Angels Flying in the Wind by jj Keller

Angels Flying in the Wind.

I inherited my name from my paternal grandmother, NJK. As many know, when you inherit a name it’s not always lovely. Although I’m not a fan of my name, I loved my grandmother dearly. She was a sophisticated creative woman, who taught me much about life like making rock gardens from stones (i.e. lemonade from lemons) and artistic endeavors as well; for example, angels from milkweed pods.

Milkweeds grow along country roads and are tenacious enough to take root in corn and bean fields. If you’re not familiar with this weed the shell resembles two angel wings merged together, about one inch in length. Feather fluff webbing with seeds attached at the ends of each was inside the casing. When the husk is ripped from the stem a glue-like substance bleeds from inside. I love them.


When Dad went to the far forty to check the fields I went along. More than once we had to chase away a camp of gypsies settled near the river as they’d pick the field corn and treat it as sweet corn. He was always nice and non-threatening, which provided me an excellent role model and insight into people I wouldn’t have encountered if I’d have stayed at home. If no excitement occurred, I often grew bored.

To satisfy the boredom, I’d sit on the gate of the rusty blue pickup and entertain myself using my imagination and whatever plant life I could find nearby. One particular Saturday, late in the season, as the stalks were taller than the cab of the truck, I plastered myself on the hot metal while my dad carried on boring conversation with the renter/caretaker of acreage with lots of low spots. They discussed how rain was causing mold to grow on the corn.

Snooze!

I spied a particularly large milkweed out of the corner of my eye. Jumping from the tailgate, I tugged and twisted the pods until they came off. I could create Christmas ornaments early this year.

With at least ten snug inside my Purdue baseball cap, the creamy sticky substance smeared across the black cotton, making the hat unusable afterwards. The mix of elementary school white and instant glue stuck to my fingers and didn’t come off my hands regardless how many strokes I took across the grassy surface of the ground. The grasses added to the mess on my hands with a fine coat of white and black fuzz.

Back on top of the time-worn tailgate I glanced at my padre, he didn’t appear to be near the end of his conversation. The renter glanced at my pod filled cap and smiled, showing his tar stained teeth, which I took to mean have fun. I supported my back against the rough metal railing, crossed my sneaker clad feet and proceeded to rip open the pods. Using a short thumbnail at the seam; trying to keep the two pieces joined at the back so later they could be attached to a dowel rod to represent angel wings, I pried them apart. Astute enough to realize if I plucked the angel hair out with my hands it would adhere. Nothing would get accomplished and I’d have hairy fingers. I cracked the shell and blew the glimmering bits of fluff, imagining tiny little angels floating through the air.



Until my father shouted, “Stop!”

As if with ears, the fuzz quickly fell to the ground hiding beneath the truck bed.

“What are you doing?”

“Going to make angels, like Grandmother taught me.” I’m not in the least bit shy, but by my soft spoken voice the renter probably thought I was a very bashful and backward child. My father’s frown didn’t diminish by my linking the act with his mother.

“Those are weeds and we don’t want—“

“Weeds in our fields,” I piped.

Dad smiled. “Right. Ready to go?”

“Yes, sir.” I picked up my cap and gathered as much angel fluff on my fingers as possible, then moved inside the cab.

A slight autumn-scented breezed whipped across my face. I glanced out the open passenger window. Several angels had escaped and were flying on the winds, looking for a place to settle and produce new plants for other imaginative young girls to pluck their seeds and create wonderful works of simple art.



Angels have been an inspiration for me in all of my writing. Check out my latest: Dark Shadows sequel: DARK SUN from Cobblestone Press.






Dark Sun, He’s almost an angel and she’s pure temptation.
(Link to: http://www.cobblestone-press.com/catalog/author/jjkeller.htm)


The path to heaven is riddled with roadblocks.
One hot human might sway Niall from his heavenly goal.

Brandi's simple goal is to open a restaurant, except a twisted fire starter is destroying her building. A mysterious man enters her life and might be the culprit, but she desires him.


