The Hidden Deep (10 page)

He took the time to consider her demand, then answered, “I’ll do whatever God asks of me.”

“Then I hope He doesn’t send you into danger.”

The Messenger’s expression softened, and there was affection in his tone when he replied, “Thanks for your concern, Miss Priscilla.”

She fidgeted under his gaze and turned back to the field. “What’s happening now?”

Milo resumed his lesson by pointing to the various players, giving the names of their positions, and explaining their
roles. Before she knew it, Koji came into view, carefully carrying two steaming cups. When he reached them, Milo quickly relinquished his seat, saying, “If you’ll excuse me? I’m needed elsewhere.”

“You are?” she asked in surprise.

“Yep.” Placing his hand on his young teammate’s shoulder, he said, “Koji’s learned many of the finer points of football, so he can continue your lesson.”

“You
are
taking turns!” she accused huffily. “I don’t need a babysitter, and I already have a Guardian!”

“Don’t scold us for doing what we must, Miss Priscilla.” With an uncommonly serious expression, Milo added, “And don’t worry. It’ll be all right.”

As he strolled off down the sideline, Koji placed a cup of cocoa into her hands. She curled cold fingers around its welcome warmth and asked, “
What
will be all right? Do you know what he’s talking about?”

Koji gazed after the Messenger. “No.”

She’d always thought angels should be a little mysterious, but Prissie was beginning to think she preferred straight answers that made sense. With a gusty sigh, she took a cautious sip of her cocoa. “Mmm, this is good! Thank you, Koji.”

Her friend beamed. “I agree, and you are most welcome.”

Prissie felt a burst of affection for the angel who’d taken on the appearance of a boy in order to be by her side.

Late in the final quarter, Prissie was actually paying attention to the game. She knew the names and faces of all the football players, but it was harder to tell them apart with their helmets on. The announcer up in the press box called out the
play-by-play, which helped a little. Still, it was odd to hear the boys referred to by their last names or by their uniform numbers. Over the cheers of the crowd and the blare of their school’s fight song, the announcer’s voice rang out.

“… And Blake is on the move, looking for an opening … and there’s the throw! It’s a quick slant pass to Number 14, Mueller!”

The stands roared with excitement as Mueller tucked the ball snugly against his chest and started toward the end zone. It took a moment for Prissie to realize that the wide receiver the commentator kept referring to as “Mueller” was actually Joey, one of Ransom’s friends.

The lanky teen was quick on his feet, but not fast enough to outrun one of the Predator’s linebackers. A cry of disappointment rang across the field when the green-clad opponent gained enough ground to wrap his arms around Joey’s chest and slam him into the turf.

“Down on the forty-six yard line. It’ll be third and four.”

An uneasy murmur rippled through the crowd while the linebacker picked himself up, but Number 14 didn’t move. One of his teammates hurried over, then waved furiously at the sideline, calling, “Coach! Better c’mere!”

Whistles blew, the clock stopped, and Coach Hobbes jogged out onto the field to check on Joey. Prissie glanced up to where the rest of her family was seated in the stands and saw that her grandfather was on his feet, frowning as he rubbed his chin. Her father said something to him, and Grandpa Pete grimaced, pointing to his shoulder as he answered Jayce’s question.

Around her, Prissie heard concerned voices. “That poor boy!”

“He’s not moving! Do you think he’s been knocked out?”

Turning to Koji, Prissie asked, “What just happened?”

“A player has been injured.”

That much was obvious. Fleetingly, she wondered why Joey Mueller’s Guardian hadn’t stepped in. “Is it bad?”

“He is in a great deal of pain,” Koji replied frankly.

Prissie didn’t know
what
to do, but while she looked on with the rest of the crowd, someone hurried past, another person slouching after him. With a start, she recognized Ransom and Marcus. They headed straight for their team’s bench, and Ransom punched one of the big linemen on the arm. The back of his red jersey read
EVANS.
Brock Evans was Ransom’s other close friend, and all three of them stared onto the field with tense expressions.

Derrick Matthews eased Joey onto his back and was talking to him. It’d been a long time since they’d had a serious injury during a game, but that’s one of the reasons Coach Hobbes kept Mr. Matthews around. Although a carpenter by trade, Derrick was also a first responder with West Edinton’s volunteer fire department. And an avid football fan. He acted as the Warriors’ trainer and provided first aid when necessary.

Cheerleaders huddled together, looking nervous as they whispered, and members of both teams removed their helmets and knelt along the sidelines. She spotted Milo kneeling next to Brock. At the mailman’s beckoning wave, Ransom and Marcus climbed over the bench to join them, showing support for their downed friend. “Is that why Milo was needed?” Prissie murmured curiously.

“I believe so,” Koji acknowledged.

A grim murmur from the crowd, and Prissie heard someone say, “Here comes a stretcher.”

