“HEAVEN CAN WAIT” by Jacqueline Roberts

“I suppose you’re tired.”

The boy smiled. “Calm down. I’m not going to eat you, and the ordeal is over. I just wanted to thank you, for making me feel at home during this test.” He reached behind his back, rummaged against the invisible air. Then he took her hand, and pressed something into her palm, carefully closing her fingers around it. “You’re not all that bad with a blade.  Carry this faithfully.” She looked down at it in awe, turning it over in her fingers. It was the loveliest blade she’d ever seen, like a solid tapering feather. Even the hilt was engraved like a plume.

“No, I don’t—I can’t take­­­—”

“You must,” he interrupted. “Consider it repayment, for all you and yours have done for me these days.”

“You’re leaving?”­­

“I’ll be back. Perhaps.”

“Perhaps? Why.”

“We don’t choose these things. I’m an angel, not a god.”

“Never?”

“Someday.”

“What should I tell the others?”

“What? Oh, them. Tell them what you wish. Tell them I have found another roof for tonight, or that I’ve drunk myself silly on some park bench or curb somewhere.” He shrugged. “I doubt they’ll notice, everybody’s bone tired around here, running around with their own private business all day.”

She touched his arm. “Are you all right?”

He gave her a quick hug and a long look. He liked this human. Despite it all, he’d even liked it here.

“I will see you again. Keep that feather near you. That’s how I’ll find you.” He turned on his heel and strode away.

“God be with you,” she murmured, slipping the blade in her pocket. He vanished across the street without a backward glance.

“Angreek87″