The Blue Door

11



THE UNSEEN REALM



Shouldn’t we be grateful for some quiet?”

“The sudden change is suspicious. Why would the enemy retreat?”

“Could they have found it?”

“Ephron knew, didn’t he?”

More questions than answers were brought before the group gathered in the sanctuary behind the blue door. Finally, a voice filled with gentle authority cut across the rest. “What do you think, Myron?”

As every eye swung in his direction, the red haired Worshiper sighed. “How many times do I have to tell you that you can call me Baird?”

“At least once more,” his captain replied, as his fingers slid over each facet of the stone set into the pommel of his sword.

“Let me ask you this, then,” Baird inquired. “Why would you want my thoughts? I’m no tactician.”

“You do not fight, but your eyes have seen many battles. I would like your perspective.”

“Are you calling me old?” the redhead asked with a mischievous smile.

“Are you avoiding my question, Myron?”

The Worshiper’s hazel eyes grew unusually solemn, and he turned his gaze toward the shifting lights that formed their sky. “In my humble opinion, this is the lull before the storm. All of hell is about to break loose.”


The following afternoon, Prissie begged a ride into town with Grandma Nell, who had errands to run. “Do you have your purse?” her grandmother quizzed.

“Yes,” Prissie sighed.

“Make sure to show Koji the landmarks around town,” Grandma continued.

“I will.”

“Thank you for the ride, ma’am,” Koji offered once he’d exited the mini-van.

“So polite,” Grandma beamed. “Stay together, and when you’re done, wait for me over at the bakery.”

“Yes, Grandma,” Prissie dutifully answered. “We’ll be fine.”

With a wave, Nell pulled away from the curb, and Koji turned expectantly to her. “Where are we going?”

“Here and there,” she replied vaguely, striking off along the sidewalk.

He hurried to catch up. “What do you intend to do?”

“My best friend’s birthday party is this Saturday, and I need a gift to take.”

“You have not mentioned a best friend before.”

“I’ve known Margery since preschool,” Prissie explained. “She and I have always been friends.”

“Then the search for her gift must be a matter of great importance. May I help?”

“It’s not that big a deal,” she protested. “And I don’t need any help, but I’ll show you around West Edinton when I’m done.”

“I know all about your town,” Koji declared matter-of-factly. “However, you could show me the parts you like best.”

She looked at him blankly. “What for?”

“I know many things about you from observing,” the young angel remarked. “I would like to hear firsthand what matters to you.”

Prissie looked around uncertainly, then pointed at the town hall. “Other than Dad’s bakery, my favorite place in town is the gazebo outside the library.”

Koji’s eyes sparkled with interest. “Why?” he inquired.

“It just is,” she replied with a huff. “Come on, we’ll start over here.”

She led the way to a card store that doubled as a gift shop. The place smelled like soap and candles, and there were decorative flags and windsocks hanging in the front windows. Prissie breezed past the spinners of stationary and racks of cards without a second glance, preferring to wander up and down the aisles of knickknacks. After a few minutes, she arrived in front of a glass case filled with figurines and pursed her lips in concentration. “One of these would probably be good.”

“What are those?”

“Angels, obviously,” she replied. “Margery has collected them since she was a baby because her middle name is Angel.”

“How strange,” Koji murmured, gazing intently into the case.

“I like these,” Prissie remarked, pointing to a set of four small statues depicting the seasons. Winter’s angel wore fur-trimmed robes and a crown of snowflakes; summer’s was dressed in a sleeveless dress and garlanded in daisies. “It’s too bad Margery wasn’t born in spring because I like that one best. Pink is the prettiest by far! Don’t you think so?” She turned to Koji, patiently waiting for his agreement.

“I have noticed your preference for the color,” he replied carefully. Too carefully.

“What?” she demanded. “Do you have a problem with these?”

“There are several … inaccuracies.”

“Really?” Prissie eyed the figurines critically. “I think they’re very flattering.”

Koji studied the lineup of slender, serene-faced angels. “These are all females.”

“So?”

“There are no female angels,” he stated emphatically.

“None?” she asked, stunned.

“And feathers,” he noted, sounding mystified.

