Ablaze

Chapter 21

"Seraphim are fiery angels," Harris says and Agatha echoes in a sing-song voice: "The wings of fire to whisk you away from harm. A blazing sword to punish evil. A nimbus of flames to see what's true."

"Okay..." That's a weird answer, but he can't think of anything else.

"I was born with a spark and my passions set fires. It was a little like pyrokinesis, only much, much, much more. He would be my guardian angel, but I had to do the work. Had to get better. Had to force the mortals to release me from the clinic before the word burned."

This sounds exactly like a thing to entangle a fourteen year-old struggling with unanswerable questions and too much grief for any child to bear. To free a mind from a net like this... one can't just cut through. He needs to go knot by knot. "Did... did the seraph tell you all this?"

"Yes." Her eyes focus on something beyond Singapore. "It was little more than a whisper in the night at first. Such a beautiful, ethereal voice..."

"And then?"

"Once I was free and clear, I received messages on my phone."

Harris doesn't know what to make out of the whispers, but to him, texts are a spectacularly non-angelic method of communication. Glowing letters on clouds, or something equally awe striking.

"Texting is such a human thing to do," he says softly.

"I'm a human. He was considerate of my limitations."

"Or it could have been a stalker." He even knows the stalker's name. Oliver Appleby.

"Harris!" Her eyes flung open. There's so much in her gaze, his fingers crack behind her back, locked on the verge of breaking. "I'm sorry. I didn't live through what you've lived through."

"I understand your skepticism. At times, I thought... I doubted." She chuckles, dismissing logic as folly. "There were fires whenever I forgot myself and gave into base emotions."

"Sam told me about them."

"Sam doesn't know half of it. Harris, you promised—"

"I did and I believe you. I believe you!" He's rocking back and forth, trying to calm the whirlwind of guesses. Rocking her too, as he would a terrified child. "I'm looking for a way to help. I'm thinking. Give me a moment." Or a lifetime.

"It's so strange. For years, I've talked to people every day on my blogs and streams about every little thing, revealing even passing thoughts. Except for this. This, I could never talk to anyone about... before you."

His finger joints crack again. "You still talk to him, right? To this..." he swallows a cuss. He can't offend the girl trembling in his embrace. One wrong word—and she'll fly away, and then there'll be no hope for either of them. "This angel? You still talk to him?"

She bites her lip and darts a glance at the dark sky. "More than that. We grew closer as I was getting older. Other girls craved boys' company. Kisses at first, then more. I envied the physical manifestations of love they found."

Harris meets her imploring gaze. His cheeks heats up, thinking about Desiree's body twined with his own in bed. "We all want someone to hold us."

She exhales a sigh of relief. "I was afraid it was going to hurt someone if I did it with Sam or any other boy. So, I begged my angel for help. He promised to come to me in the flesh."

"And he did, didn't he?"

"Uh-huh."

"Oliver." Harris squeezes the name through his teeth, like meat through the meat grinder grill. God help any other Oliver he might meet later in life. "Oliver told you, he's the seraph. The angel in the flesh who came to save you from yourself."