The Broken Window (18 page)

“Not much,” he admitted, trying to follow her gaze.

The wrestling match continued over precious acreage, and she murmured, “Is there anything we can do?”

“You can pray,” Koji gently replied.

Prissie glanced nervously at Beau, who frowned deeply at something in the distance. Shaking her head, she whispered, “For
what
?”

From amid the swirl of colors, a single streak of blue cut into the open sky, swift as a comet … or a falling star to wish upon. Gripping her hand fiercely, Koji pointed urgently, exclaiming, “For them!”

“Is that …?” A rolling cloud of malice pursued that single beam of light, and Prissie’s hand clapped over her mouth lest she blurt out anything in front of Beau.

Her brother’s eyes narrowed, and he muttered, “Is that a meteor or something?”

“Kids!” their mother called urgently, her voice carrying up the basement stairs. “Come down here!”

“Hang on, Momma!” Prissie called back, her eyes fixed on Milo’s wavering flight pattern.

Koji’s took a half-step forward, eyes wide with concern. “He is fast, but his burden is great.”

“Where are the others?” she wailed, no longer caring if Beau heard. “Can’t they help?”

“They are,” he assured. “They part before him and close ranks behind him.”

The streak grew close enough that Prissie could make out Milo’s wings. They were tucked close to his body, giving him a streamlined appearance as he dove toward safety. Nervously, Prissie asked, “Shouldn’t he be slowing down about now?”

“Prissie,” Beau interrupted, his wide eyes fixed on the oncoming angel. “That thing’s gonna hit!”

“Y-you can see him?” she gasped.

“
Him
?” he echoed, shooting her a look of utter confusion.

A crack like thunder split the night, and the earth trembled underfoot as something crashed into the house, rattling it to its foundations. Momma’s voice came again. “Kids! Are you all right?”

“Yeah!” Beau answered, his face pale in the beam of the flashlight he clicked on. “Something hit the house, but don’t worry! I’ll check it!”

“No!” Momma countered, but it was too late. The teen had already dashed up the back stairs, Koji right behind him. Prissie had no choice but to follow.

“Come back!” her mother called.

For the first time in longer than she could remember, Prissie flat-out disobeyed her mother. If Koji needed to stay with her, then that meant she needed to stay with Koji. Holding her skirts high, she followed as quickly as she could in the darkness, mentally counting the stairs as she fumbled upwards.

From the top step, she could already tell something was very wrong. The upstairs hallway was quiet enough for her to hear the strange whistling of the wind. Cold as ice, it slithered past her ankles, seeping into the house from the direction of her bedroom.

The door with its quirky angled top hung open, and an eerie blue light filtered through into the hallway. Prissie tiptoed closer, afraid to look, yet needing to know. Firming her resolve, she stepped through the door.

At first, all she could do was gape at the wreckage. It was far worse than she could have imagined, for she could see the stars through what was left of her ceiling. Tree branches poked and twisted every which way, and snowflakes drifted through on faint gusts of wind. Her braided rug was littered with broken glass, and in the middle of the mess, Beau knelt beside the sagging figure propped against one wall.

The light she’d seen wasn’t coming from the moon. Luminous blue wings were draped at odd angles, and they
lent a soft glow to the room. Beau’s fists were clenched at his sides, and he looked over his shoulder at her. “I know this is gonna sound crazy, Priss, but this guy looks a whole lot like Milo.”

She took a shuffling step forward, bits of colored glass crunching under her slippers. “It’s not crazy,” she managed, her voice wavering. “He’s obviously Milo.”

The Messenger’s eyes fluttered open, and he wheezed, “Hey there, Boaz. Please … don’t be afraid.”

Beau nodded dumbly, then shook his head.

“It looks like someone threw a tree at the house,” Prissie muttered.

Koji, who was now clad in raiment, stepped to her side and calmly corrected, “He was aiming for Milo.”

Prissie dragged her attention to their mailman, and her dismay reached new heights. “You’re bleeding!” she exclaimed, hurrying to his side.

