Providence, Chapter 4
I sat there, staring at the changed ticket in my hands, for a very long time. It had something to do with my promise to God, I was sure of it. But why? Should I go? And what on earth was I going to tell my mother?
I must have looked a sight when I came down for dinner, carrying the ticket in my left hand, my right wrist swelling. My eyes were probably as wild as God’s.
Mom knew something was up (Dad was looking out the window), but I couldn’t find the words. I just handed her the ticket.
She looked at it, confused, until I prompted her to look at the date.
Her eyes flew up, face angry. “Very funny, Lily,” she snapped. “You couldn’t tell the truth, couldn’t you? I’d have supported you — what happened to your wrist?”
“God,” I said. I still didn’t know where to start the story, but something about this made my mom stop in her tracks.
She looked back to the ticket, then to my wrist, then to my face, and then again. Three times her eyes completed the cycle.
“She’ll have to go,” Dad said suddenly from the window. I wondered if I had ever heard him say so many words at a time.
“What do you mean?” I demanded. “What do you know about this?”
Dad shrugged, looking uncomfortable now he’d said his piece. Mom’s lips were pursed, but she shoved the ticket back to me.
“Fine,” she said, as though Dad had never said anything, as though nothing had happened. “It’s unexpected, but goodness knows you’ve been dying to get out and it’ll do you good to get settled before semester starts. We’ll send your stuff to you I suppose.”
I looked from her to Dad. “But –“
“Dinner’s ready,” Mom said loudly over my protests. “Put that upstairs and wash. And let’s put some ice on that wrist.”
I wanted to ask more. I wanted to pester both of them until they told me what they knew, how they understood, what they understood, and why I had to go anywhere. As I mentioned before, I hated unanswered questions. But I also knew with utmost certainty that questions would fall on deaf ears and dumb mouths. Instead I ate quietly and hurried upstairs to pack.
It was only much later than night, when I was lying awake and staring at the ceiling, wondering what this all was supposed to mean, that I at last realized the last thing God had said.
It was, “Lucifer.”
I touched down in Richmond at 3:57pm local time, in a state of utter confusion and — I admit — terror.
As much as I had been counting the days to my departure, I at least knew when I was leaving. Now, here I was, already in Richmond with a hastily packed suitcase and no plan, no inkling of what I was supposed to do.
I had gone over it a million times in my head on the flight, but the dots never connected to make a picture. The only things I knew for sure was that God wanted me to find Gabriel and if he wanted me to go here, then probably he thought Gabriel was here too.
My first instinct was to think that God thought Gabriel was in trouble, but why send me to take care of it? I was probably the worst person in the world for that job — he could have picked someone who actually knew something about the old legends and, more importantly, cared about them.
The more I thought about it, though, the more I wondered. Gabriel hadn’t said where he was going, just that he might leave, and he hadn’t mentioned anything about coming back. I was starting to think that he, just like the other archangels, had just lost interest. He’d felt guilty enough to set me up to take care of the old codger, and then gone AWOL. Maybe God wasn’t worried about him, he was angry, and he was sending me after Gabriel to punish him for his disloyalty.
Either way, I never did figure out why I had gotten roped into all of this, and even though it had served to get me out of Skye sooner rather than later, I resented all of it.
Resented — and feared. My theories only made sense before “Lucifer” and the plane — which I couldn’t shake the feeling was related to all this — entered the picture. And though I didn’t even know the equation, the output was me, alone in Richmond, trying to track down an archangel who probably didn’t even want to be saved.
The sheer enormity of my situation hit as I stood in the arrival hall of the Richmond airport. I had no idea how I was supposed to proceed from here. I had nothing but my suitcase, my aching wrist, and my parent’s credit card with their blessing to use it however I needed. All because some Deity decided to send me on an impossible mission.
To my great horror, I found my eyes filling with tears as a wave of frustration and uncertainty hit.
“Hey honey, are you okay? Do you need help?”
The voice came wavering down, as if from a tunnel. I blinked back the tears to find a kind face peering at me. They belonged to a middle-aged woman with impeccable makeup and a large quantity of wavy blonde hair.
“I’m fine,” I mumbled. Caught in the act, I felt very ashamed indeed. “Allergies.”
“Are you sure? Do you have family here? Can I drive you somewhere?”
Her questions made me feel like a child, and I was embarrassed. I straightened my shoulders and blinked away the tears. “No, it’s okay. I can take a taxi. Thanks though.”
“Where are you staying?” she pressed. I hid my wrist behind my back, vaguely worried she might call the police.
“The Hyatt,” I said. It wasn’t a lie, Mom and I had booked the room last night. It was expensive but we hadn’t had time to think of anything else. It would do until I could arrange with the school to get into the dorms early.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m fine,” I repeated. “Thanks.” Before she could ask any more — she was drawing a breath — I skirted away from her and made a beeline to the exit.
I flagged a taxi and clambered in the backseat. As the driver hit the gas, I told myself to toughen up. I had been wishing to leave Skye for years and now I’d gotten my wish. If I didn’t like it, I shouldn’t have wished so hard. Careful what you wish for, and all that.
