Small Miracles, page 7
Millie goggled at him. “Are you blackmailing us with maths?” she demanded.
Mr Sweet pointed at her approvingly. “I am!” he said, in an upbeat tone. “But please, Miss Wilson—I’m the one asking the questions now. And remember, both of you, that there can only be one winner. In precisely five minutes, one of you will have chocolate and one of you will have a test in front of you again.”
“That’s not fair!” Ella blurted out. “We’ll have less time on the test!”
Mr Sweet ignored her too, now. He steepled his fingers, surveying them both. “Let’s start with an easy one,” he offered. “How long have you both been attending this school?”
Ella looked at Millie again. Millie looked back warily. “Don’t,” Ella warned her. “You see what he’s doing—”
“Two and a half years now,” Millie interrupted quickly. “We’re Year 9.”
Ella stomped her foot on the floor. “You’re giving him what he wants!” she hissed.
“Very good, Miss Wilson,” said Mr Sweet. “I foresee several imaginary kittens in Miss Harker’s future.”
“You said you didn’t know what was going on!” Ella challenged him. “How do you know our last names?”
Mr Sweet smiled pleasantly at her. “Next question,” he continued. “What started your altercation in the hallway yesterday?”
At this question, Millie pressed her lips together. Ella crossed her arms in front of her, narrowing her eyes at the counsellor.
“Ah,” Mr Sweet sighed heavily. “I misspoke earlier, actually. There can be one or fewer winners in this particular situation. If no one answers this question, then I suppose I’ll be forced to eat the rest of this chocolate myself, while the both of you return to your tests.” He popped off another piece of chocolate, chewing it over with a satisfied sound, and his eyes flickered over to Ella.
You don’t want to let her win, surely, said a voice in Ella’s head.
Ella ground her teeth together. Why was she bothering to protect Millie? The other girl had already proven she was willing to snitch, after all.
“Millie was talking about Beatrix behind her back,” Ella blurted out. “Her and the other girls were all laughing and calling her stupid because her mum’s American.”
Millie kicked at Ella’s shin—but Ella had been prepared for just such a response, and the other girl’s foot slammed into a chair leg instead. Millie choked back a yelp of agony.
“No one called her stupid,” Millie protested, in a voice faintly strained with pain. “I said she was insufferable. She thinks she’s so smart she belongs the next year up, but she needs extra time on everything! And her mum does online videos every day about how special Beatrix is, how she’s too good for this school—”
“Beatrix can’t control her mum!” Ella shot back heatedly. “How long d’you think you’d be grounded for if you tried to tell off your mum?”
“Good, excellent,” Mr Sweet said brightly. “Now we’re getting somewhere. Let’s talk about parents. How do your parents feel about this little fight you’ve been having, girls?”
Ella shut her mouth abruptly, as her stomach twisted with nausea. Silence settled in around them; even Millie shifted down into her chair uncomfortably.
“I’ve hit upon a sore subject then,” Mr Sweet observed.
“My mum knows it’s not my fault,” Millie mumbled. “Obviously.” Suddenly, she couldn’t look at Ella. They both knew Ella didn’t have parents any more.
Mr Sweet had no such trouble. He considered Ella directly, waiting patiently for her answer.
“My Aunt Holly’s upset with me,” Ella said shortly.
“Your aunt?” Mr Sweet asked. “She’s your guardian, is she? How long has that been the case?”
“About half a year,” Ella mumbled.
Mr Sweet focused upon her intently. “And do you normally have a good relationship with your aunt?” he asked.
Ella pressed her lips together. “No,” she said. “I barely know her. I only met her for the first time at—” She stopped, and gritted her teeth. “I’d rather go take the test now, I think.”
“Do I get the chocolate, then?” Millie asked immediately.
Mr Sweet scribbled something on a notepad and tore off the top piece of paper. He snapped off a piece of chocolate, and offered both the paper and the chocolate out to Millie. “This is your bribe, Miss Wilson,” he informed her. “According to this note, you are far too upset to sit for a test today. If you take it, I expect you to avoid talking about Beatrix or her mother for the entire next week. We’ll discuss further bribery after that, assuming you hold up your end of the deal.”
