5 - Highsun 19 / 1 - Ash Moon 11
Perhaps it was my imagination, but as the door closed, it seemed as though the door gave a soft shudder under the angel's invisible lock. For a few moments, the only sound inside the cottage was my own uneven breathing. My palms were clammy. My heart still hadn't caught up to the reality that there was an actual, celestial man—I mean, being, err—angel, standing in my little cottage, casually inspecting my mess like a disappointed schoolteacher.
He broke the silence first.
"Tell me what you've done, witchlet."
The title landed somewhere between a scolding and a sigh. I flinched, because it wasn't wrong. The room reeked of botched ritual—ash, burnt honey, salty tears, dead cat, and now the faint lingering scent of divine stuff that clung to him like an afterthought. I shifted my weight, feeling the chalk dust crunch under my bare toes.
"I—" I gestured vaguely toward the cauldron. "I messed up a few things, and might have, perhaps, accidentally… ruined my life?"
His stare was flat. "More precisely?"
"I made a glamour potion for the Duke's daughter, but at night—"
"—the spell destabilized."
"Yes! And she turned into a—"
"—toad, like you. Predictable."
"'Predictable'??" I asked offended.
"You are in no position to try to defend your weak skills, witchlet."
I groaned, rubbing my itchy face with both hands.
He raised a brow and nodded for me to continue arguing. When I didn't, he prompted—probably already knowing but wanting me to say it aloud—"And why did this mistake happen?"
"Because I didn't read the tiny note in the corner of the page…" I whispered.
He nods once and continues. "And so, once you realized your situation, you tried to summon a demon."
"I was going to summon a demon," I corrected weakly. "I just—apparently—didn't."
He folded his arms across his chest. Somehow, even without his wings, he managed to look like judgment in human form. "And why is that, witchlet?"
The question was simple. The answer… wasn't.
"It was meant to be a being that would grant wishes—to fix things," I said, crossing my arms as well, which felt ridiculous because I was very much losing this intimidation contest. "I would've made a deal, and have been granted power to fix my mistakes responsibly."
He tilted his head. "You made a mess with magic, so your solution was muchmore dangerous and uncontrolled magic?"
I hated how that sounded out loud. "When you say it like that, it sounds bad."
"It is bad," he said dryly. "In fact, it's spectacularly idiotic."
I scowled. "You think I don't know that? I was desperate, all right? The only help I was being offered was from these creepy books. Praying hasn't ever exactly helped either." I say the last part remembering times I've tried asking for divine help, only to be left unheard and still alone.
He ignored my jab at his boss. "And now," he continued, pacing slowly around the ritual circle like a wolf circling prey—except he was less wolf and more… stern librarian with divine wings tucked somewhere out of sight. "You have men hunting you, a failed glamour spell tangled into your face and the face of an innocent bride, a botched infernal ritual, and me, bound here until further notice. Well done, witchlet."
I threw up my hands. "Oh, marvelous. I wanted a solution and all I got for my effort was a celestial babysitter—"
That earned me a look. "I am not your babysitter."
"Then why are you still here?" I demanded, "If you're all holy and divine, why not just—" I waved toward the ceiling, "—float back up to your choir loft or whatever."
His eyes narrowed. "Do you think I want to be here?"
The question confused me; should angels want to help? But then again, I've never heard of anyone say they've received help from a real angel before… I blinked and shrugged slightly. "I, I don't know... Do you?"
He exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose. "No. But your tears bound me. Not with chains, more like… a summons of intent. Heaven listens to need, not greed; He heard your pleading, and I was sent. I cannot simply leave until my mission here is done."
"Oh." My voice went small. Then my request for help had been heard this time…? "So I messed up so badly that I… I forced an angel down from heaven…?"
"Yes." His tone was matter-of-fact, but not unkind. "Congratulations."
I made a strangled noise and pressed my palms to my forehead. "I can't believe this. I wanted a demon. Something with horns and bad taste in contracts. Instead, I got—" I gestured at him helplessly. "You. You and your judgy questions…"
"And yet," he said, voice smooth as still water, "I appear to be the only one standing between you and a very angry Duke's hunting party."
