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  Ivy suggested she go and lay out my uniform and find a clean shirt and pants for Gabe. As a member of the teaching staff, Gabriel was required to wear a shirt and tie, and the idea wasn’t exactly appealing to him. He usually wore loose jeans and open-neck sweaters. Anything tight made us feel too constricted. Clothes in general gave us a strange feeling of being trapped, so I sympathized with Gabriel as he came back downstairs squirming in the crisp white shirt that hugged his well-built chest and tugging at the tie until he’d sufficiently loosened the knot.

  Clothing wasn’t the only difference; we’d also had to learn to perform grooming rituals like showering, brushing our teeth, and combing our hair. We never had to think about such things in the Kingdom, where existence was maintenance free. Life as a physical entity meant so much more to remember.

  “Are you sure there’s a dress code for teachers?” Gabriel asked.

  “I think so,” Ivy replied, “but even if I’m wrong, do you really want to be taking a chance on the first day?’

  “What was wrong with what I had on?” he grumbled, rolling up his shirtsleeves in an attempt to liberate his arms. “It was comfortable, at least.”

  Ivy clicked her tongue at him and turned to check that I’d put on my uniform correctly.

  I had to admit that it was fairly stylish as far as uniforms went. The dress was a flattering pale blue with a pleated front and a white Peter Pan collar. With it we were required to wear knee-high cotton socks, brown buckle-up shoes, and a navy blazer with the school crest emblazoned in gold on the breast pocket. Ivy had bought me pale blue and white ribbons, which she now weaved deftly into my braids.

  “There,” she said with a satisfied smile. “From celestial ambassador to local school girl.”

  I wished she hadn’t used the word ambassador—it was unnerving. It carried so much weight, so many expectations. And not the sort of expectations humans had of their children to clean their rooms, babysit their siblings, or complete their homework. These were the kind of expectations that had to be met, and if they weren’t . . . well, I didn’t know what would happen. My knees felt as if they might buckle underneath me at any minute.

  “I’m not so sure about this, Gabe,” I said, even as I realized how erratic I must sound. “What if I’m not ready?”

  “That choice is not ours,” Gabriel replied with unfailing composure. “We have only one purpose: to fulfil our duties to the Creator.”

  “I want to do that, but this is high school. It’s one thing observing life from the sidelines, but we’re going to be thrown right in the thick of it.”

  “That’s the point,” Gabriel said. “We can’t be expected to make a difference from the sidelines.”

  “But what if something goes wrong?”

  “I’ll be there to make it right.”

  “It’s just that the earth seems like such a dangerous place for angels.”

  “That’s why I’m here.”

  The dangers I imagined weren’t merely physical. These we’d be well equipped to handle. What worried me was the seduction of all things human. I doubted myself, and I knew that could lead to losing sight of my higher purpose. After all, it had happened before with dire consequences—we’d all heard the dreadful legends of fallen angels, seduced by the indulgences of man, and we all knew what had become of them.

  Ivy and Gabriel observed the world around them with a trained eye, aware of the pitfalls, but for a novice like me the danger was enormous.

  3

  Venus Cove

  The Bryce Hamilton School was located on the outskirts of town, set high on the peak of an undulating slope. No matter where you were in the building, you looked out to see a view: either vineyards and verdant hills with the odd grazing cow, or the rugged cliffs of the Shipwreck Coast, so named for the many vessels that had sunk in its treacherous waters over the last century. The school, a limestone mansion complete with arched windows, sweeping lawns, and a bell tower, was one of the town’s original buildings. It had once served as a convent before it was converted to a school in the sixties.

  A flight of stone steps led to the double doors of the main entrance, which was shadowed by a vine-covered archway. Attached to the main building was a small stone chapel; the occasional service was still held there, we were told, but mostly it served as a place for students in need of refuge. A high stone wall surrounded the grounds, and spiked iron gates stood open to allow cars access to the gravel driveway.