“Obviously,” she retorted. “They’re wings!”

He gazed at her, dark eyes solemn. “Angels are not birds.”

“Are you saying angels don’t have wings?”

“No,” he replied patiently. “Many angels do, but they are not like these.”

Prissie stooped to peer at the next shelf down in the case, which held a large selection of fairies. “What about these?” she asked. The brightly colored figurines had butterfly wings, dragonfly wings, and a few in the back had bat-like dragon wings. “At least they have pointed ears, right?”

Koji shook his head in consternation. “I will have to ask Shimron about this. It makes sense since no one ever remembers clearly … except in dreams.”

“Do you have a halo?”

He tilted his head to one side, considering one statue’s tiny angelic accessory. “I do not wear a ring of light over my head, but I can become too bright for you to bear. Perhaps that is what the sculptor wished to signify?”

“I can bear you just fine,” Prissie countered, upset that her traditional gift for Margery was being criticized.

“Also, they are unarmed.”

“Why would they need weapons?” she scoffed. “You aren’t armed!”

He glanced over his shoulder and scanned the store, pausing at various points as if he was seeing something she couldn’t. “Observers are not, but any angel is in danger when they are in this world.”

“Danger? Why?” Prissie exclaimed, looking around the quaint little shop nervously.

“Do you not know?” Koji inquired softly. “We are at war.”

A creeping sense of dread latched onto her heart. “With whom?”

“The Fallen.”

“Fallen angels, as in demons?” she asked, her blue eyes widening.

“Protectors and Guardians do most of the fighting,” he replied matter-of-factly. “Messengers are at the greatest risk, for the Fallen often target them. Observers must take great care, for the enemy is merciless to any who are caught unawares. That is part of the reason we are in teams. Those who fight protect those who do not.”

“Just as a precaution, though, right?” Prissie asserted. “There can’t be many bad angels in West Edinton.”

Koji’s brows knit. “Why would you believe such a thing?”

“This is just a quiet little town. I’ll bet your ‘Fallen’ are much more interested in big cities.”

“Prissie,” he said in a low voice. “The Observer who was assigned to this team before me, Shimron’s previous apprentice—the Fallen took him.”

Prissie’s mouth felt suddenly dry and she swallowed hard. “What happens to angels when they’re captured?” she whispered.

“I do not know; I have never been taken before,” Koji replied. “But those who have been returned bear terrible scars.”

She glanced uncomfortably at the case filled with lovely winged women and backed away. “I guess I’ll look for something else.”


Koji carelessly swung his feet as he gazed up and down Main Street, but Prissie crossed her ankles. “When I was really little, Momma told me that if we ever got separated while we were in town, I should run to this gazebo and wait for her. She would come and find me.” Prissie peered up at the neat octagonal pattern of the rafters overhead. “Good things have always happened to me here.”

“Like what?” prompted Koji.

“One day when Momma was standing in line for a prescription at the pharmacy, she let me come here to wait for her. I hadn’t been here very long when Milo showed up. He was new in town, and since he was a stranger, I wasn’t sure if I should talk to him. But he was wearing his postman’s uniform, so I guessed he was safe.”

“What happened?”

“He asked if I was lost, and I told him that was impossible since this is my town.” She shrugged a little, then continued, “Momma found us talking and invited him over for dinner. That night, Daddy invited him to our church, and he’s been there ever since.”

A pleased smile brightened Koji’s face. “This is where you first met Milo!”

She nodded and focused on a squirrel dashing across the lawn, wishing she could stop the color rising in her cheeks. Already, she regretted sharing such a precious memory. Preferring to let Koji do the talking, she asked, “Are angels attracted to this spot?”

Pulling up his legs so he could rest his chin on his knees, Koji said, “It is very pleasant, but unless an angel is a Caretaker, places do not matter so much. We are drawn to lasting things rather than passing things.”

She looked at the town hall. Its gray stone came from a nearby quarry, and its bell tower was a local landmark. Up until the Presbyterian church was built on the opposite end of Main Street, it had been the tallest structure in the area. “This is the oldest building in town; it’s lasted more than a hundred and fifty years.”

