Chapter Two

So not an Amazon

Ella doesn't remember the trip back to the Vagabond. She's too confused by everything swirling in her brain to realize much of anything until at least an hour later when she's curled up in her bed with a tall glass of water on the night stand and an ice bucket laid out too. Sitting on the far edge of the room in the tattered cloth armchair is the woman who saved her. The other woman doesn't blink. It's one of the first things that comes to Ella's brain as she struggles to remember everything that's happened, tries to fill in blanks that stay stubbornly empty between her time in the alley and now in the plain motel she's been staying in.

There was her chance to get a little vigilantism out on a guy she'd already caught two days before at the El Dorado trying to spike a girl's drink, then it going bonkers off the rails…and now this woman who saved her and did things that no one should be able to do.

Unless her own fear and too much adrenaline had left her imagining the glowing gold eyes or the sheer level of strength she…Michael wasn't it…yielded.

After Rae Rae and her medium days (although she's seen Rae Rae less and less in L.A.), Ella's not sure what she's seen, but she's clearly been driven back here by someone. And, for now, Michael is watching her with wide brown eyes that still never seem to blink.

She groans to herself and picks up the glass and drops the cubes in it, then chugs down half the water in a greedy gulp. Ella doesn't put it down, lets the cool sides press into her palms in a desperate and probably futile effort to stay sane. To stay grounded.

"You stayed?"

The woman sighs and leans back in the chair, crossing one, long leg over the other. "Strictly speaking, I didn't have anywhere else to go. Nowhere better, at least. You looked like that asshole got a good chokehold on your neck before I intervened. I didn't trust you alone here even after I got you into your room. Was I wrong?"

Ella looks down at the threadbare comforter. She can't stand the scrutiny in a person she's only half convinced exists. At least this time, Michael says she's not a ghost. That's not reassuring. Maybe Ella's crazy brain has conjured something different this time. After all, this woman came out of nowhere and saved her in the alley like something out of a comic book.

In fact, with her long, dark hair, prominent nose, and height that has to come close to six feet, the stranger reminds Ella a little of Gal Gadot, but that's…sure brain, now she's sending herself superheroes for company.

Wonder Woman Michael clearly isn't.

Just another sign that after everything with Pete and almost dying, more cracks are opening up in what's left of Ella's sanity.

"You're quiet," Michael says.

Ella wants to laugh but it comes out more as a choked sob. It seems to startle Michael, as she sits up taller but doesn't leave the chair. Ella appreciates that because if this strange woman (figment?) got closer to her, Ella might just pass out again.

"You say that like I'm supposed to be talking a mile a minute."

Granted, she used to, still does sometimes, but it's harder these days. She doesn't do more than call Chloe sometimes on the road. She rarely calls her family back in Detroit since they want her back in Michigan, wants her safe from her job. And she knows where that might lead. To just being under her mom and dad's thumbs, to being cared for by them but also never really leaving their apartment again either.

But, yeah, she was chatty enough with Michael at the bar. They're here at the Vagabond, aren't they? Still what even is there to say?

Thanks for driving somebody mondo loco in an alley? Hey, great job manhandling a dude twice your size?

What even?

"You gave a lot of details at the bar," Michael supplies, and she still hasn't blinked since Ella came to. "I…look we should probably talk about what you saw."

Michael says this like she'd rather pay her taxes right then or get a root canal. That lax of enthusiasm she can also relate too, and Ella laughs again. It's probably hysterical, but she's had a weird fucking night in a life full of them, and maybe she's allowed to laugh like a witch on crack sometimes.

"Are you okay?" Michael sighs and curses sharply. Then seems to talk more to herself than to Ella. "Of course, you're not okay. I was serious about the 'Be not afraid' schtick, Ella. I'm not here to hurt you. Honestly, I had no interest in you at all except making sure you didn't switch to my turf with poker tonight. I just didn't want you to get hurt when I saw that creep taking you out back I…what were you even thinking?"

Ella takes another sip of her water and tries to ignore the way her hands shake. "I think I get to go first asking questions."

Michael sits even taller and crosses her arms over her chest. She seems to be steeling herself for any coming inquiries. Which fine, but Ella's so not Charlotte. She's not a prosecutor or a cop or anything. She has tons of things she wants to know, but she's not exactly a master of grilling anyone.

Except Pete, that one time…

She can feel Pete's hands again around her throat then and smell the lilies and the death and all of it, and her hands shake harder still. The glass falls from her grip, and she's sure it'll splash the remains all over her lap, but then Michael is there. It's a blink in time and Ella knows this but the other woman is across the room and holding the glass as if it's no feat at all.

Maybe it isn't for her.

If you're not just finally fully nuts, Ella…

It's instinct overwhelming her, and Ella pushes back against the cheap headboard. "Rayos. What the hell are you doing?"

Michael narrows her eyes back at her. When she speaks, her tone is clipped and brittle. "And this is why I don't get involved with people. You try and do the right thing one time, and you get a girl going catatonic on you and acting like you're Dracula when you try and catch her water. I'm not going to hurt you. You do get that, right? You can count cards, so you're not dumb."

"Thanks," Ella drawls.

