remember.

The sun rays are streaming in through the windows, and they fall on the canvas propped on the drawing board leaning on the opposite wall. I can't help but smile to myself. What a work of beauty! I'll send it to mom. She'll love it. Mom would appreciate the raw emotion in the piece. Plus she is always asking me to do more abstract pieces.

I crawl out of bed and walk over to it. I trace lightly the elaborate strokes, feeling the b.u.mps of dried paint that express which strokes had been placed with most intensity. This is precisely the kind of art mom loves and believes in. Not sappy mirrored portraits and landscapes as she calls them.

A glance at my watch confirms my suspicions, I am running late! I grab on some khaki pair of shorts and pull a striped blue and white T-shirt over my curly head.

I have no time to comb my hair, so I instead run my fingers through the thick entangled curls as I run into the kitchen and grab the zipper food bag standing on the kitchen counter. Dad makes my lunches when he makes his own, and on a day like this, I am glad for his consideration.

I unlock my bike, and hop onto it, biking furiously towards the train station. I make it just as the bus is starting to pull away, running alongside it until the bus driver takes pity on me and stops to let me aboard. I make my way to a seat at the back of the bus beside Magnus, and plop myself into it.

"Bad morning?" He asks and I grimace while nodding my head. "Wow that bad?"

"One of the worst!" I say quietly while placing a hand over my mouth. He cringes his face suppressing his laughter.

"You didn't manage to brush your teeth, huh?" I shake my head in response, and he grins even more in amus.e.m.e.nt. "Do you want some tic-tac?" I nod gratefully, suppressing my own laughter. He hands me a whole pack of tic-tac.

"Knock yourself out," he says, and I make a face at him. After plopping about ten of them into my mouth, I feel confident enough to talk.

"Thanks!"

"I am always at your service," he mocks, faking a slight bow on his seat, and I punch him playfully.

We spend the rest of the bus ride talking about our weekends. I take out one of the rye bread sandwiches dad has made me, and begin eating it. Some of the other school kids in the bus look at me funny, but I am not the kind of person that is easily scared by other people's opinions.

"You know, I don't have football practice today. So if you want I could come with you to help out your family with the renovation works."

"Really? That would be awesome! I know my dad will be especially glad for your help. He keeps complaining how I won't do any heavy lifting."

"Yes, really. I'd like to help." I then write my dad a text message informing him that Magnus would come over this afternoon to help out. I do not wait for his reply, for I know he is currently at work, but will respond promptly during his break.

School is a total b.u.mmer today. I forgot my essay a.s.signment for first period at home, and my teacher is furious. I think she does not believe my story and thinks that I am lying to her, and that I never actually did my homework.

Having been falsely accused, something I terribly dislike, I insist that grandpa take a photo of my work and send me the image on my phone, which I then show the teacher. She apologizes then for having jumped into presumptions about me in a most unrepentant way. She clearly hates been proven wrong. Well I do not enjoy been falsely accused either!

Having not talked to A.M. the whole of last week due to my tight schedule, I try again this time, but there always seems to be someone around us. The same thing happens over lunchtime- no sooner do we seat by our table, than the rest of the group appears.

"A.M. I really want to talk to you. I am so sorry I couldn't call you before. We've been really busy at the house."

"It's alright, I understand," she feigns the cheer in her voice, but I read something else in it. She needs a good friend right now, and I have not been one.

"I really want to talk to you," I whisper again, squeezing her hand. She returns my squeeze.

"I too really need to talk to you."

"Mikkel, what do you think? Don't Anne-Marie's highlights look hot?" Charlotte asks tactlessly over lunch. A.M.'s groan is barely audible and I fight the urge to slap Charlotte for putting our friend on the spot like that.

"Yeah, they look hot! Hey Magnus, did you catch the Liverpool game on Sat.u.r.day." Mikkel says distractedly, barely sparing a moment to look at the hair he has been asked about.

This is not what A.M. needs, someone needs to tell Charlotte to stop randomly putting her friend in such awkward situations. The silly girl probably thinks she is helping, but is in fact just making matters more awkward for Anne-Marie.

