Blown Away!: Even More Confessions of an Angel in Training Read online

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  At the edge of campus sits Peace Park, where a tent city has been set up. It’s mostly disaster workers, like us Locusts, a few families who lost their homes, and some students from the only dormitory that was destroyed.

  Sitting outside my one-man tent in the moonlight reminds me of the glade with Victor. It’s not as beautiful, but the feeling of tranquility is the same.

  “Hey!” someone yells, shattering the quiet. “I found batteries.”

  He crashes into the campsite, loads them into an antique boom box, and spins the dial. A lot of what he finds is static, but finally he’s able to pick up some far-off AM rock station. A song I don’t know starts with “I’m singing about buses and planes and cars and trains.” The song is awful, absolutely horrible. It doesn’t make a bit of sense, it has no heart, and the notes don’t hang together in any kind of cohesive way.

  Izzy – why are you singing such a crappy song?

  Oh yeah. Your Muse deserted you. If I listen closely, I can hear Tara’s crystalline voice in the back-up vocals.

  “I can’t take it,” the owner of the boom box says and starts to tune to a new station.

  “Wait. Don’t. Please?” I ask, hoping against all odds that the song will improve by the end. Hoping that I’m wrong about the artist.

  “You like it?”

  “No,” I say, “not so far.” The song ends without ever improving, and the DJ says, “And that’s ‘Travel,’ off the new album by pop artist Izzy. Before that was—”

  My heart sinks and my chest tightens. “You can change it,” I say. I look across the campsite and Annex is staring at me. He raises one eyebrow and motions for me to follow him. We stroll away from the tent city, past a couple large oaks that the storm missed, and plunk down on a boulder the size of a loveseat. It overlooks an arrangement of smaller rocks laid out in the design of a peace sign. A nearby plaque reads: This is a memorial to the four students who died in the Kent State shootings on May 4, 1970. We haven’t studied that in any of my classes, but I make a note to research it in the Hall of Records once I’m back.

  Annex’s voice is gentle when he says, “You know it’s not nearly as important as the work you’re doing here.”

  “I know.”

  He doesn’t say anything, but looks up at the star-filled sky, then reaches across and grasps two of my fingers. “It’s hard to see past Assignments flounder.”

  “It is,” I say, looking up too. “I’ve only had two Assignments. It sounded like both of them were floundering.” A star shoots across the sky. Is that another sign?

  “I kn—Wait! Did you say both?”

  “Yes. My first Assignment, Tara, had a beautiful voice, so when I had to leave Izzy behind, I helped her to become a back-up singer for him.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know that. Sorry. That is rough.”

  “If only I could see them, maybe I could help.”

  Annex raises one eyebrow and gives me a look.

  “Maybe not…but maybe,” I say.

  “Maybe is good enough for me. C’mon,” he says.

  “C’mon? Where?”

  It’s then that Annex performs a Time Bend and sprouts his mangled wings. I cringe when I see them. His right wing is complete, but scarred where Victor clipped him. Almost half of his left wing is missing. It’s horror, guilt, and pity all rolled up into one little package and presented with a bow.

  “I’m sorry about your wings,” I say.

  “You’re sorry? If I ever see Victor again, I plan on thanking him.”

  “Why…would you do that?”

  “I’m a Locust. Haven’t you ever seen a pirate with a patch? It’s all about that rough-around-the-edges look. With half a wing, I look even more badass. If I’d thought about it, I’d probably have done it myself, or had Frank do it for me.”

  That seems pretty messed-up to me, but I guess as long as it doesn’t bother him.

  “Let’s see if we can fix things with Izzy. My wings are fine for tonight.” He scoops me into his arms and we fly west at near light speed, while I marvel at how even deformed wings are glorious to behold.

  Chapter 21

  L.A., the City of Angels and dreams—fulfilled and broken.

  Annex and I skim past the Hollywood sign, and then circle to land near the base of the Y.

  “This was a silly idea. How are we going to ever find them?” I ask.

