Chapter One — Part 1

I punched the Doctor when he smacked Tiffany to encourage respiration. Of course, my hand passed right through his skull, doing no damage except to give the doctor a slight creeping itch on his forehead. Everything starts with the birth of a child, and Tiffany’s birth, which I attended despite my not being officially attached to her, was a bloody and spectacular mess.

When I was finally put in formal charge of Tiffany, she had just been kidnapped. Stolen as an infant from a foster home in southern California, Tiffany was well on her way to being a $400,000 profit for a slave trader from Southeast Asia. I would have intervened, because I’ve been given the auspicious duty of being her Guardian Angel.

I would have done anything to put her back in the foster home, with her happy parents. Though small by angel standards, it was a darn sight better than being sold into slavery. Father Wisdom, however, had other plans for the girl. No matter what I argued in her favor, he wouldn’t change her fate. He wouldn’t let me rescue her.

On distant shores, where law was controlled by force and money, the slave merchant sold her to a rich and violent opium trader. From what little I could understand of their conversation, Tiffany’s fate had already been determined. She would be raised as Roan’s concubine. Three days after Tiffany got settled in with a wet nurse, Father Wisdom came to visit me. Father had always been such a terribly impressive man. His shocking white hair stood out like a lion’s mane, and his face looked like worn, crumpled parchment. He wore a flowing white set of robes, simple and uncomplicated.

He was very different from mother, who tended to wear nothing but her leathery wings. Tester, my mother, and Wisdom, my father, were Avatars of the angels. Both had come down as husband and wife to set the example for angel kind. I often wondered why they’d had me as a child, because they had so many childish angels to look after. Since he was there, and I was concerned about my girl, I had to convince him that Tiffany would be better off elsewhere–a difficult task considering his omnipresent existence.

“She’s not safe in that house. It has too many shadows, and too many bad people in it.” I tried to sound angry, but ended up pouting.

“She’s safe for now.” Wisdom said.

My father, ever understanding, put a loving hand on my bare shoulder. We sat in the rafters, studying the dish placement as it was spread onto the traditional knee-high dining table. I looked at my toes, trying to fathom her safety. Time shifted unexpectedly, as it often does for angels on assignment. Tiffany, now a supple three-year-old, scrubbed the floors with her nursemaid. The years continued to pass sporadically, my attention peaking when Tiffany needed me, diminishing when my presence held no purpose.

By her twelfth birthday, Tiffany had learned her place and duties as a concubine, studying books and being educated in the ways of womanhood and medicine. Her skin and body type would keep its youth well into menopause. Because of her profession, the effects of weather and daylight would hardly be a factor in her appearance.

When Tiffany actually got to meet me face to face, she was very close to thirteen. Because of her sheltered life, there was little opportunity for me to intervene. She was, as Wisdom had said, in no immediate danger. By the time she turned twelve, she was short, sassy, and incredibly smart. When she went out of the house, which was rare, her blond hair shown in the sun like chaffed wheat.

Though still a little girl, she could speak three languages, and was too well trained in the ways of persuasion. As a concubine, she learned a specialized talent for persuading men to think of themselves as sexual overlords and her as their servant. Every moment that passed forced me to consider my duty.

The daughter of the avatars, I had been raised as an angel. I felt it my duty to serve the wishes of my parents, and yet I felt also a strong, almost overwhelming urge to take Tiffany any place else. I had one thing on my mind–Tiffany must be free of such hardships, must be free to become that which her heart intended.

There were several problems with my strategy. First, being as young as I was, I had limits. Most of my power came from my parents. And Tiffany wasn’t exactly educated to live under normal conditions. Being the concubine to a rich and abusive opium smuggler gives a girl opportunity for social advancement, but as soon as I could convince my parents, I was going to bust Tiffany out of that place. Maybe sooner, if I could justify freeing her as a means of protecting her mind and spirit.

Roan, an amber skinned American who had moved to Asia to cash in on the illegal medical industry, was her master. Fortunately for Tiffany, Roan only had relations with the girl, if only because I ensured his lonely life. If the opportunity arose for Roan to end up with another lady, I saw to it that she’d suddenly hate him and seek out somebody else before things got out of hand. No need for Tiffany to be getting sick, after all.

Keeping Roan out of strange women’s beds was the easiest task I could do– Roan really wasn’t much to look at. On nights when even the prostitutes wouldn’t have him, he would come home drunk, hating himself, thanking his richness, and Tiffany’s unwitting loyalty to him. He could be abusive with Tiffany. When he got too harsh with her, I would step in and manipulate his mind a little, to keep him from hurting her. It was my one pleasure.

There were the evenings that Roan acted almost like a gentleman. On these evenings I could almost understand Tiffany’s misplaced affections. Perhaps, at times, she enjoyed her job a little too much, but I would bash anybody who’d condemn her for it. Though I’m a very young angel, barely thirteen, I’ve watched some humans go through their many lives, and believe me, they’ve all done some pretty wicked things that bring no pleasure to anybody.