Page 11 of Fear the Fall
I have so many questions about what that entails, but I’ll soon see for myself. “Thank you,” I say, leaving the woman behind. But I don’t miss the words she hurls at my back.
“Don’t thank me for having a hand in your end.”
I practically run to Dumaine Street to catch the next streetcar to take me to Hebrew Rest.
The woman’s words flitter through my head, making me wonder how bad an idea this might turn out to be, but when I analyze my plan to get back home, the only thing that makes sense is that I need to atone for my sins. I’m convinced that part of my penance here is to turn away from temptation and to fight the evil that plagues these lands. If Almada knows more, I need to hear it. I need to know I’m on the right path.
I never quite make it to Hebrew Rest. Less than two minutes after my butt lands on the seat of the streetcar, I look to my right and there Almada sits. My spine goes straight and my head jerks away from her. It’s a feeble attempt to shield myself from her view. There’s nobody between us on the near-vacant car.
She’s the reason I’m here, but this isn’t the place to have the conversation that needs to be had. So I keep my head turned and focus my attention on the torn leather seat at my side. The red fabric is pulling away, allowing the yellow cushion underneath to peek through. It’s crazy how mundane things become so fascinating when you’re doing your best to ignore the fact that your prayers are about to be answered or shattered into a million pieces. That’s the power this heretic holds over me.
I shake the woman from my head, desperate to focus on anything but what’s to come. The momentary reprieve is a gift I should not turn my back on. It doesn’t last long. The bus grinds to a stop and the driver calls out the location, putting us one block from my stop. I remain focused on the seat.
“Get up, child. We get off here.”
Almada.
My head turns to her, eyes narrowed in confusion, but she’s already making her way off the streetcar. I scramble to my feet, scampering after her like she’s my lifeline. She hasn’t stopped, walking ahead with her head held high, sending a message to anyone who passes that she’s not to be toyed with. Strength radiates from her. Who is this woman?
When I finally catch up to her, we walk in silence for two blocks, in some bizarre standoff. I’m not sure if it’s self-preservation or simply stubbornness; either way, I won’t budge first.
“Your control is a testament to your creator, angel,” the crone says, and I stop in my tracks.
“H-how do you know so much about me?”
She turns to face me, and I notice that the deep wrinkles lining her eyes and forehead are more pronounced today than they were the other night. It’s as though she’s aged ten years in a matter of days.
“You’re not the only one with secrets, girl,” she drawls. “God bestows gifts on many. Even us mere mortals. Only we pay a price for his gifts,” she harrumphs. “Seems you don’t.”
“I’ve paid the ultimate price,” I seethe. “I’m doomed to roam this earth, keeping the lot of you safe. All the while, you, a heretic, get to enjoy your life. You read cards,” I spit. “That’s not the work of my God.”
She tsks. “Who said I read cards?”
“You,” I shoot back, becoming frustrated with the detour this conversation has taken. I came for answers about my future, not to talk about what this woman is or isn’t.
She shakes her head back and forth. “I wasn’t going to be the one to read your cards. I was working in the square with a friend,” she explains, sounding defensive. “I don’t read cards and I don’t accept money for my visions.”
My brow raises. “Your visions?”
She nods. “God has given me the gift of sight. I’m a seer.”
I huff out a humorless laugh. “God doesn’t allow that sort of thing to roam the earth unchecked.”
“Yet here you are. A fallen, roaming the earth, seeking me out.” She turns on her heels and moves forward in the direction we had been moving.
“I’m only here to figure out how to get back.”
“For a celestial being, you are very naïve, child.” She doesn’t even deign to look at me.
“Stop calling me a child,” I bark. “I’m probably older than you are.”
She laughs. “True. Yet I age and you don’t.”
I glance around to ensure we’re alone so nobody can overhear the conversation we’re having. That’s when I realize we’re heading in the opposite direction from the cemetery. “Why are we going this way?”
“The dead don’t appreciate angels. It’s hard to cleanse their souls and send them to the afterlife on a normal night. It’d be damn near impossible to do it with you loitering around,” she states, sounding agitated. “Now let’s get to why you’ve sought me out.” She pauses once more, facing me.
I take a step toward her, closing the distance to ensure that anyone lurking about can’t overhear us. “What you said about my light being shrouded in darkness—”