  Flying in at this lower altitude gave me a much better feeling for the sprawl of Southern California. When I came for the UMA awards show, we took a limo straight from the airport to the hotel and again to the awards. Trying to find Izzy, well, it’d almost be like trying to find someone in Manhattan.

  “Haven’t you had Unconventional Communication?”

  I almost say, I was taking that before I came to spy on you. Instead I say, “I had it this semester, before I came to join you.”

  “How much had you learned?”

  “Not much. Professor Keen said we’d get to that in the second half of the semester. He was teaching us Elemental Controls, which I’m not especially good at.” I hesitate. “I can communicate with animals. I did that on my first two Missions.”

  “Without being taught?”

  “It kinda came naturally to me.”

  “That’s incredible!”

  I might be blushing since I feel heat flooding my cheeks.

  “Well, if you had a knack for that, this technique might be easy for you to master. You know what a GPS is?

  I nod.

  “You have that in your heart for all your past Assignments. Future, too, for that matter. But let’s just stick with past until you master it.”

  “Okay.”

  “So, do it. Use your heart.”

  I focus all my attention on the love that I feel for Izzy and Tara, then clearly see a picture of them, and the way there. “I see them! I know where they are!”

  “Where?”

  “They’re at a recording studio over in Burbank.”

  “We’re close.”

  With the Time Dilation still in place, we wing our way over there and land outside the doors of a very non-descript building.

  I shrug and head for the doors, but Annex hangs back. “Just you.”

  “Izzy would probably like to see you.”

  “And I’d like to see him, but us being together would raise some red flags, don’t you think?”

  He’s right, and I feel a little bad that he flew me the whole way here without being able to participate. I nod and walk in, immediately confronted by a receptionist, which I hadn’t anticipated. Her lipstick is fluorescent red. Her cheekbones like a stony ledge.

  She looks me up and down. Not too surprising. I’m dressed more like a lumberjack than any kind of musician.

  “I’m looking for Izzy,” I tell her.

  One plucked brow arches as she says, “A lot of people want to meet him.”

  “No, no. I’m not some fan…well, I mean, I am a fan, but I also used to be one of his back-up singers.”

  She raises her other eyebrow and I end up singing most of “Cherish” to prove that I am who I said.

  “Nice pipes, Hon. I think they’re mixing today,” is all she says before going back to her paperwork.

  And?

  Even though I’d been a back-up singer for Izzy, we’d only performed live. Oh, and I helped to make his video, which landed me with a broken arm. We’d never spent any time in a recording studio and I had no idea what mixing was.

  She glances up from her papers. “The control room is down the hall. It’s got a big glass window; you can’t miss it.”

  “Thanks,” I say, and head down a hallway with worn, indoor-outdoor carpet. At the big glass window, I see Izzy in his cowboy hat and Tara with her long red hair hunched over a control panel that spans the width of the room. There’s about a million little knobs and levers. Crazy! And beyond the control panel is another large window that overlooks an empty room with mics. It makes me nostalgic to watch them bo
th. With their backs to me they have no idea that I’m here. A part of me wonders if I’m doing the right thing, or just setting myself up for another major screw-up.

  Carpe Diem.

  I rap on the window.

  Tara turns and sees me first, squealing at the top of her lungs, which even I can hear muffled through the thick glass. “Grace!” She jumps up and down and lunges for the door, flinging it open.

  And then pulls me into a hug to end all hugs.

  Over her shoulder I see Izzy, grinning. “Oy, darlin!”

  “Hi, Iz.” I pull out of Tara’s arms and head over to hug him.

  Then I hear Tara’s voice behind me. “Grace? Why are you dressed like that?”

  Confession: I knew this might be a problem when the receptionist gave me the once over.

  “We’re heading out on vacay. You know, roughing it.”

  “Yosemite?” Izzy asks.

  “Yes…right. Yosemite. We’re flying there later today.”

  “You can’t fly to Yosemite. You have to drive there.” Apparently, even Tara knows this.

  “Oh. Drive, fly, what’s the difference?”

  Izzy screws up his face, giving Tara a confused look and Tara cracks up. “It’s good to see you haven’t changed, Grace. You always did say the weirdest things,” Tara says.

