An Angel's Offer

♡

"No buttons?"

Nora nodded toward the elevator doors. They were gold, gaudy. Art deco with a modern twist. No front panel. No up or down arrows. Nothing discernible to tell you where the elevator was or when it'd be coming.

"Buttons aren't necessary." Mz. Breeze fingered their jacket cuff. Up close, the Cherubim smelled of tobacco and smoke and like they'd been drowned in a half-bottle of perfume. Nora had smelled similarly in her college days, sweet and burnt, after using Febreeze to odor-lock away the stench of weed before class. "They aren't the only ways to get where you're going."

But they were a requirement for most elevators to operate, Nora thought. Save this one, apparently.

"We could fly if you prefer." A smirk danced its way onto Mz. Breeze's face, their lips curving like a sickle.

Nora shook her head. They shrugged and returned their attention forward. "Thought not. You humans only enjoy flying in those metal contraptions."

"It's safe."

"It's limiting."

With a whoosh, the elevator doors parted, flooding the lobby in sunshine. Nora had to squint before her eyesight adjusted and just as it did, she gasped. To her horror, the elevator was made of glass. A chill ran up her spine as she felt her body go cold.

Mz. Breeze stomped in, the sun making their skin paler, colder. They raised a finger and stabbed at the air in front of them. "This way, Miss Campbell."

Nora gulped as she shuffled into the elevator. Her head had already began to throb, her throat tight and dry. She pressed herself into a corner, wishing she possessed the power to disappear, or fade. She hated showing weakness. Heights and confined spaces being two major weaknesses.

"Not a fan?" Mz. Breeze offered a sideways glance while the doors closed without preamble. Cold sweat dripped down Nora's neck. The Cherubim clicked their tongue as something rumbled from under their feet. Within seconds, the elevator was moving, the city being left in its wake. "It'll be over soon enough."

Nora nodded and gritted her teeth. Elevator rides lasted seconds. Nora might not have had an eternity to spare like some, but she could give up a few seconds. Resisting the urge to squeeze her eyelids shut, she focused on her breathing. In. Out. In. Slow, steady. Purposeful. She had this.

Soon the city skyline faded away in favor of clouds and bright blue. Nora's heart thudded against her chest. How far off solid ground were they? A hundred feet? Two? And all there was between her and plummeting to her death was a measly few inches of glass?

Jesus Christ.

One snapped cable, one faulty wire and that was it. Mz. Breeze had wings to save themself. Nora had what? Hopeful optimism that someone would save her had never been her strong suit. She was a realist, through and through, and all that meant, was if the elevator plunged, at least her death would be guaranteed swift.

Finally, thankfully, the elevator slowed to a stop. The doors shot open and Nora stumbled from it like a drunk getting kicked from the bar. She hunched forward, on shaky knees, and tried to catch her breath.

As the anxiety subsided, and her nerve endings unfurled, and Nora was secure in the knowledge her wig hadn't shifted, she dared to peek at her surroundings. Stood straighter. Made the mistake of looking around. Really looking. And then, she gasped, leaking all the air she had labored so hard to wrestle back into her lungs.

Mr. Archer's executive suite seemed to have been modeled after an ancient bathhouse. Ridged columns supported vaulted ceilings, an entire glass wall soaked the room in afternoon sun. The floor was a clear, arctic blue that rippled - either a trick of the eye or secretive angel magic - like the waves of a pissed-off sea. At the far end of the massive room, bookshelves and a lone desk served as the only reminders Nora was an office. Where important people were tasked with doing the important work.

"This way." Mz. Breeze put a hand on Nora's shoulder and pushed her forward. "Mr. Archer doesn't appreciate loitering." Even without their wings extended, they glided across the floor as if in flight.

Nora trailed behind Mz. Breeze trying to soak in every rich wood grain, every dazzling pool of light, every book with a title written in an unfamiliar language.

As the pair neared the center of the space, the glass wall at Nora's right parted sleekly and without sound. A flood of summer scents - the perfume of roses after baking under morning sun, cut grass and dew, ripe strawberries - flowed into the room.

The balcony beyond the wall was landscaped, hedgerows looming over smaller shrubs. Climbing roses overtaking weather-worn trellises. A fountain of cherubs, the fictional kind, spitting into a decorative basin.

