Ordinary Angels Read online

  “I could come to your house after work, and we could go on a date,” he said. “I have never been on a date.”

  “Okay. I’d like that,” she said and then wondered at her inability to control what came out of her mouth, as though someone had given her truth serum.

  “I will see you later then,” he said and turned to go. When he reached the door, he waved and then left. Zoë could breathe again. The ordinariness of her gray half-cubicle closed in on her, dull and lifeless with Alexander gone. Only then did she realize he hadn’t asked for her address.

  Chapter 2

  The gray afternoon dragged, and Zoë couldn’t wait to leave. She begged off when Simone came by for a coffee break and told her friend a flat lie, saying there wasn’t any mail for Dustin, which would mean she had no pretense to check out the newest object of Simone’s office obsessions.

  At four o’clock, Zoë stuck her head into Marilyn’s office. “Hey, I’m taking off early. I have a killer headache. I’ll come in at seven tomorrow.” The words came in one long flow and she scurried away before Marilyn could argue. Marilyn wasn’t even technically her boss. Zoë was more of an area support person, but since no one seemed to know what an area support person did, or who they were supposed to report to, Marilyn had co-opted Zoë as she believed was her right. No one minded the arrangement, so Zoë went with it without too many issues.

  Zoë’s world didn’t quite come back into alignment after her strange encounter with Alexander until she made it out the doors of Fiskers Technology Group and into the parking lot’s far corner. She plopped into the driver’s seat of her new Mini Cooper. Oh, how she loved that little thing. It was small and perfect and sexy and hers, all hers. She bought it as a gift for her twenty-fifth birthday three months ago and ordered every detail exactly the way she wanted, from the distinctive viper stripes to the sat-nav. Like a kid waiting for Christmas, she’d counted off the days off one by one as she waited for delivery from the Oxford factory. It still smelled like a new car. Zoë breathed in and closed her eyes, savoring the scent of new leather. Finally she decided she’d better get going before other people started filtering out of the office, so she started the car and made her way toward Highway 101.

  She drove confidently and zoomed in and out of traffic, stopping forty-five minutes later at a Starbucks drive-thru four blocks from her house to grab a mocha. When she arrived at her house, a three-bedroom townhouse in San Francisco’s Mission District, which she’d inherited from her grandmother, she realized she was out of food. Sighing, she parked in the driveway rather than pulling into the garage and locked her car. Half-way up the path, she noticed Alexander sitting on Mrs. Paez’s steps, chatting with the old dear next door. Still wearing blue mailman shorts. A flash of annoyance disappeared before it had a chance to take root. He looked sweet, and she’d never seen Mrs. Paez beam before. A real angel, Zoë thought, and shook her head, uncertain what this would lead to. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe his explanation. She did, and that was what gave her a twinge of a headache.

  “There she is,” Mrs. Paez called out when she spotted Zoë. “Alexander was telling me you two have a date.” She pronounced it Allisander. “And I was saying that my Hector, may he rest in peace, always wanted you to find a nice man.”

  Zoë smiled politely. She doubted very much Hector Paez had said anything of the kind. “Alexander,” she called, “Could you come here a minute?”

  Alexander jumped up, took Mrs. Paez’s hand and bowed over it. “Señora,” he said and then bounded to Zoë. He stood close and smiled into her eyes. She had to fight the urge to reach up and twirl her fingers in his messy brown hair, which stuck out in teasing wisps. “Yes?” he said, his voice low and sensual.

  “Alexander,” Zoë began, but wasn’t quite sure where to start. “For one, you’re early.”

  “Am I?” He grinned, as though seeing her made him happier than anything.

  Zoë lowered her voice when she noticed Mrs. Paez still peered at them from her porch swing. “Are you really an angel? I mean I can tell you’re…different. But, well…”

  “You are different too,” he said.

  “Am I?” Zoë thought about that for a moment. “Wait, no I’m not. I’m human, and you’re not. You’re…” She waved her hands up and down at him. “Glowy on the inside.”

  “That makes you different,” Alexander countered. “Nobody else can see my true nature.”