The referees urged everyone to back up and make room for the two EMTs. When they carried Joey off the field a minute later, everyone clapped and called encouragement, and the wide receiver managed a clumsy wave before disappearing into the back of the ambulance.

The injury put a damper on the rest of the game, but the Warriors rallied, pushing their way into field goal territory. They brought out their kicker, and the game ended with West Edinton winning by three points. As the stands began to empty, Prissie again caught snatches of conversation, and she had to agree with those who said the victory had been a costly one.

During the ride home, Prissie sat between Neil and Tad on one of their van’s wide bench seats. The Pomeroy’s overall mood was subdued, but her two older brothers fell into conversation.

“Did you learn anything more about Joey while you were in the locker room?” Tad asked.

“Only that they took him to the hospital down in Harper to do some X-rays and stuff,” Neil replied.

Tad hummed. “Was he that bad off?”

“I think it was just a precaution,” Neil said. “Joey was alert and everything before they carted him off. He was more embarrassed than anything that he had to be pulled out of the game.”

“I thought he was really hurt,” said Prissie.

“Yeah, he was definitely banged up,” he confirmed. “Derrick said he thought the collarbone was broken, which means he’s out for the rest of the season.”

“Too bad.”

“No kidding.”

Prissie sternly asked, “Since when do you call Mr. Matthews by his first name?”

Neil grinned and tugged her braid. “He invited all of us on the team to call him Derrick, so don’t fuss at me about my manners. You call his wife by her first name.”

“Pearl and I are
friends
,” she retorted.

“Yeah, well, Derrick’s part of my team, and an important part, too,” he replied seriously. “He was really great tonight.”

Tad eyed his brother. “You were right out there with him and Coach.”

Neil rubbed his hands together, and he looked as if he was back in that tense moment. “I wanted to
do
something, but I didn’t have a clue how to help. Derrick did, though. He took charge and calmed Joey down. Even made him laugh a couple times. And rode with him in the back of the ambulance since his folks weren’t at the game.”

“That’s good,” Tad said neutrally.

Neil gazed out the van window at the starry sky and quietly repeated, “He was really great.”

R
ough voices filtered through Ephron’s darkness, stirring him from a dull stupor of pain.

“Did you see that?” growled Murque.

“Be more specific, idiot,” Dinge sneered.

Scuffling and scraping sounds grated against the Observer’s sensitive ears, and finally the first captor said, “There it was again! Just a bit of light out of the corner of my eye!”

“Down here?” scoffed his companion. “Your eyes are playing tricks on you.”

“I’m going to check,” insisted Murque, and the ominous
snick
of a drawn blade sent a shiver down their prisoner’s back.

With a hiss of impatience, Dinge snapped, “Fine! It’s a waste of time, though.”

“Not if I’m right!”

“You’re
never
right!”

While the demons’ bickering faded from earshot, Ephron lifted his face toward the whisper of tiny wings. He opened the front of his shirt with fumbling fingers, offering refuge to the little one who risked so much to meet him in his dank prison. Small hands patted his cheek, then pressed a thin wafer to his lips, and as the manna dissolved upon his tongue, Ephron’s hope was renewed.

“Mind your wings,” he murmured as he pulled his raiment over the yahavim. Its inherent glow would help to mask the little angel’s presence. Tucking his chin against his chest, the Observer curled protectively around his precious visitor, smiling softly as Lavi snuggled against him.

Koji didn’t ask for much, so when he asked Prissie if they could attend the first
Messiah
rehearsal at Holy Trinity Presbyterian, she talked to Momma. “Could we go?”

Her mother seemed surprised. “Are you planning to sing?”

She shook her head, saying, “Koji wants to see. Do you think it’s okay?”

“I don’t see why not, as long as your homework is done,” Naomi replied. “Tad’s driving separately from your grandpa, so let him know he’ll have two more passengers.”

“Thanks!” Prissie hurried off to locate her big-big brother, and found him in the machine shed, tinkering with his hunk-of-junk car. Grandpa had given it to him when he was sixteen, and they’d taken it all to pieces. In their spare time, when work on the farm slowed down, they’d been putting it back together. According to Grandpa Pete, the vehicle was
a practical puzzle, and it was pretty obvious that in his own quiet way, Tad enjoyed figuring it out. “Say, Priss, do you see a small metal thingamabob on the floor anywhere?”

“Is that the technical term?” she asked.

Gray eyes slanted her way. “Of
course
it has a proper name, but you don’t need to know it to find it.”

“Did you drop it?”

“Yeah, just now. It’s a tiny little thing,” he said, giving her an idea of the size with his thumb and forefinger. “But if it’s missing the whole lot is useless.”

“So it’s an
important
thingamabob.”

“No more important than any of the other thingamabobs. I need them
all
in the right place if this thing is ever going to make it out of the shed.”