“No,” he replied dismissively. “The things of this world will not last. We are more interested in that which endures — promises, relationships, but mostly souls. If an angel met you in this place, it was because they wanted to talk to you.”

That was a very nice thought, and Prissie was pleased. Wanting to extend a favor, she offered, “Is there anything you want to look at in town.”

“I would like to taste things,” Koji replied, sounding embarrassed about the admission. “I have seen many kinds of food, but until now, I was unable to eat them.”

Prissie thought back over the last few evenings. She’d noticed the would-be exchange student eating with careful concentration, but at the time, she thought he’d been worried about his table manners. It had never occurred to her that Koji was tasting foods for the first time. Then an idea struck her. “Does that mean that the first food you ever ate …?”

“Your pie,” he proudly filled in. “I shall never forget how it tasted.”

She gave him a hard look, but Koji wasn’t teasing. For better or for worse, her clumsy pie had been immortalized because it held a place in the memory of a boy who would live forever. Prissie wasn’t sure if she should feel humbled or humiliated. “Come on, let’s go,” she sighed. “The corner store has groceries.”


Prissie knew their market forward and backward because it wasn’t very big, and she’d been shopping there since she was small enough to ride on the bottom rack of their tiny carts. However, shopping there with Koji proved to be a fascinating experience. Seeing things through his eyes made her look at them a little differently.

Koji might have known all about the history of her hometown, but apparently, grocery stores had never been a priority in the lessons he received from his mentor. Once inside, the young angel craned his neck like a tourist, trying to take in everything at once.

With a glance around to make sure no one was staring at his odd behavior, Prissie herded Koji toward the produce section. “What looks good?”

“I am not sure.”

Together, they walked up and down the aisles, and to Prissie’s amazement, he was familiar with all the fruits and vegetables — at least by name. He could also name all the fish laid out on ice in the meat department’s glass-fronted case. “Have you seen these before?” she asked, pointing to a row of speckled trout.

“No,” he admitted.

“Then, how do you know this stuff?” she demanded.

“I am not sure; I just know,” he replied with a shrug.

Prissie turned down one of the central aisles, and Koji slowed to a stop in front of neat rows of soup cans. Dark eyes flickered from label to label, engrossed in the different varieties. “Oh, those,” she remarked scornfully. “Grandma would probably make any kind you want if we ask her, and it’ll taste much better.”

“You do not approve of … chicken and stars?” he asked wistfully.

With a long-suffering sigh, Prissie took on the role of resident expert and tour guide. “We live on a farm, and Momma and Grandma put stuff up, so we hardly ever buy canned food.”

“Harken keeps canned food in his kitchen, though it is mostly for show,” Koji mused aloud. “What would you suggest?”

Prissie wandered up and down, dismissing nearly everything she saw. It didn’t seem right to feed an angel stuff like canned ravioli or cellophane-wrapped sponge cakes. She’d been raised on real food, and prepackaged foodstuffs made her cringe. Finally, she grumbled, “I suggest we wait until we get to Dad’s bakery. But until then, let’s grab something to drink and one snack each — my treat.”

“Thank you!” he murmured appreciatively.

They circled the store again while Koji carefully considered all of his options, even the ones she had advised against. Finally, they ended up back in the produce department, where he waffled between a starfruit and a kiwi. “Which do you like better?” he asked.

“I’m not sure,” she confessed. “I’ve never tasted starfruit.”

That sealed the deal for him. “We can share!” he declared, looking very pleased.

Next, Prissie led him to the back corner of the store, a landmark of sorts for every kid in West Edinton. Small baskets were arranged along a series of narrow shelves under an old-fashioned looking sign that declared, Penny Candy. There were jawbreakers, taffy, bubble gum, caramels, and a vast assortment of hard candies. “Dad says that when he was a little boy, all the candy really was a penny. It’s a nickel now, but we still call it ‘penny candy.’ “ Wondering if angels were allowed to eat junk food, she ventured, “Do you like sweets?”

Koji dragged his gaze away from the brightly wrapped goodies and confessed, “Very much.”

