Angel in Training (The Louisiangel Series, Book One) (17 page)

“I second that,” Cupid frowned, one of his
hands cradling his chin. “I think this is going to be a lot harder
than I expected.” He moved in front of me, placed his hands on my
shoulders and pushed my body around on the spot. “Firstly, you
don’t actually want to be facing your target with your body – it
makes it all wrong for your arms and you can’t pull the string
back. You want to be at a right angle to the target.”`

Keeping my back straight and my feet
together, with my body in the correct position I raised the bow.
With my arrows remaining safely in my thigh quiver, I drew back an
imaginary arrow, aiming at the target. Cupid was right – I could
stretch my arm back further, with comfort.

At the sight of my new position, Cupid blew
out a frustrated breath. “Your feet want to be shoulder width
apart. It will give you better balance and a more secure
posture.”

I did as he said, keeping the bow raised. It
felt a little more comfortable, but I wasn’t sure how much more
balanced I felt.

“And keep your bow straight,” he added,
nudging the bow. “It’s not a crossbow. That bow should be perfectly
straight.”

I made yet another alteration to my posture
and waited while he stepped back and looked me over once more. With
a frown, he stepped back to me and plucked my little finger free
from the string. “You don’t need that.” With a final nod, he
stepped back, behind me. “Alright, give it another go.”

I relaxed the string, plucking another arrow
from my quiver, marveling as it doubled in size at my touch, and
nocked it in place. I took a moment to make sure all my limbs were
in the correct position, and aimed. The arrow sailed through the
air, but still fell short of the target.

“Don’t drop the bow,” Cupid barked at me,
startling me out of my disappointment. “These days, humans class
archery as a sport. It’s not for us. It can be a matter of life and
death. Time you waste in lowering and raising your bow instead of
reloading could cost you.”

“I don’t think that target is going to grow
arms and legs and attack me,” I muttered, unable to control myself
as I rolled my eyes.

“Get in the good habits now,” Cupid warned
me. “You will thank me for it one day.”

Personally, I hoped that day would never
come.

We spent the best part of the morning out
there. Despite the ridiculously hot sun beating down on me, the
heat, unlike the humidity was no problem for me, but that didn’t
mean that I wasn’t gasping for water when we eventually went
in.

“I’m going to take you to the weapons room,”
Cupid announced, carrying his own bow while I took mine. “These
will live in there.”

A few doors along from the gym was the room
in question. It had two large wooden doors that opened into a
cavernous room. Much to my disapproval, like every other thing in
this place, it didn’t look like it was ever locked. “Has it ever
occurred to you that this might be the one room in the building
that might need locking up?” I asked him, staring at all the
different types of weapons that littered the room.

There were enough bows that a small army
might have been well supplied. They were of every size possible,
ranging from ones that looked right for a six year old, to some
that would be perfectly suited to someone seven feet tall.

“And what do you think we’re going to do with
them?” Cupid asked lightly, his lips inching up into a smile.
“Recreate a scene from Lord of the Rings? We’re not a bunch of
immature teenagers.” I offered him a raised eyebrow. “Fine,” he
admitted. “Some of us are teenagers. But we’re not about to start
playing with weapons. Although Orlando Bloom as an elf running
around the convent would be something.” He shook his head, the
dreamy look disappearing. “This room is off limits to the angels
anyway.”

I gave the collection of bows another look.
“These are for archangels?” At Cupid’s nod I almost choked. “The
archangels being yourself and Michael?”

“And hopefully you one day,” he nodded.
“Although, Michael prefers swords.” He pointed up to the fireplace
at the far end of the room.

When I had walked in, my attention had been
caught by the bows, probably because mine was about to join them.
Although I had registered that there were other weapons in the
room, I hadn’t realized that the far end was dedicated to the
swords. Above the fireplace, there were two swords, their blades
crossing each other as if frozen in fight.

The one on the right was an almost white
colored silver with a simple gold handle. The left one was the
opposite. The blade was dark – a charcoal color – and the handle
was black, gleaming in the sunlight that was filtering into the
room. It was like looking at a black and white version of the same
sword. I glanced at Cupid. “Would I be wrong in assuming the white
one is Michael’s?”

