Modern Divinity

5. Pastoral

Celestine stood on her porch, admiring the autumn sunset. The leaves, fluttering in a light gale, were at a perfect point of bright saturation before they started to turn brown and decay. She clutched a warm cup of tea to her chest, the steam lingering in the cold air. Days had passed since her meeting with Mael and on one hand, she was thankful to have more downtime. On the other, she hated the dullness and trepidation that came with waiting. She hadn't heard from her superior in a while, either, and was starting to wonder if her whole mission was some kind of inexplicable test they set up for her as a joke. The peculiar murders had ceased as well, adding another layer to the mystery. She did still check in with her angelic colleagues, but they were all busy handling their own work.

She leaned against a nearby wood pillar, the tranquility of the scenery making her a little sleepy. Her eyes lulled shut and she fought the drowsiness to stay upright and keep ahold of her mug. Nearby, she heard a quiet rustling sound followed by a gust of wind. When she reopened her eyes, a silhouetted figure was waiting on her walkway. Even without a clear view, she knew it was him.

"Why are you here, Donovan?" her words were almost swept away by the breeze.

He stepped into the light cast by a nearby lamp, as infuriatingly attractive as ever. "To apologize, I guess. I figured we're both too stubborn to do it, so one of us had to suck it up."

She looked past him, toward a distant horizon and the disappearing sun. "Why apologize? You were right."

He was considerate enough to stay quiet rather than gloat. She could hear the chains on his heavy boots clinking as he stepped up onto the porch beside her.

"I AM actually sorry to hear that," he said, his tone of voice surprisingly sincere.

"Though," she murmured, speaking quietly into her mug as she took a drink. "At least with demons, I know where I stand."

It was a pointed comment, and she could tell he took it to heart. He pulled a package of cigarettes from his pocket and flashed them in her direction. "You mind?"

She shook her head and resumed leaning against the pillar, feeling strangely mollified but sad. He flicked his lighter on, the glow of the flame stark against the darkened scenery. Something inside her was breaking down, like the longer she was away from her true home, the more her sense of self disappeared.

"I want to go home."

He closed his eyes and took a long drag on his cigarette, then tilted his head back before exhaling a plume of smoke. It seemed like he was trying to decide what to tell her, conflicting thoughts muddying his normally composed demeanor.

"I can't," he started before looking away, then back, unsure of what he wanted to say. "I can't tell you what I am. But, I can try to help you get home." He held the cigarette to his lips, his dark eyes drawing her in as he spoke. "And if I can't even do that, I can at least keep you company until then."

The gentle way he was trying to offer comfort was so pure and heartfelt, it brought tears to Celestine's eyes. She felt them welling up and turned away so he wouldn't see, embarrassed by her own sentimentality. Something about him felt so familiar and safe, but it was tainted by a sense of abstract unease. Like a mirror that reflected things in reverse - somehow right, but also somehow wrong.

She wanted to scoot closer to him, but also wished he would take the initiative and come to her. In the end, neither of them moved and instead they spent a few peaceful minutes admiring the night sky a comfortable distance apart.