Book I: Avi's Angel

Chipotle and Close Quarters

The vessel sat, enraptured, too caught up in the music to move a single toe. She must've heard the song hundreds of times, but the setting made it feel more intimate than it was. The other people fell away, aside from knowing where everyone was. She didn't fancy being someone's cushion!
   He smiled when he sang. She knew this. He even managed to smile when he whistled, though she'd no idea how.
   Knowing because you saw it on a screen, or from the club section of a packed arena, is not the same as seeing it from less than a dozen feet away. Though she knew he'd always done so, the close proximity made it feel like he was smiling at her.
   She sighed, bittersweet. She knew better. She was too old not to. But the illusion, the fantasy was, as always, a pleasant escape from reality.
   All too soon, it was over. It was not her imagination that his eyes sought them out (properly standing, by now); or that he seemed to relax when he found them. He walked toward them, and they placidly strolled toward him (on shaking knees held up by angelic power alone).
   "You did well," they said, smiling benevolently.
   He smiled in his proud, boyishly happy way. "Thanks!"
   The producer clapped him on the back. "Thank you! You guys did great today! Let me take you out to lunch, my treat!"
   The angel cringed. :Remember your question about packed cabs? We may yet see.:
   :Nah,: she assured him. :They'll take a van, with six people.
   :Or, um, a limo..?: They eyed the modest car dubiously. :Well, if there isn't space, we can always sit on the floor,: she offered.
   This was no stretch limousine, or Hummer limo. It was simply an elongated sedan. She hoped there would be sufficient leg room to avoid being trod on.
   In the end, they opted to sit with the driver.
   While Avi was distracted by the band's jostling for position, they simply phased through the door. It would be wasteful to spend energy opening a door, when the only person who could see them was looking the other way.
   However, apparently the driver could see them. Its jaw hung open, disbelief stamped across its muzzle.
   :Uh, what's that? And why isn't anyone back there freaking out?:
   The angel soothed her fears before answering. :To them, he looks human. You are experiencing the world through both of our senses. This is his true form.:
   Trying her best to be polite, she held out a hand. "Hi. I'm Avi's bodyguard."
   The angel hung back, unwilling to reveal his presence. There were plenty of creatures capable of phasing through solid objects.
   The driver slowly--cautiously, she realized--reached out and engulfed her hand in one massive paw. He was afraid of her?!
   :Trolls fear the intangible.:
   :A troll? COOL! Can they really regenerate? That'd come in handy if he ever got in an accident. He'd be good at rescuing trapped passengers!:
   The angel hadn't thought about it that way.
   She beamed brightly up at the driver, who smiled tentatively back. He released her hand when the producer tapped the divider.
   When the tinted window was down, she reached through to tap Avi's shoulder. He spun around, startled. The driver visibly suppressed laughter.
   "Where to, sir?" He asked, a twinkle in his eye.
   "We've agreed on Chipotle," the producer said.
   "Now, why am I not surprised?" She threw him a wink before turning to face the front.
   When the window was up, the driver whispered "Who else can see you?" He easily maneuvered the big car into LA's rush hour traffic.
   The angel urged caution; unnecessarily, to her mind.
   "I don't know," she answered honestly.
   :As if you could answer any other way?:
   :Hush, you!!:
   "May I ask what you are?" He risked a sideways glance at a stoplight.
   "If I told you, I'd have to kill you." She softened the old spy movie line with a smirk.
   He looked surprised, wary, and dubious, all at once. He was, after all, a Troll. "You can do that?"
   :Actually, I don't know. Can we?:
   :Answer first, and then I will tell you.: She understood. With her doing the talking, he didn't have to tell his truth. And for her, the truth was "I don't know, probably."
   The driver chuckled.
   "Why? You don't want to die, do you?" A shadow passed over his craggy features.
   "Aw, c'mon. I bet you could single-handedly pull an entire family out of a crumpled minivan!" She was blatantly flattering his surprisingly fragile ego.
   "Now why would I want to do that?" He snarled, baring his fangs at the car ahead of them.
    "Because it would get your... employer to his destination faster than waiting for rescue?" She suggested, undaunted by the terrifying display.
   He laughed again, which seemed to surprise even him. He pulled into the Chipotle parking lot and smiled down at her. "I like you. What did you say your name was?"
   She twinkled mischievously up at him. "I didn't." They phased out of the car before their patron could disembark, but they could see the troll shaking his head and chortling.
   :I think you've made a friend.:
   :Better a friend than an enemy,: she pointed out. As usual, her logic won out. It made his snarky comment seem petty and unreasonable. He truly disliked when a human knew better than him.
   :Only in matters of the heart. Once the fighting starts, I defer to you.:
   She did not ask again whether they could kill a troll. She no longer wished to know.

