Small Miracles Read online

  The gilded cards flickered back and forth between the angel’s hands.

  “So?” Barachiel asked. “We have a deal?”

  The question was really just a formality, and they both knew it. Gadriel owed a debt, and Barachiel had called it in. The angel was being more charitable about it than she really needed to be; she could have handed Gadriel a far more challenging assignment. A bit of petty temptation was perfectly within her wheelhouse. Ideally, it wouldn’t take very long at all.

  “Yes, all right,” Gadriel answered with a sigh.

  Barachiel grinned. The cards stilled in one hand, and she offered them out to Gadriel again.

  “Oh no,” Gadriel said quickly. “I’m not falling for that again.” She leaned back in her seat, trying to put as much distance as possible between herself and that accursed deck.

  “I’m not offering a wager this time,” Barachiel assured her. “I just thought you might want to take a peek at what’s ahead.”

  Gadriel frowned. “Well, obviously I’m going to pull the Devil,” she said. “I’m about to go and tempt someone.”8

  Barachiel arched an eyebrow. “I’d ask if you want to bet on it… but I suspect I know the answer.” She flicked the top card off of the deck, offering it out encouragingly. “Go on. Aren’t you curious?”

  Against her better judgement, Gadriel reached for the top card. The deck didn’t bite or burn her; she wasn’t magically ensnared or teleported far away. But when Gadriel looked at the card she’d drawn, she sighed heavily all the same.

  “Well?” Barachiel prompted. “Which one is it?”

  Gadriel shot Barachiel a sour expression. She flipped the card around to show it to the angel.

  The system may have needed work… but the boss still had a sense of humour.

  “The Wheel of Fortune?” Barachiel murmured. “Oh dear. And you swore you’d never gamble again, Gadriel.”9

  Gadriel flicked the card at the angel’s head with a deep, dark scowl. She rose wordlessly from the table and strolled for the door, leaving Barachiel alone in the café.

  1 Angels do not actually have genders. Or rather, they do have genders—but these genders are inexpressible to human beings, who tend to lose track somewhere after the fifth wing and the tenth burning wheel. As such, when said beings divine descend with the intent of having a coffee, they choose a more human-looking gender for the day in rather the same way that you and I might choose a shirt and trousers. This minor sleight-of-hand makes it possible for baristas to ask the question And what can I get for you today, instead of babbling incoherently.

  But—as with any fashion choice—there is always the danger that one might end up at a luncheon wearing exactly the same gender as the friend with whom one is meeting. This is considered both gauche and embarrassing.

  2 Buying the most expensive option out of gluttony is worth at least a quarter point of sin. Heartfelt acts of generosity, no matter how small, always add a full point of virtue to the tally.

  3 Inspiring good deeds in others gains one half the value of the action so inspired. In this respect, particularly contagious good deeds can be compared to pyramid schemes.

  4 Gadriel’s metaphorical shirt was a tatty old Beatles band shirt. One might therefore argue that her metaphorical fashion sense was even more out-of-date than her literal fashion sense.

  5 It was allowed, and it often did.

  6 The Cynics of Ancient Greece were an ascetic subset of the Stoics, particularly well-known for preaching self-sufficiency and the abandonment of earthly possessions. Many thousands of years later, the mere mention of Diogenes could still send Gadriel into fits of apoplexy.

  7 The angels in the accounting department define the Sin Metric thusly:

  For every soul, let the Sin Metric be defined as a function of time, intentions, and actions of said soul. Let positive numbers be associated with sinful actions and negative numbers be associated with virtuous actions.

  The Cumulative Sin Metric is therefore defined as the integral of the Sin Metric over time.*

  *For a detailed infinite-sized matrix of recorded actions, please submit the appropriate prayers to Saint Peter.

  8 Gadriel has always had a great deal of sympathy for the Devil card. Naturally, she believes that the card has a poorly deserved reputation.

  9 The Wheel of Fortune represents an inevitable change in fortunes. In Barachiel’s deck, it’s also a literal roulette wheel.

