Archangel's Storm

I’m inputting my number and Jason’s. Call if you have any problems.”
    A few minutes later, she swept down over the city. Her target was a sunny yellow building with an old but gleaming treadle sewing machine in the window and a dusty child in short pants playing on the doorstep.
    His eyes widened at the sight of Mahiya. He was off like a shot the next instant, running into the house yelling, “Ma! Ma!”
    Making no effort to hide her smile, Mahiya waited politely on the street, aware of other shopkeepers poking their heads out of small storefronts and/or workshops, and of customers congregating on doorsteps across the narrow lane. Six or seven shops down, a camel chewed cud, while his owner fiddled with a saddle that bore little silver bells and pretended not to watch Mahiya.
    Angels filled the skies of this city, but an angel in this street of the market district was
a rare thing. It wasn’t snobbery that kept her kind away, for angels were as curious as mortals when it came to exploring a city’s hidden byways. It was because the shops here were tiny, with no room for wings. The only reason Mahiya even knew about this particular one was that the owner had been invited to showcase her goods at the fort in a trade exhibition.
    Now, the young mortal appeared in the doorway. Of course, Mahiya thought, youth was a relative thing. This woman who had lived but twenty-seven, perhaps twenty-eight years, was old enough to have a little boy hiding behind her skirts. At the same age, Mahiya had been a babe not much bigger than the boy.
    “My lady.” The toymaker bowed, her hands fisting in her apron. “I would welcome you inside but . . .”
    “The intent is enough,” Mahiya said with utmost gentleness in the informal local dialect. “I will not disturb you long.”
    “Please, let me bring you a cup of tea at least.” Entreaty in eyes of melted chocolate. “I cannot send an angel from my doorstep without courtesy.”
    “Thank you. Tea would be welcome.”
    A shaky smile lit up the woman’s face. “I have a pot on the stove. A minute, no more.” As she turned to go, the little boy found the courage to stay behind, eyes of the same melted chocolate as his mother gazing at Mahiya in wonder.
    “Hello,” Mahiya said, and since he didn’t bolt, asked, “Why are you not at school?”
    His eyes became even rounder, and he sucked his thumb into his mouth. When she didn’t say anything further, he withdrew that thumb with slow carefulness, as if not trusting her silence. “I’m not as big as Nishi yet.” A pause, then he added, “Nishi goes to school,” as if to make sure she understood.
    “Ah,” she said. “Will you be old enough soon?”
    Lines on his forehead. “Not too soon. Maybe almost soon.”
    Biting back her smile at his flawless childish logic, she saw his eyes go to her wings. “You may come closer if you wish.”
    Thumb in his mouth again, he padded out to stand only inches from her, examining her feathers with the frankness of the very young. When his mother appeared in the doorway, cup in hand, she went to call him back, but Mahiya shook her head. Accepting the tea, she said, “He is smart and brave both.”
    “Yes.” The proud woman beamed, her thin face beautiful. “Takes after his father.”
    Only then did Mahiya ask her question. “I saw someone with a toy bear—pink and white, with an embroidered collar—”
    “Of white daisies.” Quickening excitement.
    “Yes, exactly. I thought it may have been your work.” Hand sewn and embroidered, the eyes a lovely blue crystal, and the stitch work exquisite.
    “Do you remember if it had a tiny yellow star on the left foot?”
    Mahiya thought back. “Yes.”
    “Then it is mine for certain. But I’m sorry, my lady, I don’t have another.”
    “Oh, that’s a pity. Do you keep many?”
    “No, only one of each kind.” The woman smoothed her hands down her apron. “I sold Daisy a week ago. Oh, let me take your cup.”
    “Thank you. The tea was delicious.” Rich, milky, flavored with cardamom and sweetened with honey. “Do you remember to whom you sold Daisy? I may see if they are willing to sell it to me.”
    “A vampire. Unfamiliar, perhaps a guest at the fort.” The woman bit her lip, shook her head. “He gave no name, but his hair was scarlet, his skin like fine bone china.”
    “A difficult man to miss.” Yet she knew of no vampire with such hair and skin in the vicinity.
    Another mystery.
    *  *  *
    J ason