THREE
Laila
Music filled my bedroom.Today it was loud and I could feel the beat pounding in my chest. I let the music wash over me, let it seep into my bones and blood. It thrummed under my skin, making me feel more alive than I usually did. Maybe it was all the time I spent with the spirits of the dead, but sometimes it was hard to remember that I was still living and breathing, that my heart beat and pumped blood through my veins.
I dipped my brush in the red paint and brought it to the canvas in front of me. Painting and loud music were the only things that made me feel truly at peace, that filled the space in my soul that told me there had to be more.
It had been seven sunsets since my “birthday.” Which meant the mysterious ambassador would be arriving sometime after the sunrise. I had hardly seen Shahar or Noah since our conversation in the great hall when they were talking about preparations for the visit. I wanted to know how things were going and if there was anything more they could tell me about the ambassador, but I hadn’t had the chance.
My brush moved over the canvas as I poured my feelings into my art. I had a whole closet of paintings, each one a glimpse into my soul that no one would ever see. I didn’t share my art with anyone. Not even Jonah. They were too personal, too honest.
By the time I stepped back, my hands were covered in paint. It was probably on my face and in my hair too.
On the canvas, a garden was ablaze under a night sky. Bright orange flames lit the flowers and trees, swallowing them in their heat and enthusiasm. Smoke rose from the fire, a dark cloud rising up to the midnight sky dotted with silver stars.
I stared at the image. It was beautiful in its own way, but I knew there would be people who wouldn’t see the beauty under the darkness.
Fire represented destruction, the end of the garden, but it also signified rebirth. Looking at this picture from the outside, it was impossible to say what would grow from the ashes. Maybe the next garden would be even more spectacular. Sometimes you had to go through the pain to wipe the slate clean and become something better. To me, the fire was just the first step to the garden being reborn.
I turned the painting around so it faced the wall. When it dried, I’d add it to the collection in my closet.
I was cleaning my brushes in front of the circular window that took up most of one wall, letting natural light into my room, when there was a knock on my door.
“Come in,” I called after casting a quick glance at the easel to make sure the picture wasn’t visible.
The door opened to reveal my mother standing in the doorway. She was beautiful, her auburn hair pulled back from her face in a small bun at the top and the rest falling down her back between her golden wings. My mother was the picture of grace—elegant and light-footed. I’d never seen her with so much as a hair out of place. She was dressed in the typical ensemble for female angels—a thin white dress that was completely open in the back—but somehow she made it look like the outfit had been designed with her specifically in mind.
“Hey,” I said, drying my hands on a cloth that was once white.
Her expression twisted. “You have paint in your hair.” I honestly wasn’t sure if her look of distaste was because of the paint or if it was just me that she didn’t care for. “Clean up, and then you’re needed in the great hall.”
“Needed for what?” I knew I wasn’t a part of the preparations for the visitor. The fact that I hadn’t understood more than a couple of words Shahar and Noah had said in the past week had made that perfectly clear.
“Your attitude is not becoming, Laila. It is your job to serve, not to question.”
“I’m not questioning. I’m curious.” I couldn’t keep the irritation from my tone. Sometimes I hated the way my mother spoke to me. It was like she was afraid I was going to embarrass her. Most people didn’t even make the connection that she was the one who’d given birth to me. She wasn’t responsible for me or my work anymore, and we looked nothing alike. I got my appearance entirely from my dad.
“If you need to know the details, I’m sure you’ll be informed,” my mother said before she spun on her heel and left.
“Good talk,” I muttered, heading for the mirror that hung on my wall.
My white-blond hair was streaked with midnight blue, pink, and lavender. It actually didn’t look bad. Miraculously, my white dress and my face had been spared. My hands were stained, but no amount of water was going to fix that. The colors would fade away eventually.
What exactly did my mother want me to clean? She’d made it sound like I was covered in paint.
I kind of liked how my hair looked with the colored streaks, and knowing it would annoy my mother only made me want to leave them that much more. So I finished cleaning up my supplies and headed for the great hall without washing my hair.
The great hall was pretty much always ready to receive guests. The floors were polished to the point that you could see the reflection of the lamps in it. Everything was spotless and inviting.
What exactly wasIneeded for?
“Laila.” Someone called my name. Paras, a human I knew, but not well, was making his way to me with a notebook and pen in his hands. “Good. You’re here.”
“Yep. Mind telling me why?”
He gave me a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “The Father has asked only the youngest angels be in the great hall while his visitor is here. He asked for you specifically.”
I was more confused than before, but I just nodded. When God requests you personally, you shut up and listen. At least that seemed like the right thing to do. I’d never been in this position before.
