him again, as though she were figuring him into some kind of complicated algorithm.
“How else?” he countered caustically.
“Perhaps,” she said as she turned her attention back to Jackson, “it is you who are intruding in my head. If humans only realized the power of their own thoughts, a great many ills of the world could be rectified, not the least of which is the constant leaping into misreading the acts and intentions of others.”
Leo floundered, at a loss for a moment as he tried to figure out what she meant. “Last I checked I’m not a telepath,” he said sharply. “That’s an ability saved for this freaks and geeks society.”
“I would argue differently. So should you.”
“Why would I?” he snapped.
“Because if you’ve learned nothing from recent experiences, Leo Alvarez, you have learned you don’t know as much as you thought you did. That there is potentially as much unknown as there is known to you. But, like most mortal humans, you persist in thinking you are the be-all and end-all of the universe. That you are the highest form of living. That there couldn’t possibly be anything brighter or more vibrant than you are. And when something happens to shake that arrogance up, you’re left floundering.”
“What do you know about my recent experiences?” he demanded of her with blistering, barely leashed rage. And he was supposed to believe she wasn’t reading his mind?
Oh god…what can she see?
Which of the cornucopia of traumatic and shameful events that had occurred could she see? One? A few?
All of them?
The very idea made him violently nauseous, and it was all he could do to swallow it back down.
She sighed shortly, as if he were trying her patience. She turned back to him. “To a Night Angel humanoids radiate a beacon of light, rather like if you had stepped onto a searchlight that streams up around you and on into the vastness of the night sky. Now imagine that there are words being projected onto this light, in all colors, shapes, and sizes. Projected from within the heart of your soul, Leo Alvarez. What is in your heart is there for all to see who are able to. The brighter the word, the more recent it has been stamped into your light. Your rage. Your fear. Your pain. Your light screams words like ‘betrayed,’ ‘helpless,’ ‘disillusioned,’ and ‘violated.’ The brightness of it tells me it has all been created very recently. And that then leads me to believe something happened to you, a traumatic event that showed you the measure of yourself as a man. Since the words ‘Bodywalkers’ and ‘Nightwalkers,’ and such are also clearly new, I can only assume that these are all conjoined aspects of your recent experience. Am I wrong?” It was obvious she did not think she was wrong in the least. “If so, I apologize for my presumption.”
She dismissed him once more, clearly not caring if she were forgiven or not. Very un-angel-like in his opinion.
His limited, human opinion. After all, what did he really know about angels? Pictures of human interpretation and expectation? Fair-haired, white-winged, halo wearers? White-skinned? It brought back a warm memory, something he hadn’t thought of in years.
“Mama, aren’t there any Spanish angels?” he had asked her shortly after he had turned five. He had been staring up at a white angel ornament on the top of their Christmas tree, the most recent in a long line of images of angels he had seen that holiday season.
“Oh
mijo
, there are many Spanish angels. Why would you think there aren’t?”
“Because they’re all blond and have white skin,” he said, pointing to the ornament. Then he reached to wind a finger thoughtfully into his own black curls.
“Ah. So you think the men and women who make these pictures and ornaments know the true face of the angels?”
“Don’t they?”
“They think they do. But the only way we’ll ever really know is when we die and meet God in Heaven. But I am very certain
“How else?” he countered caustically.
“Perhaps,” she said as she turned her attention back to Jackson, “it is you who are intruding in my head. If humans only realized the power of their own thoughts, a great many ills of the world could be rectified, not the least of which is the constant leaping into misreading the acts and intentions of others.”
Leo floundered, at a loss for a moment as he tried to figure out what she meant. “Last I checked I’m not a telepath,” he said sharply. “That’s an ability saved for this freaks and geeks society.”
“I would argue differently. So should you.”
“Why would I?” he snapped.
“Because if you’ve learned nothing from recent experiences, Leo Alvarez, you have learned you don’t know as much as you thought you did. That there is potentially as much unknown as there is known to you. But, like most mortal humans, you persist in thinking you are the be-all and end-all of the universe. That you are the highest form of living. That there couldn’t possibly be anything brighter or more vibrant than you are. And when something happens to shake that arrogance up, you’re left floundering.”
“What do you know about my recent experiences?” he demanded of her with blistering, barely leashed rage. And he was supposed to believe she wasn’t reading his mind?
Oh god…what can she see?
Which of the cornucopia of traumatic and shameful events that had occurred could she see? One? A few?
All of them?
The very idea made him violently nauseous, and it was all he could do to swallow it back down.
She sighed shortly, as if he were trying her patience. She turned back to him. “To a Night Angel humanoids radiate a beacon of light, rather like if you had stepped onto a searchlight that streams up around you and on into the vastness of the night sky. Now imagine that there are words being projected onto this light, in all colors, shapes, and sizes. Projected from within the heart of your soul, Leo Alvarez. What is in your heart is there for all to see who are able to. The brighter the word, the more recent it has been stamped into your light. Your rage. Your fear. Your pain. Your light screams words like ‘betrayed,’ ‘helpless,’ ‘disillusioned,’ and ‘violated.’ The brightness of it tells me it has all been created very recently. And that then leads me to believe something happened to you, a traumatic event that showed you the measure of yourself as a man. Since the words ‘Bodywalkers’ and ‘Nightwalkers,’ and such are also clearly new, I can only assume that these are all conjoined aspects of your recent experience. Am I wrong?” It was obvious she did not think she was wrong in the least. “If so, I apologize for my presumption.”
She dismissed him once more, clearly not caring if she were forgiven or not. Very un-angel-like in his opinion.
His limited, human opinion. After all, what did he really know about angels? Pictures of human interpretation and expectation? Fair-haired, white-winged, halo wearers? White-skinned? It brought back a warm memory, something he hadn’t thought of in years.
“Mama, aren’t there any Spanish angels?” he had asked her shortly after he had turned five. He had been staring up at a white angel ornament on the top of their Christmas tree, the most recent in a long line of images of angels he had seen that holiday season.
“Oh
mijo
, there are many Spanish angels. Why would you think there aren’t?”
“Because they’re all blond and have white skin,” he said, pointing to the ornament. Then he reached to wind a finger thoughtfully into his own black curls.
“Ah. So you think the men and women who make these pictures and ornaments know the true face of the angels?”
“Don’t they?”
“They think they do. But the only way we’ll ever really know is when we die and meet God in Heaven. But I am very certain
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