Dark Sun
ISBN: 978-1-60088-5891
Buy: http://www.cobblestone-press.com/comingsoon.htm
Or: http://www.cobblestone-press.com/catalog/author/jjkeller.htm
Cover Artist: PJ Edwards
Editor: Devin Govaere

Dark Sun Trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x1KBQOdBSQA


Excerpt:
Chapter One

Niall leaned against the cement statue of one of the founding fathers of State University and observed the newest Guardian Squad recruit, Mark Kepler. Mark prepared to send Charles Janes to Hell.
Three centuries had passed, and in all that time, Niall had met few humans who deserved to go to the first level of Hell as much as this one. Janes worked in higher education, influencing students with his wicked ways, intimidating his staff to the point that two out of three were on a depression drug. Niall didn’t drill into the professor’s mind to find out what methods Janes used to mistreat his wife and children. Although Mark had searched Charles’ past.
Janes was a tall, white-haired, gray-skinned perp. As he leaned against the brown wall of the university’s library, his frayed gray and black hound’s-tooth jacket and dark gray trousers didn’t stand out in the night. He’d chosen an excellent location, behind the statue, with limited lighting.
Scratch…hiss…scratch…hiss added a sick melody as his rough hands scraped the brick. Scratch, up slid his hands. Hiss, down slid his hands. ...
Mark glanced into the man’s left eye, the only one visible from their viewpoint. “Charles Janes, this will be the last time you’ll exchange sex for grades and psychologically abuse the only people who by God’s grace care for you.”
Janes continued to bump and grind.
Niall wanted to laugh at Janes’ audacity. Didn’t he realize he was eyeballing a messenger from the highest deity?
“Miss Zico Newman, grab your book bag and leave.” Mark nodded.
Miss Newman shoved the pimping professor, pulled her jean mini-skirt down and wiped her mouth. She jerked her canvas sack onto her shoulder and softly padded along the cement path toward the parking lot.
A zipper’s grinding teeth disturbed the silence. Janes fastened his trousers and turned to face them. His lips twisted into a smirk. Mark flung out a pointed finger.
“Evil seeps through your pours. But no more. He who bewitches, the malevolent, and the evil eye. The sorcery of evil conjure it. Spirit of Heaven, conjure it. Bite the fire, bite the fire. ‘Tis between the Father of thee, the Son with me, and the Holy Spirit. So mote it be.” Mark’s vow came with a snap of lightning.
There wasn’t a chance of pleading or repentance. Charles Janes’ red soul went deep into the blazing pits of Hell and nothing but the pungent scent of sulfur and a few flakes of ash remained, blowing in the fall Arkansas breeze.
“You changed the incantation a little.” Niall unfolded his arms and shoved away from the long coat of the cement statue.
“Hope that’s okay. Henri never said anything, and I think Holy Spirit is more age specific than holy ghost.” Mark wiped his face where ashes had splattered on him and mumbled, “I know, keep up wind.”
Niall shrugged. “It works for me, evil twice, bite, fire and now spirit, kind of balances it out.”
He wasn’t surprised Mark had a strong streak of independence. According to his mentor, Henri Chambers, Mark had been able to delve into his psyche. Mark’s intuitiveness was the main reason he had been selected for the Guardian Squad. However, prying into the mind of one of God’s troops was unheard of—until Mark Kepler accepted the position of scythe-wielding grim reaper.
All American in appearance and only thirty years old, Mark was an infant. He made the correct decision to send Janes to Hell, and he got the transmission correct, but he wavered. A Guardian had to judge and charge justice in a moment’s time. If Mark had been prepared and had considered the facts using his mind instead of his heart, there wouldn’t have been a delay.
Niall shook off a smidgen of ash. “You hesitated for a second, which bothers me. When you created your Roll Call list, and you printed each name, did you delve into the mind of the person determining their true character?”
“Yes, of course. How else would I know their spirit?”
“Mark, sometimes their evil natures make me wonder how humans co-exist. The preliminary character analysis should be sanctified later as you approach the person, and at that time, their true character would be determined. If a change has occurred in their nefarious activities from the time you wrote his or her name to incineration, you need to discuss—”