"But maybe you're not getting it. I don't want to put a fine point on it, but if I'd wanted you hurt, I'd have just let that asshole have his way with you. If I wanted to damage you myself, believe me, you would already be a screaming mess on the floor just like Mr. Attempted Rape back at the El Dorado."

Michael snorts to herself and sets the glass back on the nightstand before sidling back to her side of the room. It's then that Ella notices the slight hunch of her right shoulder while seated at the bar is more than she thought. When the stranger is not moving like damn lightening (if speedsters were a thing, Ella might offer that as an answer), Michael favors her whole right side, her right arm hanging oddly as that leg drags while she walks.

"I…oh," Ella says.

Michael sits back down and glares at her. "'Oh?' Is it finally getting through your far too thick skull that I'm trying to be the good guy here?" She shakes her head. "You're lucky. I don't usually do charity, and after your reaction, I'm thinking this is a one-off."

Ella can't…she has too much she's been dealing with in the last three months since she almost died. She cannot deal with this strange, surly perra making it all worse. Usually she'd be nice, but being nice has cost her so much lately. Right now, she just can't sugar coat anything. Can't be bubbly and ramble and put Michael at ease. Instead, she blurts out:

"What are you?"

Michael sighs and her fingers stroke the scar that cuts viciously across her forehead and her nose, all the way to the far side of her right cheek. "Well, since we're off to such a fucked up start, why don't you take a guess. Tell me what I am. It might be amusing?"

Ella considers that and, well, the most obvious answer tumbles easily from her mouth. "Are you from Themyscira?"

Michael's eyes widen. "I have no idea what the hell that is."

"Are you an Amazon? I mean, come on, those movies have only made like 100s of millions of dollars. You don't do comics?"

She shocks Ella by laughing then, doubling over and giving out belly laughs until she's a shaking mess. "Oh…that's rich. Yes, right…you don't know. Well, that would be quite a funny multiverse conversation. But, no, Miss Lopez, I'm not a superhero. I'm not a Greek goddess or in whatever spandex club you like to read about."

Ella sighs and sets her head in her hands. "So, you're real and I'm not hallucinating. You're not a ghost, and you're not Wonder Woman, right?"

Michael howls. "Oh, that's really fucking funny. Hardly. I don't usually help anyone at all. It's not my typical style. I…" she stops laughing then and, sitting up, sobers. "I helped mortals once, long ago, but this has been the first non-selfish thing I've done in eons. I just…a superhero. Fuck no."

"Okay, so you're a mutant?"

Michael rolls her eyes. "The guessing game was amusing at first, but now it's kind of insulting. Before you guess anything about radioactive scorpions-"

"It's actually spiders in the comics and-"

She snickers. "Whatever. You're not going to believe me but for what it's worth, I'm an angel of the Lord. Technically I'm on probation, but I'm still part of the Host." She shakes her head and leans back in the recliner, spreading her knees out wide like assholes on the subway back in Detroit tend to do. As if here on out, Michael's on a mission to take up as much space as she can.

Ella blinks. This was the last thing she'd have guessed. Michael's an angel. Right. Sure, and she's definitely not doing well, and if her mom and dad and abuelita knew, they'd drag her back to Michigan and maybe even make her go to the hospital. This woman is nothing like an angel. Angels wouldn't drink and curse and gamble and leave a dude screaming forever in an alley. What a lie.

"You're not."

Michael shrugs her good shoulder. "Correction, I'm not much of one these days. Father in his infinite and alleged wisdom has taken my wings for the duration. When I get them back is anyone's guess. However," she says, standing and bowing a little. "The very former Sword of God, nice to meet you."

Ella's jaw drops and she's getting revelations on top of revelations dropped on her today. "You're that Michael? Um, pretty sure he's a guy in scripture."

Michael sits back down and, at first, crosses her arms over her chest. Then she seems to be aware of her breasts and stops, dropping her arms to her side instead. "I am. Father felt like wings and other things needed to be stripped from me for however long He sees fit. I can admit I've been suffering from bad judgment lately."

"How bad?"

"I can't go back to Heaven right now, so pretty damn bad," she finishes. "Although, still better than a fallen cherub I know and a more well-known brother, I guess."

"You're not an angel."

"Oh, get off it. Like angels have to be saints."

Ella laughs again and maybe she's already in an asylum somewhere being watched. Maybe she really did crack after Pete and this conversation isn't even happening. "But you are a saint, literally."

"Humans assigned that. I sure didn't ask," Michael snaps back. "Look, you saw for yourself my speed, strength, eyes, and my power. What do you think I could be if not an angel?"

"But you terrified someone!"

"First, why do you think Gabriel always goes around telling mortals 'be not afraid.' We're the living embodiment of the awe of God. It's too much often for human minds to handle. That's why even if I had my wings, your brain would scramble if you saw them. Which would suck for you."

"I…but I…" she sighs. "Look, I had a ghost friend always appearing to me until I moved to L.A., mostly. My best bud in L.A. was like super method and thought he was the Devil. There is just no way I have a guardian angel now. Especially not one who likes to hustle poker and cheat."

Michael's eyes widen. "What now?"

