On Angel's Wings

by
Nathan C. Weber

    Father William McClanahan had just seen the last parishioner out of St. Gabriel the Herald Church.  It hadn't been a large turnout for this Saturday's novena mass, but then, that wasn't so unusual.  What was despairing was the fact that the regular Sunday morning masses were being attended less and less.  His congregation was dwindling.  Had people lost their faith?  It seemed that more and more people were worshiping the tangibles of life -- wealth, power, technology, the Internet -- more so than ever before.

    With a sigh, Fr. McClanahan locked the large oak doors of the old gothic styled church.  As he turned towards the altar, he caught a glimpse of someone kneeling before the statue of the Sacred Heart: a representation of Jesus wearing a scarlet, heart-shaped medallion etched in gold leaf.  Fr. McClanahan did not recall seeing this person amongst those who attended the novena.  He slowly, quietly walked toward the unknown person.  As he drew near,  Fr. McClanahan noticed that the person was a woman, very young, wearing a light blue smock and a cape of large brown feathers.

    Well, thought McClanahan, that certainly is unusual.   Perhaps she'll give the church a generous donation.

    Fr. McClanahan shook his head at the thought.  It was beginning to become desperate when he began to size up visitors by their wallets rather than their hearts.  As he drew nearer, he could make out what the young woman was saying.

    "Loving God, make me an instrument of your peace.
    Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
    Where there is injury, pardon;
    Where there is doubt, faith;
    Where there is despair, hope;
    Where there is darkness, light;
    And where there is sadness, joy."

    Fr. McClanahan was slightly startled.  This woman was reciting the Prayer of Saint Francis, but in a manner of utter conviction, as if she fervently believed her prayer would be answered regardless of her circumstance.  McClanahan felt a pang of shame, for he knew that he himself had lost that conviction since his congregation had begun to shrink drastically.  He wasn't even sure that he ever had the same kind of determined faith that this woman now expressed.

    "O, Divine Teacher, grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
    To be understood as to understand;
    To be loved as to love;
    For it is in giving that we receive;
    It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
    And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life."

    Fr. McClanahan had never in all his life heard this prayer expressed so strongly.  He began to tear.  "Amen," he muttered hoarsely.

    Startled, the woman got up from the kneeler and turned toward Fr. McClanahan.  McClanahan held up a forestalling hand.

    "My apologies, my child.  I did not mean to...."

    The words died on Fr. McClanahan's lips.  As the woman turned toward him, her feathered cape spread out to either side of her, and kept spreading until the corners were well above her head.  Fr. McClanahan's eyes widened in disbelief.

    "My God," he whispered.

    That was when the room began to to spin, and the candles all blew out.

* * *

    As the garbage truck pulled up to a stop at an intersection, the Siamese cat that had been hitching a ride on the running board decided it would be the perfect opportunity to disembark.  She knew that her destination was near here.  It would be a simple matter to travel the rest of the distance on foot.  The cat jumped down from the truck and padded her way across the street, deftly avoiding notice by passers-by going about their daily routine.

    With caution, the cat slipped into an alley and kept to the shadows.   Few lights poured out from the windows overhead, making it easier to hide in darkness.  It wasn't long before she came upon an access to her destination.   The fire escape's ladder was retracted, but that did not discourage her.  With a short running start, the cat leaped up to the first landing of the fire escape.   Any ordinary cat could not have performed this feat.  Any ordinary cat would not understand the things she understood.  Yet, since the experiments, she had become an ordinary cat no longer.

    The cat climbed the steps to the next landing.  She speculatively eyed the window.  Breaking it would not ingratiate her towards her potential host.  Fortunately, it was slightly raised to let in the cool evening air.   With little effort, the cat raised the window further with her paw and jumped in.   She found herself in a tiled room with porcelain fixtures; what the humans called a bathroom.  The door to the hallway was open, and the cat padded her way toward another open door.  This room smelled of floral scents mixed with oils and talcum powder.  A large bed was positioned in roughly the center of the room.  This was as good a place as any to await the arrival of the one she sought.  It had been a long journey from the laboratory, and she could use the rest.  The cat primly leaped upon the bed and curled up into a ball to take a nap.  Lazily, she wondered what became of the winged human female that had brought her here.

