Beloved Purgatory (Fallen Angels, Book 2) (25 page)

My jaw clenched. Harder.

"Don't torture yourself over something like this," he
said. "He made us in His own image, but He didn't make us His
equal. It doesn't matter that you don't have a spirit. You are
human, so your body was built to recognize and love Him."

"But I don't want to," I whispered. "I don't like
feeling powerless, and He's hurt me so much, that I don't want to
love--"

I froze. Too late, I'd said it.

And then, I heard Oz's aching voice. "I loved him
too, once, if you could call it that. I didn't have a will of my
own at the time. All I wanted was to be beside Him, and the closer
I got, the more I felt the immutable distance between us."

His words made me feel as if my veins were made of
ice. My neck stung as I moved back. "I was never for Him. All He
has done is take away the things I care about. And yet, I wanted
His light more than I'd ever wanted anything before. In that
moment, I betrayed you."
And myself
.

"No, you didn't."

I wrung the collar of his shirt. "It doesn't matter.
Tell me a way to make it up to you. Tell me," I begged.

He sighed, then was quiet.

I pushed my face into his chest again. "Are you going
to leave me with this guilt? It is a fitting punishment, I suppose.
I love you so much."

"Devi," he said, tilting up my head. "If it bothers
you that much--if you feel like you've betrayed me--if you want to
make it up to me--then endure the pain even when it becomes
intolerable. Don't ask for the angel, and if he offers himself to
you without your asking, shut your eyes, even if it breaks your
heart."

His voice broke. He leaned forward, and kissed the
underside of my wrist. "It will hurt, but know that for each moment
you suffer, I will suffer with you, and love you more for it."

I couldn't see his face in the dark, so I traced it
my fingers. "Why do either of us have to suffer, Oz? Can't we just
make each other forget?"

His breathing came faster.

"I don't want to be moved by it anymore. I don't want
my body to remember, even one second--"

Something soft pressed into my lips, stopping me.

I leaned into his kiss, waiting to drown in him, to
make the rest of the world and that longing for Heaven
disappear.

But it didn't. I would never be able to forget, and
he knew it. It was why his mouth refused to leave mine--he didn't
want to give either of us a chance to speak. But still, that sorrow
was overshadowed by the realization that Heaven's light would
always haunt him, too.

He held me so tightly I could barely breathe. He'd
forgotten his strength, I think, and it ached when he pushed his
fingers into my back. I didn't turn away, or stop him. I didn't
want to. His desperation only made me want to grab onto him
harder--to sink deeper into those dark and precious sensations he
evoked within me--transient as apple blossoms ceding to the wind
right before they fall.

He stopped, and rested his forehead on mine. I put my
hand on his chest, felt his heart slow from its breakneck pace, and
curled into his body in silence.

Perhaps we held each other so tenderly, then, because
we wanted to forget, for just one moment, that even love could not
stop us from longing for that perfect world from which we'd both
been exiled.

Chapter 13

My mom made me wear her silver cross to the SATs. It
didn't really look good next to the antique monstrosity Forneus had
given me, but I couldn't take it off. My mom had insisted it was a
good luck charm. Too bad I knew it was really just good
old-fashioned paranoia. You see, they only let you take the SATs on
Sunday for religious reasons, and, in Portland, Halloween was
considered a religious holiday if you were Pagan.

Which I was.

Sort of.

Or at least that's what entered in my online form so
I wouldn't have to wake-up early on Saturday. Sure, I may have
lacked the standard amount of black eyeliner, piercings, and hemp
accessories, but if anyone doubted my religiosity I could just tell
them I was dating a demon.

A balding man in aqua running pants, who referred to
the 100+ teenagers moping in the hallway as a "pack of rascals,"
herded us into our "testing centers"--or, as I liked to call them,
"classrooms." I had a feeling he was Wilson's PE teacher, and
half-expected him to ask the guy with sagging jeans in front of me
to "pull up his drawers."