  CHAPTER 2

  CUMULATIVE SIN METRIC (HOLLY HARKER): -932

  Somewhere near the south end of Church Street, Gadriel realised she had forgotten an important detail.

  “Bother,” Gadriel muttered to herself. “Where is Holly Harker?”

  She looked back in the direction from which she’d come. The idea of slinking back inside to confront Barachiel’s amusement didn’t terribly appeal. Technically, Gadriel had the angel’s phone number—it was in her contacts under the name ‘Bookie’—but Barachiel answered her texts about as reliably as she answered gamblers’ prayers.1

  “Surely, Harker’s not too far,” Gadriel mumbled. “Barachiel wasn’t just craving coffee on Church Street, was she?”

  Gadriel shoved her hands into her pockets with a broad scowl. She glanced around the street—perhaps hoping that she would see a woman nearby with a great big sign that read ‘Too Good for My Own Good’.

  Instead, she caught sight of a group of teenagers loitering around a bus stop. Given the time of day, they were almost certainly skipping school and therefore didn’t require Gadriel’s help to sin any further. But, lacking any other viable targets, she focused her attention on one of the younger ones—a girl with far too much eyeliner, a cleverly tattered skirt, and enough jewellery to open up a shop. Even as Gadriel watched, one of the boys tried to pass the girl a cheap bottle of vodka.

  The girl hesitated, hunching her shoulders and hiding behind her curtain of long brown hair.

  Gadriel strolled slowly past the group, making a show of fussing with the hem of her knitted vest.

  “Go on, take a sip,” she said. “You look stressed. Besides, you don’t want them slagging you off.”

  To Gadriel’s surprise, the words had no effect whatsoever. They were about as effective as a preacher’s finger waggle. Indeed, Gadriel’s inside voice was no more helpful than Abel’s historically questionable attempts at diplomacy.

  The brown-haired girl lifted a hand to stave off the bottle. As she did, Gadriel caught sight of a little silver pentacle around her neck, and the fallen angel’s frown darkened.

  “Wiccans!” Gadriel said beneath her breath. “Who ever expects Wiccans?”2

  The unexpected failure only added to Gadriel’s poor mood as the teenagers slowly dispersed. Again and again, her mind wandered back to that awful card. The Wheel of Fortune was a gambler’s card, of course… but it also represented the promise of a sharp, sudden change in fortunes, for better or for worse.

  I’m perfectly happy with my fortunes as they are, Gadriel thought warily.

  Gadriel had never liked excitement very much, even before her Fall. Once upon a time, she’d worked for Barachiel as a guardian angel, moonlighting on the side as an Angel of Small Miracles. She’d always delighted in the tiny banalities of existence—the lucky coin on the street; the butterfly that lands on your shoulder; the bread that bakes perfectly on the first try. Somewhere along the way, Gadriel had decided that yes, small pleasures like plucked daffodils and bits of chocolate were more important than pleasing the boss.

  This decision, it seemed, had been enough to turn her into the Fallen Angel of Petty Temptations. But while God’s angels had since become very fond of smiting the fallen, they rather had their hands full with the louder, angrier rebels like Lucifer and Beelzebub; none of them could really be bothered to visit divine judgement upon someone who spent their time tempting mortals to eat just one more crisp.

  Gadriel refused to participate in exciting things. Exciting things tended to be… lo
ud. Abrupt. Unpleasant.

  “Miss!” a woman’s voice called breathlessly. “Excuse me, miss!”

  Gadriel continued walking. A moment later, however, it occurred to her that she had made herself visible for the purposes of ordering her coffee and had never bothered to disappear again.

  Ah, she thought with annoyance. I’m ‘miss’, aren’t I?

  Gadriel turned with a frown. She was used to being overlooked, even when visible; her commonplace appearance did a lot for her in that respect. But the woman that had called after her—a tall, willowy brunette of Filipino ancestry with impeccable makeup and an off-the-rack suit—was waving urgently in Gadriel’s direction.

  Gadriel sighed and gradually backtracked.

  For some reason, the brunette woman’s smile wavered imperceptibly as Gadriel approached. But she straightened her posture and steeled herself. Then, in a desperately cheerful voice, she said: “Good morning, ma’am! Would you like to play our game?”