  “That’s nothing,” Zoë said and dug in her purse for her key. Mrs. Paez was still watching. “It probably comes from being able to see dead people, although that’s not the same thing, is it, since you’re not dead.” She paused as she inserted her key in the lock and turned it. “Are you?”

  Swinging the door open wide, she put her purse and the paper cup from the drive-thru on the kitchen bar and punched in her alarm code. When she turned around, Alexander was still standing over the threshold. “Aren’t you coming in?”

  “You can see spirits of departed humans?” Alexander asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

  “And another thing. Why are you still dressed in that mailman outfit?” She waved him inside, and he stepped after her. “I’m not even sure I want to know why you were wearing it in the first place, because I can’t imagine it’s part of your normal routine.”

  “I did not know what I should wear, so I thought I would ask where you wanted to go. Do you like to dance?”

  Despite feeling tired from her dull, gray afternoon, cheerful energy surged into her. “I love to dance. That sounds perfect.” She couldn’t help but smile. Zoë also hadn’t anticipated that he would change clothes in front of her, or the manner in which he would do it. In a matter of a few seconds, his uniform vanished and new clothes appeared, but not before she’d gotten a startlingly good view of his naked body. She fought the urge to fan herself. She felt as though the temperature of the room had gone up several degrees in an instant. Alexander definitely had the attributes of a human male and in delightful abundance. She cleared her throat.

  “You do not like this,” he said, indicating the dark jeans and black button-down shirt he now wore. He ran his hands through his hair as though perplexed, and Zoë thought this a charmingly human affectation. Then a vision of his naked body darted into her mind and she mused that he certainly did have other human characteristics in spades.

  She shook her head. “No, gosh, no, Alexander. It’s fine.” Then, flustered and looking for something to do she said, “Listen why don’t you sit with my grandmother while I shower and change. I can’t do the quick presto thing.”

  He laughed. “Very well. When will she be home?”

  “Oh, she’s upstairs.”

  “No. There is no one else here.”

  Uncertain of the wisdom of arguing with an angel, Zoë shrugged. She could detect the faint flutter of her Gran’s presence, since her Gran was, like Henry, not among the living. She took Alexander’s hand and led him to Gran’s sewing room. “She’s up here.”

  When they wound up the stairs and around a laundry basket Zoë left in the hallway, she became acutely aware of the warmth of his hand, and the pleasant tingling she felt from touching his skin. She wondered if it happened because he was an angel or because she’d gotten an unexpected view of his incredible body.

  At the end of the corridor, she tapped on a door and went in. “Hi, Gran,” she said. The old lady sat in a rocking chair next to the window, as always wearing a lilac pant-suit, a necklace with large drooping beads, and perfectly round pearl earrings. Her white hair curled around her pale face. When Zoë entered, she put her needlework in her lap and pulled off her tiny glasses, letting them rest on a gold chain around her neck. “Gran,” Zoë said, “this is Alexander. Can you talk to him while I go shower? We have a date, and he was a bit early.”

  If it was possible for a spirit to go pale, Gran did just that. “Sweet Lord, what have you done, child?”

  “Oh, yes. I met Alexander at work. He’s, um, a mailman, but you know
, not our regular one.”

  “Ha,” Gran said, but without humor, “I can see that right enough. Honey, you can’t go bringing home angels. They aren’t stray dogs. Their kind ain’t nothing but trouble.” The old spirit snorted and picked up her needlework again, as though her pronouncement ended the conversation.

  Zoë blushed again, but this time pure mortification drowned out any fantasy she might have entertained earlier in the evening. “I’m sorry, Alexander.” Under her breath she added, “She’s sort of set in her ways.”

  Gran snorted.

  Alexander looked distinctly uncomfortable. “I take it she said she does not want me here.”

  “You can’t see her?”

  He shook his head. “I can sense the emotional disturbance, but that is all.”

  “Disturbance!” Gran chortled. “I’ll show him a disturbance.”

  The temperature in the room dropped a couple of degrees. Zoë shivered. Torn, she glanced from Alexander to Gran. “I’m sorry about this, Gran. I didn’t mean to upset you.” She took Alexander by the hand and led him downstairs and out the front door. “This is awkward,” she said. She’d assumed spirits and angels would have a lot in common and was surprised Alexander couldn’t even see Gran.

