A Terrible Fall of Angels (Zaniel Havelock #1)(96)
“If you don’t want to tell me, you don’t have to,” Emma said; her eyes were still soft, but more serious, and the smile was barely there, as if her lips just naturally fell that way, no matter what she was actually feeling.
Jamie patted my hand where it still lay on his arm. “She’s good people, Z.”
I took my hand back, nodding. “I can feel that, Levanael.”
“Have you taken your angel name back?” Emma asked.
“Z told me that if I could channel one of the higher angels, then that meant I was pure and not weak like the College told me when they cast me out. If they’re wrong about that, then they can’t take my name away either.”
She leaned her shoulder in against his and did that fall-into hug that couples do when sitting on a bench together. “I’m so happy you finally see that.”
I had to fight not to beam at seeing Jamie so happy in such a normal way. It was miraculous and I said another prayer of thanks for it. That little flash of warmth came in reply, which made me grin like an idiot and enjoy all the happiness of the moment. One thing we’d been taught at the College of Angels was if God gave you good things, to enjoy it, be grateful for it, and give your happiness like an offering to God and the angels. I didn’t always remember that lesson, but it was good to be reminded of it.
“So, tell me, Levanael”—she seemed to savor being able to say the name—“what or who did you channel to make you feel so good? Your energy is even better than normal.”
Jamie looked at me. “This is more your story than mine, Zaniel. What are you okay with me sharing?”
I was debating what to say, or how to start, when the waitress came with our drinks. She was wearing a scoop-necked T-shirt with the sign logo on it. I smiled at seeing it, then realized she might think I was staring at her chest. Heaven help me, it was like I didn’t know how to interact with women anymore.
I was dubious when I saw the foam on top of the “tea.” It looked more like fancy coffee, but it smelled like Earl Grey. In fact, it smelled rich and thick with the herby, citrus scent of real bergamot.
I raised the glass slowly, enjoying the aroma, then blew on it and finally took the first small sip. It was as good as the scent promised. A weaker tea would have been overwhelmed with what they’d done to make it a latte, but the bergamot was strong enough that it complemented it instead of being lost.
“Levanael drank his first latte here the same way,” Emma said.
It was like her voice had intruded on the moment and I had to fight not to spill the full cup. I looked at her, putting the cup of hot liquid safely down on the table first. “What do you mean?”
“Savoring it, enjoying the moment.”
“I told you, Emma, Master Sarphiel taught us mindfulness.”
“He taught us to take pleasure in small things, which I guess is what they call mindfulness these days,” I added.
“Do you always drink tea so reverently?” she asked.
I shook my head. “No, but if something smells this good, or tastes amazing, then we were taught to honor it with our attention. It’s like a compliment to the Creator for all the wonderful ingredients that came together to make something.”
“And the barista who made it?” she asked.
“Of course, it’s a compliment to the cook, or barista.”
“But if it’s just okay food and drink, you don’t do it?” she asked.
I shook my head. “I don’t do it at work because people would remark on it just like you did. I learned in the army that looking like you were praying over things made the other people give you a hard time.”
“I want to know how you went from the College of Angels to the military, I can’t imagine the culture shock, but first tell me why Levanael’s psychic experience is your story more than his.” Her eyes didn’t look like soft kitten fur now, more steel gray. There was strength and determination underneath all the smiles and angelic energy.
I tried to think how to explain it, and how much I wanted to share. “Levanael channeled one of the higher orders of angels.”
“How high?” she asked.
“Do you channel? Is it one of your gifts?” I asked.
“I can hear them sometimes, like I can hear people, like I heard Levi, I mean Levanael.”
“She doesn’t hear everyone like I do,” Jamie said, “just certain people for specific reasons.”
“I dreamed of Levanael and my guides told me to be on the lookout for him, but I don’t channel like he does. In fact, my boss says she’s only met one other person who has the ability to channel so easily and so completely as Levanael.”
I nodded. “Even at the College he was one of the purest channels they’d seen in years.”
“You make it sound like it was more common at the College of Angels.”
“Not common, but there are always a few in any new group of students,” I said.
“Really,” she said, and looked at Jamie as if for confirmation. He nodded, and she turned back to me. “As clear a channel as Levi, Levanael?”
“Almost.” I didn’t tell her about the room where the gifted lay fed through tubes while they spoke from the highest angels and the students with the gift to interpret it wrote it down. It was recorded now, but the gift of interpretation worked best in person. Speaking in tongues was only half a gift; you needed someone with the talent to interpret it, or it was just gibberish. You had people who spouted in tongues, and those like me who could deal directly with the higher order of angels, and those like Jamie who could let other people’s prayers come out of their mouths—all of them were given a chance to be in the room where once you went in, you never left. I’d refused my chance, and so had Jamie.