Angel in Training (The Louisiangel Series, Book One) by C. L. Coffey Page A

“White?”
I moaned. “I can’t keep white clean.”
    “Evidently,” he agreed, nodding at my
clothes. “Get changed. I will meet you in the gym.”
    I slammed the locker door shut and stormed
off to the changing rooms, pulling the clothing on. I have no idea
who kept acquiring my clothing, but they were doing an excellent
job in getting my size right. Dressed, I made my way into the
gym.
    Like the rest of the rooms I had seen, it had
dark wooden floors and the walls that were empty were cream. As
soon as I had the time, I was buying some paint and painting my
room sky blue. Assuming that wasn’t breaking any rules, of
course.
    The gym was a large room. All down one long
side stretched the windows, while the other was covered floor to
ceiling in mirrors. The room had been split into two with a glass
wall and the half of the room I was in was a large hall. The other
side was equipped with weight machines, treadmills, cross trainers,
and a punching bag that someone was sending flying back and
forth.
    Whoever it was, Cupid was busy watching them,
his head cocked. I stepped through the open doorway into the far
side of the gym, and discovered it was Veronica. She was wearing
the same workout outfit as me, and it was a little strange to see
her in white. That being said, the eyeliner was still there.
    “You were holding back on Cupid earlier,” I
noted.
    She paused in her punching, and nodded.
“That’s because his vessel bruises easily.” She resumed her
punching, the bag again flying. There was some serious exertion
going on there and she hadn’t even broken a sweat, much less
started breathing heavily.
    “I thought the cherubim weren’t allowed to
fight?” I asked Cupid.
    Veronica paused again. “When the war comes,
I’m not hiding in a kitchen. Michael is going to need all the help
he can get.”
    “And that means you,” Cupid told me, linking
his arm through mine. “Catch you later, Ronnie,” he called over his
shoulder as he dragged me outside.
    In the garden he had set up a large target
about forty feet away from us. He marched over to a small table
that had been erected close by and pulled a quiver over his
shoulder, resting it between his shoulder blades. Next he pulled on
some form of leather pad just above his wrist. Finally, he picked
up the bow. It was enormous and a lot more extravagant then I had
been imagining.
    My mind had conjured an image of a simple bow
used by someone like Robin Hood – a bent piece of wood with some
string. By comparison, this one was made of some type of metal and
looked military grade. It had three different strings, pulleys and
some complicated sight contraption.
    Cupid took his position, gave me a quick
wiggle of his eyebrow, as if to say look at what I can do , and released the bow. With movements as
fluid as water, quicker than I thought could be possible, he
released arrow, after arrow, after arrow. When he finally stopped,
his quiver empty, he kissed the bow and laid it back on the table.
My attention turned to the target. Every single one of the arrows
had met their target, all fixed in the small centre circle – the
bulls eye.
    “Jesus Christ!” I exclaimed in awe.
    “He was good, but he wasn’t as good as me,”
Cupid beamed.
    I eyed him suspiciously, but didn’t say
anything. As far as I was aware, there wasn’t a chapter in the
Bible entitled, the day in which Cupid kicked Jesus’ ass at
archery , but as I hadn’t
read the book, I wasn’t going to say anything. And who was to say
that they hadn’t had a friendly match one day when they were lazing
about in the clouds.
    “So do I get to do that?” I asked him
instead.
    Cupid cocked his head, thinking about it.
“What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the bow.
    “Um, a bow?” I told him. Wasn’t that
obvious?
    “Then the answer is no,” Cupid informed
me.
    I stared at him in disbelief. “Then what is
it? A toaster?”
    “ Ha,” he said, sarcasm lacing his tone. So
it was only Michael