She crouched down and peered underneath the car, scooting around until she spotted something in the shadow of one of the tires. Holding up the doodad, she asked, “Is this what you lost?”

“Lost and
found
!” Tad took the part from his sister and went back to tinkering. “Did you need something?”

“Can Koji and I go with you and Neil tonight?”

“No problem. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Why?”

“The kid likes to sing.”

Prissie tugged at the end of one braid. “How do you know?”

He paused, wiping his hands on a greasy rag as he gazed thoughtfully at the ceiling. “Mostly because he sings while he’s slopping the pigs. It’s interesting to listen to him because his songs are never the same.”

“R-really?”

“Yep. It’s like he’s always making it up as he goes along.” Tad shook his head as he went back to work. “Koji’s not what I’d call normal, but he’s a nice kind of odd.”

The Presbyterian church on Main Street was a beautiful building constructed from locally quarried stone. As Prissie trailed after her brothers up the front steps to the big, double doors, her attention was caught by the bronze plate beside the entrance or, more specifically, by the smooth surface to which it was affixed. Many of the buildings in town were faced by the same gray stone, including Town Hall and the post office. Lightly running her fingers over the polished surface, she murmured, “I remember this.”

“Which part?” asked Koji, who was reading the plate that commemorated the completion of Holy Trinity’s construction.

“No, this,” she replied, tapping the wall. “It’s like the stone I saw in the caves. The one with chains.”

Koji’s eyes widened, and he placed his hand on the building. “I did not know, but Tamaes says you are correct. This is the same stone that was used to seal the Deep.”

Shivering at the stark reminder of her time underground, Prissie slipped through the doors and hung her coat in the foyer. Everything about the Presbyterian church felt fancy, from the rich red carpet underfoot to the wood that gleamed darkly against more gray stone. She and Koji tiptoed into the back of the sanctuary, whose high ceilings always made her wonder if this was what a cathedral might be like. The spacious room smelled of candles and furniture polish, but Prissie’s favorite things were the windows.

Tall, stained glass windows depicting various scenes from the Old and New Testaments reached upward to the vaulted ceilings. The sun had already set, but floodlights illuminated the colored panes from outside. Prissie thought they were even more beautiful when daylight streamed through, but they were still impressive at night.

“Pastor Bert is here,” she whispered, pointing to Albert Ruggles, the preacher from her home church. He was in his usual navy suit, and this evening he wore an October-appropriate orange tie. A quick check confirmed that his wife Laura wore a matching orange sweater. They did things like that.

“And I see Kester,” Prissie said softly. He was listening to the choir director, who gestured broadly even when he talked.

“I
hear
Baird,” Koji replied, as an electric guitar filled the sanctuary with a swiftly ascending set of scales. He crooked his fingers. “I have been here before, and there is a good place this way.”

She followed him back out into the foyer, feeling rather sneaky. “Is it somewhere only an angel can get to?” she asked softly.

“No. Follow me,” he urged. Just around a corner was a stairway leading up, and over it was a sign that read,
BALCONY.

Prissie hesitated. “Is it high?”

“I believe you will feel secure,” Koji said, offering his hand.

“I’ll manage.” She put her hand on the banister instead. As they climbed the stairs together, she asked, “Why were you here before?”

“Harken has joined this congregation,” he explained. “He invited me.”

“Was that before anyone else could see you?”

“Yes.”

Prissie didn’t protest when Koji led her to the very back of the balcony because it kept her well away from the edge. Bright silver pipes in all shapes and sizes took up the entire rear wall of the sanctuary, flanking a central console and its tiny bench. They looked curiously at the confusing series of knobs, and Prissie asked, “Do you think Kester knows how to play a pipe organ?”

“I am not sure,” he admitted. “We could ask him afterward.”

They faced forward and Prissie swallowed hard. The view was great, but that was only because they were up so high. Below, sections of pews fanned out in front of a series of wide steps that the choir would use as risers. The pulpit stood on the topmost tier, and the orchestra would use the open space between the choir and the first row of pews.

Grandpa Pete and Grandma Nell were already there, laughing and talking with friends and neighbors, and she could see Tad and Neil sitting with a bunch of other teens from the DeeVee’s youth group. Unplugging himself from the equipment, Baird bounded down to greet a batch of newcomers, his guitar still slung from his shoulders.

Focusing on her friends and family helped a little, but Prissie was still nervous when she edged forward enough to quickly drop into a seat. She braced her arms against the pew in front of her, feeling a little dizzy. Koji sat beside her and laid his hand on her arm. “Would you like Tamaes to join us?”

“Is he on the roof?”

“No, he is here,” Koji replied. He gestured to the side and relayed, “He wants you to be at ease.”

With a nervous half-smile, Prissie admitted, “I’d like it if he joined us.”