  Despite its archaic exterior, Bryce Hamilton had a reputation for moving with the times, and was favored by progressive parents who wanted to avoid subjecting their children to any kind of repression. Most of the students had a long-standing association with the school through parents and grandparents who were former pupils.

  Ivy, Gabriel, and I stood outside the gates watching the students arrive. I concentrated on trying to settle the butterflies that were doing callisthenics in my stomach. The sensation was uncomfortable and yet strangely exhilarating. I was still getting used to the way emotions could affect the human body. I took a deep breath. It was funny how being an angel didn’t make me any more prepared for the first-day nerves of starting somewhere new. I didn’t have to be human to know that first impressions could make all the difference between acceptance and ostracism. I’d listened in on the prayers of teenage girls and most of them centered on being accepted by the “popular” crowd and finding a boyfriend who played on the rugby team. I just hoped I would find a friend.

  The students came in groups of three and four: the girls dressed just like me; the boys wearing gray trousers, white shirts, and blue-and-white-striped ties. Even in school uniform, it wasn’t difficult to distinguish the particular social groups I’d observed in the Kingdom. The music posse was made up of boys with shoulder-length hair, untidy strands falling over their eyes. They carried instrument cases and had musical chords scrawled on their arms in black felt pen. There was a small minority of goths who had set themselves apart by the use of heavy eye makeup and spiky hairdos, and I wondered how they got away with it. Surely it must contravene school regulations. Those who liked to think of themselves as artistic had accessorized the uniform with berets or hats and colorful scarves. Some girls traveled in packs, like a group of platinum blondes who crossed the road with their arms linked. The academic types were easily identified; they wore pristine uniforms with no alterations and carried the official school backpack. They tended to walk with a missionary zeal, heads down, eager to reach the sanctity of the library. A group of boys in untucked shirts, loose ties, and sneakers loitered under the shade of some palms, taking swigs from soda cans and chocolate milk cartons. They were in no hurry to move inside the school gates, instead taking turns at punching and leaping on one another. They tumbled to the ground laughing and groaning at the same time. I watched one boy throw an empty can at his friend’s head. It bounced off and rattled on the sidewalk. The boy looked stunned for a moment before bursting into laughter.

  We watched with growing consternation and still hadn’t moved from our position outside the front gates. A boy sauntered past us and looked back with curiosity. He was wearing a baseball cap backward and his school pants hung so loosely on his hips that the label of his designer underwear was in full view.

  “I must admit, I struggle with some of these latest fashion trends.” Gabriel pursed his lips.

  Ivy laughed. “This is the twenty-first century,” she said. “Try not to look so critical.”

  “Isn’t that what teachers do?”

  “I suppose so, but don’t expect to be popular.” She looked resolutely toward the entrance and stood a little straighter even though she already had perfect posture. It was easy for her to be confident; she wasn’t the one facing the firing squad. Ivy squeezed Gabriel’s shoulder and handed me a manila folder with my class schedule, a school map, and other notices she had collected for me earlier in the week. “Are you ready?” she asked.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be,” I replied, trying to
steel my nerves. I felt as if I were about to go into battle. “Let’s do it.”

  Ivy stood at the gates waving like a proud but anxious mother seeing her children off on their first day of school.

  “We’ll be fine, Bethany,” Gabriel promised. “Remember where we come from.”

  We had predicted that our arrival would make an impression, but we hadn’t counted on people stopping to openly gawk at us, or stepping aside as though they were being visited by royalty. I avoided making eye contact with anyone and followed Gabriel to the administration office. Inside, the carpet was dark green and a cluster of upholstered chairs were arranged in a row. Through a glass partition we could see an office with an upright fan and shelves almost to the ceiling. A short, round woman with a pink cardigan and an inflated sense of self-importance bustled up to us. A phone rang on a desk nearby and she glared pointedly at an office assistant, indicating it was her job to answer it. Her expression softened a little when she got close enough to see our faces.