My phone then vibrates, interrupting my string of thought. It's a text from dad.

That's great princess. Tell him he is welcomed to help. I will let your grandmother know, to set up an extra serving of whatever she has planned for dinner.

"Hey Magnus, dad says cool!"

"Oh great! Looking forward to it."

"Looking forward to what?" Mikkel asks.

"I am going to help out Caroline and her family with the renovation works today."

"Oh, that's awesome of you," A.M. says, and he beams up at her. Poor boy, he is hopelessly smitten. Is it my place to tell her, so that she doesn't string him along unknowingly?

"No, it's awesome of them to let me. I love building projects."

"Don't tell me you two will now begin slinging weird construction words across our table," Charlotte retorts. Who else but her can come up with such a comment? I am really losing patience with her today. I've been having a short temper since my scuffle with Azrael last night.

There is a light drizzle all day, and I know it'll suck to work on the house when it is raining. I'm just about to ask Magnus if he wishes to reschedule for a day with better weather when I see the shadow pop up outside the farthest canteen window from me, and then glide away after a light flick of the wrist.

I've seen that gesture before, and know what it means.

"Excuse me guys, I'll be back in a jiffy." I say, getting up from my seat.

"Where are you going?" Of course, nosy Charlotte.

I don't answer her for fear of what I may say, considering how she is on my last nerve. I pull my hoodie over my head as I step out into the light drizzle, and follow the angelic creature disappearing around the corner.

Chapter 14.

When I get around that corner, the creature swoops in, cradling me to himself and in a couple minutes, we are standing on the soft grounds of Rundskov Park.

A single word then escapes my mind, Epitome. Where have I heard that before? Raphael looks back at me, not bothering to help me stabilize myself as I stumble when he steps away. I look around me and note that we are alone.

"Where are the others?"

"They are out hunting."

"Who or what are they hunting?"

"The enemy," he answers me vaguely. Whatever! Just as long as it is not me or my loved ones.

"Is Azrael hunting the enemy too?"

"No, he and I will remain close to you as much as we can." What he says annoys the living c.r.a.p out of me. I don't want the two angels I dislike most watching me. Why couldn't I get Ariel or Uriel, or even the twins to watch me? Definitely not ice queen Camael!

"That is why I brought you here," he continues, "you need to let go of your dislike for him. It is endangering our hunting missions, and making it hard for us to protect you."

"What are you talking about? And how many times do I have to tell you I do not want your d.a.m.n protection!"

"Well, we have no choice but to protect you."

"Why? I don't want your protection. And if for some reason my life really is in danger, I'd rather face it alone without your help!"

"We can't let you do that. Should we lose you, our home will be lost to us forever. So you have no choice in this matter."

"What do you mean? What has your home got to do with me?"

"You are the key to our home." I laugh at the face before me.

So... I am a key... Wow!

"And what home is that, if I may ask?"

"Heaven, paradise, peponi, valhalla. Whatever you choose to call it."

"So you really are angels?"

"Yes we are. Angels, malach, malaika- whatever your languages choose to call us."

"And how exactly am I a key to your home?"

"Do you see that nook over there?" He points to a place where a large oak tree's roots emerge on the other side of the pond. I nod in answer.

"That was the main portal home," he says, his voice betraying a longing emotion I never before thought Raphael could possess.

I daren't look up at him, because I do not want to embarra.s.s him or stop him from telling me the truth. I need to understand what is going on.

"A short while ago, the seven of us were pushed out of home to this world and the portal was closed."

"Why?"

"There has been a great tragedy."

"What tragedy?" I ask, concerned for him, for I barely know the voice masking traces of fear speaking to me right now.

"The doors of Tartaros have been opened."

"What is Tartaros?"

"Today's children of man don't know anything," he says shaking his head in disappointment. "It is where the fallen angels were imprisoned awaiting judgment day."

"You mean fallen angels like Saturn?"

"There has never been an angel named Saturn. But yes, fallen angels like Daniel."