“Sorry for the mess,” Milo replied with a wan smile. His ash blond curls were in wild disarray, and he pressed one hand to his side. He seemed to be dimming, and his eyelids drooped.

“Padgett is coming,” Koji quietly announced.

“S’good,” the Messenger mumbled before slipping into unconsciousness.

“Wings?” Beau interjected, shaking his head in disbelief. “Are you telling me these are wings? Like … like an angel?”

“Just like,” Prissie crisply replied, growing more frightened by the moment. Suddenly, she noticed the waif tucked against Milo’s side, half-hidden by the drape of one wing. A pallid face streaked with dirt and tears lifted slightly, turning toward their voices. Prissie immediately spotted
a pointed ear poking through ragged hair, but was more disturbed by the strips of cloth that wound across his eyes. Thin hands fisted tightly into Milo’s tunic as he offered a weak, “F-fear not?”

In the awkward silence, Koji calmly stepped forward and knelt before the newcomer, slipping his arms around trembling shoulders and warmly declaring, “Welcome back, Ephron.”

The story concludes in Book 4:
The Garden Gate… .

During the Christmas Open House at the bakery, Padgett remarks, “Letting emotions dictate your decisions can be as unwise as letting appearances influence your opinions.” Do your head and your heart ever disagree? How important are first impressions? Why are second impressions worthwhile?

Who’s the trickiest person on your gift list? Why are they hard to shop for? What about you … do you like practical or impractical gifts?

When Prissie dreams that she’s in the hayloft, she sees scores of injured angels. Those Protectors and Guardians have always been nearby, but until now, she didn’t give a thought to the dangers they face for her sake. “The more she met, the more she cared.” Why does knowing come before caring? Stop and think. Are there strangers you’re taking for granted?

April Mayfair is caught in the middle of a frenemy feud. She tries to stay neutral, but Prissie ends up feeling betrayed. Have you ever been stuck in April’s shoes? Why is it such a tricky place to be?

During his message, Pastor Denny Kern of the DeeVee says, “I can hear you now, saying, ‘It’s no big deal, Denny. Don’t sweat the small stuff!’“ Can little things be important? Can you name a small thing that hurt you deeply? Is there a little thing that always brightens your day?

Prissie points out, “Lots of people wish they could fly like a bird. Or that they had super powers or magical abilities.” What about you?

Koji is an Observer, but watching isn’t enough for him. Prissie admires the way he throws himself into new experiences. How brave are you about trying new things? We all have stuff we refuse to attempt. Where do you draw the line?

Would you rather know the truth, even if it was hard to accept … or put your faith in an appealing lie?

Prissie admits that what she wants most is to matter to Milo and Koji as much as they mattered to her. Who matters to you? Who do you want to matter to? Who wants to matter to you?

“One never knows what God can use. Even if I do not understand the purpose of a thing, that does not mean it has none.” Can you think of something you thought was useless but came in handy later?

Have you ever taken part in a white elephant gift exchange? What would you bring if you were invited to one?

At Christmas, Grandpa Pete says, “Don’t lose sight of what’s right in front of you by hankering after what could have been.” What’s right in front of you?

Orders of Angels.
They’re variously called the hosts of heaven (Neh. 9:6), powers and principalities (Rom. 8:38), thrones and dominions (Col. 1:16), angels and authorities (1 Pet. 3:22), and ministering spirits (Heb. 1:14). Throughout the
Threshold Series
and its various companion stories, I’ve divided these servants of God into distinct orders. While their characteristics are inspired by the Scriptures, bear in mind that these varieties are the author’s invention. Each of their proper names is spun from a Hebrew word related to the order’s unique role … and parallels those of the two kinds of angels specified in the Bible — cherubim (Ex. 25:22) and seraphim (Is. 6:2).

Protectors.
In the Bible, cherubim are protectors of God’s name and image. They’re usually described as beings who devote themselves to blessing, praising, and adoring Him. In my stories, Protectors fight the Fallen. Taller than humanly possible, these muscular warriors are well-equipped for battle.

Guardians.
The hadarim watch over the lives of individuals. The Guardians’ name is taken from
haderes,
which means “hedge of protection.” In the
Threshold Series,
members of this order are famously bashful and show incredible fierceness when defending their charges.

