Standing alone in the light-filled room, in front of three tall chairs that held three very tall individuals, it was hard not to think of the Inquisition. Or a television cop show. They weren’t policemen, of course; they were angels. And I wasn’t being charged with a crime. At least, not yet. But I did feel like I was being interrogated.
The oldest one, the one who did most of the talking, leaned forward and asked me yet another question. He had a short, well-trimmed white beard and a shiny bald spot on top of his head. He reminded me of Moses.
“Do you know why this place is called Magnificat?”
“No,” I answered.
“Can you guess, though?” he challenged. “Try. Really think about it. Go on.”
I took a deep breath. Nothing they had asked me so far was terribly difficult, but I still had no idea why I was there. I couldn’t imagine the High Council sat around asking teenaged girls to solve riddles, and I was getting kind of sick of it. I wanted to catch Gavin before he left, but I had a feeling they already knew that.
“Magnificat is the name of an all-girls’ Catholic high school outside Cleveland, Ohio.” I shrugged. “My old school beat them in lacrosse when I was a freshman.”
“Mmm-hmmm,” the angel said. Does he know I’m not really trying? I couldn’t tell from his face, but the three of them did look like they could sit there for hours. I decided to dig a little deeper in the hopes of finally ending the celestial quiz session.
“Well, it’s a Latin word, right?” He nodded for me to continue. “It’s got the root magna which means ‘great,’ like in ‘magnanimous’ or the ‘Magna Carta.’ It reminds me of the word magnify, which is basically to make something greater, or bigger. Um, so isn’t that what magnificat actually means in Latin, ‘to magnify’?” How do I know any of this? I can’t even ask where the bathroom is in Spanish.
“Yes,” he answered, leaning forward. “Keep going.”
“The Magnificat is a prayer, a prayer to Mary. No, it’s her prayer, right? It’s what Mary says when she meets up with her cousin Elizabeth?” I could see from their faces that I was right.
“Anything else?” the angel asked.
I closed my eyes to see if I could summon any more information out of my brain. “It’s used in the Roman Catholic Vespers, Lutheran Vespers, and the Anglican Evening Prayer. It’s usually sung, and it was put to music by . . . Bach.” I stopped. I heard myself talking, but I had no idea where the information was coming from.
The angel leaned back and consulted with his companions. They spoke in low whispers. After a few minutes, he tipped toward me again.
“Thank you, Miss Hamilton. You’ve impressed us with your ability and your patience,” he said. I hope he isn’t being sarcastic about the patience bit. “We have only one more question for you: how do you know all of these answers?”
Finally, my last question, and it was a trick question. How? Who the heck knows?
“I don’t know,” I said simply, hoping they would accept the truth. “The information is just there, like it’s been beamed into my head or something.” I shrugged in an effort to appear I didn’t care, but my newly discovered genius was freaking me out.
“Maren,” the angel said, surprising me by suddenly using my first name. “You are a most unique young lady. We’ve been waiting for you for some time now.”
“For me? Why?”
“There are only a precious few people who carry a double discovery gene. You’ve inherited it from both sides, from your mother and your father. And as such, you have incredible gifts.”
“You mean my dreams?” I said, bristling at the mention of the mother I no longer had and the father I never knew.
“Yes, your precognition and your ancestral memories.”
“My what?”
“We believe that you, Maren, possess a collective, although unconscious, ancestral memory. It’s extremely rare and an extremely valuable skill.”
“A collective unconscious what?” I knew what all the words meant individually, but together they made no sense whatsoever.
“Simply put, you hold all the memories of all people that have gone before you. That’s how you can read Latin and speak Hebrew when you don’t read Latin or, I assume, speak Hebrew,” the angel explained. “Have you not noticed information comes to you out of the blue, like just now with the prayer?”
I had known the name for scree on the way to Gavin’s village and rattled off the title The Golden Ass in front of Graham without having heard of the story. I nodded.
“Have you ever physically seen anything from the past?” the angel asked. The way his face scrutinized mine made it hard to think about the answer. He added, “Or anyone?”
I had. “I saw my father as a young boy when I was sitting in a church,” I said.
He nodded. “Very good. Your talents are maturing. Your ability to recall and react to the shared memories of your entire family has infinite value in our fight against the demon forces. And as such, we would like you to join the Abbey.”
“The Abbey?” The one place I had no interest in whatsoever. The place that killed both of my parents.
“Yes. As you know, the Abbey is an elite group of extraordinary humans. They all have heightened abilities that enable them to see more, know more, and do more. If you choose to join, we will teach you how to harness your powers, and then send you around the world on special missions. We have urgent needs in Paris right now, as well as Barcelona, Johannesburg, and of course Rome.”
Paris? Rome? The idea of exploring amazing cities with Gavin did sound appealing . . .
“What kind of missions?” I asked.
“I can’t tell you too much until you are part of the program. But suffice it to say, we are facing a global crisis. We have dozens of projects that could use your attention, Maren. We are anxious to get you settled in at the Abbey immediately, paired with your new angel—”
“My new angel?” I interrupted, far too passionately. I took a breath and chose my next words carefully. “I already work with an angel.”
“Yes, we know about Gavin. Fine Warrior, but for this type of work, you need an Archangel. We have one of the best to guide you—”
“I don’t want a new angel,” I interrupted again. “I like Gavin. I trust him. I won’t take another one.” I knew I sounded like a pouty five-year-old, but I didn’t care. There was no way I would be permanently separated from Gavin.
“Of course you like Gavin, Maren. The system is designed that way. Angels were purposefully created with characteristics that humans find appealing and trustworthy. But you will find these same qualities in your new angel.”
“No, I won’t,” I answered, “because I’m not getting a new angel. If being in the Abbey means I need a new angel, then I’m sorry, I have to decline.”
“Decline?” The angels collectively arched their necks at me, making them even taller and more menacing. “I don’t believe we’ve ever had anyone refuse a divine request.”
Maybe it was because I’d been in the room too long, under their observation for what felt like forever. Maybe it was because I was tired of always having to say goodbye. But for whatever reason, I started to get mad. I wasn’t going to have one more thing—one more person—taken away from me. As I spoke, my voice got louder, until it was bordering on hysterical.
“Yes, that’s right, I decline. I can’t do it. It’s too much. I’ve been through too much. I’m sorry to refuse a divine request and all, but what about my requests? What about my request not to lose both of my parents? What about my request not to have my life turned upside down? To just be a normal teenage girl? Which is hard enough without demons and date rape drugs and dark tunnels, by the way! I’m sorry, but you’re just going to have to find someone else. I just want to go back home and live my life—or whatever you can call this whole mess I’ve inherited—the best I can. I’m sorry, but no.”
After I finished my dramatic speech, the angel sat quietly for a few minutes. I wondered if I was in trouble, if he would force me to go, or if somehow Gavin would be punished because of my stubbornness.
Surprisingly, when he spoke, the angel’s words were colored with a kindness that instantly melted the anger off my heart. “You make excellent points, young Maren. Perhaps we have asked too much of you. We respect your free will, and accept your decision, but know that the invitation will remain open to you, should you ever decide to take it. You may return home as soon as you wish. Gavin will escort you. Go in peace with our blessings.”
Less than five minutes later, I was walking back to my room, dazed by the whole encounter. I’d expected them to protest, to try to convince me, or at least to give me a lecture about talking back. Even though I’d gotten what I wanted—to return home with Gavin—I was uneasy about how easily I’d gotten it. One tiny tantrum and I was dismissed? Rewarded even?
Those angels would make terrible parents, I decided. Any self-respecting teenager would walk all over them.