  “You want me to go,” he said.

  “No, Alexander. It’s not that. The last time she didn’t like someone I was dating, she hid all my earrings and slammed cabinet doors all night for a month. Maybe she’ll change her mind. Once she gets to know you.”

  “I do not think so.” Although his words were gentle, his tone was final. “It is complex,” he said and then added with a smile, “I do not want to be the cause of you not wearing earrings ever again.” He reached up and brushed her curls away from her ear and tapped the heart-shaped stud she wore. A tingling jolt shot through her, and her breathing quickened.

  “Alexander, I’ll talk to her. I do want to go out. Let me shower and change. Wait here, okay? I promise I’ll be back before you know it.”

  Although she thought it unconscionably rude to dump him on the front step, Alexander looked happy enough. “Okay,” he said and sat down on the steps.

  Zoë dashed inside, straight up to her bedroom where she stripped naked, her mind carelessly returning to the sight of Alexander’s perfectly formed body. Moments later in the shower, she lingered a few minutes as she soaped up her soft skin and smiled to herself. The only thing keeping her from indulging in an even more decadent moment was the knowledge that the object of her fantasy sat outside.

  After rinsing and drying, she grabbed lacy black panties and bra from her dresser and pulled them on, then went to her closet and tossed hanger after hanger aside, trying to decide what to wear.

  She nearly screamed when Gran shot out of the closet and went right through Zoë, leaving Zoë’s skin frosty cold where she’d touched it.

  “You don’t know anything about angels, child,” Gran began.

  Zoë pulled out a pair of low-slung pair black trousers. Trousers? she asked herself. Not really sexy dance-wear, but safe for a first date. But did she want to be safe? She dismissed the trousers and picked out a black skirt that draped to her knees and a wrap-around wine colored top. She adjusted it to cover her bra, and hoped she wouldn’t spend the whole night messing with it. “Gran,” Zoë said as she began to rummage for shoes with the right amount of sexy straps, but not so high she’d have purple feet for a week. “This isn’t like you. It’s no big deal.”

  “No big deal? It couldn’t be a bigger deal, Zoë Pendergraft. What if he’s one of the Fallen?”

  “Fallen,” Zoë said, and stopped fussing with her curls in the mirror. “Like a demon?”

  Gran rolled her eyes. “That right there shows you don’t know diddly.”

  Just as Zoë was bracing herself for a ding-dong of an argument, Gran faded. Zoë reached out, but it was like trying to embrace a cloud. She was alone. Exhaling a sigh, she couldn’t understand Gran’s behavior. Normally the old spirit was sweet and gentle.

  Annoyed and slightly concerned, Zoë checked her reflection again and then headed downstairs. She pulled the front door closed behind her and locked it. When she turned, she found Alexander sitting exactly as she had left him. He stood and smiled.

  “Alexander,” she said, hoping her next question wouldn’t sound inexcusably rude, “Are you one of the Fallen?”

  “No,” he said, not losing even a fraction of his lovely smile.

  “My Gran wanted to know.”

  “Ah, yes.” He paused for a moment as though choosing his words carefully. “Not all angels are the same. Maybe she has had some dealings with us before. Some are not tolerant of those who do not cross over when they die. They think it is rude.”

  Zoë laughed. “Rude? Now that’s funny.”

  “Ready?” he asked.

  “You know what I just realized. I don’t know where we can dance on a Tuesday night. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “I know the perfect spot,” Alexander said. Once in her car, he directed her to Clandestine, a club in SoMa she drove by from time to time, but never gone into. Tuesday night, it seemed, was Salsa Night, and she could hear the music as soon as they got out of the car. It grew more intense as they approached on foot, hand in hand.

  The atmosphere was overwhelming, and Zoë had no choice but to get into the spirit of the evening. Neon pink, green, and blue shone from overhead lights and played across a black bar. Even the towering potted palm next to the bar had colorful lanterns hanging from it, swaying as the crowd of people milled in chattering anticipation of the live band beginning their set.

