Excerpt: Penny From Heaven

The chanting grew louder, alternating lines in Latin and Aramaic. The air began to boil, the heat almost visible as it rolled through the room. Everyone not already wearing eye protection quickly put theirs on as blinding golden light poured from the painting. A terrible crashing noise began, the sound of boulders breaking, winds raging, destruction and creation raging against each other in battle. Electric lights blinked and failed in rapid succession. Wallpaper peeled from the walls as the heat steamed it free, cracks tunneling through the drywall underneath. One by one several people fled the room or dropped to the ground with hands covering their ears and eyes, until the only ones still standing under the onslaught were the chanting magicians and one lone man. He stood in the center of the maelstrom, facing the painting. Dark sunglasses covered his eyes, sweat ran down his face, his suit rumpled in the heat. He raised a hand to shield his eyes as the golden light grew more intense.
The light formed a wide beam from the painting to a spot on the floor in front of the man’s feet. It flashed as ozone crackled in the air. A darker, deeper gold stretched out of the painting and down the beam, undulating as it traveled to the floor. The noise reached an ear bleeding crescendo as a final blinding flash spiked out of the beam. The noise stopped with a shocking suddenness. The magicians ceased their chanting. The man in the center of the room slowly removed his sunglasses, staring at the swirl of pale gold coalescing at his feet. It shimmered and eddied and finally settled into a solid creature with moon silver wings stretching nearly six feet across.
One of the magicians approached carefully, bending at the waist but not brave enough to kneel before the creature. The magician spoke, a rumble of quick Aramaic, his tone respectful. No, his voice full of awe. He reached a hand towards the wings but didn’t dare touch them.
The man in the suit pocketed his sunglasses and kneeled, one hand on the floor. He ducked his head to peer under the wings. A tangle of long blonde hair hid the creatures’ face. He raised a tentative hand to part the hair. The magician exploded with a burst of Aramaic, grabbing the man’s hand. He gave the magician a blistering look, blue eyes glittering. “I think we can switch to a living language now, Fred.”
Fred looked abashed. “Chet, don’t startle …”
The creature made a noise, a harsh choking sound from deep within its throat. Fred jumped and Chet crept closer, down on all fours now and looking intently at the creature’s blonde head.
A pair of hands slapped down on the floor from within the huddle of its wings. The arms shook violently.
Fred addressed the creature. “Holy Angel of the Lord, we greet you with reverence and piety.”
No response from the angel. Fred and Chet exchanged a dubious look. With a shrug, Chet said, “Can we get you anything? How do you feel?”
Fred looked like he did not think this was the proper way to address an angel, but did no more than purse his lips in disapproval.
The angel made another guttural sound, blonde head slowly rising. Ice blue eyes met Chet’s dark blue gaze from behind a curtain of matted hair. Her lips moved as if testing them, as if trying to remember how to use them. Finally, the angel spoke, the words coming out slowly, voice rough from disuse. “I … feel like … shit.” She heaved and retched, vomiting all over the floor in spectacular fashion.
Fred groaned and covered his nose with the collar of his robe, scuttling away. Chet’s head popped up and looked behind him at the waiting staff. “We’re gonna need a mop and a bucket for the angel to barf in.” No one moved. “Now would be good,” putting just enough edge in his voice to get somebody moving.
He looked back at the angel as she vomited again. He put his hand out, stopping himself before patting her shoulder, mindful of the wings. “There, there,” he said, fully aware of how lame he sounded. How did one comfort a sick angel? He had no idea, but it was his job to find out.