  “Hello there,” she said brightly, eyeing us up and down. “My name’s Mrs. Jordan and I’m the registrar. You must be Bethany, and you”—her voice dropped a notch as she scanned Gabriel’s flawless face in appreciation—“must be Mr. Church, our new music teacher.”

  She came out from behind the little glass wall and tucked the folder she was carrying under her arm to shake our hands enthusiastically. “Welcome to Bryce Hamilton! I’ve allocated Bethany a locker on the third floor; we can head up there now, and then I’ll escort you, Mr. Church, to our staff room. Briefings are Tuesdays and Thursdays at eight-thirty sharp. I hope you enjoy your time here. You’ll find it’s a very lively place, never a dull moment!”

  Gabriel and I exchanged glances, unsure now what to expect of our first day at school. Mrs. Jordan bustled us outside and past the basketball courts, where a group of sweaty boys were furiously pounding the asphalt, shooting hoops.

  “There’s a big game on this afternoon,” Mrs. Jordan confided, winking over her shoulder. She squinted up at the gathering clouds and frowned. “I sure hope the rain holds off. Our boys will be so disappointed if we have to forfeit.”

  As she prattled on, I saw Gabriel glance up at the sky. Discreetly, he turned his hand so that it was palm up toward the heavens and closed his eyes. The engraved silver rings he wore glinted in the sunlight. Immediately, as if in response to his silent command, beams of sunlight burst through the clouds, washing the courts in gold.

  “Well, would you look at that!” Mrs. Jordan exclaimed. “A change in the weather—you two must have brought us luck.”

  In the main wing the corridors were carpeted in a dark burgundy and oak doors with glass panels led to antiquated-looking classrooms. The ceilings were high and some of the old ornate light fixtures still remained. They were a stark contrast to the graffiti-covered lockers lining the corridor and the slightly nauseating smell of deodorant coupled with cleaning agents and the greasy odor of hamburgers coming from the cafeteria. Mrs. Jordan took us on a whirlwind tour, pointing out the main facilities (the quadrangle, multimedia department, science block, assembly hall, gymnasium, and tracks, playing fields, and the performing arts center). She was obviously pressed for time, because after showing me my locker, she blurted some vague directions to the nurse’s office, told me not to hesitate should I have any questions, and took Gabriel by the elbow and whisked him away. He looked back at me apprehensively.

  “Will you be okay?” he mouthed.

  I gave him a wan smile by way of reply, hoping I looked more confident than I felt. I certainly didn’t want Gabriel worrying about me when he had matters of his own to deal with. Just then a sonorous bell rang, reverberating through the building and signaling the beginning of the first class. I found myself suddenly standing alone in a corridor full of strangers. They pushed indifferently past me as they headed to various classrooms. For a moment I felt invisible, as if I had no business being there. I studied my schedule and realized that the jumble of numbers and letters may as well have been written in a foreign language for all the sense they made to me. V.CHES11—how on earth was I supposed to decipher that? I even considered ducking through the crowd and making my way back to Byron Street.

  “Excuse me.” I caught the attention of a girl with a tumble of titian curls who was striding past. She stopped and surveyed me with interest. “I’m new,” I explained helplessly, holding out my schedule. “Can you tell me what this means?”

  “It means you have chemistry with Mr. Velt in room S-eleven,” she said. “It’s just down the hall. I’ll take you if you like—we’re in the same class.”

  “Thanks,” I said with obvious relief.

  “Do you have a spare after chem? If you do I can show you around.”

  “A what?” I asked, my confusion growing.

  “A spare—as in a free period?” The girl gave me a funny look. “What did you call them at your old school?” Her face changed as she considered a more disturbing possibility. “Or didn’t you have any?”

  “No,” I replied with a nervous laugh. “We didn’t.”

  “That must’ve sucked. I’m Molly, by the way.”