* * *

    Fr. McClanahan awoke to realize two things.  The first, was that there was a massive throbbing emanating from the back of his skull.  The second was that there was an angel watching him with a concerned look on her face.  An angel!  Fr. McClanahan immediately sat upright and just as immediately regretted his action.  The angel reached out to him and pushed him back down into a prone position on one of the pews.

    "Don't move," said the angel.  "You've hit your head."

    That explained the throbbing, but what about this divine visitation?   There had to be no doubts.

    "Are you an angel?" he croaked.

    The woman nodded.  "You may be concussed.  Is there someone I can call for you?"

    Fr. McClanahan was about to shake his head, but stopped short as the throbbing threatened to increase.  "Just get me to my room, and I'll be okay."

    The angel nodded again and carefully eased Fr. McClanahan into an upright position.  Then she did something unexpected.  She slipped her left arm beneath his legs and proceeded to lift Fr. McClanahan off of the pew.  She did it with such effortlessness, that Fr. McClanahan hadn't even noticed that he was off the pew until she began to walk toward the sacristy.

    Fr. McClanahan managed to pull his wits together enough to direct the angel to the rectory entrance.  The angel carried him until they reached his room.  There, she carefully laid him on the bed and proceeded to make him comfortable.  Fr. McClanahan had by this time recovered enough to ask questions.

    "Who are you?  How did you get here?"

    "I came from the West," replied the angel.  "I stopped here because I saw your beautiful church."

    Fr. McClanahan instinctively blushed at the compliment to his parish.  "Why are you in Monument City?  Were you sent for someone?"

    "Sent for someone?"  The angel seemed confused.   "Yes!  I was sent for someone.  Her name is Trisha.  Can you help me find her?"

    Fr. McClanahan blinked.  An angel asking for his help?  It was too good to be true.  Then again, it was probably a test of some kind.  Fr. McClanahan studied the angel.  For the first time he noticed something unusual.   She was a Negro.  No, wait, what were they calling themselves these days?   Oh yes, African Americans.  This was not what Fr. McClanahan had envisioned an angel to be.  Not only was she dark skinned, but her wings were feathered in various hues of brown with touches of gray and black.  Her hair was a medium brown color with some highlights.  But it was the eyes that convinced him.  The rich brown eyes that exuded innocence.  A plain face that was open and accepting.

    "You rest now," said the angel.

    Fr. McClanahan yawned in spite of himself.  "What's your name?"

    The angel smiled.  "Monica."

* * *

    Trisha walked into her apartment after a hard day of debugging the latest in-house application at Monument City Computronics.  Trisha tossed her suit jacket onto the sofa and headed for the kitchen.  A cold glass of milk was what she really needed.  Trisha paused and thought of how dull things had been getting lately.   In recent months, the only thing that had been going on were the odd mugging, car jacking or gang banging.  It was becoming somewhat repetitive.

    Trisha reentered the living room with her glass and stopped short.   She distinctly saw her suit jacket move.  Carefully, she crept over to the sofa and gingerly lifted the jacket.  There, lying on the cushion as if she owned the place, was a small Siamese cat.

    Well, now, thought Trisha, how'd you get in here?

   Through the window, of course, responded a voice with slight disdain.  Although it wasn't voiced, one could easily hear the expression, "D'uh!" immediately afterwards.  Trisha looked at the cat as if it had sprouted another head.

    Did you just say something?

    I'm the only other creature here.

    Trisha grimaced and shook her head.  With all of the weirdness that goes on in this town you'd think I wouldn't be surprised by something as mundane as a telepathic cat.

    Trisha sat down on the sofa next to the cat.  So where are you from? she asked, although she felt she knew the answer already.

    The cat, naturally, was reading her thoughts.  You know where I'm from.

    Trisha sighed.  Another escaped experiment from the old eugenics lab.  I guess Dr. Soho has found it cheaper to work on animals now.