"I took a break to watch you at the poker table from a distance. I don't know how you were able…people kept folding with great hands-way better than yours-so there's something jodido going on there."

She gives a low whistle. "Well, aren't you the sharp one."

"I said I was a forensic tech. Noticing stuff comes with the territory. I…what did you do to that guy in the alley?"

"You wanted to make sure it stayed that way. It will, should I wish it to."

"I…" Ella's throat feels covered in cotton balls. It's hard to swallow. Once, she'd have begged for mercy, told Michael even if she's supposedly an angel that it's up to the Big Guy to judge later. But she's had too many bastards hands around her throat, felt her life squeezed out almost twice now, and she honestly could give a shit what happens to that man. But the way he'd screamed. "I don't want him to get better. I just…what did you do?"

Michael shrugs and studies her nails. They're ragged and unkempt, so Ella can tell it's all to keep her eyes off Ella's own. "A girl has to have some mysteries, doesn't she? Isn't that kind of your thing?"

"I dunno. Why was he screaming?"

"Because he was having a very involved panic attack. It's just not going to stop any time soon."

"But…you're an angel!"

"Well, there's and Angel of Death and others of my brothers and sisters who can be really fucking dangerous. I mean, Dad made us to stop demons and other gods from horning in, to fight back elemental darkness. We're not exactly hugs and puppies, Ella."

"But you made him like perma-scared, right?"

Michael shrugged. "I did."

Her heart thuds harder, and Ella brings her knees up to her chest. "Would you do that to me? Can you?"

Michael sighs theatrically. "And we were doing so well. For someone who's supposed to be smart, you're having a hard time grasping the basics, aren't you?"

"I-"

"I don't want to hurt you. I wanted to help you. I did, if we're keeping score. I'm dangerous as fuck and, alright, a disgruntled bastard, but trying to hurt you would be like punching a kitten. Not only is there zero challenge in it, even I'd find that gross. No, Ella, I just happened to cross your path when you needed it. Believe me, you were the last thing I saw coming." Michael stands and grabs her messenger bag from the table beside the chair. "Well, this has been…if not fun…then at least not the same ole, same ole. Try not to do the vigilante racket anymore. I won't be there to save your ass next time."

She frowns at that and looks back at the very strange woman who swears she's an angel. And, honestly, something has to explain the speed and strength and how thoroughly she terrified Ella's attacker. As long as Michael's real-and the patrons at El Dorado did see and interact with her so points beyond Rae Rae-then grounded angel makes as much sense as gamma rays, ancient goddesses, or maybe an incognito superhero.

"Really? So you're not actually a guardian angel?"

"Those do not exist, and it would be below my paygrade if I were back in heaven anyway. You don't send your best weapon for the small stuff."

"Only if you get grounded," Ella points out, somehow feeling just a bit cheeky with her and sticking her tongue out at Michael. "Then, you have the free time."

"I prefer to make my money," Michael admits, heading to the door. "In fact, because I was playing Good Samaritan, I know have a good chunk of chips to get changed over tomorrow at the casino. I like my cash in hand when I leave for the night so, again, night so, again, you're welcome."

Ella curses under her breath in Spanish. "Yeesh, you're such a bitch. That's just not how I thought an angel would be."

"Well, I'm also not some pearly, white-winged Precious Moments figurine come to life either, Lopez." Michael stops with her hand on the doorknob. "Look, I don't know what you're running from exactly…how badly you were hurt on the job, but take care of yourself better. Don't need to run off and play Scrappy Doo and get killed. You have to have friends and family out there somewhere who'd hate that. I mean, for them at least, get over it, Ella."

"I can't. And you don't know anything."

Michael sighs and then opens the door. "Trust me, Lopez, when it's about fear, then I know everything in exacting detail. Like I said, this was your freebie. I have better things to do than save your ass next time you want to play comics in real life. Now, if you'll excuse me…"

She's gone then, and Ella's beyond confused. She's seen a ghost (she hopes and that it's not a hallucination) for most of her life. She's seen the seediest side of Los Angeles and run from it now. She's always been a believer in the Big Guy and seen the oddest freaking crime scene like at The Mayan or that time with all the crazy feathers where Pierce, that jerk, shot at Chloe and Lucifer. Now, well, what she's seen has to be impossible, but she's still alive and a so-called angel is the reason.

No, not just any angel. St. Michael, basically a surly poker playing asshole, has saved her or so she says.

Right, this is too loco for her to deal with tonight or possibly tomorrow. Ella has more than enough from her winnings to start looking for a real place of her own. For now? She'll order a pizza, curl up with bad Lifetime movies (the motel has basic cable), and try and forget that an angel saved her life.

Because she's trying to be free not just of Pete and what he did, but of her own darkness. Of the weirdness that either follows her around or, worse, might come from deep in the recesses of her own mind. So, she won't think about Michael at all.

Nope, not really.

Even as she flips the channels eventually to the Cartoon Networks and falls asleep thinking of avenging angels and Amazon warriors, Ella will just force it all from her brain by morning. She's going to be normal this time, damn it! And some random whatever Michael really is would be anything but ordinary.

Or sane.