On her way out the door, Adriel heard Pam mutter, “Oh, good Lord, I took an angel to a bra fitting.”
“Good thing I can’t smite people, isn’t it?” Adriel called after her.
***
Over the next few days, Pam and Adriel fell into what was becoming their new routine of eating breakfast together and trading information. Pam placed a plate of something that looked like a slice bread cooked in some kind of coating in front of Adriel, and drizzled it with deeply amber maple syrup. The dish smelled intoxicating.
“What’s this called?”
“French toast.” Pam’s face tried to frown and smile at the same time. Even though Adriel thought Pam had believed her story, the occasional doubt surfaced. Moments like these put those doubts to rest. She whispered to Adriel, “Don’t they have food in heaven? I’m rethinking whether I want to go there if I can’t eat all the chocolate and pastries I want and not gain weight.”
“Not every angel has taken on a human lifetime. I had no idea how satisfying food could be until now.” The answer to her question was quite a lot more complex than that, but there was a code to follow. Humans should not have too much information about their final destination.
With the finding of Ben’s remains being the talk of the town, it was easy enough for Adriel to mine customers for information, and for Pam to do the same. When Callum walked into Just Desserts, Pam sidled up to Adriel, waggled her eyebrows and added a hint of suggestiveness, “Maybe you could interrogate him.” A stricken look crossed her face. “Oh, no. That was inappropriate, wasn’t it? Do angels, you know…”
Adriel wasn’t sure she did know, so she twirled a hand to indicate Pam should explain.
Pam’s voice dropped to a whisper, “Sex.” Adriel’s face went red and hot.
“I’m familiar with the concept.” The absolute dryness in her tone shut the conversation down—partly to keep from having to examine the purely physical impulses Callum had raised in her, and partly to keep from giving away information Pam should not be privy to in the first place.
***
Everything Adriel had experienced over the past few weeks made her rethink her attitude toward humans. In a case of outright snobbery, she had neglected to consider how many factors played on the emotions. Some physical; some mental. When she began experiencing an overwhelming desire to return to Oakville, at first she chalked it up to some kind of hormonal influence, and did her best to ignore the mounting pressure.
Although Estelle was sure he was fine, Julius had not returned since the day the dark entity sent him away. Neither of her erstwhile guardians responded to her calls, which was highly frustrating. Their prolonged absence planted seeds of suspicion that one of both of them might be behind the compulsion. In the end, Adriel gave in and started looking for a means of transportation. Driving a car was out since Pam knew better than to loan hers, and Adriel had no one else to ask.
One of Craig’s boxes contained a map of the state that showed Adriel just how disconcertingly close Oakville was to her present location. A mere twelve miles. Even if she could convince one of her friends to give her a ride back, that was a long walk.
Remembering Pam’s advice to stick to riding a bike, and Craig’s affinity for keeping everything he ever owned, checking the as-yet unexplored shed in the corner of the property was probably going to be her best bet. The idea of going in there, though, gave her pause. Adriel had nothing against spiders. It was their homes she could do without—particularly when it came to wearing bits of said homes, along with their inevitable cargo of dead bug parts, anywhere on her person.
Her expectations were met when she yanked the door open to see an absolute wall of yuck. This was worse than the lean-to shed where she’d found the yard implements. So, saying an apology to all eight-legged beasties within hearing distance, she taped a flashlight to the handle of an old broom—light pointing bristle-ward—and swept down every sticky, dusty web barring her way.
There was a moment of regret for opportunities lost as she stumbled over a gas-powered lawn mower that would have made her life a lot easier these past few weeks. Surprisingly, the area contained less clutter than the cabin. And an old car.
Adriel’s unwillingness to drive didn’t mean she knew nothing about cars. This thing, however, barely qualified. Only when she squinted could she pick out the make and model. As best as she could tell, it was a 1970’s era Frankenmobile. The main body was a Buick Skylark. Adriel could tell because it was the 1972 Suncoupe model that featured a retractable canvas sunroof. The rest of it, though, was a mix and match of parts. Pontiac LeMans fenders, doors from a Chevelle, and the rear clip had come from an Olds Grand Prix. None of the trim matched up anywhere, and every part of the car was a different color. As a finishing touch, the previous owner had bolted on a hood ornament off a ‘56 Chevy. A heavy layer of dust coated the chrome, and it was pitted in a few spots, but she admired the sleek lines of the aircraft in flight. Even in its current state, the car had nice lines.
But she wasn’t here to look at a car, she was here to find a bicycle.
Just when it seemed her efforts had been fruitless, the beam of light picked out a flash of red from a reflector affixed to the bumper of a vintage Schwinn. From the teasing glimpse Adriel managed at this distance, the bike appeared to be blue, with a two-tone saddle seat, and white sidewall tires. Some rusty old farm implements blocked the Schwinn from an easy trip back to daylight, but