    Actually, I was just a hobby.  A kind of "just to see if I can" type of project.  It was the Angel he was really working on.

    Trisha's interest was piqued.  Angel?

    She brought me here after she read your file at the lab, continued the cat.  Suddenly, Trisha received a distinct picture of a young woman with gigantic eagle's wings on her back.  We got separated.

    Goodness, thought Trisha.  Not only could this cat broadcast thoughts, but images as well.  She reached down and stroked the cat along the spine and was rewarded with the automatic arched spine reaction.  What do they call you?

    I don't have a name.  I was called the Bastet Project.

    Bastet, Trisha recalled, was the Ancient Egyptian cat goddess.   Well, at least one of them.  There were some thirty-three different feline goddesses, maybe more.  The Egyptians were ga-ga for cats.  It sounded like the perfect name for a genetically altered cat.

    Trisha wondered what the others would make of this newcomer.   And an angel, too!  So much for dull Monument City nights.

    Well, don't worry about your angel friend.  Someone who looks like she does will turn up on the news.  We just have to get to her before the police or the government does.

    Or the religious nuts, added Bastet.

    Trisha looked at the cat in surprise.  She hadn't thought about that.  There would be pilgrimages by the millions if it got out that a genuine angel was bopping about Monument City.  Trisha decided that she should get to this angel before anybody else, assuming it wasn't too late already.

   I'm coming with you, said Bastet as she stretched and yawned on the sofa.

    As you wish, replied Trisha.  Just let me get dressed.

    But you are dressed, said Bastet.  She stopped in mid-stretch as she sorted out an image that she was receiving from Trisha's mind.  Oh, said Bastet.  You really go out dressed like that?

    Ouch.  Trisha shook her head and smirked.  Now, I know why they call it being catty.

* * *

        Monica Hughes leaned out from the church bell tower.  She could see nearly half the city from this height.   She wondered how she would locate Trisha Fate.  Monica believed that this Trisha would have the answers to her many questions.  She didn't know why she couldn't remember her past life or from where she came.  She only remember the brightly colored, flashing lights and the booming voice saying, "Find Trisha Fate!   Bring her to me!"  Monica assumed that God was calling her to fulfill a special mission, and that this Trisha Fate was the key to it all.

    Movement below her caught Monica's attention.  A young girl was running along the street in front of the church.  Three other much older youths were running behind her.  Monica wondered what the excitement was all about.

* * *

    Marina Sanchez didn't think she would make it again tonight.  Were they getting faster?  Every night it was the same thing.   The Morellis would chase her down on her way home.  They'd take any money she had, then drop her in a trash bin in the alley beside St. Gabriel the Herald.  This time, Marina was determined to make it home intact, but the Morellis were closing in on her.  There were three of them; two brothers and a sister.  They loved picking on the smaller kids at school when they thought they could get away with it.

    Marina gave out a yelp as a hand grabbed her by the collar.  The hand roughly slammed her against the wall of the church.

    "Where ya goin', Sanchez?" sneered Antonio Morelli.  "You weren't thinkin' of passin' through our territory without payin', were ya?"  The other siblings were snickering from behind Antonio.  Marina was desperate at this point.  Without thinking, she threw out a leg and kicked Antonio in the shin.  Tony screamed in pain and automatically dropped Marina.   Marina then took a run for it, but not before Bella Morelli grabbed her by the arm.

    "Just for that," growled Antonio while massaging his leg, "we're makin' sure you don't come out of the trash bin this time."

    Just as the three closed in around Marina, a large shadow loomed over them.  The three Morellis looked up and turned ashen at what they saw.

    "Madre," whispered Marina.  She had heard from her grandmother about divine visitations, but she had always assumed they were fairy tales to amaze gullible grandchildren.  Marina certainly never expected something like this to happen to her.

    "Why are you pulling on that child?" asked the apparition.  "Release her at once."

    The Morellis did more than that.  They ran screaming into the night.

    That'll teach 'em to pick on kids near a church, thought Marina with satisfaction.