Millie blinked slowly, staring at the note and the chocolate. Ella stared along with her. The old counsellor, Mrs Lisbon, had never offered bribes.
“Yes or no, Miss Wilson?” Mr Sweet prompted her, waving the note in front of her. “I have the power to make your school year much easier. I can absolve you of later play dates with cats… or even get you entire days off of school. But I want to see that you’re willing to make it worth my while. Prove that you’re willing to play ball, and I’ll see you back in this office to discuss the possibilities.”
Millie raised her eyebrows. Gradually, she reached out to take both the note and the chocolate from the counsellor.
“Excellent,” said Mr Sweet. “I love it when a deal comes together.” He inclined his head at Millie. “You may leave, Miss Wilson.”
Millie stuffed the chocolate in her mouth and grabbed her crutch, pushing up to her feet. She hobbled her way out of the room with one last curious look at the counsellor.
As the door closed behind her, Ella leaned back in her chair. “Was that… legal?” she asked.
“Oh, probably not,” said Mr Sweet. “But it’s more effective than asking you to hug it out, isn’t it?” He tapped his pen against the desk in front of him, considering. “You’re a loyal friend, Miss Harker. I’m happy to work with that. If you help me get what I need, I can significantly improve Beatrix’s life. Does that sound workable?”
Ella knit her brow. “I don’t understand,” she said slowly. “What is it that you need from me?”
Mr Sweet smiled. “For starters,” he said, “I want you to finish telling me how you met your Aunt Holly. After that… I want you to complain at me. At least once a week—though preferably more often.”
Ella slouched down further in her seat. “You’re bribing me into therapy?” she asked sceptically.
“Why not?” Mr Sweet asked. “You barely know me, and I’m asking you to talk about difficult things. You deserve to get something in return for that, don’t you?” He tapped his pen against the desk again. “I’m a practical person, Miss Harker. I’m not going to punish you into compliance—we both know that wouldn’t work, regardless. If you’d rather walk out that door, you can. But here’s what’s going to happen if you stay: next week, once Miss Wilson has proven that she can follow instructions, I am going to convince her to say nice things about Beatrix to the other girls. And wouldn’t that be helpful?”
Ella chewed at her lip. “There’s no way you’ll get Millie to do that,” she said. “She wouldn’t ever.”
Mr Sweet popped another piece of chocolate into his mouth. “Oh,” he mumbled past it, “but don’t you want to see if I can pull it off?” He slid the rest of the chocolate bar across the desk, holding her eyes.
Might as well, something whispered in her mind.
Ella reached out to take the chocolate.6
“…I met Aunt Holly at the hospital,” she said quietly. “My mum died before she made it there.”
“And why was your mother in the hospital?” Mr Sweet asked.
“She was in a car accident,” Ella mumbled. “Um.” She swallowed back a knot in her throat. “She might’ve been drinking.”
Mr Sweet nodded slowly. “And your father?” he asked. His voice was low and soothing now.
Ella chewed numbly at the end of the chocolate bar. “Never met him either,” she muttered. “I don’t even know his name.”
“Ah,” said Mr Sweet softly. “That is a mess, isn’t it? One awful accident, and suddenly both you and your aunt have had your lives turned upside down.”
Ella let out a sharp breath. “Yes, it’s really awful for Aunt Holly,” she said sarcastically. “I’m sure she cries every night over being stuck with me.”7
Mr Sweet nodded thoughtfully. “I’m starting to see the shape of the problem,” he said. “I don’t fully understand it yet… but it’s certainly getting clearer.”
The bell rang for the next period. Ella pushed up from the chair, avoiding his gaze.
“What’s your least favourite class?” Mr Sweet asked her, before she could leave.
Ella gave him a wary look. “History with Ms Wood,” she said. “It’s Monday and Wednesday next week.”
Mr Sweet scribbled on his notepad and tore off a sheet, offering it out to her. “Well then, Miss Harker,” he said. “I’ll see you on Monday.”
1 +2 Points of Sin (Ella Harker): Cheating.
