W
ill?”
The single word echoed off barren walls in the bleak cavern as Murque hauled himself the rest of the way out of the pit and leered cruelly. “He’s weakening, my lord. I can make him whimper.”
“Has he told you where it is?”
“Not yet.”
Dinge crouched at the edge of the gaping hole and asked, “What makes you think he knows anything?”
“The Faithful do not lie, so silence is his last refuge,” replied their leader with a delicate sneer. “He
has
the information I seek.”
Murque drew a twisted dagger. “Want me to dig deeper to find his voice.”
“You’ll get your chance, but first, I’d like a word with our caged bird.” With an explosion that sounded like shattering glass, the Fallen leapt, sending up sparks and a metallic squeal as he plummeted into the makeshift prison cell.
The two demons exchanged dumbfounded glances, and Dinge muttered, “I’ve
never
seen him willingly go into the presence of a Faithful.”
Murque picked at his teeth with the point of his blade. “What’s the hurry? It ain’t as if anyone wants this Observer back. He’s already been replaced.”
Suddenly, a thin wail pierced the darkness, rising in desperation. For a moment, light blazed through the darkness, sending the pair scrabbling away from the edge. With a final shout, it flickered, then failed, and by the time it dimmed to nothing, their leader had returned.
“What did you
do
, my lord?” Dinge murmured in awe.
“Robbed him of his purpose.”
He tossed something at the cowering figures, and two pale orbs wobbled to a stop at their knees. Murque grunted in surprise, but only muttered. “Can’t
observe
much without those.”
“From now on, fill his pointed ears with doubts. Perhaps in his despair, he will find the courage to fall. Now, come.”
Once the captors were well out of earshot, their prisoner broke his long-held silence with hoarse sobs.
“And I hear that congratulations are in order?” Milo inquired knowingly.
Prissie blushed and smiled. “Thank you.”
“Will we get to sample this award-winning pie of yours sometime?” asked the mailman, a hopeful light in his eyes.
“You could all come over for dinner, maybe,” she shyly offered.
“Dinner?” Baird asked, perking up.
“Harken and I are regularly favored by the Pomeroys’ hospitality,” Milo boasted.
“Don’t I know it,” the redhead drawled. “Harken goes on and on about Nell Pomeroy’s home cooking. So!” Baird exclaimed, clapping his hands. “What would it take to get us through the door? I could sing for my supper.”
Prissie giggled. “I’ll talk to Momma. I’m sure we can plan something soon. Maybe before harvesttime.” Glancing up into Kester’s face, she asked, “Would that be all right?”
“I would not be opposed to spending more time with your family,” he replied. “Your father would certainly be a congenial host.”
“What kind of word is that —
congenial
?” Baird asked, giving his apprentice a sidelong look.
Milo snickered. “It just means friendly.”
“Then why not
say
friendly?” groused the redhead.
Their banter continued as they wandered onto the midway. Rumbles and raucous music clamored around them, and Prissie glanced around, hoping for a glimpse of Margery and the others. She smiled to herself when they passed the bumper cars, but it didn’t occur to her that her companions were planning to go on any of the rides until Baird stopped at a ticket booth and purchased a sizable roll. “This should keep us busy for a while!” he declared with a wink.
Prissie’s steps lagged when she realized where her companions were headed, but her reluctance went unremarked.
Baird was rambling on about a bird’s-eye view when all three angels halted in their tracks as if they’d hit a brick wall. The worship leader lifted his hands defensively. “Whoa now! No need to go ballistic! Put the sword away!”
She had no idea who the redhead was talking to, but in the next moment, it ceased to matter. All three angels turned to face her, each with a measure of guilt written on their faces.
“It has come to our attention that this ride may not be to your liking,” Kester announced neutrally.
Milo looked stricken, but Baird took their gaff in stride. “You’re afraid of heights?” he asked curiously.
“A little,” she replied carefully.
“O-kay,” he replied thoughtfully. Then he snapped his fingers and pointed to the three of them. “Are we enough to lend you the confidence to face this fear?”