Messengers.
Malakim comes from
malak,
which means “messenger.” They’re responsible for communication within the ranks of heaven, and they’re known for being outgoing and talkative. Language poses no barrier for Messengers. Members of this order are skilled at drawing others into dreams and visions.

Worshipers.
The zamarim derive their name from
zamar,
“sing with instruments.” Although all angels express themselves through song, Worshipers truly live to praise God with everything they have. One thing that sets apart this order of musically inclined angels is their wings, which are designed more for beauty than for flight.

Observers.
The archivists of heaven are adahim. They get their name from
adah,
“to witness, to testify.” Observers watch the intricate plans and purposes of God unfold throughout history. Writers, thinkers, artists, poets — the adahim ponder all they’ve seen and heard and record their thoughts in books.

Caretakers.
Earth-movers and storm-bringers, the samayim were granted cataclysmic power in order to care for the created universe. There’s very little a Caretaker cannot do, but at the same time, they’re limited in what they’re allowed to do. In the
Threshold Series,
the samayim show an affinity for nature, minister to the injured, change the physical appearances of people, and tend flocks of yahavim. Their name means “heavens.”

Manna-makers.
Despite their diminutive size and playful nature, all the hosts of heaven depend heavily upon the yahavim. This lowest order of angels is responsible for producing manna, the food of angels. Their name comes from
yahav,
which means “provide.” They’re drawn to those in need.

Angelic Jargon.
Several terms come up over the course of the
Threshold Series,
and while the angels take them for granted, maybe you’d like a little more explanation.

The First.
In this storyline, not all angels were created at the same time. Some have been around for millennia, but others are newly formed. When an angel is described as one of the First, it means that he was alive before Time began. First Ones remember the rift that divided the Fallen from the Faithful, and they witnessed creation of the heavens and earth as described in Genesis 1.

Faithful.
An angel who lives to serve God.

Fallen.
An angel who has set himself against God. Fallen angels are demons.

Mentor.
When an older, wiser angel is given a newbie to train, he becomes their mentor. A small, silvery cuff on the shell of the left ear indicates their rank. Mentors may train several apprentices over their lifetime, but only one at a time.

Apprentice.
When angels are Sent out of heaven to serve, they always go in pairs. Sometimes, these two-angel teams involve partners on equal footing, but more often, a newer angel is apprenticed to a mentor. Some apprentices
end up partnering with several different mentors before their training is considered complete.

Legion.
For the purposes of this storyline, one Legion is a company of 12,000 angels.

Flight.
The Faithful are organized into twelve-angel teams that are headed up by a captain. That means a Legion is comprised of 1,000 Flights.

Hedge.
A group of Guardians serving together in one area is called a Hedge. The hadarim form a perimeter around individual homes, but also in crowded places — schools, apartment buildings, businesses, shopping centers, concerts, sporting events, etc. Because guardian angels come and go whenever their charges do, Hedges are in a constant state of flux.

Graft.
When an angel takes on human guise and becomes a part of society, he’s said to be grafted in.

Raiment.
The Faithful wear raiment, clothing said to have a light and life of its own. The woven fabric is beige, faintly luminous, and resistant to spot and wrinkle. Design varies slightly depending on the needs of the wearer, and the patterns stitched on the collar and cuffs indicate flight, rank, and order.

T
wo colossal angels wrestled in the darkness, trampling snow and upturning frozen earth as neat rows of apple trees crunched beneath their feet. Lightning blazed, momentarily illuminating the hatred glittering in the narrowed eyes of a Fallen whose dingy clothes flapped against a gaunt frame. Sagging folds of skin bunched as his jaw worked, but a clean, bright hand kept the demon from unleashing pent up curses. Abner’s lips tightened into a grim smile. “Your mouth is sealed, as is your fate.”

With a growl, the Fallen drove his shoulder into his captor’s ribs, twisting away. Great feet snapped more branches, and the chains that dragged from shackled ankles nearly collided with the Pomeroys’ machine shed. “You’ve done enough damage,” Abner said, steering his opponent away from snow-covered barns.