    With a start, Marina realized that the shadow had settled down beside her.  Marina studied her rescuer.  She was beautiful with caramel colored skin and long auburn colored hair.  She had large wings upon her back, like those of an eagle.  Marina hadn't expected an angel to look quite like this, but she rather liked this warm, inviting look as opposed to the antiseptic portrayal of untouchable angels in pure white.

    "Are you alright?" inquired the angel.   "Why were those children pulling on you like that?"

    Marina wanted to answer, but for some reason she couldn't find her voice to speak.  The angel smiled at her as if she understood Marina's predicament.

    "My name is Monica," said the angel.   "What's yours?"

    "M-Marina," Marina finally managed.

    Monica nodded.  "Do you need help getting home, Marina?"

    Marina wanted so much to say yes.  She wanted to bring Monica home and show her off to her grandmother.  Instead, she shook her head, no.  "I'm fine, thank you."

    "Well, you be careful," said Monica.   "It's not safe for a child to walk through such dark streets."

    Marina nodded in agreement.  With that, the angel flew upwards to the bell tower of St. Gabriel the Herald Church.

* * *

    Kismet and Bastet bounced from rooftop to rooftop in downtown Monument City.  Kismet was impressed with Bastet's abilities.  It was Bastet's idea to look at all of the large churches in the area.  The angel apparently had an attraction for imposing religious architecture, especially cathedrals and basilicas.

    The silly thing would sit in the library and stare at pictures of famous churches for hours, said Bastet with a tone like an owner discussing a wayward pet.  Kismet smiled at the irony in that.

    We should look at any church which happens along the route you two took into town, thought Kismet.  Perhaps she was attracted to one of them.

    A very good suggestion, responded Bastet.   Follow me.

    With that, the cat took the lead and altered their general heading in a more westerly direction.  They came upon St. Michael's Basilica shortly thereafter.  Bastet scrambled up the copper sheet roof creating a flurry of sparks along the way.  Kismet was more cautious and used a grapple and cable to pull herself up.  Bastet trotted along the apex of the roof until she reached the basilica dome.  The base of the dome was encircled with small round ports, decorated in stained glass.  Kismet tried looking through a clear section of glass, but her view was obscured due to the warped texture of the glass.

    It's like trying to see through molasses, thought Kismet with some chagrin.

    Honestly, huffed Bastet.  What's the point of a window if you can't see through it.

    The point of these windows is to beautify the interior of the basilica, informed Kismet.  This high up there wouldn't be anyone able to look though them.  Kismet sighed.  We'll have to go inside.

    Bastet looked at Kismet somewhat doubtfully.  Isn't that dangerous for you? she asked.

    Very, said Kismet, but we have to make sure your angel friend isn't here before we move on.

    Then, let me go in by myself, said Bastet.   I can get in and out more inconspicuously than you.

    Kismet nodded in agreement, and Bastet sped off without a moment's hesitation.  She scrambled down one of the flying buttresses and jumped to the ground.  Kismet watched in fascination as the cat sidled up to a small cluster of church goers and slipped in through the main door as it was opened.  She wasn't inside long.  Approximately five minutes later, Bastet slipped back out of the church and scrambled her way up to the roof.

    She definitely not there, said Bastet.  It's so low key in there, I almost fell asleep.

    Let's move on, then, responded Kismet.

* * *

    Fr. McClanahan was awaken by a gentle nudging.   There was a cool, damp towel placed against his pate.  The angel Monica was standing above him with a warm smile upon her lips.  In her hands was a bowl of something hot.

    "It is said that man cannot live on bread alone, so I figured soup would be a good idea," said Monica.

    Fr. McClanahan chuckled.  An angel with a sense of humor, he thought.  How interesting.

    He proceeded to sit up in bed and noticed that the throbbing in his head had lessened somewhat.  He felt that was a good sign.

    "Careful," admonished Monica, "It's still hot."

    Fr. McClanahan reached for the bowl and immediately snatched his fingers back.  "So is the bowl, I'm afraid."

    Monica looked at the bowl in thought, then responded, "I'll set it here on this table beside the bed so that it may cool."

    Fr. McClanahan had wondered that Monica didn't seem to notice the temperature of the bowl at all.  Then, of course, she was an angel after all.

