Angels of Darkness

he said. “Certain attitudes. A position in life. We were all alike. None of us were ever comfortable with—” He struggled to express it. “Weakness. In others. We didn’t have weaknesses of our own.”
    Everything he said just reminded me how much I had disliked all the angels I had ever met. “You’re all arrogant bastards who think you rule the world,” I said. “You don’t have compassion for others because you never needed it for yourselves.”
    He looked both affronted and rueful. “That’s not exactly—but to some extent—perhaps,” he said.
    â€œSo has adversity made you kinder, do you think?” I asked.
    He looked like he’d never thought about that, either. “I don’t know,” he said stiffly. “In the past two years, I haven’t been in many situations where I was asked for kindness.”
    â€œNo, you’ve spent all your time sitting here, brooding in the dark.”
    â€œWell, it seems pointless to brood in the light,” he shot back.
    I threw my hands in the air. “What do you do all day?” I demanded. “Surely you must do something besides sit here in the dark and feel miserable.”
    I had annoyed him again, but I wasn’t sure that was a bad thing. His face took on more color, his gestures were livelier, when he was arguing with me. That couldn’t fail but amuse me somewhat. Never before had my abrasive personality looked to have such a beneficial effect on someone. Particularly an angel.
    â€œSome of the time I play music,” he said. He gestured to the instrument against the wall. So he knows where he is and where everything is placed inside this room, I thought. “Some of the time I write it.”
    â€œYou’re able to put the notes down on paper?”
    â€œI misspoke,” he said deliberately. “I compose the music. I hear it in my head, and I practice it on the cello. I also have a flute, though I’m not as adept with it.”
    â€œGood. I was afraid you did nothing but mope. I’m glad you’ve found a distraction.”
    â€œYes, since your own capacity for compassion makes you sympathetic to all Samaria’s creatures.”
    It was so unexpected that I laughed out loud. “I have plenty of compassion for people who deserve it,” I assured him. “I just don’t happen to feel sorry for you.”
    â€œI must assume that the individuals you pity are truly wretched.”
    â€œYou’re right,” I said cheerfully. “I think most people give up too easily, when—if they showed a little determination—they could improve their circumstances. I’m not saying it’s easy. But you almost always end up somewhere better than you started.”
    â€œWhich makes me—for the first time, I might add—curious about your life.”
    I laughed again, but came to my feet and started gathering the dishes. Every speck of food was gone. I’d eaten some of the meal, but honestly, he’d beaten me to most of it. Sparring with me seemed to be good for his appetite.
    â€œAnd it’s an interesting tale, but there’s no time to tell it,” I said. “I have to get back to the kitchen and finish my shift.”
    Corban came to his feet, too, his attitude suggesting he was listening to me arrange the plates and silver. “What do you look like?” he asked abruptly.
    â€œI’m beautiful” was my immediate reply. “My hair is black as night and my eyes are so blue people can see their color from across the room. And I’m tall. And voluptuous,” I added for good measure.
    His expression was thoughtful; he was assessing my words. “Not tall,” he decided. “Maybe—” He held his hand out so it was about level with his chin. “This height.”
    He had gauged it exactly. “Very good,” I said dryly.
    â€œSo I suppose the rest of it is a lie as well.”
    â€œI can’t see that it matters what I look like.”
    He looked interested. “Are you that hideous?”
    â€œNo!” Now I was the irritated one; how had that happened? “I’m ordinary. My hair is that dirty brown color that so many people have. My eyes are brown, too. My face is too round. I weigh a little more than I’d like. But I do have a good figure,” I couldn’t resist tacking on at the end. If he was picturing me from my