Prissie glanced nervously at the towering Ferris wheel, indecision robbing her of words. She’d stood her ground against Elise and the rest when it came to visiting the fortune-teller. As miserable as it had made her, that had been a place she
didn’t
want to go. But now, there was somewhere she
did
want to go, but she was afraid to accept, which made her even more miserable than before.
Milo lifted his brows expectantly, and Baird winked, but it was Kester who tipped the scales. Without downplaying the reality of her anxiety, he stepped to her side and offered his arm. “Lend me a little of your trust, Prissie?”
Pleased to be treated like a lady instead of the frightened child she felt like, she slipped her arm through his, accepting the angel’s invitation.
When their turn came to enter one of the large, pink-roofed gondolas, Kester courteously saw her to a seat, then
took his place on the hard bench across from her, folding his hands in his lap and gazing thoughtfully toward the sky. Baird dropped down next to him and leaned back casually, an arm draped across the back of the seat, and one ankle propped on his knee. He drummed his fingers against a jeans-clad thigh and hummed a little tune under his breath. The two Worshipers were each calm in their own way, which eased some of Prissie’s tension.
Then Milo took the seat next to Prissie. He was far too subdued, which put her back on edge. “I have a message,” he murmured, his blue eyes solemn. The other two angels looked surprised, and Milo smiled sheepishly. “It’s an unofficial one.”
“From who?” she asked tightly.
Baird snorted. “From an overprotective she-bear who’s bending the rules.”
“There isn’t a
rule
,” countered Milo.
“It’s hardly the norm,” Baird pointed out.
“This entire situation is exceptional,” Kester calmly interjected.
Before their little discussion could go any further off topic, a lever was thrown and the wheel lifted them off the ground. Prissie squeaked as the gondola swayed back and forth, and her hands locked onto the bench. Frantically, she wondered why there weren’t any seat belts.
“Prissie?” Kester called softly. “You are quite safe.”
Distantly, she heard Baird sharply order, “Go
on
, Goldilocks! You’re closest!”
“Miss Priscilla,” Milo spoke, and the note of urgency in his tone made her look up. “If it would help,” he offered, awkwardly patting the seat beside him.
She lunged, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Later, she knew she’d be mortified, but right now Prissie just wanted to feel safe, and if anyone was safe, it was Milo.
“There’s nothing to fear,” he offered reassuringly. “We’re with you.”
“
Breathe
, Prissie,” Baird urged.
Kester quickly crossed to sit on her other side, wedging her between two solid bodies. “Your Guardian,” he stated, answering her earlier question. “Milo’s message is from your Guardian, an angel whose sole purpose in this moment is to watch over you.”
They were still rising, and Prissie hunched her shoulders; however, she listened intently to Kester’s voice, needing the distraction his words offered. Their gondola seemed to rush toward the pinnacle, and the winds changed as Prissie was carried up over the top. In a moment, she knew, she would be falling, and she choked on a scream.
“Tell her, Messenger,” Kester prompted as the ride swung them downwards.
Milo held her hand as he relayed the Guardian’s pledge. “He gives you his word, ‘I will catch you if you fall.’ “
“But you won’t fall,” Baird cheerfully interjected. “Not this time.”
After another revolution, the Ferris wheel stopped to take on passengers, leaving them suspended somewhere three-quarters of the way up. “Take a look around,” suggested Milo.
Prissie slowly opened her eyes and took stock of her surroundings. Baird was still humming lightly, and the tune sounded familiar; after searching her memory, she realized it was the lullaby his apprentice had played for her on the day
they’d met. Kester had one of her hands in his and was idly chafing her cold fingers as he took in the view.
Then, he began to hum in unison with his mentor, and after a few moments, Baird broke off, taking a higher set of notes. As his descant rose above Kester’s melody, Milo added his voice to the others’, dueting in close harmony with the other apprentice. The humming transitioned into a series of soft nonsense syllables,
doo
-ing and
la
-ing. Their trio was simple, even playful, yet their song reached out to her, soothing her until something eased at her core. The calm that settled over her was soul-deep.
The ride resumed, and this time, the revolutions weren’t quite as frightening, even when the next stop left them teetering at the very top of the wheel. “I can see your folks’ place from here,” Milo remarked, pointing.
