Heather Graham Read Online Free Page B

with lists; they walked with purpose, they stopped by the desks, they moved onward. They all seemed incredibly busy.
    I will wake up, Don told himself.
    He stared toward a group of young men and women who began to change position. They were rising on a cloud-elevator, so it seemed, heading upward toward a small mountain or hill in the midst of the mist. The shape was rather rugged and craggy, as the face of a cliff might have been on earth, but there the resemblance ended. Magnificent colors seemed to shoot down from a dazzling light atop the cliff. Silver, gold, exquisite, vital violet.
    Next to the crest, slightly lower, was a group of hills, ever so slightly mist-shrouded, yet beneath the silver-white mist, the colors were all in shades of green and brown. Cathy tugged upon Don’s coat sleeve suddenly, pointing out a man in a brown caftan, carrying a staff. He was surrounded by animals—lambs and lions, birds, snakes, puppies, ponies, and so forth. A large giraffe walked past the man.
    “St. Francis?” Cathy whispered.
    “I don’t know. I’m sleeping, surely. Dreaming,” Don insisted.
    “It’s magnificent!” Cathy whispered. She kept her grip on his shoulder, turning them both in a circle again to keep looking around. And even as they looked around, they saw again the very busy place where they stood, the plain, the level. It was like a United Nations building on the eve of a world summit, like an airlines office on the busiest night of the year. People, creatures—angels?—appeared and disappeared into the mist once again, some rising, some lowering, all with purpose. In fact, most of the humanoid creatures seemed to be constantly coming and going.
    All but the ones with wings.
    The winged beings were no more uniform in appearance than those creatures of these clouds who didn’t have wings. They wore all manner of dress, some the soft, flowing stuff of biblical-angel pictures, others much more businesslike apparel, and they seemed to be the ones giving out directions.
    Don was still turning about with Cathy, gaping, when he felt the tap on his shoulder.
    They spun about together. Faced one of the creatures with wings. He was very tall, a good six-foot-three, and was dressed in striking contemporary evening wear. He was incredibly good looking. His hair was a sandy color, wavy; his eyes were a dark, piercing brown. He might have been a Hollywood heartthrob—except that he was sporting large, white, really beautiful, feathery wings. Almost as long as his body, they seemed to be threaded through with silver.
    “Cathy and Don?” the man said.
    Don held Cathy’s hand more tightly. “We’re the Angels,” he answered.
    The man sniffed audibly. “We’ll see about that.”
    “Angel is our last name,” Cathy said.
    “Here, you are Cathy and Don,” the man stated. He stared at Don, his eyes narrowing assessingly. “‘Angel’ is debatable as of yet!”
    “Oh, is that so? Just who the hell are you?” Don demanded.
    “Shhh!” Cathy whispered to him.
    The winged thing looked at her. “My name is Gabriel. And you,” he said, addressing Don, “may very soon be known as nothing more than mud. Remember, sir, the laws of gravity. It’s far easier to drop than it is to rise.”
    “Now, wait a minute—” Don began.
    Cathy tugged at his hand.
    “Mr. Gabriel—”
    “Not ‘mister,’ just Gabriel.”
    Cathy glanced at Don. Gabriel? The angel Gabriel? Her look warned him that he had better start being very careful, right now.
    “Gabriel,” she said, addressing the winged heartthrob, “we’re really very confused. We’re … umm … dead, right?”
    “Dead as door nails!” Gabriel assured her cheerfully.
    “Are we in heaven?” Cathy asked carefully.
    Gabriel shook his head, his smile somewhat malicious as he stared at Don.
    “But we’re not in hell,” Cathy said.
    Gabriel downright smirked at Don. “Not yet,” he said insinuatingly.
    “Well, then…”
    “This”—Gabriel made a grand