“The process of retribution. If the individual had a desire to wash away his or her sins, I’d give him or her a moment to think about which way they want to go, Heaven’s Weigh Station or Hell.”
“Right. The key is in preparation. You need to look deep into each soul and it’s difficult with some. Older people are easier to make a judgment with, but evil is taking over earth, and the dark sides are being exposed at a younger age. Ten-year-olds are killing their parents or a neighborhood kid who disagrees with them. The world is changing and I’m afraid our job will become more complex, which means you cannot hesitate.”
“I understand. Prepare, no hesitation, and stay down wind,” Mark said with a straight face.
Was he being funny or serious? Niall couldn’t read the guy. More amazing was that Mark could block his thoughts as if he’d been a member of the Guardian Squad for centuries instead of a couple of years.
“The final phase of your certification is to approach family members and friends for recognition. We’ll visit the bar you and your sister, Tori, owned and operated and then stop over with Tori and Henri. Hopefully, all of their memories of you will have been erased. She won’t remember she had a brother. None of your friends will recognize you. Are you ready?” Niall disliked this part of the testing for a new recruit. The most difficult aspect of becoming a member of the Guardian Squad was leaving your loved ones behind. Critical to the success of a Guardian was being able to abandon people he cared about and not seek them, or any of his descendants, in the future. Heartbreaking was how he’d describe the ceremonial visit. Many times the chat with loved ones made a grown, logical man weep, as all humans seek acknowledgement.
Niall thanked his mum and da for not having genes of an empath. To observe the separation of Guardian from his family was difficult enough without feeling the emotions of loss, betrayal, and anger. Having the abilities of an empath would just about kill him—if he were alive.
“You mean I’m to see and talk to Tori?” Mark asked, hope igniting his blue eyes.
“Yes, you’ll see and talk with her. Next we’ll go to Dark Shadows. Two years have passed, and it may seem like only two days in our time, but it’s a long time in the human experience. Changes have occurred. If Echo was successful in wiping your friends and acquaintances’ memories, they will not recognize you. It is important to understand, if you hadn’t chosen to become this elite member of Heaven’s core, they would know you. They would express their love for you. Do not lose your faith because someone you hold dear sees you as a stranger and turns away.” The entire time Niall was eulogizing this key element of becoming a member of the Squad he thought of his family he’d left in Ireland in 1849. They had been poor, dirt poor. He became a Guardian in order to help them. He missed his kin more, instead of less, through the years. No doubt others felt the same way, and he hoped to prepare Mark for the reality of not existing to people he’d known his entire life.
“Henri made the point very clear. I get it.” Mark swiped evil dust off his shirt. “How long will it take?”
“Forever. You never stop thinking about the ones you love, even if they’ve forgotten you.” Niall failed to prevent his voice from seeping with sadness. He shook his head. Why did he feel so melancholy? Kepler wasn’t his first fledgling. “Your recruiter, Henri, experienced a rare occurrence. One doesn’t become a member of the Guardian Squad, then return to human life. Despite how much time has passed.”
“Why was Henri allowed to return to Earth, in human form, and age alongside my sister?” Mark crossed his arms at his chest. Standing at six foot, he was taller than Niall. But in his business, size wasn’t relevant. Niall might not have the height, but he could kick ass if needed.
“Exceptional as a swordsman and knighted by the King of France himself, Henri had gained the favor of the ancients. Despite the lack of blood flowing through the council members’ bodies, their souls continue to have hope, and they dream the dreams of mortals.” There it was. Although he displayed no outward body language, Mark blocked a piece of his thoughts, a spark of something that urged Niall to search the recruit’s mind. He was hiding an element of himself that might affect his abilities to perform as a true Guardian. “So, Henri was granted life. He retains his memories of his years of being a Guardian. The occurrence happened on a whim of the esoteric council, and they will more than likely never grant life to an immortal again.”