   They all piled into a booth, steaming bowls and plates before them. Avi worried about his Guardian Angel being in the way, as crowded as Chipotle always was, but he needn't have concerned himself.
   They leapt, light as air (for they were made of little else but light and air), onto the narrow backrest. It looked like something out of an animé, he thought. They stood behind him, balanced like a feather. He craned his neck to look up at them.
   They bent and pressed a single fingertip to his forehead. That small point of contact pushed his chin toward his chest, but not before he got a glimpse of hers.
   They ghosted upright behind him, but that brief moment haunted him throughout lunch. For a being of light and sound, she'd looked very... firm...
   He had to be nudged with a silver-shod foot frequently, because he missed his name being called.
   When the group showed signs of leaving, a tiny tot of no more than four or five years tapped shyly on his leg.
   "Huh? Oh, hello!"
   The child waved, then thrust a pad of colored construction paper and much-abused box of crayons at him.
   "You want me to draw you a picture?" he asked.
   The boy stuck a finger in his mouth, crayon and all, eyes watering dangerously.
   Struck with inspiration, they stepped down to his thigh and grasped his wrists. They shook the crayon and paper gently onto the table.
    "You want drawing?" She made his hands say, molding her hands to the backs of his.
   The little boy brightened, tears forgotten. "No! No! I want you (plural) to sign paper!" He signed back, eyes dancing and hands shaking.
   "He wants your autographs," she informed the startled man behind her. It was then that they realized where her buttocks hovered. Without thinking overmuch, they dropped to sit sideways on his lap, facing the child.
   "Um, dude?"
   Avi looked over her puffed sleeve to address Scott. "Yeah?"
   "Not that I'm complaining, but since when do you speak sign language?"
   He hooked his chin on her shoulder. "Since now, I guess. He wants our autographs."
   While the "girls" exclaimed over how cute he was, and everyone (even the producer) drew him pictures with their names on it, the boy looked at her. Not Avi, her! She asked if children could see angels.
   :Of course they can.:
   She sighed. :I believe that falls under 'need to know information'.:
   Using her own hands, she asked the boy what his name was.
   "Peter," he fingerspelled. "You angel?"
   She beamed down at him, light from the window illuminating the semi-transparent wings she stretched above her head. That was all the answer he needed.
   "His name is Peter," she told Avi. He promptly scrawled the name beside the bass clefs he was drawing.
   Kevin saw over her shoulder, and added the name to his signature and inspirational message. He told the others, who wrote it next to kittens, cacti, and whatever Scotty was drawing.
   A harried-looking woman materialized out of the crowd and scooped Peter into her arms. "I'm so sorry," she started to say.
   Pentatonix (and their music producer) handed her the drawings, complete with autographs, along with the box of crayons and pad of paper. These were full page creations, just for her son! Her mouth dropped open in amazement.
   The vessel snatched up Avi's hands, before mother and son could leave. "How you know--" she almost said "them", but caught it in time. "Us? Videos?"
   He nodded so hard his mother nearly lost her grip on him. "They always look happy! He," pointing at Kevin, "make funny faces. He," meaning Avi, "dance well. And she very pretty."
   She translated for Avi, who repeated it without realizing he'd done so.
   "You watch Superfruit?" She asked. Avi didn't know to raise his eyebrows for a question, but Peter was watching her face anyway.
   He shook his head. "Mom say no. Bad words."
   She laughed when she translated that one, and everyone laughed when Avi relayed it.
   Peter's mother shook his arm to get his attention, signed "We need go."
   His crestfallen wave goodbye needed no translation, so she dropped Avi's hands and rose to stand beside the booth. They would sit on their patron's lap only as long as strictly necessary. Neither had missed the suspicious bulge, and neither were comfortable with it.
   "Come, we believe you were leaving?" He knew that tone of voice by now, knew it was useless to argue. He slid out of the booth and followed them outside. The others were not far behind.
   Neither patron nor Guardians broached the subject of lap sitting, but two out of the three were thinking about it.