    "You should go, now," said Fr. McClanahan.   "If the other priests saw you here, they wouldn't understand.  Wait for me in the bell tower.  People seldom go there.  I'll come to you when I can.   We can talk about this person you must find."

    "Alright, Father," replied Monica, "but you take good care of yourself.  Don't climb up there if you're not up to it."

    Fr. McClanahan smiled.  "Thanks to you, I'm well on the road to recovery."

    Monica nodded and left the room.  She made her way back up to the church's bell tower.  Monica opened one of the shutters to allow some air in, as well as to alleviate some of the claustrophobic feeling she usually got in relatively small rooms.  The stars, she noticed, were hard to see when within a city.   However, some of the planets were still bright enough to be seen.  The sounds of late night traffic and commerce rose up to the bell tower.  While many think of such as noise, Monica felt that there was a rhythm to it.  A pulse, like a heart beat.  The regular rhythm was suddenly broken by the sound of a gun shot followed by a scream.  Without even thinking, Monica dove head first out the window.

* * *

    They had just left a Mormon temple when they heard the scream.  Kismet immediately veered off in the direction of the sound.

    Hey, where are you going? called Bastet somewhat vexed.

    Someone's in trouble, replied Kismet.  The angel can wait.  This can't.

    Bastet hissed a little, but followed Kismet anyway.   They leapt from roof top to rooftop until they reached a dimly lit side street.   Below them, a man was on the ground moaning in pain, the obvious victim of a gun shot wound.  A woman was kneeling over him weeping piteously.  Another man in dark clothes was standing over the others.  He was holding a pistol.

    "Just shut up and give me his wallet!" yelled the gunman.  "And while you're at it, I want any thing you got in that bag of yours."

    Kismet was just about to make a move when a brownish blur streaked by her at amazing speed.

    Well, how about that, mused Bastet.  Looks like the search is over.

    Not if she's dead, said Kismet with alarm, for the angel landed right behind the gunman.

    "Cease this reprehensible action," called Monica, "and give yourself completely to God, so that He may forgive you your sins."

    The gunman turned and was shocked to see himself being confronted by a woman with wings.  Instinctively, he opened fire on the angel.   Kismet hastily made her way to the ground with Bastet close in tow, but she feared that it was too late for the angel.  Everyone, however, received quite a shock when Monica, seeing the threat from the weapon, shielded herself with her wings.  The bullets bounced off of her large pinions with dull thumps.  When the gunman had emptied his clip, Monica acted quickly and subdued the gunman with a well placed kick to the jaw.  Kismet was quite impressed and said so when she walked up to the angel.

    "Well," spoke Kismet through her transtator, "know where I can get a pair of wings like that?  They sure do come in handy."

    Monica looked at Kismet with a questioning look.   Then, she caught sight of Bastet.

    "Kitty-cat!" she beamed.

    Bastet gave a low hiss.  I wish she wouldn't call me that.

    Kismet smiled and proceeded to assist the terrified couple while the two old friends got reacquainted.  As it turned out, the man was more scared than injured.  In fact, the bullet had missed him completely, and he had hit his head on the building wall behind him when he attempted to dodge the bullet.   After making certain the couple was okay, Kismet returned to the others.

    "We should go," said Kismet.  "The young lady has a cell phone and is calling for the police.  I'd rather not be here when they arrive."

    Monica nodded.  "Come with me."

    She scooped up Bastet in one arm and inserted the other around Kismet.  Kismet wasn't too sure about Monica's success in carrying them.

    "Uh, wait a minute, I don't think...," began Kismet.

    In a surge of power from Monica's massive wings, Kismet found herself rising rather quickly up into the air.

    But...this is impossible, thought Kismet.   Her wings aren't big enough to carry herself much less the three of us.

    It's easy when you can levitate, purred Bastet.

    That would explain it, yes, replied Kismet.

    Only don't go trying to explain it to her, warned Bastet.  She's trifle simple-minded, and she truly believes she's and angel sent down to Earth by God.

