Little Angel
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PASTEL ANGEL
copyright 1999 by Scott K. Jamison
Chapter One: Angel Rising
Mitch turned the key and opened the tiny door. He stuck his hand
inside, and felt the presence of an envelope. *Please let this be a check.
Please please please.*
He took the envelope out of his post office box and was pleased to
see that the return address was Bell Publishing, and even more
encouragingly, the window showed the aqua color all Bell's checks were
printed on.
Mitch tore open the envelope, then took a few moments to savor the
sensation. His name, Mitchell Cole, on the "Pay to" line, and on the amount
line, "Fifteen Hundred Twenty Eight Dollars and Ninety Two Cents." The
"Notes" line had the word "Royalties", and handwritten, "Good job, Mitch!"
He smiled. Life was finally looking up. The third Mark Thyme
paperback was selling even better than the first two. Sure it was just a
drugstore rack pulp novel, but it was a popular one. The series was his
breakthrough, and soon he'd be able to publish his serious novel. Heck, he
might even stop having to take grunt jobs to earn a living!
Of course, it was those grunt jobs that had inspired him to write the
Mark Thyme books in the first place, listening to his co-workers' fantasies.
Mark was everything Mitch wasn't; rippling with muscles, possessed of
ruggedly handsome features, and expert in all forms of armed and unarmed
combat. He was the consummate man of action. Plus, Mark got laid at least
once a book by a gorgeous woman.
Mitch, conversely, had "gotten lucky" exactly once, with a woman
who'd been just as desperate as he was. Neither of them had been thrilled
with the results, and they'd broken up immediately thereafter.
He'd always had trouble finding women willing to date him, so
Mitch compensated by making Mark into a babe magnet that women begged
for sex. It was cheesy and kind of misogynistic, but the target audience of
young men ate it up.
An elderly man bumped into Mitch from behind, muttering about the
Trilateral Commission, which roused the writer from his reverie.
Mitch blinked in the sun as he came out of the post office. It was a
lovely late spring day in downtown Minneapolis. The grateful people of
Minnesota had shed their cumbersome winter clothing for the brighter and
lighter clothes of warm weather.
The pink and blue skyscrapers reflected the afternoon sun, and
workers and tourists swarmed through the skyways above Mitch's head.
The streets themselves seemed cleaner today, perhaps because of the
previous night's thunderstorm.
Mitch had deposited the check and was on his way to the library to
research fish (the girl-of-the-week in the next Mark Thyme book was going
to be a marine biologist) when things went seriously wrong.
At first, no one really believed it when the monster appeared out of
thin air on Block E. After all, twenty-foot-tall octopi with bat wings and
three mouths bristling with fangs simply did not exist. And they certainly
did not suddenly materialize on busy city streets. The more imaginative
people assumed they had somehow been slipped hallucinogens.
Thus it was that the creature was pointedly ignored until the first
pedestrian was picked up off the street and slammed back into it. The
splattering blood convinced the humans that the monster was indeed real.
They immediately went into panic mode.
By the time Mitch realized what was going on, the monster had
already grabbed two more people in its tentacles and tossed a car into the
largest concentration of humans. Its peculiar high-pitched warbling mixed
with the screams of the dying.
*Oh shit* was Mitch's first reaction. People were running around
like chickens with their heads cut off, often into each other or directly
towards the monster. A woman in a security guard uniform was vainly
trying to explain to several hysterical men that she wasn't a real police officer
and didn't have a gun.
*Not that the cops are going to be able to stop that thing,* thought
Mitch. *Maybe the National Guard.* Several more cars went flying into
buildings, and the monster began shambling towards the heart of downtown.
*What Mark Thyme would do in a situation like this is grab that
sheared-off lamp post, jump onto the creature's head, jam the sharp end in
its eye and ride it like a bronco until it croaked.*
It was too bad Mark Thyme wasn't there, because Mitch couldn't
even lift a lamp post, let alone handle the rest of the plan. But somehow he
knew he had to do _something_. He was a man, he should be able to be the
hero!
Mitch's paralysis finally ended when he saw a teenaged girl in baggy
jeans get clipped in the head with a piece of flying masonry. He might not
be up to fighting monsters, but there was no way he was going to leave that
girl to be trampled by the fleeing crowd.
He ran up to the girl, brushed back her hair to see that the wound
didn't look _too_ bad (scalp wounds bleed a lot) and started carrying her
towards a nearby alley. Mitch was soon panting with the effort. *I have got
to get in better shape.*
He could hear pistol shots behind him, followed by a particularly
ugly scream. Mitch shuddered and tried not to think about it as he checked
the girl. His minimal first aid training couldn't find any other sign of injury,
so barring concussion, she'd be fine when she woke up. He ripped his shirt
to make a crude bandage.
*Where's that music coming from?* Mitch was hearing what
sounded like a choir, almost drowning out the police sirens in the
background. He looked up to see a glowing light appearing in midair.
There was a woman inside the light, a tall woman with chestnut hair
spilling down her sides, and wearing a white gown that went below where
her feet should be. Given the filthiness of the alley, it was perhaps for the
best that she was hovering in midair.
At a guess, Mitch would have placed her in her late forties or early
fifties; her face showed no wrinkles, but the woman had a definite matronly
air about her, and...what was that word? Yes, a Junoesque figure. He
thought he saw something behind her, but the light made it impossible to
discern.
Mitch met this latest affront to reality with all the wit and eloquence
his female acquaintances had come to expect of him. "Uh, hi."