I took a seat in the back. Posters made with
construction paper, magic markers and glitter depicting the water
cycle were tacked
salon
style on the walls. It looked like
kindergarten graffiti, and I was instantly jealous of all the kids
lucky enough to be in this class.

The woman at the front of the room passed out our
tests without introducing herself. She went over the rules, and
then told us to open our books.

The test had begun.

The first verbal section wasn't too difficult. And,
in all honesty, the first four math problems didn't give me too
much trouble either.

And then I got to question five.

If a train is going 35 miles an hour and leaves at
8:15am and travels 375 miles...

My eyes started to glaze over. I rubbed my temple and
tapped the question with my pencil. I hated thinking about time. I
hated those damn analogue clocks I could never read. I hated it
when I asked someone what time it was and they responded with
something like:
quarter till
, and I had to ask:
quarter
till what?

I glanced at the ticking orb above our chaperone's
head. The fact that I had an hour to go until the test was over was
just one more thing to hate about time.

"You can do this Devi. Your teacher went over it in
class a few weeks ago. You took good notes."

I squeaked and grabbed my test booklet, crumpling the
pages. The lady at the front of the room pushed her hipster glasses
to the edge of her nose and glared at me.

I shut my eyes, took a deep breath, and told myself
to relax. The only person who could hear and see Camael was me.

The same Camael who remembered everything he heard.
And paid attention during math class. And remembered what questions
would show up on the SAT.

With a shaking hand, I wrote:
Hi Camael.

"Devi?"

I cringed. Everyone else bent their heads over their
papers, writing furiously. The chaperon had returned to her book.
Only I could hear him, but could I actually bring myself to...?

I drew a smiley face.

"What is it?" Camael asked.

I drew sunglasses on the face.

The angel sighed.

I drew a few sun rays around the smiley before
continuing our "conversation."
I need help.

I bit my lip and dropped my pencil. Had I really just
written that?

His answer didn't come right away. "What do you need
help with?"

I drew a new sun ray. It extended far past the
others--across both pages, and ended with an arrow pointing at
question five. Then, I wrote:
Help please.

"This test is supposed to measure your aptitude,
Devi. It's alright if you don't know everything."

My aptitude sux.

"Don't say that."

O really? Score so far?

"That doesn't matter. Just focus on what's ahead of
you. Your teacher went over this last week. Try to remember what he
said."

I wrote the word 'remember' three times. What had my
math teacher said? I drew a picture of a train, and put the times
down on it, and a little speed sign that said 35 mph.

"You can do this, Devi."

He was right--I could draw silly pictures. Too bad
this wasn't a silly art contest.

"Devi..."

I gave the train cho-cho smoke, and from the smoke
two words emerged:
Please help.

"But I'm an angel. That means I shouldn't really help
you right now."

Will God get pissed?

"No," Camael said, softly.

Did that mean this was something that he, personally,
wasn't comfortable with? I respected that. Hell, I wasn't even
totally comfortable with it. I just didn't want to fail, and...

Actually, failing probably wouldn't matter that much.
I doubted my scores were high enough to get me automatic admission
to Oregon.

I squinted at my train, then at the question, then
back at my train. It was time to try out my psychic powers.
Someone, somewhere, had probably received a perfect score on this
thing by guessing, and I was feeling pretty lucky. "C" looked like
the best option. Yeah, "C." It was giving me good vibes, whatever
that meant.

I started filling in the bubble.

Camael's voice shattered my peace. "On these tests,
they usually have one answer that is extremely different from the
other answers, and that answer is generally wrong."

Alright, so "C" was bad. But where did that leave me?
None of the other options felt as good as "C."

I exhaled sharply. I couldn't start doubting myself
now. How could I have faith in my guessing/psychic abilities when
"C" still felt so right?

I liked "C's" attitude. "C" wasn't afraid to be
different. "C" didn't play by anyone else's rules. "C" was the
tough biker-chick answer, racing down a red desert highway in a
leather jacket, with only the wind and
Steppenwolf's
"Born
to be Wild" for company. Wait, scratch that last part--I didn't
want be compared to a greasy Jack Nicholson from
Easy
Rider
.

