Dark Fates

LASH L. G. C A S T I L L O

Chapter 1

Lash peered at the arrivals board, confused, his hazel eyes scanning the list of flights going in and out of the Houston airport.

"1724. 1724," he muttered. Flight numbers and cities flipped over as changes were made to the arrival gates. "Damn it. How do you read this thing?"

He brushed a hand over his dark hair with frustration. A seraph should be able to find something as simple as the arriving gate of his work assignment.

Lash sighed as he glanced at the information that the Archangel Gabrielle, his direct supervisor, had given him. Lucky him, he'd been assigned to the one archangel who delighted in his misery. He wouldn't put it past her to give him the wrong flight information intentionally and make him scramble at the last minute to find his charge.

"Javier Duran, age eight. Flight 1724, arriving at 12:05 p.m.," he read. He flipped the card over and gazed at the photo of the little boy with light coffee skin, chubby cheeks, and big brown eyes.

"Where is your plane, little one?" He looked up again as the number 1724 popped onto the board.

"Finally." He noted the gate number and made his way through the bustling crowds.

"What? I can't hear you." Lash heard a young woman yell into the pay phone. "No, his plane hasn't landed yet. It should be here in a few—"

The woman broke off midsentence, and Lash turned to look, curious to see what had happened. The woman squinted through her pink-tinted glasses straight at him.

Lash jumped back in surprise. It was as if she could see him! Most humans couldn't when he took his angel form—except for small children or animals, but even that was rare. When adults did manage to get a glimpse of him, they often dismissed him as a figment of their imagination.

"Anita, qué paso?" Lash heard the voice on the other end of the line ask. "What happened?"

"Wait a minute, Gloria." Anita took off her glasses and wiped the lenses with her floral polyester blouse.

Lash stood motionless, waiting to see if she would say something about his presence. Anita placed her glasses back on, her brown eyes darting in his direction again. After a moment, she shook her head and turned her attention back to the caller.

"Never mind, I thought I saw something."

Lash exhaled—she hadn't seen him after all; at least, no more than the fleeting glimmer that others sometimes claim to see.

"Give me the information again. I need to write it down." Anita dug into her purse and drew out a scrap of paper. Candy and gum wrappers fell onto the carpet along with a black pen. "Where's my pen? I can't find anything in this purse."

"Say a prayer to St. Anthony."

"Good idea." Anita closed her eyes. "St. Anthony, St. Anthony. Please come down. Something is lost and can't be found. Help me find my pen so I can write down the information Gloria should have given me this morning before my eight-year-old son got on the plane all by himself. And while you're at it, can you ask the Lord to forgive Gloria for her forgetfulness? She has to put up with my ex-husband, and only the Lord knows how helpless that man is—especially when it comes to washing his underwear."

"That's enough prayer," Gloria snapped from the other end of the line.

Lash chuckled. There was no St. Anthony—at least not in the airport. He picked up the pen and placed it on the edge of the pay phone shelf.