  Gadriel stared at her in puzzlement. A moment later, she realised that the woman in question was standing in front of a cheap cardboard prize wheel, stuck upon a wobbly tripod. Brightly coloured wedges on the wheel said things like ‘free belt with trouser purchase’ and ‘ten per cent off’.

  LIMITED TIME, said the sign beneath the wheel. DON’T MISS YOUR CHANCE.

  “Oh, well done,” Gadriel muttered beneath her breath. “Very subtle, aren’t you?”

  The brunette blinked. “I’m sorry?” she said. “I couldn’t quite hear you.”

  Gadriel considered the woman seriously. “What’s your name?” she asked brusquely. “I don’t suppose it’s—”

  The brunette forced a fresh new smile. “I’m Sara,” she answered quickly. “Pleasure to meet you. It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?”

  Gadriel sighed. “Ah,” she mumbled. “Yes, that would have been too simple.” Holly Harker was clearly somewhere nearby… but someone upstairs was intent on having a laugh at Gadriel before she found her.

  Gadriel straightened again and pasted on a pleasant smile in return. “It is a lovely afternoon, Sara,” she emphasised. “Now, what is this here? Your… game, you said. For your shop? For advertisement purposes, I take it.” Gadriel glanced at the shop window just past the prize wheel, where faceless mannequins posed in stances far too dramatic for their grey, business casual clothing. She looked back at the woman in front of her, who was still smiling with a hint of self-conscious misery.

  “That’s right!” Sara said brightly—as though Gadriel had committed an act of deduction worthy of praise. “Castle Clothing is running a promotion right now—”

  Gadriel held up her hand. “No, stop,” she sighed. “Don’t say it like that. Are you trying to tempt me or not?” She strolled for the other side of the wheel, settling herself next to it. Gadriel cleared her throat once—and then she turned to address the brunette, who had paused to blink at her in bewilderment.

  “Oh, hello!” Gadriel said, pretending surprise. “Thank goodness you’re here. I haven’t got much time left in this game, and I’ve still got so many prizes left.” She pulled out her phone and mimed a small gasp at the time displayed there. “Only five minutes to go! Oh no, I really should give out some of these prizes. It’d be a shame if no one won them, wouldn’t it?”

  “Er,” said Sara. “I’m sorry, are you talking to me?”

  Gadriel smiled at her. “We don’t do this very often at all,” she said confidentially. “And the best prize is still on the board. I mean… there’s only five minutes left. You might as well spin and see if you win it. What’s the harm?”

  Sara looked around herself, suddenly uncertain.

  “Give the wheel a spin,” Gadriel advised her.

  The suggestion caught hold, digging in neatly. A genuine fascination flickered across the brunette’s face, and she stepped forward to spin the wheel.

  The two of them stood there watching, briefly transfixed by the way the colours whizzed past, and by the steady click-click-click of pegs passing under the flapper. Finally, the wheel slowed to a complete stop, landing upon a crimson wedge with the word ‘makeover’ written in bulky letters.

  “Oh!” said Sara. “That is our best prize, actually!” She glanced back at Gadriel, suddenly confused. “I suppose that goes to you, doesn’t it?”

  Gadriel narrowed her eyes at the wheel. “I don’t need a makeover,” she said. She addressed the empty air around them, rather than the woman directly next to her. Predictably, no one replied.

  Sara hadn’t heard Gadriel. She rummaged in one of her jacket pockets for a little red piece of paper that matched the wedge on the wheel. “You’ve won a thirty per cent discount and a consultation with one of our employees,” she said, offering out the voucher. “Would you like to schedule a time?”

  “I would not,” Gadriel said flatly. But she glanced one more time at the sign beneath the wheel—DON’T MISS YOUR CHANCE—and a heavy sigh escaped her. “I’d rather have my consultation now, if you don’t mind. Is someone available?”

  Sara, who had finally keyed to Gadriel’s knitted vest, offered her an oddly sympathetic smile. “We can… certainly make time,” she said soothingly. “Go in and ask for Holly. She’ll sort you out in a jiff.”

