1922
Rory sat with his eyes closed as he felt Gabrielle's shaving brush cover his face with shaving cream. She'd decided the 25th anniversary of his arrival would be a good day for a haircut and a shave. They'd got their communication down to a science; it was hard for him to remember ever having to talk to someone who actually spoke as opposed to typing her answers while he looked away or closed his eyes.
The brush went away and then the straight-edge razor gently scraped across his face. Time passed. Then his face was dried off. He waited a moment and then felt aftershave being slapped on. Then a tap on his shoulder.
Rory opened his eyes and rose from the chair in his bedroom. He entered his bathroom. A hand-mirror had been placed in the sink below the mirror. He inspected his reflection. His hair had thinned, but it still looked good. He used the hand mirror to see the back of his head. A bald spot seemed to be forming, but that was to be expected.
He came out of the room. "Well done! I feel almost presentable. I don't suppose you'd like to go dancing with me? Of course it would have to be in the dark, but then you wouldn't be able to see how lousy a dancer I am."
The lights blinked (Gabrielle had been very pleased when electric lighting had been installed the year before) and Gabrielle had her sad smile. The humans' movements in Winter Quay were restricted, if they were allowed out of their rooms at all; and there was no interaction between them. Gabrielle had been the only person he'd talked to, but with other humans under her care, he would go days without seeing her. It was all to prevent escapes, but still, some attempts had been made. He'd heard mention of a young girl, a middle-aged woman, and an old woman who were the same person having tried to escape twice. But flirting with and teasing Gabrielle helped him feel a bit better.
He turned to the small table with their latest chess game. "I've thought about my next moves. You don't want to resign?" He waited. "Lights didn't blink, so I'll take that as a 'no.' And no cheating with the lights down." He moved his knight and took a pawn. "Check."
The lights blinked; Gabriel's movements in between flashes looked like stop motion. She took his knight with a bishop.
Rory moved his rook. "Check."
Gabrielle moved her king.
Rory moved his bishop. "Check mate. I'd say good game, but you were a little off this time. Is everything all right?"
Gabrielle thought about what to tell Rory. They'd started sending some humans back, and it had been harder than she'd expected – dealing with the grief of losing her charges and facing the fear in their younger selves's eyes as they were run down. She would never see them again, and the last time she saw them, they feared her. But her affinity for the humans had been the cause of much mockery – even some remarks from Lucielle. So while she saw Rory as a friend she could confide him, she was hesitant to tell him.
The lights dimmed and Gabrielle heard footsteps. When the lights came up, another angel was standing in the door.
Gabrielle recognized her. She said in the language no human could hear, ((Yes, Muriel?))
((You are wanted in the icon room,)) Muriel answered. ((Her Divinity Archangel Michelle wishes to speak with you immediately.))
A shudder passed through Gabrielle's being. ((I'll be there as soon as I-))
((Immediately. I will tend to your…favorite.))
((All right. Rory already ate so you just have to put away the shaving supplies after he goes to bed. He won't be any trouble. Just let me inform him.))
((Very well.)) The lights blinked and Muriel covered her eyes.
Gabrielle dimmed the lights and moved to stand by her typewriter on his dresser. Rory knew what that meant and looked away. She typed a quick note. The lights blinked again and she moved to one side. Rory moved to the typewriter and read:
_Rory, I'm afraid it's an early light's out tonight. I have to attend to something immediately. Muriel will leave when you turn in and put everything away._
Rory looked up at her. "Everything all right? I don't like the sound of that." He looked away.
She typed, _I just have to report to my superiors. It shouldn't be a problem. I'll see you at breakfast._
"Yeah, I've had a few 'no problem' calls to the bosses' office myself. I hope it wasn't me."
_No, I'm sure you had nothing to do with it. It'll be fine. I have to go now, Rory. Good night._
"Yeah, good night."
The lights dimmed. When they came back on, Gabrielle and her typewriter were gone. Muriel stood there with a no-nonsense look on her face.
"I just have to go to the loo," he said. "You going to watch to make sure I don't dig my way out?"
No answer. Of course.
"Angels. No sense of humor." He went into the bathroom.