They vied for control of the freakish blizzard that had buried most of West Edinton under snow and ice. Storm clouds threatened to close in, but their dark spiral left the angels—and much of the Pomeroys’ farm—bare to the brittle light of stars. Thunder rolled, and varicolored streaks blazed across that wide patch of night sky in tight formations, then scattered into dizzying patterns as they drove back the shadows. Other Flights veered lower, skimming along the tops of trees, driving stragglers before the points of spear and sword.

Abner’s grip shifted, and he pressed down on his opponent. The diminishing demon renewed his struggle as the Caretaker reshaped him, robbing him of the power that came with sheer mass. They shrank to the size of mere mortals, and Abner invited, “Take one last look at the expanse of heaven before I return you to darkness.”

In that instant, the fearsome storm lost its strength, and the clouds dispersed, washing their corner of the world with the silvery light of the moon. Peace spelled defeat, but not an end to the Fallen’s defiance. Wrenching free, he lunged for Abner’s throat; however, a passage opened beneath the demon’s feet. Chains rattled against the pit’s edge as the Deep swallowed him, and his howl of impotent fury cut short when the earth resealed itself.

The triumphant Caretaker clasped his hands behind his back and turned to look at the darkened farmhouse. Tree roots protruded from the roof above one of the gables, and blue light bled through jagged gaps, outlining the wreckage of Prissie Pomeroy’s bedroom. Destruction. Pain. Suffering. Abner was willing to go, but this time, he was not Sent.

Snow sifted down between jutting boards and dangling shingles as Prissie crept deeper into the remains of her sanctuary. Trailing tufts of pink insulation hung from the bare branches of an uprooted apple tree, which left her room smelling like soil.

Beau turned to her, hand upraised; bright liquid slicked his fingertips. “This is …?”

Prissie shivered. “He’s bleeding.”

Her younger brother frowned down at Milo. “Is first aid the same for angels?”

How could he be taking this so calmly? Prissie caught sight of a cracked sphere of pink glass surrounded by more delicate shards. Her ornament collection. Spoiled. Gone.

“Sis?” When she looked, Beau tensely begged, “Help me stop the bleeding.”

Prissie joined her brother, kneeling carefully on the unconscious angel’s other side. “Milo?” she called in a low voice. The Messenger’s torn raiment glowed more brightly in the damp places where it clung to wounds, and a thin trickle dribbled down the side of his face. “Please, Milo!”

Beau plunged right in, putting pressure against the gash in their mailman’s side. “Like this?”

“I think so. I hope so,” Prissie replied uncertainly, pressing her hand over Milo’s shoulder.

“Do not fear,” Koji said. “Padgett is coming.”

“Oh, thank God,” she whispered, meaning it with all her heart. They needed help. No, Milo needed help. “Yes, please. Send Padgett.”

“You know, Milo was my favorite Sunday school teacher. He told the best stories, made us think, made them real. I could tell he really cared about the Bible.” Beau stared at
their long-time friend, who looked pretty strange with his long curls and outspread wings. “He believed in God like nobody else I’ve ever met, and I wanted to be like that. To believe like that.”

“He’s still Milo,” Prissie muttered.

Her brother smiled shakily. “Yeah. He’s still everything he seemed to be, but the reasons are different. Better. This is perfect.”

Such a different reaction than her own. But then, her younger brothers knew him in a different way than she did. “Was he really that good a teacher?”

“The best. Absolute best,” Beau replied fervently. “I’d go back to being Zeke’s age if I could. Just to keep him.”

Suddenly, a door opened out of nowhere, and another angel stepped into the room, his gaze taking in the whole scene. “Padgett!” Prissie struggled to her feet. Her throat threatened to close, but she choked out, “Milo’s hurt!”

Some of the fierceness left the Caretaker’s face as he quickly crossed to her side, his long, black hair sweeping across the debris scattering the floor. “Don’t worry, miss. That’s why I was Sent.”

“Can you help him?”

Padgett touched her face. “Fear not. None of the Faithful are beyond help. Trust God to provide.”