    Kismet silently agreed not to destroy the angel's self image, but she wondered how long it would take before the truth would reveal itself on its own.

    Self discovery is a wonderful teacher, offered Bastet.  Let her learn at her own pace.

    Monica landed the three of them in the bell tower of St. Gabriel the Herald.  Kismet looked around.  The place was filthy, much like the clock tower at the Chambers Commerce Building where she kept a private stockpile of gear and weaponry.  At least, before she cleaned the place up until it was spotless.

    Monica sat on one of the rafters and stroked Bastet while Kismet looked around the belfry.

    "So, who's your friend, Kitty-cat?" asked Monica.

    Would you mind? asked Bastet of Kismet.  She can't hear my thoughts like you can.

    Kismet looked at Bastet and grinned.  To Monica she said, "I am Kismet.  Your furry friend says that her name is Bastet."

    Monica's eyes went wide with wonder.  "You can understand her?"

    Kismet nodded.  "Yes, I can.  What is your name?"

    "Monica," answered the angel.   "Monica Hughes."

    "What brings you to Monument City?" asked Kismet.

    "I am on a mission from God to find Trisha Fate," replied Monica.

    Kismet sucked in an involuntary breath.

    Monica tilted her head a bit.  "Do you know her?"

    Kismet nodded.

    "Then perhaps you can help me find her," said Monica.

    "Why are you looking for Trisha Fate?" asked Kismet a little guardedly.

    "God told me to find her and bring her to Him," said Monica.

    Kismet looked at Bastet.

    It's a bit complicated, and a trifle sad, thought Bastet to Kismet.  Dr. Soho needed someone to retrieve you since Nightshade and Prism went AWOL.

    Kismet found this bit of news shocking and somewhat disturbing.  Her two archenemies were out on the loose somewhere.

    Anyway, continued Bastet, Dr. Soho figured that where he went wrong with you and the others was starting with people who had some rudimentary learning.  So, he decided to go the tabula rasa route.  He took genetic samples from all previous experiments and designed Monica.

    Kismet blinked.  You mean, some of my genetic material is in Monica?

    Yup, confirmed Bastet, you, Kim Kido, Charisse Jackson and Sara Freeman.  She's a genuine test tube baby from the ground up.  Her education was limited and therefore much easier to brainwash.  Or so Soho thought.  When he added the wings to make her superior to the rest of you, he had no idea what he had set in motion.

    Monica looked at Kismet.  "Are you okay.   You're awfully quiet."

    Kismet snapped to alertness as if she had awoken from a dream.  "I'm sorry, Monica.  I was listening to Bastet.  She was explaining something to me."

    Monica lifted Bastet to her face.  "Wow, she must be a very smart cat."

    Kismet smiled.  "Yes, she is."

    As I was saying, said Bastet, Monica had the development of a child because she was quick grown to adulthood and her education was limited.  After she received the wings and the levitation abilities, Monica got a hold of a Bible.  Since she has pretty much the same abilities as you and the others, she pretty much read and digested the whole book in a matter of minutes.  That's when she started to realize that she looked like the angels that were in the pictures in that Bible.  When they attempted to brainwash her, they had no idea that she couldn't connect Dr. Soho's voice over the loudspeaker with Dr. Soho in person.  She thought she was getting a message from God.

    Where do you fit into all of this? asked Kismet.

    As I told you before, responded Bastet, I was the doctor's little hobby on the side.  He didn't realize just how intelligent he made me because I made a point of acting pretty dumb.  I kept tabs on everything that went on in that lab.  When I found out that Monica was being sent out, I was able to convince her to take me along.

    How'd you do that? asked Kismet.

    It's amazing what you can do with a piece of paper and a claw dipped in ink, replied Bastet rather smugly.

    Kismet studied Monica for a time.  Monica was happily stroking Bastet's fur.

    "Monica, I think I can find this Trisha Fate for you," said Kismet, "but you must promise not to tell anyone else, understand?"

    Monica nodded.  "I am good at keeping covenants."

    "Uh, yeah," said Kismet.     "Well, the truth is I'm Trisha Fate."