8
8
Gabrielle hoped she hid her concern as she carried her typewriter through Winter Quay. She'd hoped she could reassure Rory because their method of communication kept her facial expressions and vocal inflections out of it. But he'd still seen through her. Not that it mattered. A summons to use Michelle's icon to commune with her could mean either commendation or condemnation with little in between, and if it were the latter, all she could think that her humans would be left in the care of weeping angels who didn't even try to interact with them as much as she did.
She left her typewriter in her small office and wondered if she would see it and her office supplies again. Then she hustled down the short corridor to the icon room. The door opened as she approached. The life-size image of Michelle's stone form was in a framed painting against the wall, gazing at her. The lights flickered, allowing Gabrielle to walk across the room between flashes under Michelle's gaze. She knelt before the icon, eyes towards the floor.
She reached up, touched the icon, and said, ((Your Divinty, I come at your summons and ask to commune with you.))
Her attention turned inward, and her mind's eye was transported into Michelle's mindspace. She found herself in her flesh form on a portico overlooking an ornate garden, a spiral galaxy filling the blue sky. Michelle was tall, statuesque, and blond, wearing a gold trimmed dress. She sat on a divan overlooking the garden, seemingly aware of everything and dismissing everything. Armored angels – her loyal retainers – stood to either side. It was said archangels could maintain their flesh forms even when looked at, and could bestow that power on those they favored. Even though she was two billion years old, Gabrielle had yet to see that in person…and even if it were true, she doubted she could curry such favor with any of the archangels.
She hurried across the portico and genuflected in front of Michelle. "Your Divinity. I am honored to respond to your summons."
"Rise, Gabrielle," Michelle answered. "This is not a formal audience."
Gabrielle got to her feet, and hoped she didn't look as nervous as she felt.
"Walk with me," Michelle said.
Gabrielle stayed a respectful pace behind Michelle as they descended the steps from the portico and entered the garden.
Michelle said, "I have summoned you, Gabrielle, because concerns have been raised about your interaction with your human charges. Some say you have become too attached to them, too emotionally involved with these creatures. I wanted to hear your response to this."
"I do spend time with them, but because they are social animals. Companionship is a necessary part providing for their emotional and mental health, which we have made ourselves responsible for."
"Indeed. But you did not answer my question."
Gabrielle swallowed. She had no choice to be honest. "Yes. I have befriended some of them. But solely within the context of performing my duties."
"You have had to send some of them back in time now. How was that?"
"Difficult."
"Yet you know it is necessary. Do you think you are suited to Winter Quay? Perhaps you would be more suited to a traditional hunting ground?"
"Your Divnity…I can perform my duties as required of me. But we have never before had this level of involvement in the lives of our prey. There are bound to be unforeseen consequences to having so much interaction with them."
"Yes, you go to extraordinary lengths to communicate directly with them. You use a writing machine, a 'type-writer,' I believe it is called."
"As I said, they are social animals in need of companionship. Direct communication facilitates this. It is vital to their emotional health, and my observations show their emotional health is just as vital to their well-being as food and shelter. And so far my humans have been healthier and more obedient than those in the care of others."
"So it is said."
They walked in silence for a moment, then Michelle said, "Do you know that Winter Quay was my idea? It's been a notion I've had for a few thousand years, and now the humans have graciously provided us with the means to realize it. Only fare as they inspired me. Many in the Host, even many archangels, see it as folly. They would prefer we continue to stalk and hunt on the edge of the human herds as we always have. But I prefer to take a longer view. The humans have more potential than even they realize. Why should we not harness it, especially as their superiors, we can do so wisely?"
"As you say, Your Divinty."
"And Winter Quay is still very much an experiment; who knows what will work with these humans? So while I count myself among those who find your methods unorthodox, I am not so narrow-minded as to not give them a chance." They stopped walking, and Michelle turned to face Gabrielle. "Humans have an expression, 'rocking the boat,' and I see no reason to do that at this point. You may continue to use whatever means you deem necessary to fulfill your duties. I can't tell you not to develop affection for them. I confess I find them adorable at times, too, and cannot blame you. But remember your first loyalty is to your Choir and the Host."
"Yes, Your Divinity. Of course. And thank you."