She felt a little steadier, a little calmer, and she suspected him of ministering to her on a divine level. “Not me! Him!”

“Them,” Koji quietly corrected, for his arms still sheltered Ephron.

“Of course,” Padgett replied, crossing to the Messenger, whose wings still provided the brightest light in the surrounding darkness.

Beau gawked up at the newcomer. “Can you really help Milo?”

“Yes.”

“That’s good. Thanks.”

Padgett’s hands moved without haste—smoothing, straightening, strengthening. “Do not thank me. Thank God.”

“Have been,” Beau replied.

The Caretaker paused in his work. “Milo is important to you.”

“Yeah. He’s my friend.”

“He’s also mine.”

Beau checked, “Are you really an angel?”

“Yes.”

“Wow.”

Padgett’s almost-there smile made an appearance, and he reached across to touch the top of Beau’s head. “Don’t be afraid. Everything is in God’s hands.”

Beau offered a small nod and asked, “Can I help?”

“Thank you.” The Caretaker reached into one of his wide sleeves and produced a roll of softly-glowing gauze, which he passed to the teen. Catching Prissie’s eye, Padgett nodded significantly toward Koji.

There was no refusing the implied request, but she felt the need to ask, “What will Momma say when she comes looking for us?”

“We have all the time we need.”

Prissie’s eyebrows slowly lifted. “Did you do something?”

Padgett patiently answered, “I’ve prolonged this moment so we can finish without causing further distress to your family.”

With one less worry weighing on her mind, she glanced at Koji, who had his hands full with a shivering bundle of skin and bones draped in torn raiment. She shuffled her slippers across the braided rug, cringing with every crunch of glass underfoot, to pull a soft blanket off the bed. Shaking it out, she made her way to Koji. Angels might not feel cold, but her friend couldn’t offer Ephron the shelter of wings. When she draped her substitute around the pale angel’s shoulders, he started.

Koji spoke in low tones. “Prissie is with us. You remember her. She is my friend. You are safe with us. We are with you.” His soft assurances had a lilting quality that soon became a song that promised peace and comfort.

Even though Ephron was clearly taller than the younger Observer, he’d curled into a tight, defensive ball, but he lifted his face and murmured, “With me.” Suddenly he exclaimed, “Lavi! Where is Lavi?”

Koji helped him fumble with the collar of his tunic, and a brilliant yahavim burst into the air, zinging around in a joyous dance. Prissie squinted hard and gasped in recognition and lifted her hand, “Hi, you.” She beckoned to the manna-maker who’d accompanied her down to the Deep. “You’re looking much better.”

The tiny angel with his puff of soft green hair lit on her fingers and twirled on the tips of his toes. Lavi’s attention quickly returned to Ephron, though, for Koji was helping the injured angel rearrange his limbs. The rescued Observer’s pants were badly torn, the cloth unraveling in the absences of seams, which left much of his legs bare. Prissie realized with a jolt that the mottling on his skin was probably bruising, and she couldn’t begin to count the cuts, which were in
various stages of healing. Her lips trembled, but her jaw came up. There had to be something she could
do.

Although an angel’s raiment could resist spot and wrinkle, Ephron was in desperate need of a bath. Dirt and dust gave his skin a slightly gray cast, with pale streaks to show the tracks his tears had followed. Prissie would have liked to take him down the hall to the bathroom, but that probably wouldn’t work. No power. No lights. “Koji?” she whispered urgently. “How do angels wash themselves?”

“With water.”

She bit her lip to keep back a sharp answer.

Koji’s dark eyes took on a shine. “That is a good idea.”

“Prissie?” She turned to find Beau holding out a basin of water. Her brother explained, “This other guy said you need this.”

Lavi fluttered in a slow circle around Beau’s head, then landed on the wide brim of what looked to be a heavy stone bowl. Her brother showed no sign of noticing the bright pixie testing the water with his toes. Prissie asked, “How many angels do you see?”

“Is that a trick question?”

She slowly shook her head and pointed to each, pausing to see his reaction. “Milo. Padgett. Koji.”

Beau’s eyes widened. “Koji’s here? Wait. Koji’s an
angel
?”