I gripped the pencil tighter. Yes, I could do this. I
could dare to fail. Kick-ass bicker-chicks didn't need college.

I started to fill in the rest of "C" bubble.

The angel touched my wrist, stopping me. "I'll
help."

Was "C" really that wrong? Was it so bad to aspire to
be "C"? I shook my head. It was too late now. Bicker-chicks did
what was necessary and asked questions later.

"Please, Devi. I'm sorry for not saying anything
earlier." The angel crouched down next to me. "You can do
this."

Hey, angels can't lie
, I wrote.

Camael ignored it, and started to explain the
problem. "Do you understand?"

I couldn't detect any sarcasm or mockery in his tone.
He really just wanted to know. I shrugged.

"You can attach the numbers to your picture, if you
think that will help."

I almost dropped my pencil. Why did he have to try
this hard? Pretending like the stupid picture I drew could actually
be worth something didn't help, it just made my chest ache.

No, it made all of me ache.

"Try to internalize what I'm telling you so you can
do it next time."

I didn't want to internalize anything. Too much was
already going on inside me. My stomach twisted as he pointed to my
picture. He continued to act out the problem, oblivious to my
nerves...or at least he tried to act it out. In his defense, it was
difficult to act with an expressionless face while speaking in
monotone.

"See?" He finished. "That would make the answer
B."

I nodded. It made sense, though I really wish it
didn't. "C" had been about as far from "B" as you could get.

Camael scooted closer. "Do you need help with the
next one?"

That was a dangerous question. I shut my eyes.
Biker-chick, or getting an angel to cheat for me. Which is
worse?

I glanced at the bottom.
What is the ratio of the
area of the triangle to the area of the parallelogram...?

Oh no. Geometry. What was a parallelogram again?

"Devi?"

I nodded. With my eyes shut, I wrote in the corner of
the page:
OK
. It was probably a good thing that I didn't
have a spirit, because if I did I would so be going to Hell.

***

I couldn't look the teacher in the eyes when I turned
in my test. I also couldn't prevent my hands from shaking, or my
heart from beating so furiously that I feared I would faint at any
moment. Briefly, after setting my answer sheet down on the pile, I
got the urge to grab it, wad it in a ball and toss it in the
nearest trash can. The angel had helped me with every single math
problem. Every. Single. One. Well, except those few in the
beginning I'd done on my own, but that didn't matter. There was no
way to justify what I did.

But then, the hippie behind me set her paper down on
top of mine, and the red-eyed, greasy-haired kid in the
Rob
Zombie
t-shirt did the same, and...

I'd lost my chance. I couldn't fish it out. I'd look
psychotic if I did, or like I was trying to get rid of
Rob
Zombie
and hippie kid's tests. So I stared at the floor and
raced out of the room.

It wasn't as crowded in the hallway. Kid's from other
test rooms filed out and wandered towards the blue light filtering
through the glass doors above the exit sign. I didn't notice Camael
beside me until he spoke.

"You did a good job on the test," he said.

Yeah, thanks to you. I kept my gaze at the glassy
tiles on the floor. I couldn't look at him, even though I knew he
didn't deserve to be ignored--I mean, he really, really didn't
deserve that--but...

Camael patted my shoulder awkwardly. I stopped
walking and tried to suppress the shiver that shot through my body.
The angel was just trying to repeat that comforting gesture he'd
probably seen in countless coming of age movies featuring kids
who'd missed whacking the ball at the big game, or ones who'd had
to let their animal best friend return to nature.

You're not supposed to do that for kids who
cheat
, I wanted to tell him, but instead I put my hand on top
of his and patted it back.

He started to glow. I guess, for some reason, he
liked that.

I sighed.

The glow dimmed. "Are you mad at me for helping
you?"

"No, more like mad at me." My heart started throbbing
again. Had I really said that out loud?