    Monica stopped stroking Bastet's fur, much to Bastet's disappointment, and set the cat on the floor.  She stood and walked over to Kismet, and gave her a great big hug.  Kismet, for her part, was surprised at having the wind knocked out of her.  Monica was obviously much stronger than Kismet.  Monica began to dance around the belfry.

    "I have fulfilled my mission," she cried.

    "You have?" asked Kismet a trifle confused.

    "Yes," answered Monica with uncontained glee, "I have found you and have brought you to God!  Are we not in the house of God?"

    Kismet blinked and looked about her.  "Well, how about that.  I guess we are!"

    Kismet walked over and sat Monica back down on the rafter.  "There are some things I must tell you," she began.   "When I wear this mask, you must address me only as Kismet, understand?"

    "Why," asked Monica?

    "It is the guise I use to stop those who commit crimes against others.  Like those people you helped tonight."

    "Ah," said Monica.

    "When I am not wearing the mask, you may call me Trisha."

    To demonstrate, Kismet removed her mask and revealed her true face to Monica.

    "You are very pretty," said Monica.

    Trisha blushed a bit.  "Uhm, thank you.   The truth is that you are my sister.  One of many, in fact."

    Monica gasped, "Really?  How can this be?   I am an angel."

    Kismet thought quickly on her feet.  "Are we not all servants of God?"

    Monica blinked, then she smiled broadly.   "Yes, you are quite right!"

    "We need to find a place for you to stay until we can decide what to do next," said Trisha as she pulled her mask back over her face.

    "I will live here," said Monica.   "It is the best place for me, and the priest of the church knows I am here."

    "I don't know about that," said Kismet doubtfully.

    Just then the door to the stairs that lead into the church proper opened and in stepped Fr. McClanahan.  Upon seeing Kismet he froze in his tracks.

    "What in the name of heaven...?"

    Monica got up and greeted him warmly.   "Father, I want you to meet my sister, Kismet."

    Fr. McClanahan was taken aback.   "Your...sister?" he managed.

    "Well, in a round about sort of way," said Kismet rather sheepishly.  She always felt self-conscious in front of priests.

    "Father, I intend to stay here in the church," said Monica.

    Fr. McClanahan blinked a few times.  Had he heard right?  The angel was staying here?

    "I will live here in the belfry," added Monica.

    "But what about your search for your friend Trisha," asked Fr. McClanahan.

    "As it turns out," said Monica, "she found me.  All is well, and my mission is fulfilled."

    "Well, congratulations," said Fr. McClanahan a trifle perplexed, "but why stay here?"

    "I must be near the faithful," said Monica.   She gazed admiringly about the belfry.  "And this place allows me the come and go without drawing undue attention."

    "I see," said the priest.

    "Just remember," said Kismet stepping forward.  "Tell no one about her.  If word gets out that and angel lives here, chaos would ensue."

    "Young lady, I am well aware of that fact," said Fr. McClanahan defensively.  "I didn't become pastor of this church because of my winning personality, you know."

    "I'm depending on you, Father," continued Kismet.  "If she's found out, I'm coming to take her someplace safe."   Kismet looked about her.  "You need any help tidying up?" she asked Monica.

    "Not to worry," said Fr. McClanahan, "I'll take care of everything."

    Kismet eyed the priest a moment.  "As you wish."  She turned to Monica.  "I'll see you later," said Kismet and kissed the angel on the cheek.

    Kismet stepped up to the window and prepared to leave.

    I'm coming with you, said Bastet.

    "You stay here, Bastet," said Kismet.   "Monica will need your company as she settles in."

    Bastet growled, Oh, very well.  Until she settles in.

    With that, Kismet disappeared into the night.

    "Was she talking to the cat?" asked Fr. McClanahan.

    "She's a very smart cat," replied Monica.

    "Well, I never imagined you'd end up relating with a known vigilante," huffed Fr. McClanahan.

    "She is doing God's work," said Monica.   "Everyone must do things the way they were meant to."

    Fr. McClanahan sighed.  "I suppose you're right, but I am glad you're staying."

    Monica smiled.  "So am I."

T H E   E N D

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