A man with white-blond hair perched on its railing, smoke rising from an e-cigarette. He was in profile, head cocked, eyes closed. Back towards them. The sleeves of his shirt rolled to his elbows, tie knot loosened, four enormous wings extending from his back.

Nora choked back her gasp. This was Mr. Archer. Seraphim CEO, and real-life Seraphim. She'd seen a picture of the angel elite in a library book once. They'd looked scary - tall and gangly. Their feathers sharp and angled, their wings skeletal.

But Mr. Archer's wings were wondrous. White and luminescent. They trembled in the breeze, working the surrounding air into a frenzy. They exuded a quiet, unrivaled power. Nothing like how the book portrayed them.

Suddenly, the image shifted. The e-cigarette was being put away, and Mr. Archer's wings were folding inward. He turned, face honeyed and smooth. Like Mz. Breeze, he looked like a statue, but Mr. Archer didn't seem hardened or stone. He radiated warmth. And life.

His loafers never touched the ground as he drifted over to where they stood. "Miss Campbell." He nodded and motioned toward his desk. "Shall we sit?"

The desk was a humongous hunk of wood, intricately carved with scenes from Genesis. The Garden. Adam and Eve. The serpent and the offer of the apple.

Mr. Archer plopped himself into a leather chair, arms draped casually over the rests. Nora took a seat opposite him in an equally elegant, though smaller chair. Her hands rested on her lap, shoulders back.

Mz. Breeze sidled up beside her, choosing to remain standing, hands thrust into their pant pockets.

"Mr. Archer," Nora bit the inside of her cheek, "there must be some mistake. I'm to meet with Mz. Breeze. For the interview." A smile played at Mr. Archer's lips. "About the opening in Relocations..."

"Yes." His full smile blossomed and it was blinding. Nora felt like she'd been caught staring at the sun for too long."I'm aware, Miss Campbell."

Nora shifted in her seat. Suddenly, the leather was too soft, too supple. She felt like she was sinking, unable to free herself. The ruffles at her throat choked her. A bead of sweat ran down her forehead. "Mr. Archer--"

"You're new to the Brights, correct?"

Nora nodded. Then feeling Mr. Archer's gaze on her, and that his words might have been an invitation to act, she bent over and scrambled for her briefcase. "Do you need to see my resident ID?"

Her fingers grazed the latch before Mr. Archer leaned forward and spoke, "I wasn't asking because I desired proof. I was merely making small talk." Nora gulped, her tongue limp and heavy in her mouth. Shriveled like a salt-attacked garden slug. "Are you enjoying our city?" An eyebrow as delicate as a snowflake arched over his honey-colored eye.

"Yes," Nora smacked her lips together, mouth losing moisture by the second, "it's lovely."

"And my kin, how do you find us?"

Was this a trick question? A majjo asking how she felt about other majjos? The skin on Nora's palms was beginning to slicken. She harboured no ill-will toward the magical community, though some were snobbish and suffered saviour complexes, like good, old receptionist Agnes.

"Everyone seems nice."

"Not everyone is," Mr. Archer said, his mouth now a thin line cutting his face in parts. Outside, a cloud drifted in front of the sun, a moment of darkness falling across the room. Shadows clung to Mr. Archer's wrinkles like static to washed laundry.

"The same can be said of humanity."

As if on a timer, the sun returned. Mr. Archer leaned back in his chair, eyes on her, his gaze hawkish, prudent. All-seeing. Nora squirmed in her seat. "True enough." He snapped his fingers.

A sleek black folder plopped down on the desk in front of Nora. If she hadn't caught sight of Mz. Breeze tugging on their shirt cuff, she would have thought the folder materialized out of thin air.

"That's your contract." Mr. Archer stood and walked toward her, fingers skimming the top of his desk. He settled on its corner, legs crossed. Gold and cream argyle-patterned socks peeked out from beneath his trousers. "It's standard fair, I assure you." Nora caught wind of strawberries again, as he leaned over and flipped the folder open. "Have a lawyer look over it if you feel so inclined."

Nora shook her head, stunned into silence. Was this real? A job offer at Seraphim was this...easy? Disbelief skated across her mind. "Why are you offering me this job?" She searched for an answer in the angel's face, but he remained as placid as a lake. His depths equally unknown. "You haven't looked at my resume. You know nothing of my credentials or if I'm even qualified for this position. Surely, Seraphim doesn't hire based on word of mouth alone."