  I usually said the weirdest things because I was impulsive and unprepared, which is exactly like this idea of mine. Thankfully, Izzy bails me out.

  “I ran into Vic. We made a burger run. I wanted to go to In and Out, but Vic said if I hadn’t been to the Apple Pan we should hit it.”

  Seems like Victor will do just about anything for a good burger.

  “Was it good?”

  “Okay. I like In and Out better.”

  A pause fills the studio with silence.

  I decide to bring up the elephant in the room. “I heard your new song on the radio.”

  “It’s total crap,” Izzy says.

  Agreed.

  Tara blushes at his declaration. “It’s not all bad. And the new stuff we’re working on is better.”

  Izzy snorts. “She’s being kind. What did you think, Grace?”

  “It’s pretty bad,” I admit.

  “Don’t I know it? The truth is, everything has been wrong—I’ve got no music in me since Cherish left.” He sighs heavily and I don’t know what to say.

  But Tara does. “Why don’t you play the song we’ve been working on? See what Grace thinks.”

  Izzy gives both of us an aw-shucks look, which seems so out of sync with his pop-rocker persona.

  “It’s good,” Tara assures.

  “But not great. Something’s off.” Izzy strums the first few notes.

  Catchy so far.

  He sings, “I remember you by the candlelight, your shadow cast upon the wall. Ta, da, dum. Ta da dee. Ta, da, dum, dee. I got no lyrics after that,” Izzy says with a chagrined smile.

  I want to help, but I’m no Muse. Could I use Unconventional Communication? Are you there, Cherish? I imagine beaming my thoughts to Heaven and pray that they’ll beam them back down to her like a satellite. There’s no reply.

  “Would you play it again?” I ask, and he does. This time, I feel what comes next. “What if you go, ‘Do you remember me in the bright lights that filled the concert hall?’ But play it more like Ta, ta, da, da, dumdee, do.”

  “I like that.” Izzy grabs a pen and a sheet of paper and starts to scribble musical notes onto it.

  “It’s not much help,” I say.

  Izzy looks up from the paper. “No, you’re wrong, darlin’. It’s exactly what I needed there.” He keeps writing, lost in the cloud of creation, and then picks up the guitar to play the chorus.

  I lay my hand on his shoulder. “See, you do still have the music in you. Maybe Cherish inspired you, but you were always the creator.” It sounds a little like what Mother Nature told me in The Wilds.

  Izzy puts the pen down. “Gah. I miss her.” Crushed. That’s the expression on his face.

  “I saw her. Cherish.”

  “Where? Where is she?”

  “She wouldn’t want me to say, but I can let her know you’d like to see her.”

  “That’d be fab, darlin’. Just fab.” Izzy turns back to the sheet of paper and scribbles a few more lines of music.

  My work is done here. I think. Even if Izzy doesn’t get any more lyrics and just sings tas, das, and deedums it’s better than the song on the radio. Then I wonder: did I inspire him? If this Guardian thing doesn’t work out, maybe I can get a gig as a Muse.

  “Well, I better get going,” I say. “Yosemite bound and all that…”

  Tara pipes up, “I’ve been meaning to ask you a question. How’d you get hooked up with Izzy in the first place? He’s this huge new rock star. It seems crazy.”

  “Uh. What?”

  “I mean you left us as an exchange student, went back to Montana, and all of a sudden you’re a back-up singer. I was so excited about the opportunity, I never thought to ask.”

  “She auditioned,” Izzy says, saving my butt. “She was fab.”

  “I know. You told me that, but…” Tara’s mouth hangs open like she just thought of something else.

  Confession: It seems like it’s only when I’m on the Locust Mission that the lies trip easily off my tongue. Otherwise, I end up tongue tied. Like now.

  “Hey, how’d you find us today?” Tara asks.

  Finally a partial lie comes. “That’s a really long story and my parents are gonna really be pissed if I don’t get going.” Maybe it’s more truth than I realize. I can’t imagine Michael or The Big Cheese are too pleased about my little jaunt today. I give them each a quick hug and kiss then practically dash for the door. “Bye.”