  Alexander led her to a low, high-backed red booth that faced the crowd. She watched him watching people, enjoying the happiness on his face. For a being she knew absolutely nothing about, she felt drawn to his simplicity and innocent face.

  When a harried waitress in a short black skirt spotted them, she smiled at Alexander and squeezed through the crowd to approach. Her dark brown eyes sparkled at him. “What can I get you two?” she shouted over the rambunctious Latin music.

  Alexander smiled at the server in a way that gave Zoë a jealous pang. She cleared her throat, trying to bury the irrational emotions and smiled brightly, hoping she didn’t look like a maniac with a fake grin plastered on her face. “I’ll have a Coke please.”

  Alexander chuckled as though he could see right through her, and she blushed. He ordered a beer, and then as soon as the server was out of sight he said, “Dance with me.”

  He led her to the dance floor, his hips swaying with the beat. With a deft flick, he spun her around and they twirled together amongst a throng of enthusiastic dancers. Zoë hadn’t danced a salsa in ages, and she stared at Alexander’s feet, desperate to keep up with his elegant moves. She cringed as she flubbed every sixth step. Alexander took her chin in his hand, and turned it up. “Look at my eyes,” he said. It didn’t improve her footwork, but when he put his hand on the small of her back she relaxed and moved in sync with him.

  Campy disco balls sparkled overhead, and Zoë became lost in a rush of swirling skirts, twisting legs, and couples rhythmically pushed around the floor by the salsa beat. They danced until her feet ached, even switching partners now and again with the thrumming crowd. Most of the men were gracious about her careless steps, and with less skilled partners than Alexander, she missed more steps than she nailed, but nobody seemed to care.

  Back in Alexander’s sight, she made her way to him, and they danced together for a final time, though weariness had begun to creep up on her. She’d forgotten to eat anything, and the drink she’d ordered hadn’t lasted long in her empty stomach. The pleasure of his presence melted her discomfort, and she forgot her complaints.

  The band took a break and encouraged everyone to visit the bar. Zoë gasped for air and laughed with sheer delight. Tumbling away from the dance floor with the rest of the crowd, Alexander spun her once and pulled her into an embrace. Zoë’s heart fluttered. “Let’s go somewhere we can talk,”
she said.

  “Sure,” he said and led her outside, past the line of people waiting to get into the now-bustling club. A warm breeze scuttled leaves and bits of paper down the pavement. They meandered together, heading in the direction of her car, but in an indirect route. She’d never felt so safe wandering the streets.

  “Alexander,” she began after a while, “why did you ask me out?”

  “You wanted me to,” he said.

  “Yes, but did you want to?”

  “Of course.” He slid his hand into hers as they crossed the street at a signal.

  “But you don’t know anything about me. And, well, you’re an angel. I saw how women react to you. Why pick me? Why would an angel date a human? Is it sex? You can have sex, right?” A wave of embarrassment crashed over her. “What I mean is…is that what you’re after?”

  “Are you asking me to have sex with you?” His eyes sparkled and his lips curved into a playful smile. He stopped walking and faced her.

  “No!” Zoë wanted to crawl into a hole.

  “So, you do not want to have sex?”

  “No! I mean, it’s not that I don’t. Goodness, Alexander!”

  He laughed and tugged at one of her curls playfully. “There is something in you that keeps you apart from others. I understand that. I am apart too.”

  Remarkably, she understood. She felt distant from other people because of her ability. It was hard to pretend she was normal, and some spirits wouldn’t take no for an answer when they approached her. Even worse, sometimes they insisted on telling her things they knew about her boyfriend of the moment, which could be surprisingly often for people who rarely left whatever spot they decided to roost.

  For a time she tried dating spiritualists and so-called mediums. The two mediums she’d met, she instantly recognized as fakes. Perhaps, when she had told them she spoke to spirits, they assumed she was faking too. Last year she’d dated a particularly understanding warlock, but she soon discovered he had wanted to use her gift to impress his coven, and they wanted her to contact their Uncle Bob or dear cousin Charlene.