So the little art teacher was a fallen angel.

Who would have thought?

Wrath hadn’t met a lost fallen in a very, very long time. Not in about eight hundred years, to be exact. He should have known before he saw her scars that she was different from any woman born on Earth. No Earth-born female would have the patience she did, the heart. It simply wasn’t possible.

Then again, a lot of things shouldn’t be possible that were.

Angelic scarring, for example.

Wrath hadn’t been sure when he left the class that he would go back, but now he realized he had to. He didn’t have much of a choice. Serenity was the oldest living being he’d encountered since he’d been banished to Earth. She was the only person who could even fathom what he’d been through.

Not that she’d want to talk to him, of course.

She was an art teacher: not a therapist.

Still, he had to try.

He had been going crazy trying to make friends he could relate to, but the truth was that no one could really understand what he was going through. The entire banishment process had been disappointing, frustrating. It had been utterly exhausting and Wrath was ready for something new.

Someone new.

“See you next week, then,” a cheery voice said as Wrath exited the community center. He turned to see Clemecia leaning against the side of the building. She smiled at him and gave a little wave.

“What makes you say that?” Wrath said gruffly. He wasn’t making promises to a little kid.

“I saw you looking at my teacher,” Clemecia pointed out the obvious. Fucking smart kid. “I bet you twenty bucks you’ll be back next week, just ‘cause you think she’s pretty.”

“You don’t have twenty bucks to bet,” Wrath pointed out.

“You don’t know about my business,” Clemecia glared at him, the smile gone. “A bet’s a bet. I’m good for the money.”

He didn’t want to bet with a little kid, especially one like Clemecia. She was a bright kid who happened to be born on the wrong side of the tracks. She didn’t seem to realize that, though. She didn’t seem to realize that the whole world was going to be against her as she got older.

No, Clemecia was bright and cheerful and a light in the sadness that had enveloped Wrath’s life.

“All right,” he said slowly. “A bet’s a bet. Twenty bucks.”

“If you come next week, I get the money,” Clemecia said, making sure Wrath understood the terms. They shook hands.

“Of course.”

“Hey,” Clemecia said as he started to head toward his beat-down pickup. “Can I have a ride?”

“Didn’t your mama teach you not to take rides from strangers?” He raised an eyebrow.

“My legs hurt,” Clemecia said. “I don’t want to walk that far tonight. Besides, she’s still at work. She won’t know.”

Wrath sighed and motioned to his car. Clemecia grabbed her backpack, which had been sitting at her feet, and ran toward his car, as if worried he’d change his mind if she took too long. She climbed in and sat eagerly in the front seat.

“Seatbelt,” he said.

“It’s not far.”

“Seatbelt,” he repeated.

Clemecia groaned, but pulled her seatbelt on and leaned back in the seat, obviously ready for what she considered to be an adventure. The engine roared to life and he pulled out of the little parking lot and turned down the street.

Clemecia chattered loudly and constantly and occasionally gave Wrath directions to the home where she lived with her mother, her brother, and her Uncle Herb. How fitting, Wrath thought. It seemed like every human he’d ever met had had an Uncle Herb.

As they drove, Clemecia told Wrath about her life, and he tried to listen, but his thoughts were consumed with his teacher: the fallen.

How did she end up here, in Bradshaw?

Why would she have chosen this city, of all the cities in the world, to make her residence?

And why, oh why, was she wasting her humanity teaching art classes?

Not that Wrath was the expert on appropriately using your newly-given humanity. He wasn’t. Not by any means. He himself worked as a chef. All right, he was a line cook. It was boring, tedious work, but it was routine. Each day, he went in to the restaurant and he knew exactly how long he would be at work, what he would be doing, and how he would be doing it.

He didn’t take special orders or have to do requests.

No, all Wrath had to do was show up, and it was by far the easiest job he’d ever had in his life.

And since he’d been a demon, most of the supernatural beings would argue that was saying something. Living in the realm of darkness didn’t exactly put him high on anyone’s list of people who deserve respect.

He certainly wasn’t high on his own list, by any means.

But an angel was different.

They were valued, cherished. Angels were loved. They were adored. Some humans even worshipped them. Oh, humans were such idiots as a group. They didn’t know the first thing about angels, yet they had created an entire mythos about them.

Did Serenity know what people thought about angels?

Had anyone ever discovered the truth about her or why she was teaching art lessons to poor kids?

“This one,” Clemecia said suddenly, pointing at the little brick townhouse. It was squished between two other homes and had a big yard and a tiny porch.

“You sure you wanna go home?” Wrath asked, raising an eyebrow. “This ain’t exactly the Hilton.”

“Fuck you,” Clemecia said. “I like my house.”

“Where’d you learn to swear like that, kid? You could give some of my servers a run for their money.”

Clemecia sat up a little taller, a little prouder. She pushed her shoulders back and looked at Wrath. “I can take care of myself,” she told him.

“I know you can, kid. I know you can.”

“See you next week,” she said, hopping out of the truck.

“We’ll see,” he told her, and Clemecia ran up the little walkway to the house, opened the door, and disappeared inside.