“Pick something,” she urged, pulling out a small, white paper bag and counting out half a dozen root beer barrels, which were Jude’s favorite. “Momma likes to keep the candy jar on the kitchen mantle stocked.”

“Which do you like?” Koji asked as she counted out six cinnamon candies.

“I don’t really eat candy very much,” she replied aloofly.

“Oh,” he replied, obviously disappointed.

She gave him an exasperated look, then rummaged through a basket filled with small suckers. “Fine … this is my favorite,” she admitted, showing him the one she liked best.

Koji peered intently at the wrapper, on which small text was printed. “Cream soda?” he asked. “That is not a kind of fruit.”

“Obviously,” she retorted.

The young angel fished around in the bin, systematically inspecting the labels and extracting five more. He offered them to her like a small bouquet, then asked, “Does it taste like milk?”

“It’s not cream, it’s cream soda.”

His head tipped to one side. “What is that?”

She led him to the long row of beverages and located bottles of the stuff. “I guess it tastes like vanilla? Maybe?” she hazarded. “It tastes good, okay?”

Koji nodded and smiled. “I will trust you in this matter.”

As they walked toward the front registers, something caught Prissie’s eye. On impulse, she reached out and plucked the item off the shelf, watching to see when the observant young angel noticed the small box of star-shaped pasta riding along the belt toward the checker. When he did, his expression of surprise was quickly followed by one of delight, and Prissie felt as though she’d been rewarded. Somehow, an angel’s smile managed to capture the purest essence of joy.


Back outside, Koji walked quietly at Prissie’s side, hugging their one shopping bag to his chest. She was glad he was so happy over such a simple thing, but her mind was already racing ahead. There had to be something that would be good for Margery’s birthday present, but what?

Suddenly, Koji snatched her hand, pulling her to a stop. Prissie tried to extract herself from his grasp, but Koji’s attention was fixed on a point farther down the road. When she looked in the same direction, nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. “Koji?” she whispered. “Let go of me!”

He nodded sharply, but not at her, then got in front of her. His voice was calm enough, but his eyes were wide, urgent. “You have shared your food with me. Maybe I can share some of ours?” he offered.

Without waiting for an answer, he tugged her back the way they’d come. “Where do angels shop?” Prissie asked, trying to joke but falling flat.

“We do not,” he replied seriously. “Abner’s flock keeps us supplied. I think perhaps now you will notice them.”

The way Koji was acting, you would have thought they were being chased down the street. Prissie glanced over her shoulder and stifled a groan. Not half a block away, a familiar group trooped out of the local delicatessen. The last thing she wanted was for Ransom and his gang to see her holding hands with a boy on Main Street. Once more, she tried to pull free of Koji’s grasp, but he wasn’t having it.

“Almost there,” he assured.

“Fine,” she hissed. Keeping her head down, she picked up her pace until they were jogging together. He didn’t release his hold until they clattered through the door to Harken’s shop.

“What’s all this?” the shopkeeper called.

Koji indicated the street and said, “Things are stirring, so Tamaes sent us ahead.”

“Who?” Prissie asked.

Harken’s expression grew solemn, and he moved to look out the front window. “Well, now, that was probably wise.”

“He suggested showing Abner’s flock to Prissie. May I?”

The old man’s brilliant smile flashed. “An excellent suggestion! Shall we go into the garden?” He gestured toward the back room.

Prissie preceded them through the maze of boxes toward the mysterious blue door that seemed to beckon to her. Glancing first at Harken for permission, she reached out to touch the irridescent gleaming knob, which hummed softly against her fingertips.

She paused on the threshold, gazing at the lovely glade that wasn’t really a part of her world, but Koji gently pushed her forward. “It is safe inside. Come on, Prissie. We need to close the door.”

Everything was as she remembered it — soft grass carpeted the small clearing, and the surrounding trees reaching toward the rippling lights in the sky. Maybe because she was expecting it this time, she didn’t feel quite as unsettled by the otherworldly aspects of the angels’ sanctuary.

Harken stepped past her, humming under his breath as he strolled into the center of the glade, scanning the forest. Koji eagerly shed his shoes and socks, then wriggled his toes in the grass with a blissful expression. Setting his foot gear next to their grocery bag, he trotted after Harken, beckoning eagerly for Prissie to follow.