  The girl was beautiful with glowing skin, rounded features, and bright eyes. Her rosiness reminded me of a girl in a painting I’d seen, a shepherdess in a bucolic setting.

  “Bethany,” I said with a smile. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  Molly waited patiently at my locker while I rummaged through my bag for the relevant textbook, a spiral notebook, and a handful of pens. Part of me wanted to call Gabriel back and ask him to take me home. I could almost feel his strong arms encircling me, hiding me from everything, and steering me back to Byron. Gabriel had a way of making me feel safe, no matter what the circumstances were. But I didn’t know how to find him in this vast school; he could have been behind any of the numberless doors in any one of the identical corridors; I had no idea how to find the music wing. I silently reproved myself for my dependence on Gabriel. I needed to survive here on a daily basis without his protection, and I was determined to show him that I could. Molly opened the classroom door and we walked in. Of course, we were late.

  Mr. Velt was a short, bald man with a shiny forehead. He was wearing a sweater patterned with geometric shapes that looked like it had faded from overwashing. When Molly and I came in, he was in the middle of trying to explain a formula scrawled on the whiteboard to a bunch of students, whose vacant faces indicated they wished they were anywhere but in his classroom.

  “Glad you could join us, Miss Harrison,” he said to Molly, who slunk quickly to the back of the room. Having already checked the roll he seemed to know who I was.

  “Late on your first day, Miss Church,” he said, clicking his tongue and raising an eyebrow in reprimand. “Not exactly off to a good start. Hurry up and sit down.”

  Suddenly he remembered he had forgotten to introduce me. He stopped writing long enough to make a perfunctory introduction. “Everyone, this is Bethany Church. She’s new to Bryce Hamilton, so please do your utmost to make her feel welcome.”

  Almost every pair of eyes in the room followed me as I took the last seat available. It was at the back next to Molly, and when Mr. Velt stopped talking and told us to work through the next set of questions, I was able to study her more closely. I saw now that she wore the top button of her school dress undone and large silver hoops in her ears. She had drawn an emery board from her pocket and was filing her nails under the desk, blatantly ignoring our teacher’s instructions.

  “Don’t worry about Velt,” she whispered, seeing my look of surprise. “He’s a total stiff, bitter and twisted after his wife served the divorce papers. The only thing that gets him going these days is his new convertible, which he looks like a loser driving.” She grinned, and I saw she had a broad smile and white teeth. She wore a lot of mascara but her skin had a natural glow. “Bethany, that’s a pretty name,” she went on. “Kinda old-fashioned though. But hey, I got stuck with Molly, like some character
in a picture book.”

  I smiled awkwardly at her, not entirely sure how to answer someone so confident and forthright.

  “I guess we’re stuck with the names our parents chose for us,” I said, knowing it was a lame attempt at making conversation. I figured I really shouldn’t have been talking at all, seeing as we were in class and poor Mr. Velt needed all the help he could get. It also made me feel like a fraud, as angels didn’t have parents. For a moment I felt like Molly would see right through my lie. But she didn’t.

  “So where are you from?” Molly wanted to know, blowing on the nails of one hand and shaking a bottle of fluorescent pink polish.

  “We’ve been living overseas,” I told her, wondering what her reaction might be if I told her I was from the Kingdom of Heaven. “Our parents are still there.”

  “Really?” Molly seemed impressed. “Whereabouts?”

  I hesitated. “Different places. They move around a lot.”

  Molly seemed to accept this as if it were fairly commonplace.

  “What do they do?” she asked.

  I fumbled for the answer in my head. I knew we’d discussed this but my mind went blank. It would be just like me to make a critical mistake within my first hour of being a student. Then I remembered.

  “They’re diplomats,” I said. “We came with our older brother. He just started as a teacher here. Our parents will join us when they can.” I tried to cram in as much information as I could to satisfy her curiosity and stem further questions. By nature, angels were bad liars. I hoped Molly hadn’t seen through my story. Technically speaking, none of it was a lie.