Mark finger combed his bright blond hair. “Could we do the bar first? I might need to recover once I see Tori, and she doesn’t remember me.”
“Yes, of course. Midnight here in Arkansas, one in the morning at Dark Shadows.” Niall held out his hand. “Lead the way.”
They teleported to Cyan, Indiana. Mere seconds had passed. Niall enjoyed the rush of his molecules shifting from place to place. He never felt the heat others complained about, just a melody of dynamic lights and pleasant tingles. Mark, on the other hand, arrived a little unsteady. His face was pale, marked by the blush of red staining his cheeks.
“Accelerated pulse, heightened awareness?”
“You’d think after two years I’d be used to the reconfiguring.” Mark rubbed his thighs.
“Usually the heat and fatigue enters the fragile part of your foundation. Your thighs must be the weakest area of your body.” Niall rubbed his chin. “When we get back to the office, I’m going to add a regimen of calisthenics to your training.”
“Do you mean weightlifting or running?” Mark lifted an eyebrow and then swiped a lock of hair from his forehead.
Niall thought he was in tune with the current language, but apparently not. “Yeah, that’s what I mean. You’ll have time since your powers are stronger than most. You won’t need to go through the additional training to learn how to project items into space or discuss issues with spirits.”
Mark inhaled. “Both then. Smell that? Yeast, fried foods, the sweat of a hard-working man. Dark Shadows hadn’t changed. I’ll re-experience all the things I loved about the bar.”
“I’m hoping they’ll have a dark, thick beer,” Niall replied and held open the heavy, rounded oak door. “Your tavern looks a little medieval in nature. Your interests and tastes always seem to lean toward antiquity. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were blood kin to Henri.”
“Yes, Henri and I are alike in many ways. Let’s get a sandwich. Brandi makes the best grilled burgers in the state.” Mark rushed into the bar.
Niall entered the tavern. He adjusted to the humidity, the scents of fried onions, spilled liquor, and the beautiful sight of attractive women wearing short skirts. The servers wore tight black shirts with Dark Shadows embossed in silver calligraphy. Americans were his favorite of all the humans. They knew how to live life to the fullest, no holds barred. Niall jingled the coins in his pockets and grinned. This would be fun.
Mark found a vacant stool and rested an elbow on the brass railing. He chatted with a thin older woman with white hair piled high on her head. She gave him that hospitable customer greeting smile and moved to the tap to fill a mug with draft beer.
Niall sidestepped a robust man. By the odor coming from his breath, he’d consumed a vast amount of alcohol. The inebriated boob stumbled, slamming into people and chairs.
“Tom, you need to wait on the cab I’ve ordered. You are not, I repeat not, to drive.” A tiny black-haired beauty slipped behind Tom.
“Ah, Brandi love, dump that fireman and come live with me.” He ended the platitude with a belch.
“Boxer, come escort Tom to the curb and wait for his ride.” Brandi dragged the waddling man forward a few steps.
A balding Goliath took hold of the drunk’s arm and, nearly lifting him, rushed him to the exit.
Niall didn’t need to see the woman’s face to recognize her soul.
She pivoted, coming toe-to-toe with Niall and threw out a tiny pale hand. “Hi, I’m Brandi Sedgewick…the owner of Dark Shadows. May I get you something to drink?”
Niall took a deep breath. His heart hurt. His lungs must have collapsed because he could not release the air. Shake her hand, nimrod. With trembling fingers, he tugged his hands from his pants pocket. Coins splattered on the floor.

Other titles:
The Watcher
Believe
Melody's Song
The Ghost Inside
The Tarot Card
Trade Agreement
Undercover Housewife
Love Hurts

jj Keller
Fantasies with spice and humor.
http://www.jj-keller.com

Dark Sun: He’s almost an angel and she’s pure temptation. http://cobblestone-press.com/catalog/author/jjkeller.htm
Dark Sun Trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=x1KBQOdBSQA
LOVE HURTS & Undercover Housewife: http://www.lyricalpress.com/jj_keller
Trade Agreement, LASR Best Book. www.thewildrosepress.com print and eprint.
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