  Gadriel smiled, despite the implied fashion emergency. There you are, Holly Harker, she thought. But all she said out loud was: “Excellent.”

  The fallen angel headed into the shop with a spring in her step, and a respectful nod towards one of the mannequins in the window.

  The inside of the shop was an awful mixture of sterile light and dirty carpets, perfectly calibrated to quench any accidental cheerfulness in those who happened to behold it. Racks of synthetic clothing spread out across the shop, carefully arranged to look more flattering than they probably were.

  Gadriel scanned the shop curiously, searching for signs of life. But only a few seconds later, she was forced to conclude that Miss Holly Harker was missing-in-action—unless, of course, she was hiding behind a mannequin. She wandered the room for a minute or two, checking behind flower-printed jumpers for stray employees. Eventually, she made her way to the counter at the back, which had a little bell upon it.

  “Ugh,” Gadriel muttered. “If I must, I suppose.”

  Ringing one of those annoying bells for service was technically worth a quarter point of sin. Gadriel wasn’t normally one to worry about the points—but something about forcing an intelligent being to come running like a dog did ruffle her wing-feathers. It reminded her an awful lot of the way her old boss liked to test people for obedience.

  Gadriel reached out, nevertheless, to tap the little silver bell.

  Ring ring.

  The sound echoed in the silence of the shop. But no employee appeared.

  Gadriel frowned and hit the bell again. Ring ring.

  Though she tapped the bell a few more times, it soon became clear that no employee was going to come running to fix her knitted vest situation.

  Gadriel sighed and nudged the bell aside. Instead, she shoved her hands into her pockets and started directly for the door at the back, labelled ‘employees only’.

  The cramped, box-like office at the back of the shop was even less appealing than its front, without even a window to let in some light. A single dirty lamp shed its yellow light over a pink paisley sofa that had seen better days.

  Draped unceremoniously over the sofa’s arm was a pale, sleeping woman in a wrinkled white blouse and a black pencil skirt. Her honey-coloured hair, half-caught in a sloppy chignon, had lost several locks against her neck. Her hand still clenched a plastic fork with odd determination, though the takeaway container on the table next to her was mostly untouched. She would have been cute as a button if she hadn’t looked so miserable, even in her sleep.

  For just a moment, Gadriel dared to hope that Holly Harker had already sinned today by napping at work. But even a cursory inspection suggested that the woman had fallen asleep in the middle of eating, rather than sneaking of
f for a purposeful illicit break.

  Gadriel cleared her throat.

  The woman shot up in her seat, blinking quickly. As her senses caught up with her, she brandished the plastic fork at Gadriel with wide brown eyes, as though to hold her off.

  “This—you—” she stammered dazedly. “Employees only!”

  Gadriel nodded reasonably. “Oh yes,” she said. “I must have missed the sign.” She paused. “Are you Holly?”

  The woman on the sofa flushed. “I… yes, I suppose I am,” she mumbled. The colour stained the apples in her cheeks, making them stand out more prominently.

  Gadriel squinted at her. “You suppose?” she asked.

  Holly pushed up to her feet, brushing at her clothing with obvious embarrassment. “I mean—I am. Yes.” Her eyes caught on the red voucher in Gadriel’s hand, and she cringed. “You’ve… won a consult! Congratulations.”

  Gadriel rubbed at her chin. “Yes, very lucky,” she murmured. She was only half-listening; most of her attention was on the woman in front of her.

  Holly Harker was probably a woman in her late twenties—but the dark circles beneath her eyes and the permanent concerned wrinkle between her brows made her look somewhat older than that. Her nose stuck out prominently among her other features, like a very proud mountain. There was a faint speckling of freckles visible upon it, but they were difficult to see clearly in the yellow light of the room’s single lamp.

  I can work with this, Gadriel thought. The twenties were an excellent time for sinning. All she really needed was a few more details about the woman in front of her, and she’d be ready to get to work.

  “—we’ll get you and your knitted vest into this decade, no problem,” Holly was saying. Gadriel blinked and brought herself back to the conversation.