More Things In Heaven And Earth

Chapter Eleven

"Reporters thrive on the world's misfortune. For this reason they often take an indecent pleasure in the events that dismay the rest of humanity." -Russell Baker

I must have drifted off, because the next thing I remember is smelling bacon frying. I went to the kitchen. The boys were "helping" Michael make breakfast. Our otherworldly bodyguards were nowhere in sight. I assumed they'd gone once the immediate danger had passed and, though I no longer felt threatened, I knew from the forced cheerfulness of Michael's expression something was wrong. Something more than having been kept up all night by hordes of hungry half-demons who wanted to kill me, that is. "What is it?" I asked.

"There are reporters," he said.

Peeking out of the tall, skinny window next to the front door I counted half a dozen reporters camped on the front lawn .Even as I watched, another pulled up.

Despite the low thrum of power still humming in my body, I felt unequipped to speak to all those cameras. I didn't know how to control what was happening to me, or if control was even possible. I had no idea if the ability to speak was something I could summon up at will, or if I had to wait for the magic moments when it came upon me.

"What should I do?" I asked Michael.

He put a full plate of food and a steaming mug of coffee on the table. "You should eat breakfast."

So I did. Ignoring knocks on the door and a ringing phone, I ate breakfast, showered, washed the dishes, and did morning schoolwork with my boys. When I had the strength to deal with it, I put a scarf over my strange white hair, and drew it across my face, securing it with a pin. My family accepted my appearance easily enough, but Raziel's warning lay fresh in my mind. I went to the front door and took a very deep breath. Silently, I prayed. Help me. I have no idea what I am doing. This is your show. I opened the door to face the growing crowd on my front lawn. Cameras clicked and everyone swarmed in my direction. I held up my hands and they stopped in their tracks, apparently terrified that I would vaporize them all with my fire-power. A man I recognized from Channel Twelve thrust a microphone toward me. "How long have you thought you were a prophet?"

"Since yesterday," I said.

"Why have you covered your face? How can we be certain you are the same woman from yesterday?" another reporter asked.

"To show you a sign, yesterday, I had to draw very near to the Power of That Which Is. It left me marked. I assure you, I am the same woman. You must know I am, or you wouldn't be here, stalking my family and me outside our own home," I said.

"Are you having an affair with the angel?" Someone else shouted out.

I was taken aback. "No! I'm happily married. To a human. The angel is a messenger from God."

"How long have you known him?"

"Since this past spring. He warned me all of this was coming."

"Has he told you anything else about the future?" A man in a horrible brown suit called out.

"He has told me that the future is unwritten. It is unknown and unknowable because every created being has free will."

"Can you give us another sign?" the same man asked.

"If you didn't believe in the first, you won't believe in the second," I said.

"Have you had any word from the legendary community about your message?" Someone else inquired.

I remembered the long, horrible night and had to suppress a shudder. "Their reactions are mixed."

"Do you think that these are the end times?"