I stop pouting and look up at him with surprise. And hope.
After all, he's an angel—he must have powers, and perhaps I'll be saved from having to make scary deals in exchange for simple survival. And since he's one of the good guys —I would assume…— I'll be fine. I'll get through this!
Perhaps I really should start praying more often…
As positive thoughts start to come to mind, a smile slowly appears on my lips and I feel saved.
"So, you'll protect me from the men?" I ask softly.
"No," he said immediately.
My smile fell.
I frowned at him.
"Excuse me?"
"I cannot intervene directly," he said, each word carrying the gravity of something older than kingdoms. "Celestial law forbids it. My role is to guide, not act. I can warn, advise, occasionally nudge—but not alter what your ultimate decision and actions will be."
My hands fall limply to my sides. "That's—useless."
His eyes flashed. "It's the law."
I groaned into my hands again, pacing now with more frantic energy. The cottage felt smaller with him in it, like his presence shrank the air around us and I could crash into him at any moment.
"Okay… okay, this is fine… I'll find a way to fix this. I just need to be more careful."
"What you need to do is leave this place."
His words echo the ones I've been trying to stifle inside of me. I turned away from him, my heartbeat climbing again. I glanced at the herbs, the jars, the shelves—all the little corners where my mother's touch still lingered. I imagined soldiers trampling through the doorway, hands grabbing at everything sacred to me.
"I can't just—leave," I whispered, "If I go, this all goes. Every charm, every scrap of what the women of my family have left me. This isn't just a house. This has always been my home."
Behind me, the angel sighed.
"If you stay," he said slowly, as if explaining this to a child, "they will find you." He wasn't threatening—just stating fact. Cold, inevitable fact.
"…Can't you—just—hide me?" I asked, spinning toward him. "Cast some celestial cloak? Smite the Duke's men with conveniently localized lightning? Frighten them away with your powers? Something like a holy shield, or—or a glowing sword—"
"No," he said again, with that same patient finality. "I am not your bodyguard either." He breathes in deep, "Direct interference invites imbalance. If I were to strike down a mortal simply because you asked, my kin would come for me before the Duke's men ever could."
I blinked. "And, you—you'd get, what, fired? Smote? Demoted to choir boy?" I ask bitterly. After all, wasn't being holy or whatever supposed to be all sunshine and happiness? What good was there in following all those rules if you can't get help when you need it?
His look was somewhere between exasperation and disappointment. "Something like that."
His words meant there would be punishment for doing what you're not supposed to do, something I've become quite familiar with already. And yet, something stubborn in me refused to bend. "Then I'll do it myself," I muttered.
He raised an eyebrow. "You'll… what?"
"I'll deal with this alone." I squared my shoulders, ignoring the tremor in my voice. "If the glamour spell was the start of the problem, then maybe stabilizing it will fix things. If I can make a proper potion this time—one that actually works—then the Duke will have no reason to keep looking for me." Except that I already ruined the bride's wedding and scared the heck out of the guests…
He gave me a long, searching look. "You truly believe that?"
"I have to," I said. "Because if I don't, then all that's left for me to do is run away. And I can't—not yet. Not without a last effort."
For a moment, silence stretched between us again. The candle flames flickered softly, bending toward him in unconscious reverence again. He finally sighed. "Your logic is flawed. But… if you insist on trying, I can at least ensure you don't accidentally summon another unwilling being."
I blinked. "You'll help me?"
"Guide," he corrected, holding up a finger. "Not help. There is a difference."
A stupid, small grin tugged at my lips anyway, which I turned to hide and bite at. "Close enough."
He rolled his eyes heavenward, muttering something in a language that sounded like sunlight and disapproval. But he didn't leave. He stepped closer to the cauldron, glancing at the shelves with the faintest air of resigned curiosity.
I looked around my little cottage—my mess, my legacy, my impending disaster—and for the first time in days, my heart didn't feel like it was made of lead. The world was still dangerous. The Duke's men were still out there. But I had something now.
A plan.
A terrible plan, but a plan nonetheless.
And a celestial critic—I mean, 'guide'.
And maybe, just maybe, a way out of this.