Mz. Breeze sneered. "Miss Campbell wishes to commit career suicide."

"Now, now, Gabe," Mr. Archer traced a finger along the golden stubble dimpling his chin, "Miss Campbell's only reacting how all humans would. It's part of their nature to be inquisitive and doubtful. They knew of angels for thousands of years and yet denied our existence until one of us literally fell to Earth. They're not a kind who accept things easily." He turned back to face Nora. "Isn't that right, Miss--"

She shot to her feet, briefcase pressed into her chest. "Forgive me, Mr. Archer. Mz. Breeze," she bowed, "but I don't think I'm a good fit for--"

"Jack and the Roasted Bean."

"What?" Nora's fingers trembled. Her heart thumped in her chest.

That effortless, lazy smile drifted across Mr. Archer's face again. "The coffee shop in the East Side. Owned by a pair of dwarves. The Oxborns. Quite a quaint little shop. Fantastic dark roasts. I can see why you would choose to have a date there." His eyes narrowed.

"I don't--" She shook her head.

Mr. Archer sighed. "If you would have read the contract, you would have known I updated the position description a bit. You'd still work in Relocations, but you would also use your clout as Winter Green to promote HEA." He flashed an all-knowing smirk as his fingers tightened his tie knot. "That is what you do in your spare time, is it not? Rating and reviewing dating apps?"

"But I-I- HEA hasn't even hit the market yet-"

Mr. Archer opened the folder, fingered through the papers and slid one out. It was a printout of Nora's registration form for early access to HEA.

"We have granted it, Miss Campbell," he said. "You'll be one of twenty thousand users to use Seraphim's state-of-the-art algorithm and AIs to find true love."

Nora blinked. "And all you want is-"

"Publicity. Feedback, if you have any. Our devs are always desiring to be better."

This was insane. It had to be. Who in their right mind hired some stranger off the street? And to review their product? To give a nobody special treatment? "There's got to be a catch," she said, finally. "A caveat. It's too good to be true." Both angels indulged in a smile Nora couldn't read. "No. I can't."

"Think it over." Mr. Archer nudged the folder toward her.

Nora snatched up the contract, indignant, and shoved it under her arm. "I'm not agreeing to anything." This is all for show. The contract will end up in the trash the moment I get home.

"Of course." Mr. Archer leaned back.

But maybe..."I'll have my cousin look at it. She's a paralegal."

"Of course."

Heat rose to Nora's cheeks. "It's not a guarantee. You understand that, yes?"

Mr. Archer's eyes alighted. He motioned for Mz. Breeze. They stepped forward, a translucent card in their hand. They held it out to Nora. "All Seraphim employees take the Halo to work. Take it home. Consider it a thanks for meeting with me today."

Nora scanned the card. The word, Halo, sprawled across the front in gold, cursive, her name beneath it in a plain sans serif. The Halo was the most advanced light rail in the world, with luxuries that could bankrupt celebrities. Designed for humans and majjos alike. And Nora had a free ride. Angels sure knew how to gild the lily.

A sigh escaped Mz. Breeze, breaking Nora out of the staring contest she had been having with the card. "Take it." Nora fumbled for the pass, before tucking it into her pants' pocket.

Mr. Archer stood and outstretched his arm. He was a foot taller, maybe two. "It's been a delight, Miss Campbell. Mz. Breeze will escort you to the Halo's platform here on campus." He shot his colleague a lancing stare. "Do see to it, Miss Campbell finds her way home safely and in a timely manner. "

Mz. Breeze shrugged. "It's not my fault some of them can't read schedules."

Plying Mz. Breeze with a side-eye, Mr. Archer took Nora's hand. His skin burned against hers. "You start Monday."

"I haven't agreed to anything yet."

Mr. Archer snorted as he released Nora's hand. "But of course."

Nora whirled, and made for the elevator, her brain a mess of fears and disbelief. The harrowing ride back down to the ground floor. A dream job at Seraphim. Early access to HEA. One of twenty thousand who'd been given the opportunity to find love.

Things like that only happened in fairytales. And Nora wasn't some princess or hero. She was a noodle-slurping, claustrophobic nobody. But the folder felt real and heavy under arm. This was her reality, and maybe, this once, dreams really came true.

#herestohoping #optimisticallycautious

Word Count: 5056