“You’re from Skye?” The receptionist was intrigued as she glanced at my ID. “Really?”
“Yeah, you know it?” I replied, surprised. I had been a bit worried they’d fuss I was still a minor and fingered the permission slip from my mother in my pocket, but she didn’t seem to care.
“Everyone knows Skye!” the receptionist — Becca, according to her name tag — exclaimed. She lowered her voice and leaned forward. “Have you ever…I mean, have you seen…him?”
“God?” I knew he was famous, and the tourists came from somewhere, but I’d never expected this. Becca-the-receptionist was leaning forward eagerly, eyes rapt as she nodded.
“Oh. Um. Yeah. He lives on my street.”
“Really?” Becca stared for a minute before shaking herself. “I’m sorry, I just — I mean, what’s he like?”
I shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t see him much,” I lied. My wrist throbbed. “He’s…a little crazy.”
Becca laughed. “I heard that,” she said, “but — I mean –“
“I don’t really know,” I said, trying to cut her off. I didn’t want to leave Skye just to talk about the reason I left. “Sorry.”
Becca seemed to come to her senses, though she looked a little disappointed. “No, it’s nothing, I’m being rude. Sorry. I’ve just always wanted to go, but with work and everything I couldn’t swing it…well, here’s your room key, elevator is down the hall and to the left. Breakfast is in that room just there, from seven to ten am. Have a nice stay.”
I took the key and headed for the elevator. My room was small and clean. It felt a little strange to be in a hotel room. I’d always wondered what they were like.
Taking a deep breath, I felt calmer than before. I was here, and I’d wanted it for years. Maybe God wanted me here, but I was also supposed to be here. I could keep an eye out for Gabriel as I established myself here. I could get a part-time job, maybe find my own place. I could check through the newspapers every so often to see if an archangel had come to town. I figured it’d be big news. They were rarer than deities, and I guess maybe more accessible. I’d heard a lot of girls in my grade wondering if archangels dated humans.
In any case, maybe I could keep my promise to God, but not see as a mission. Just — the corner of my mind. My wrist throbbed slightly, but I put aside the little lurch of guilt. I’d promised, but God hadn’t said anything about what I should do — just find him. I’d look.
This idea cheered me greatly, and I suddenly felt much happier about being in Richmond. I reached for the newspaper to see if there might be any classifieds for part-time jobs, but I didn’t get far. On the second page, I saw something that dropped my heart to my shoes.
It was an ad, not too big, not too small. Mostly black, with white lettering. Lucifer Bar and Lounge, it read, and in smaller letters, World-Class Cocktails. There was an address, and nothing more.
It was a coincidence, I told myself. Just a coincidence.
But no. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Deities didn’t do those. Even I knew that. I glowered at the page, accusing it for betraying my plan, and then glowered at my wrist, which was now wrapped in an ace bandage and throbbing.
With a curse I wasn’t allowed to use at home, I took some painkillers and went back down to the reception.
“Hey, so what are the good places to hang out around here?” I asked, trying to sound casual.
“Oh, there’s lots of great places,” Becca-the-receptionist said happily, producing a Guide to Richmond from under her desk. She pointed out a few places, and I nodded, barely listening.
“Great,” I said, after she’d finished the litany, “that sounds really interesting. Actually — do you know this place, I saw an ad for it in the newspaper upstairs…the Lucifer?”
Becca raised an eyebrow. “You mean the bar/lounge?”
“Yeah.”
There was a pause, and something about her silence made me wonder if I’d asked the wrong question. “It’s just down the street. Very fancy place, really nice. Still,” she added, rather loudly, “It’s twenty-one and over only.”
I felt enormously cheered by that. “Oh, no worries. I’d just heard about it- “
“Though,” Becca cut me off, lowering her voice conspiratorially and glancing around, “they’re not so strict with the age policy. It’s the place to be. The cocktails are expensive, but if you can afford it…I mean, there are some stories, but I’ve only had good experiences there.”
My temper immediately returned. The lenient age policy ruined my cut-and-dried excuse for pretending I’d never heard of it. “What stories?”
Becca shrugged. “Just some stories. Gambling. Drugs. Nasty stuff like that. But I’ve never seen any of it, so I don’t know. Don’t tell anyone I told you about the age thing, though, my manager would kill me.”
Great, I thought. A possibly shady club called Lucifer presenting itself immediately to me. No doubt I was supposed to walk up to their doorstep with my very clearly underage ID, and beg entry.
Of course even someone who knew only the basics like me knew who Lucifer was and who he had supposedly become, and I suppose God living on my street should lead me to believe that this one too was hanging out somewhere. It seemed a bit rich that he’d be running a swanky bar and lounge in Richmond though.
Still, it did make me uneasy. If Gabriel was there, and the name was more than coincidence, then he was either in trouble or seriously betraying his boss. Either way, me walking into the middle of it probably wasn’t going to be fun.
I was feeling very resentful indeed as I asked Becca for some ice for my aching wrist, and stormed back upstairs to seethe.
This is the fourth part of a multi-chapter fiction story entitled “Providence.” To catch all of the chapters, make sure to follow the publication and check the “Providence” tab at the top!
