Before we can move up the steps to the front door, it opens, and then the screen door pushes forward with a creak as a woman steps out. I haven’t seen Aunt Tina in twelve years, but it’s her.
Just… different.
She’s actually younger looking than when she came to take care of us, by at least twenty years. Her blonde hair is the same color but not the short, practical bob she’d worn then. It’s lustrous and wavy, parted down the middle, with long chunks hanging over her shoulders. The age lines are gone, and her complexion is dewy fresh. This is the validation that was needed. She’s not my aunt, but an angel, and the expression on her face says she knows that we know the truth.
“I should be surprised you came to see me,” the angel says with a smile. “But I’m not.”
I’m suddenly dumbfounded as to what to say, so I make a hasty introduction. “Tina… this is Carrick.”
She responds by stepping fully out onto the porch. She’s wearing an ankle-length beige skirt with fringe at the bottom and a loose white blouse that reveals both shoulders. Her feet are bare. “It’s not Tina. It’s Sarvel.”
“Oh,” I mumble, now totally dead in the water with conversation ideas.
Sarvel looks to Carrick. “And I know who you are, demi-god.”
“Wish I could say the same about you,” he replies smoothly. “Which is why we need to talk. Can we come in?”
“Yeah,” I add with a lifted chin. “What he said.”
Sarvel’s eyes crinkle, and she waves her arm. “Come on in. I’ll fix us some tea, and we can talk.”
The angel disappears into the house, and Carrick motions for me to precede him in. Her home is tidy but minimalist, contrary to the bursting colors in her well-tended gardens outside. The kitchen is just to the left of the living room where we enter, and Sarvel is putting water in a kettle. She nods at the couch, urging us to take a seat.
Just before I turn away to do so, I notice her wave her hand over the kettle, and it starts whistling with steaming water.
So she has magical powers.
Or angelic powers.
But they’re not divine, right?
So many questions.
Carrick and I settle beside each other on the couch but with sufficient space separating us. I’ve still been playing things super cool with him—light hearted and joking around—and he’s been acting no different to me. It’s like our kiss in the gym never happened, and, while I don’t like it, I’m not going to press it either. We have more important things to worry about right now.
Sarvel comes into the living room and sets a tea service tray on the empty coffee table. She pours and offers us a cup, to which I accept, but Carrick declines. Sarvel takes her own to sit in a rocking chair that faces us in the corner.
She begins the conversation. “You’ve obviously found out I’m your Custodia, and I expect you want some questions answered.”
I nod, setting the teacup down as it’s too hot to sip at. “We couldn’t find much information, so I guess I first want to know what is a Custodia angel, are you divine, and what is your purpose?”
Sarvel smiles, holding her cup with both hands. She blows across the top, takes a sip, and puts the tea on a table beside her. “First, I am not divine. I have no connection to Heaven or God. I was created and just came to be, and, when I came to consciousness, I had an awareness of what I had to do.”
“Created by who?” I ask.
“The gods,” Carrick answers for me.
Sarvel nods in agreement. “Yes, we’re created by the gods to help guide the fates.”
I frown. “What does that even mean?”
“It means I’m to watch and guide if necessary, to make sure things progress according to fate and destiny.”
“And exactly what is Finley’s fate and destiny?” Carrick asks, his tone clipped.
“I have no idea,” Sarvel replies.
I just stare, and Carrick does, too. I don’t think either one of us knows what to say, but it’s Carrick who is clearly the more quick-witted. “You’re an angel who will guide Finley toward her destiny, but you have no clue what it is? Then how the hell do you know how to guide her?”
“I just know,” she replies, then sits forward on her chair. “It’s inherent, this knowledge, and it comes to me when I need it. Just as I know what my purpose is, but not the end destination.”
Carrick and I look at each other, me confused and him skeptical.
“Maybe it will help if you let me tell you how Finley became my charge, which was on the night she was born,” Sarvel suggests. She doesn’t wait for our consent but launches into a story. “Twenty-eight years ago, on July 18th, I was created and given my new charge. I appeared in your parents’ bedroom on a dark and stormy night, invisible to their eye, and I watched your pregnant mother labor. I knew the baby coming out was to be my new charge.”