At first, there was only a faint blooming of orange light, which deepened in color and intensity before spreading. Then, it unfolded to reveal Tamaes, who was leaning against the arm of the pew across the aisle, his large hands folded together. Shifting colors of bittersweet and amber stretched wide for a moment, displaying the Guardian’s impressive wingspan, then settled, spilling across the wooden seat behind him as if his wings were made of fabric instead of light. The last time Taweel had dropped into sight, it had been instantaneous … and startling. This gradual revelation was more to Prissie’s liking, and she wondered if Tamaes had been hiding behind his wings so she wouldn’t be frightened.

Reddish-brown eyes lifted to meet her gaze, and Tamaes said, “There is nothing to fear, little one.”

Prissie was grateful for the reassurance. “How are you feeling now? Are you still hurt?” She hadn’t seen her Guardian since he was injured during the field trip two weeks ago. For someone who was almost always with her, he was actually pretty scarce.

“I am well,” he said with a gentle smile.

“Sit with us!” Koji eagerly invited. He stood and scooted past Prissie, sitting on her other side and encouraging her to slide down to make more room for the angelic warrior. “You would like that, right, Prissie?”

She nodded. After a moment’s hesitation, Tamaes slowly unfastened the sword that was strapped to his back, propping it within easy reach before carefully taking a seat. Prissie barely noticed how high up she was anymore. It was much too distracting to have the big Guardian sitting so close.

Tamaes’s wings had flicked up to settle behind the pew, and though the shifting lights didn’t come close enough to touch her, she thought she could hear a whisper coming from them. The faint ripple of sound wasn’t the same as the soft notes that Kester’s wings had made. This was less like a wind chime and more like lapping water. It was hard to tell if the warmth she felt was coming from the wings, the angel, or her own face, which was turning red. She glanced at Koji for help, but the young Observer merely smiled as if the awkward silence was the most natural thing in the world.

Finally, she leaned forward to try to see past the curtain of sleek auburn hair that hid Tamaes’s scarred face. “Do you like music?”

He smiled faintly. “Yes, I do.”

“I do, too,” she admitted.

The Guardian’s smile deepened enough to reveal a dimple, and he replied, “I know.”

Of course he did. He probably knew her better than anyone. A soft giggle bubbled up, breaking the tension. Rolling her eyes, she said, “Obviously.”

Just then, Baird plugged in his guitar and struck a chord for attention, and the choir director stepped to the front, getting the first rehearsal underway. Prissie was a little disappointed because it didn’t sound like there would be much singing tonight. The director spent most of his time dividing the newcomers into their appropriate parts and introducing the various section leaders.

Tad was sorted into the tenor section with Milo, and Neil ended up a baritone, joining Derrick Matthews in their section of the pews. Grandpa and Harken were basses, of course, and Grandma Nell was in the alto section.

After a time, Koji leaned into Prissie and said, “Shimron would like to meet you.”

“Now?” she gasped.

“No,” he said, looking amused. “When the time is right.”

“He’s your mentor, right?”

“Indeed.”

“What’s he like?” she asked, glancing at Tamaes to include him in the conversation.

“Shimron is very patient with me,” the young angel said seriously.

Prissie snorted softly. “Dealing with
Zeke
requires patience. Why would Shimron need patience with
you
?”

“Koji asks many,
many
questions,” said Tamaes.

The apprentice Observer swung his feet. “Shimron says he does not mind. I can only learn if I seek answers.”

“Seek, and you will find,” Tamaes acknowledged, his jaw tightening once the words were out of his mouth.

To Prissie’s surprise, Koji’s eyes widened, and he reached across her to pat the big angel’s arm. “We
will.
I am sure of it.”

She realized the angels must be talking about Ephron. It was awkward to see so much sadness in their eyes, so she tried to distract them. “Does Shimron mind that you’re going to my school instead of learning how to be an Observer?”

Koji said, “I am still learning from my mentor as well.”

“Really? Does he give you homework or something?”

“Shimron listens to my accounts and checks my records.” With a small squirm, he confessed, “He says that my writing could be neater.”

“Accounts?” Prissie asked suspiciously.

Tamaes said, “Observers do not simply watch. They are archivists.”

This was news to Prissie. “So you’re
reporting
on me and my family to Shimron?”

He slowly shook his head. “No. That is not my purpose.”

“But you’re watching,” she accused.

“Indeed.”

Her Guardian briefly touched Prissie’s shoulder, and she turned her gaze on Tamaes. He met it evenly. “An Observer watches that which can be seen, but he is looking for evidence of that which is unseen.” When she still seemed baffled, he explained, “Even if Koji is watching you, you are not his focus.”

Even more confused, Prissie asked, “Then what
are
you looking at?”

Koji said, “We watch for the hand of God, for He is always at work in the lives of those who are His.”