2 +1 Point of Sin (Ella Harker): Lying.
3 +1 Point of Sin (Ella Harker): Lying.
4 +1 Point of Sin (Ella Harker): A Mean-Spirited Comment.
5 +1/2 Point of Sin (Ella Harker): Chocolate.
6 +1/2 Point of Sin (Ella Harker): Chocolate.
7 +1/10 Point of Sin (Ella Harker): Sarcasm.
CHAPTER 9
CUMULATIVE SIN METRIC (HOLLY HARKER): -935.5
CUMULATIVE SIN METRIC (ELLA HARKER): +217.1
Friday morning found Gadriel standing in line at Déjà Brew, despite the miserable downpour outside.
It was very early in the morning. But he’d acquired himself a job for some silly reason, and—as it turned out—people expected you to show up for those things nearly every day.
“What was I thinking?” Gadriel muttered. “I don’t enjoy working.”
“Working?” asked a deep male voice next to him. “You?”
Gadriel turned sharply. The voice’s owner was a tall, handsome Black man in a sharp charcoal suit, with an impeccable jawline and a closely shaved head. He flashed a bright smile at Gadriel. “Fancy seeing you here again,” Barachiel said.
“No!” Gadriel sputtered. “Not again! Don’t you have any sense of shame? We look like tacky gender twins!”
Barachiel shrugged. “You’re the one who demanded I change genders last time,” he said. “How was I supposed to know you were going to do the same?”
Gadriel narrowed his eyes. “I know you’re doing this on purpose,” he accused the angel.
Barachiel offered him a friendly, unaffected smile. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” he said soothingly. “But here, I’ll make it up to you—let me buy you a hot chocolate.”
Gadriel crossed his arms sullenly. “A mocha,” he muttered. “I need caffeine. Lots of it.” He eyed Barachiel sideways. “I know you got my texts.”
Barachiel slapped at his forehead. “Ah, I did!” he said. “I was busy at the time. I absolutely meant to respond, but I’m afraid I got caught up in something. Well—I’m here now, I suppose. What did you need, Gadriel?”
“What do I need?” Gadriel seethed. He fought back the urge to grab Barachiel by the lapels of his very expensive-looking suit. “You sent me on a wild goose chase! The woman can’t be tempted! I still haven’t managed to increase her Cumulative Sin Metric, not even by one point.”
Barachiel raised an eyebrow. “I warned you she would be a difficult case,” he said. “That’s precisely why I sought you out. You’re the expert on petty temptations, after all.” He considered Gadriel curiously. “You have a plan, though, don’t you? You just said you were working.”
Gadriel groaned. “I’m making nice with the niece,” he said. “I’ve become a school counsellor. That lie isn’t going to hold up for long, by the way—eventually, some agnostic administrator is going to ask me for my credentials, and I won’t be able to distract them.”
Barachiel stroked at his well-chiselled chin. “I could request a real identity for you,” he said. “Only if you really think this counselling job will help you succeed, of course.”
Gadriel knit his brow. “You can do that?” he asked.
Barachiel raised an eyebrow at him. “Working for the Man has its advantages,” he replied. “I hear your side does something similar, on occasion.”
“I’m not surprised it’s possible,” Gadriel clarified. “I’m just surprised that your side is willing to do it. Isn’t lying a sin?”
“It certainly is,” Barachiel agreed. “That’s why we only do it when the gain in virtue is overwhelmingly worth the cost.”
Gadriel scoffed. “And you don’t find that just a bit hypocritical?” he asked.
Barachiel shot him a wry smile. “It’s not at all hypocritical if you prefer the Jewish interpretation of the system,” he said. “And I do.”1
Gadriel narrowed his eyes at the angel. “I know my Torah just as well as you do, Barachiel,” he said. “No one’s in danger of dying right now. How do you square that?”
Barachiel ignored the question. “If I do this for you, I expect you to be a good school counsellor,” the angel warned. “Heaven’s resources are supposed to be used for virtue, after all.”
Gadriel snorted. “Hah,” he said. “You can’t square it, can you?” He shook his head. “I’m not capable of being a good school counsellor. I am what I am. The best I can promise is that I won’t go out of my way to damn anyone.”
