He waved again, and fresh flowers burst out of the vase. “Presto, darling.” He bent close enough to take in the fragrance, then straightened and stepped back, gazing at his handiwork and basking in the memories of his finest days with Sarah.
The flowers, of course, were a simple illusion. Who could afford new ones every day? Nevertheless, he knew in his bones she’d been enjoying his ritual of love and remembrance, day after day, month after month, for all of these years. More years than he cared to count or remember.
“I’m sure she does.” The easily recognizable voice came from behind—an annoyance dogging him for centuries. Gabriella came around to face him. The ponytailed, blue-eyed imp of an angel sported her typical plain summer dress, this one a faded green-and-yellow plaid. Innocence served as the perfect camouflage for her duplicitous nature.
“Still,” she added, “Sarah resides in a different realm now, where the concern is for the collective rather than the self. She spreads her love among many.”
Henry clenched his fists. One after another, his darkest emotions roared in his ears like thunder—anger over Gabriella stalking him in his most private of moments, a keen sense of violation she’d pick a thought from his head and turn it on him, and fierce jealousy over the suggestion his Sarah shared with others the love she once held for him alone. He spun around. “Weren’t you angels created to spread joy?”
“How can I? God took my harp away.” She pouted. As if on cue, a gray cloud blotted the sun, casting a long shadow across the graveyard. This wasn’t the contrite Gabriella, the misguided angel who sometimes tracked him down at his castle for consolation and encouragement whenever her schemes went awry. He’d have to deal with the bad side of her personality this day, a mischievous creature who couldn’t resist the urge to create chaos.
“You’ll never get your harp back,” he said.
“I get no appreciation for the good things I do.”
“You only make things worse with all of your meddling.” Henry tried to scowl her into humility. He didn’t expect much luck.
She met his comment with stony silence.
He waited for her to make the next move.
A hummingbird fluttered from grave to grave. A crow cawed from a nearby tree. From just beyond the woods at the edge of the cemetery, a steady whoosh of highway traffic marred the atmosphere of forgotten history he enjoyed most about Sarah’s cemetery.
“Let’s not wound each other,” she said finally.
“You started it.”
“I was simply telling you something a friend should tell. We are still friends, aren’t we?”
Friends? He had a bone to pick with her. Kara Danahey tracked him down just the other day with a convoluted story about dreams and schemes, ending with an annoying punch-line—Gabriella. The back of his head tingled. “Stop that.”
She giggled. “What?”
“Stay out of my mind, friend. And tell me what in the world possessed you to bother my Kara.”
“I’ll get to that in a minute.” Gabriella took his hand. Her small fingers disappeared within his larger grip, their softness conveying the harmlessness her overall image suggested. Yet, for a moment, his willpower faltered from the strength of that simple touch.
He yanked his hand away, and the urge to do whatever she wanted evaporated. “If you want to take me somewhere, just ask. I’m not in the mood for your rudeness.”
“I want to show you something.”
“Give me a hint.”
“It’s a little beyond the trees.”
“You lead. I’ll follow.”
They headed into a narrow grove not yet flattened to asphalt by the creeping civilization on the other side. The highway noise grew louder, but as they closed in on it, he redefined the sound as rushing water in an area he thought to be dry.
Henry slowed. He didn’t care for surprises at the best of times and certainly none orchestrated by this annoying brat.
“Just a little farther.” She led him deeper into the grove until they reached a clearing.
An unforgettable sight hovered ahead—the curtain of smoke Gabriella dragged to his castle decades ago. The plume roared like a waterfall and rushed almost as fiercely, but from bottom to top instead of top to bottom. Each end curled into itself like the ends of a scroll, one emerging out of nowhere and the other disappearing into the same thin air.
He reached toward it, thought better, pulled away.
“What are you afraid of?” she asked. “You put your hand through the smoke the day I brought it to you.”
“I did?” Henry shoved his hand into the plume, up to the wrist. Despite its appearance, the smoke was cool to the touch.
“Step through it for me, Henry. Everyone else who tried has been scorched, but you seem fine. It’s God’s will.”
“God’s will?” Henry guffawed. “When have you ever been right about such a thing?”
“Impressive-looking gateway, though, isn’t it?”
An unusual one, to say the least. “Have you considered theater choreography?”
She sighed. “It’s a little late for me to change career paths.”
“A pity. I was hoping to spare the world.”
Gabriella bent to pick a turned dandelion, the type gone puffy white and ready to wreak havoc in a frenzy of procreation. She puffed her cheeks, exhaled, and sent the parachutes scattering. “Sparing the world is a slippery slope. Who knows whether the butterfly effect would create flowers or weeds?”
“Try practicing what you preach.” Henry pressed the palm of his hand deeper into the smoke. A hole opened, parting the column like the Red Sea. He slid his forearm through to the elbow, then shifted around, but he couldn’t see his hand come out the other side. “Happy?”
Gabriella bounced from foot to foot. He’d never seen her so agitated. “I’ll be happy if you step across to the other side,” she said.
“No.”
“Please, Henry. I have a message from God for someone.” She revealed a folded piece of notepaper hidden in her fist.
“Deliver it yourself.”
She stomped her foot like a petulant child. “Don’t you think I would if I could? I can’t get more than a