“Actually, they’re both Michael’s,” Cupid
informed me. “But the white one was once Lucifer’s.”

I could feel my eyes practically bulge out of
my head as I stared up at the gray sword in both awe and confusion.
Awe because Michael had clearly beaten Lucifer to obtain that
trophy; confusion because I wouldn’t have expected it to be
something that Michael proudly displayed – even if it was in a room
that no one really went into. “Really?” I asked him. “I would have
expected the white one to be Michael’s.”

A sad look passed over Cupid. “Swords of
angels are white. They turn black when their blades are used to
kill.”

My eyes narrowed as I stared up at the darker
blade. Sure, it wasn’t white, but it didn’t really look black. I
pushed the thought from my mind. I was a person who called a tomato
a ‘tom-ah-to’ in the land of the ‘tom-ay-to.’

My bow took its place next to Cupid’s and I
set the quiver down under it. We left the armory and I made to
return to the gym, bracing myself for Michael’s relentless
onslaught, but Cupid stopped me. “He’s in Rome meeting with
Gabriel.”

I couldn’t help but feel some joy at the
prospect of not attempting to kill myself on the treadmill. “In
that case, I think I’m going to go shopping,” I told Cupid. “Want
to come?”

Cupid shook his head. “I’m on the front desk
this afternoon. Thanks though.”

We parted ways and I returned to my room to
shower and change. It was a nice feeling to be able to look through
my wardrobe and have a choice in outfits. I pulled on a long length
white tank top over the top of a short denim skirt.

I’d had every intention of walking into the
French Quarter. Instead, as I walked past the front desk, something
told me it would be a good idea to drive. I collected the keys and
drove out of the convent.

Somehow, the driving took me out of the city
and into the residential area of Jefferson. I didn’t really know
where I was going, so I was surprised when I pulled up behind an
out of place, brand new Dodge Charger, in an area which had been
restored to its pre-Katrina glory. I’d reached my destination –
that much I did know – but I didn’t know where I was, or why I was
there.

That was until I examined the house the
Charger was parked in front of. The roof, unlike the other houses
around it, was covered in bright blue tarpaulin, midway through a
repair, with large sheets of new plywood covering the lower
half.

Climbing up a ladder, wearing only a pair of
jeans and well-worn Caterpillar boots was Joshua – a long plank of
wood resting on his shoulders. I killed the engine and stared up at
him, unable to look away from his lean muscles and lightly tanned
skin, which was gleaming in the sunlight that filtered through the
surrounding trees.

I’ll put my hand up and admit I was close to
drooling as I watched him hammer the wood in place. However, much
to my embarrassment, he looked up, held his hand over his eyes to
block out the glare of the sun, and caught me staring. Again.

While he hooked his hammer through his belt
loop and climbed down from the roof, I got out of the car and
sheepishly made my way over to meet him at the bottom of the
ladder. “Hi,” I offered, giving him a weak finger wave as he
stepped to the ground.

“Are you stalking me?” he asked me,
warily.

“
I wouldn’t call it
stalking
,” I frowned, although it probably wasn’t
far from being.

“You just happen to know where I am on my day
off?” he asked, reaching for a rag that lay over his tool box.

He used the rag to wipe his forehead and I
quickly had to shake my head to stop from staring again. “I didn’t
set out to find you intentionally. I actually set out to go
shopping.”

“Shopping?” he repeated, arching that eyebrow
of his. “I think you need to replace your GPS because there isn’t a
store near here.”

“I don’t know what led me here, but something
did,” I frowned, regretting it as I said it.

Joshua rolled his eyes at me. “Is this where
you tell me you turned up to save me from falling to my death from
the roof?”

I glanced up at the roof of the one storey
building then down to the grass below us, before my attention
returned to Joshua. This time it was my turn to arch the eyebrow.
“Somehow, I don’t think the fall will kill you – your thick head
would save you.”

“So you’ve come here to insult me then?”

