Angels of Darkness

dark trousers sported a visible rip all the way down one seam. He was barefoot.
    His face was in profile to me so at first all I could tell about his features was that his chin was firm, his nose was straight, and his cheekbone sleekly planed. He must not have liked the feel of whiskers on his face, because he had shaved recently, but his dark hair was long and disordered, spilling over the back of the chair in tangled knots.
    I stood for a long time, holding the tray, staring at him. It was rare to see an angel—one of the most haughty, disdainful, unlikable creatures in all of Samaria—humbled and miserable. I wanted to enjoy the sight for as long as I could.
    Then my hand trembled, or I shifted my weight and the floor creaked beneath me. At any rate, he suddenly realized I was there. He didn’t lift his head, just turned it enough so that he appeared to be looking in my direction. It was too dark for me to discern what the trouble was with his eyes. From here they looked like pools of shadow fringed with sweeping lashes.
    â€œThe breakfast plates are on the table,” he said in an indifferent voice that was still musical enough to make me catch my breath. He didn’t seem to realize or care that I had arrived after midnight with his evening meal. “You can leave dinner there if you like. I’m not hungry.”
    I located the table he meant, but set my tray in a different spot because the breakfast dishes took up all the room. Then I regarded him again for a moment before I asked brightly, “So what exactly happened to you ?”
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    T he astonishment on the angel’s face was comical. He jerked upright and glared in my direction, his wings quivering in indignation. “Who are you? Where’s Alma?” he demanded.
    I felt a grudging admiration that he knew the servant’s name; so many in his position wouldn’t. “She sprained her ankle and can barely make it around the house, let alone up the stairs,” I said, still in that cheerful voice. “I volunteered to help her out.”
    â€œNo one is supposed to enter this house without my approval,” he said, frowning heavily. “No one asked me if you could come here.”
    â€œWell, the headmistress and the footman are gone, and Alma’s laid up downstairs, so no one could really ask about your preferences,” I said. “As long as Alma’s off her feet, you’ll have to accept my help—or feed yourself—or starve.”
    At my tone, his features gathered in a scowl. “ Who are you?” he repeated.
    â€œMoriah. I’m a cook at the school.”
    â€œYou’re insolent for a cook.”
    It was all I could do to keep from replying, You’re pathetic for an angel. Instead I said, “I suppose you’re used to being treated with more deference.”
    â€œWith civility ,” he shot back. “With the sort of politeness anyone would extend to a stranger.”
    There was a difference; even I had to acknowledge that. “I’ll be nice if you will,” I said. “Why don’t you eat? That way I can take all the dishes down at once. We don’t want rats coming for the scraps.”
    I could tell by his expression he realized this was sensible, but he said, “I told you. I’m not hungry.”
    He sounded like a petulant girl who hadn’t gotten her way on some trivial matter and was determined to sulk about it until everyone noticed. “Maybe not,” I said. “But I’m afraid if you won’t eat now, you’ll be very hungry by the time I can make it back here tomorrow night. You really should eat something.”
    He hesitated a moment, not done sulking, but gave in. “Oh, very well.” I expected to have to guide him toward the table where I’d left the tray, but he came to his feet and headed unerringly in its direction, dragging his chair behind him. His wing tips trailed on the floor, completely unheeded, like the cloth belt from a robe that had fallen open when the sash was untied.
    â€œHow did you do that?” I asked when he sat down and began feeling for the silverware. “Find the food?”
    â€œI could smell it,” he said. He picked up a fork and took a bite of potatoes.
    He had not invited me to join him, but I settled into a chair across the table from him and studied his face. “You must have a keen nose.”
    He considered that while he chewed and