“Come on out,” Harken called gently. He wasn’t talking to her.

And then Prissie noticed them. Some of the shifting lights that dappled the forest drifted in lazy spirals, resolving into sharper focus as they left the shelter of the trees. She squinted and stepped slowly closer. “They look like—fairies!” she gasped.

“Angels,” corrected Harken. “These small ones are the lowest order of angels, but one of the most important.”

One of the slender figures lit upon his palm, and he turned to Prissie with it. They were small, hardly the size of her hand, and almost too bright to look at. Peering through her lashes, she could just make out a tiny, perfect person with silvery hair tucked behind pointed ears. Its upturned face was dominated by a pair of slanted eyes; their faceted depths had no whites, reminding her of an insect’s. The little creature was adorable.

“Hello, there,” she cooed, wondering if she was supposed to pet it or shake its hand.

“They cannot speak,” Koji informed her quietly. “Yahavim are not quite that clever.”

The small being fluttered delicate wings and cocked its head, looking inquisitively from Harken to Prissie, and the old man smiled. “They understand enough and can make themselves understood,” he explained. “The members of Abner’s flock are not unlike domesticated animals; the yahavim are every angels’ primary source of nourishment.”

Prissie gave him a horrified look and squeaked, “You eat them?”

Koji smothered a giggle. “Nooo,” he quickly assured her. “They make manna!”

Harken smiled kindly. “Abner could explain it more clearly, but these small ones are able to perform a great service. Just as plants take in carbon dioxide and release oxygen, the yahavim take in light and produce manna.” Turning to the fairy-like creature in his hand he politely inquired, “Shall we show her?”

The tiny angel darted upward on wings like a dragonfly’s and turned a somersault in the air, capturing the surrounding light in a brilliant burst and condensing it. Prissie had to shield her eyes for a second, but when the creature righted itself, she saw a small flake drift down onto Harken’s hand. “Thank you,” he said graciously.

“So bright,” Prissie said, blinking her watering eyes. “It’s hard to look at them directly.”

“Their glory is the least of all the angels, and it is still too much for human eyes to behold,” Harken declared. “Be glad that the rest of us are able to rein in the radiance; men have been blinded by the presence of angels in their midst.”

“I remember stories,” she replied, thinking back over old Sunday school lessons. Again, Prissie was struck by the notion that she was only seeing a part of something much larger, and she squirmed inside, caught between awe and actual fear.

Meanwhile, Koji had three more of the little manna-makers turning somersaults for him. When he was satisfied with their work, he quietly thanked each of them, then hurried to Prissie’s side. He held out cupped hands and beamed at her. “Manna is the food of angels. Will you share some with me?”

The delicate wafers were so thin, they were translucent; irregularly shaped and slightly curved, they looked like golden scales, or perhaps itty-bitty, transparent potato chips. “What’s it like?” she asked.

“More desirable than gold, and sweeter than honey,” quoted Harken.

“Like the words of God — right and good,” added Koji.

Prissie knew they were quoting verses from the Bible, but she didn’t understand. How could food taste like words in a book? “That’s not a flavor.”

Koji lifted his hands again. “Please, Prissie?”

“It’s okay for me?”

“The children of Israel wandering in the wilderness ate nothing but manna and were satisfied — for a while,” Harken reminded.

“But that was in Bible times,” she countered.

“Child, all times are in God’s hands, and this is yours,” the older angel pronounced with infinite patience. “Accept an invitation when it is given, for who can tell if it will ever be extended again?”

Prissie thought there might be a rebuke in his tone, but she found nothing but kindness in Harken’s deep brown eyes. Her heart clenched with a sudden sense of urgency, and she looked down at the proffered food. Was this her once-in-a-lifetime chance to taste manna for herself?

Koji tilted his head to catch her gaze, his eyes sparkling with hope and friendliness. “It tastes good,” he promised. “Trust me.”

Smiling a little uncertainly, she chose a gleaming flake and popped it into her mouth. As an indescribable sweetness spread across her tongue. Prissie’s eyes brightened, and Koji grinned.