Barachiel sized up Gadriel, pondering this offer. Finally, he offered out his hand. As Gadriel took it, the angel gave him a long, slow handshake.
“Do you know,” Barachiel said, “I trust you more than I trust some angels, Gadriel. You always did get the job done. It’s a terrible shame you won’t come back.”
Gadriel scowled, tugging his hand free. “You know I won’t,” he said. “Not even if someone up top goes mad and decides to offer. I’d tell you why all over again, except that we haven’t got years to stand here arguing.”
“I know all about the chocolate and the Cynics,” Barachiel assured Gadriel hastily. “I’m not going to try and change your mind right now. But just… think on it. Perhaps I could subcontract you. I’m sure there’s something I could offer you in return.”
Gadriel rolled his eyes, wiping his hand on his knitted vest. “I can’t imagine anything of the sort,” he said. “In either case—”
“Next, please!” Holly’s voice called across the line, and Gadriel realised that they were at the front. He strolled for the counter, dragging Barachiel behind him.
“Miss Harker!” Gadriel said pleasantly. “I didn’t realise you were on shift.”
Holly was a bit less harried today—her honey-blonde hair was almost completely confined to its bun, and her deep brown eyes were clear and alert. She glanced between the two men, blinking in puzzlement. “Barry!” she said, with a note of pleasant surprise. “I didn’t realise you knew Gabe.”
Gadriel raised his eyebrows at Barachiel. “Barry?” he repeated.
Barachiel smiled warmly. “I know Gadriel quite well,” he said. “He’s my sibling, in fact.”
Holly blinked again slowly. “I see,” she said. “And… he’s…” She coloured abruptly. “Oh, that’s none of my business.”
Gadriel knit his brow. “What’s none of your business?” he asked.
Holly’s flush deepened, spreading once more to the apples of her cheeks. “I don’t mean to be insulting,” she assured Gadriel quickly. “It’s just that… I could swear that you were… weren’t you a woman before?”
Gadriel blinked. “Oh!” he said. “I forgot entirely. I suppose most people don’t just change that when they feel like it?”
“It’s truly none of my business,” Holly told him again. “Only, er—I wouldn’t want to offend. How should I call you?”
Gadriel offered her a look of mild confusion. “I’m not particular,” he said. “I promise you won’t be able to get it right, even if you try—no one ever has.”
Barachiel nudged him lightly. “There was Ezekiel,” he reminded Gadriel. “He got very close, didn’t he?”
“Oh, that’s true,” Gadriel admitted. “Well, we can’t all be Ezekiel.”2
Holly stared at them both blankly.3
Barachiel cleared his throat. “One mocha and one coffee with milk, please,” he said. “And one of your lovely brownies, if you have them today?”
Holly straightened at that, and her dark eyes lit up with pride. “I do have brownies today!” she said. “I baked a whole batch just yesterday. I’m almost out of them, but you’ll have the second to last one.”
“You baked brownies?” Gadriel asked her in confusion. “But I thought you didn’t like chocolate!”
“Oh, I don’t!” Holly said cheerfully, as she ducked beneath the counter. “I enjoy baking for other people, though. Don’t you remember? It’s the only way I ever made any friends at school.”
Holly reappeared with a plate—upon which sat the biggest, most tempting brownie Gadriel had ever seen. Nearly the size of his entire hand, the brownie was just moist enough, while still being perfectly firm in the middle. Partially melted chocolate chips stood out within its crust, beckoning to the depths of Gadriel’s chocolate-covered soul. This, the fallen angel thought, was a brownie to trump all other brownies—a silent temptation which required no extra encouragement at all.
“Is that… a triple-chocolate brownie?” Gadriel asked reverently.
Holly smiled slyly at him. “It might be,” she said. “I do have one more, if you were interested. It’s the very last one, in fact.”
Gadriel rummaged swiftly for his wallet. “Both,” he said fervently. “I’ll take both. Barachiel isn’t supposed to eat chocolate anyway—isn’t that right, Barry?”