  I cruise past the receptionist, and out the glass doors to find Annex waiting for me, sitting on the curb across the street.

  Annex stands and brushes off the front of his jeans. “How is he?”

  “Better. When I left he was working on a new song.”

  Annex smiles. “Mission accomplished.”

  “Mission almost aborted. They started asking me questions that I had no explanation for.” I pause. “What’s Yosemite? I said something stupid about it.”

  “A beautiful wilderness.”

  “Can we fly there?”

  “We can indeed.”

  Chapter 22

  Yosemite is stunning.

  Honestly, after The Wilds, I didn’t think Nature’s beauty could impress me anymore. But this is impressive. Showering waterfalls, ancient sequoias, and a lake that perfectly mirrors the craggy rocks on the other side.

  “They say this was originally part of the Garden of Eden, but that after some time, and with the added size of The Wilds, Mother Nature asked if this could be moved to Earth,” Annex explains.

  “I bet people are grateful.” We stand in silence admiring the beauty, breathing in the fresh, cool air. “I’m grateful you showed it to me.”

  Annex smiles and wraps his arm around my waist. We take off, leaving the beauty of Yosemite behind.

  At first I don’t say anything, but then I twist my neck to look back at Annex. “We’re going to be flying for a while. How about a Disclosure?”

  “I told you Grace, I don’t share.”

  “Are you ever going to tell me your story?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Okay, I can take a hint. Especially one as direct as that. I’ll drop it.” For now. “But, we still have a long flight, so I think you should tell me a story.”

  “Like?”

  I think for a bit about all the things that might get me closer to the truth about Annex and finally hit on one. “Maybe you’ll tell me how Frank became your right hand man.”

  Annex smiles and seems much more comfortable with this question. “Frank has always been like a brother to me. He and I were roommates back when we were AITs. He was studying to become a Cherub, and I was going to be a Guardian. Always.”

/>   “How funny! I thought Frank looked like a Cherub when I first met him, but didn’t he say he was a Dominion?”

  “Yes, he was a Dominion, even though it wasn’t his first choice. He didn’t pass the practical test for Cherub status. He failed on a technicality, so he had to opt for his next best job. I tried to convince him to become a Guardian, but Cherubs are just under Seraphs in The Hierarchy, and he wasn’t willing to take that big a step back.”

  I nod and try to imagine what Mercy would do if she couldn’t be a Virtue. Could I convince her to be a Guardian? Unlikely. Then I ask Annex, “What do you mean a technicality?”

  “Cherubs are very by-the-book. They have to be when they’re in security. Frank was always very good at Unconventional Communication—which, by the way, was an awesome skill to have as a Cherub. During the practical, he was watching over an important document in the Hall of Records. Anyone who wanted to read it had to have papers to prove they had the proper clearance. During the practical, one Angel showed up without papers, but by using his Unconventional Communication, Frank could tell he had clearance, so he let him in. He thought using that skill would give him bonus points on the exam, but instead they failed him. No papers meant no entrance. Period.”

  “Wow. One mistake and that was it?” I try to think back on all the mistakes I’ve made, but there are too many to remember. In a way, it’s good that I want to be a Guardian. There’s something to be said for being at the bottom of the totem pole.

  “Like I said, very by-the-book. I knew he wouldn’t last fifteen years as a Dominion, and I’d already formed a small group of discontented Locusts when he came to join me.”

  I nod in agreement, and then it hits me…that can’t be! When I discovered the history of Locusts with Justice last term, the book we used was eons old, and so the history had to be longer than that. No way did Locusts just get started. “Someone is fibbing,” I tease.

  “What? That’s what happened!”

  I don’t say anything and just watch the landscape race by beneath us. Mile upon mile upon mile of undeveloped land. Not exactly like The Wilds, but closer to that than the busyness of New York City. Finally, I decide it would be best to call him on it. “I’m not completely naïve,” I say. “Last year I did a project on Locusts, and, based on my sources, you have been around a lot longer than that.