She stood awkwardly. “I … um … I guess I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“It’s all right,” Padgett said distractedly. “You may take your brother into your confidence.”

“Then
yes.
Koji’s an angel too.”

“Figures.” Beau gestured to Padgett and Milo. “But as far as I can tell, the only ones here are you, me, and them.”

The worst of the mailman’s wounds had been cared for, and the Caretaker had maneuvered Milo onto the floor so he could put away his wings for him. With deft motions, Padgett traced his fingers along the Messenger’s shoulders and back, coaxing the billowing blue light into the unique pattern that contained an angel’s furled wings. Finishing one side, he glanced up. “Take the basin, Prissie. And be careful. It’s heavy.”

She obeyed, taking the bowl that seemed to be filled with liquid light; it steamed lightly and smelled spicy. Arching his brows, Beau asked, “How many angels do
you
see, Sis?”

“Five. But there’s probably more.”

“And how long have you been seeing angels?”

Prissie hugged the basin to her chest and managed a weak smile for Lavi. “For a while. It’s a long story.”

“Tell me later?”

She nodded, and Beau returned to Milo’s side. His wings were almost completely furled now, so the blue light was fading, but a second basin of water sat beside Padgett, a match for her own. Their warm glow was more than enough to see by.

Walking slowly so she wouldn’t slosh the precious liquid, Prissie returned to Koji’s side. He beckoned for her to join him on the floor. “You will support Ephron. I will wash him.”

“How?”

The young Observer took charge. Pushing aside some of the clutter on the floor, he laid out her blanket. “Sit here, against the wall. You will support him the same way Taweel held Tamaes when he was injured. Remember?”

She nodded and took her place. With a little scooting and shuffling, Ephron lay limply in the circle of her arms, his head
resting on her shoulder. For so long, he’d been nothing more than a name that put shadows in the eyes of her friends. Now, he was a solid someone whose suffering was all the more real in its aftermath.

When Koji straightened Ephron’s legs, the injured Observer whined softly.

“I am sorry,” Koji whispered.

Prissie was sorry too, but she couldn’t say the words. Tears that she’d been holding back for what felt like forever blurred her vision. She wished for wings so she could wrap them around this angel and ease his pain. Wasn’t she partially to blame for Ephron’s prolonged captivity? If she’d prayed sooner, would he have been spared weeks or even months of torture?

Uneven tufts of flaxen hair brushed Prissie’s cheek as Ephron shook his head. “Do not apologize. I am grateful.” Fragile-looking hands found the arms locked around his chest, and he hung onto her. “More than I can express.”

Koji took the folded cloth resting in the warm water, and pressed it to Ephron’s cheek. “Should I remove the bandages?”

“Carefully,” Padgett replied from across the room. “I’ll be with you shortly.”

As the strips of raiment binding Ephron’s eyes fell away, Koji noticed Prissie’s confusion and softly explained, “Ephron is blind.”

Prissie closed her eyes, not wanting to see what lay beneath the bandages. Sick at heart. Sick to her stomach. She hid her face in the disarray of Ephron’s hair and tried to focus on the scent of spices that perfumed the water. It occurred to her that if the basin was warm enough to steam in a room now exposed to the elements, she should have been freezing.
After some thought, she realized that while she was aware that it was cold, she wasn’t uncomfortable. This was probably how it was for angels, and she was grateful that Padgett had extended their unique senses to her. Otherwise, her teeth would have been chattering by now.

A soft
whirr
of wings brought her out of her thoughts, and she looked up, expecting to see Lavi. But Omri stood on her shoulder; his small hands patted affectionately at her cheeks, brushing away the traces of her own tears. “If you’re here, Taweel must be close.”

“On the roof,” Koji confirmed. Glancing up, he announced, “Jedrick is here.”

Heavy footfalls sounded overhead, and Prissie looked up in time to see Jedrick toss aside some loose boards and shingles in order to widen one of the gaps. The Flight captain dropped into the room, bringing a wash of green light as his wings draped loosely behind him. Crouching beside Ephron, he said, “Here you are.”