For some reason, Prissie assumed that he meant the kettle corn stand, but the blond angel ignored the sprawl of tents below, pointing into the hazy distance beyond the fairgrounds. It took a moment to realize what she was seeing — neat rows of trees on a distant slope. “Our orchard?” she asked.
“Yes,” Milo confirmed. “Your farm is the closest residence to, well, to
here.
”
Baird was looking toward the ridge that marked the border of neighboring park lands, a slight frown marring his face. “Which may have something to do with this …”
“… exceptional situation?” Kester offered, finishing his mentor’s sentence.
The redhead tapped his fingers against his thigh. “Mm-hmm.”
“Pardon me,” Kester murmured, drawing back in order to return to his own seat.
In the process, Prissie noticed something peeping out from under the partially rolled cuffs of his shirt. Startled, she blurted, “Kester, do you have a tattoo as well?”
“Ah, you have noticed?” He obligingly pulled back his shirtsleeve, revealing the twining ends of a pattern that lay dark against his olive skin. Where Baird’s tattoos were a vibrant shade of red, Kester’s gleamed black. “Does it surprise you?”
“A little,” she admitted, and his deep brown eyes crinkled in amusement.
“Let me guess,” drawled Baird, whose markings were often on display. “You assumed I was the rebellious type?” Prissie refused to answer, but the blush rising in her cheeks confirmed enough. “Take a gander at Milo’s,” he directed, and the mailman unbuttoned his own sleeve and rolled it back. His fair skin was decorated with tracings of blue as bright as the sky.
“The pattern is different,” she noted in fascination.
“As unique as snowflakes,” replied Baird, looking pleased.
“What are they for?”
“Should we tell her?” Milo asked, looking to Baird, who had seniority.
“A demonstration would be more fun!” suggested the redhead.
“Here?” gasped the mailman.
“I think
not
,” Kester interjected.
They were an angel thing, obviously, but one that made no sense. “I’m not sure my parents approve of tattoos,” she announced nervously.
“They’re
not
tattoos,” Baird announced. “It would be more accurate to say that tattoos imitate these.”
“Many people groups seek to emulate the supernatural, reaching for the divine,” Kester offered.
At her blank expression, Baird helpfully rephrased, “They copy us.”
The gondola jerked and the wheel began to turn again, but Prissie hardly noticed. That’s not to say she was
enjoying
the ride, but it was easier to endure when the angels were distracting her.
Baird snapped his fingers. “My band doesn’t have any more sets, but the organizers asked Kester here to come back, so he’s doing one later. Perhaps we could show her then?” With a sly glance at the dark-haired Worshiper, the redhead continued, “Kester pulled in so many people with his performance this morning that they want him to play again this evening.”
Prissie glanced curiously at him. “What did you do?”
Baird leaned forward and said, “Why don’t you come and see for yourself?”
She thought fast. “I’ll have to ask Momma how late we’re staying. If my older brothers want to stick around for fireworks and everything, then I probably can, too.”
“Excellent!” the redhead exclaimed. “Tonight’s concert will be perfect for a demonstration of what these are good for.”
“In front of all those people?” she asked.
“Sure,” he confirmed. “Kester is just the one for the job. He’s got all kinds of subtlety and whatnot. If
I
tried, I’d probably end up blinding everyone in the first several rows.”
“You’re kidding,” Prissie gasped.
“Nope,” Baird grinned. “I’m an all or nothing kind of guy.”
“Quite,” remarked Kester.
Baird shook a finger at him and warned, “Just a peek, though. Can you manage that, oh apprentice of mine?”
“Of course,” the tall angel replied seriously. “It would be my pleasure.”
The sun had long since set when Baird led Prissie through the backstage area behind the bandstand to help him give Kester a “pep talk” before his performance. Groups from all over the county took their turn in the limelight, and at the moment, the local chapter of the Sweet Adelines was on the stage, singing an upbeat medley of tunes from
The Music Man.
A marker board to the right of the stage announced upcoming acts in larger letters, so she could see that they’d just missed the Tiny Tots Tap-dancing Troupe from Fancy Footwork in West Edinton. In the next scheduled slot was written, Kester Peverell, Deo Volente, Harper.