“
No!” I objected. “I told you – I don’t’
know why I’m here.
Something
just
led me here.”

“
You do realize I think
that
, and all the angel stuff you keep spouting is a
complete and utter load of bull-”

“Joshua!” A stern voice interrupted us.

We both turned to face the owner of the
voice, though, while my expression was curious, Joshua’s was
sheepish. “Sorry, ma’am,” he muttered.

“It’s not me you should be apologizing to,”
the woman reprimanded him. She was tiny – I bet she hardly hit five
feet – but she still had Joshua shifting awkwardly on the spot.

My aunt, Sarah, was in her mid-fifties, but
the chestnut hair dye, the bob cut and her makeup meant she could
usually pass for someone in her forties. This woman, on the other
hand, had hair like the clouds after a light rainfall and her
bright blue eyes were almost hidden beneath a sea of wrinkles. If I
had to guess, I would have said she was in her seventies at
least.

Although he didn’t look impressed, Joshua
turned back to me. “I’m sorry if I was being rude,” he muttered.
Somehow, with his hands jammed in his pockets, he seemed more like
a fourteen year old.

“That’s better,” the woman nodded. “Now, what
about the rest of your manners?”

“Maggie, this is Angel. Angel, this is Maggie
– an old family friend.”

“
Enough of the
old
,” Maggie chided, good naturedly.

“Nice to meet you,” I smiled, offering my
hand.

Instead of shaking it, she used it to pull me
into a hug. “It’s lovely to meet you, dear. It’s about time I met
Joshua’s girlfriend.”

“I’m not his girlfriend,” I quickly corrected
her, as Joshua began choking.

“Of course not dear,” Maggie agreed, although
she patted my arm as though she didn’t really believe me.

“No, really, she’s not,” Joshua chimed in. “I
keep telling you, I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Of course not, dear,” Maggie told him,
mimicking her actions with me on him. “Now, are you here to help?”
she asked, addressing me.

“Um, sure?” I replied, wondering as I did
what I was getting myself into.

“Wonderful,” Maggie beamed. “I’ll go find you
one of Joshua’s shirts, and then you won’t get paint all over that
lovely white top.”

She was already heading back into the house
as I turned to Joshua. “What have I just agreed to?” I asked him,
dubiously.

“Manual labor, darlin’,” he drawled, leaning
back against the ladder. That smirk of his was back. “You think you
can handle that?”

I’d had no intention of leaving anyway, but
as soon as those eyes challenged me – I definitely wasn’t going
anywhere. I pulled my hair back into a high ponytail and crossed my
arms over my chest. “Where do you want me?”

The smirk was back. Again.

Before he could comment, however, so was
Maggie, handing over a blue plaid-shirt. “Here, dear. Joshua hasn’t
worn this one for a while.”

I took it and put it on while Maggie
disappeared back into the house. I turned to Joshua with my own
amused smirk. “Plaid?”

“Judge all you want, but she buys me one
every birthday and Christmas and I’m not about to upset her by
telling her I don’t wear plaid.” There was definitely more than
just good looks to this guy than I had first assumed. “The paint
and brushes are under the car port,” he finished, climbing back up
the ladder.

I watched him go. I think he still expected
me to leave. Instead, I walked over to the car port and poured the
thick gray paint into a tray and attached the extension rod to the
roller. “I agreed to help,” I informed him as I caught him watching
me on my way to the far side of the house. He pursed his lips but
said nothing, resuming the hammering.

An hour later, we were interrupted by
Maggie who had come out carrying two cold cans of soda which were
already sweating in the heat. Joshua descended the ladder and took
the can, chugging it down in one long gulp. I was watching my very
own Diet
Coke
commercial. It was Maggie who caught me licking my lips and I
quickly turned in embarrassment to examine the first quarter of the
house I had managed to paint.

“Joshua, you need sunscreen on,” Maggie
announced, catching my attention. I turned just in time for Maggie
to dump a bottle in my hands. “Make sure he’s well covered, dear,”
she said, winking at me.

“I am capable of putting it on myself,”
Joshua scowled, snatching the bottle away from me.