As if reading a prepared speech, the woman began, "Greetings, child
of the Human World. I am Klintara, the Bearer of Light. You have been
chosen as our champion in the Human World, our warrior against the
creatures of the Monster World. Will you accept this grave responsibility?"
Mitch hesitated a moment, staring at Klintara. He'd never been too
big on comic books, but he'd read enough of them to know there was no
turning back. If he accepted her offer, his life would never be the same
again. *Then again, who wants the "same" life? I'll be good-looking,
superpowered, and fighting for a worthy cause. Heck, it might even
improve my luck with the ladies!*
With that thought, Mitch straightened up and said, "Sure! Er, I mean
it would be an honor, milady."
For the first time she actually looked at him. Klintara looked
positively shocked. "But you're--I mean--this isn't..." There were more
screams, and her face settled into a grim mask. "Well then, we'll just have
to make do with the materials at hand."
She raised her hands vertically in front of her chest, about a foot
apart, and began chanting in a liquid-sounding language Mitch didn't
recognize. A light formed between her hands, even brighter than the one
behind her, but Mitch found himself able to look at it without discomfort.
The chanting was almost hypnotic, and Mitch stepped closer.
Klintara switched back to English. "To receive the power, child of
the Human World, say 'Angel Rising!'"
"Angel Rising!" Mitch felt, rather than saw, the light pass from
between Klintara's hands into his body. His eyes were dazzled by colors,
his ears filled with driving music, his nose and throat were drowning in
peach nectar, and his entire skin tingled. But the most intense sensation was
at his back, where it felt like something was trying to rip its way out of his
shoulders.
Mitch gave a long, shuddering gasp as whatever it was tore free,
exquisitely painful, but at the same time a release. His eyes cleared, and he
saw the tips of something with huge white feathers. Mitch shrugged slightly
and the things flapped. He had wings!
Klintara smiled. Was that a touch of pity? "You'll need to make
some...adjustments. For now, let the power guide you." She faded from
view. "Good luck, Pastel Angel."
Mitch barely noticed; the power was urging him to join the battle.
But first, he touched the unconscious girl again, and a bit of power healed
the scalp wound. His skin tone looked a bit off, but this wasn't the time to
think about that.
He flapped his wings, and Mitch enjoyed the thrill of flying for the
first time. There was no awkwardness, no loss of balance; the power had it
well in hand.
Mitch flinched when he saw the carnage the monster had caused so
far. There were at least a dozen visible corpses, three in police uniforms,
and probably as many more buried under the rubble. It was pretty amazing;
he wouldn't have guessed even a twenty-foot-tall creature could have torn
down a parking ramp that fast.
The SWAT team had arrived, not that it was doing much good. Even
the heaviest caliber rifles did no more than annoy the monster. Its warbling
had taken on a distinctly hostile tone, and it was shambling directly at the
barricade.
Mitch felt nauseated and not a little afraid, but the power within him
radiated confidence and fury. He let it flow, and words came to him.
"Halt, abomination! You shall cause no further harm!" Amazingly,
the monster stopped and looked up at Mitch, whose mouth continued to
move as if of its own volition. "Such creatures as you are not welcome in
the Human World, so I, Pastel Angel Pink, will send you to the Netherworld
instead!"
There was something off about that speech, but Mitch wasn't in a
mood to think much about it. The monster extended three of its tentacles
towards him like telescoping spears, and Mitch fluttered out of the way.
Wings were fun!
He dodged several more blows, which allowed the SWAT team to
bring a harpoon gun (borrowed from the river police?) to bear. _That_ hurt
the monster. With the creature momentarily pinned, Mitch knew it was time
to finish the matter.
Mitch gained some more altitude, and began spinning like a top as the
power built up inside. Then he raised his hands above his head and shouted
"Peach Blossom Hurricane!" A pinkish glow flooded from his body in a
spiral pattern, with tiny flecks in it that looked for all the world like flower
petals.
The glowing spiral struck the monster, which warbled in pain as the
"blossoms" tore it apart. Just when its volume was becoming too much to
bear, the creature dissolved in a cloud of foul-looking smoke.
There was a moment of stunned silence, then a ragged cheer went up
from the survivors.
"Yes!" crowed Mitch, pumping his arm in the air. "I did it! Me,
Pastel Angel...Pink?" With the destruction of the monster, the power inside
him was ebbing, and his thoughts were clearing. *Something's not adding
up here.*
He flew over to a building that still had its mirrored facade mostly
intact, and looked at his reflection. Strike that. _Her_ reflection.
The person who had to be Mitch, since there was no one else flying
around up here, flapped her large white wings lazily. Mitch was pretty sure
that several laws of physics were being broken. She was obviously in her
early teens, no more than five feet tall, not counting the wings, with a boyish
figure. She had long straight black hair, tied back by a huge pink ribbon,
and a vaguely Asian-looking face that Mitch instantly classified as "cute".
She was wearing a white blouse cut to emphasize her small bust,
with short pink puffed sleeves. A gold belt held up a pink pleated miniskirt
with white lace at the hem, and golden sandals with pink laces to the knee
completed the ensemble. All in all, she would have been very pretty, if it
weren't for that distraught look on her face.
*I'm a _girl_!? What did that bitch Klintara do to me? I can't live
like this!*
At that moment, Mitch heard from below, "Hey, you're right, pink
panties. I owe you twenty." He flushed bright red, and flew off towards a
less traveled part of town.
Mitch looked around and didn't see anyone under the railroad bridge.
He threw himself against a wall. *How the hell am I going to explain this?
No one's gonna believe I'm me. I want _out_ of this stupid angel body!*
There was a flash of light, and Mitch stumbled backwards as the
wings were suddenly off his shoulders and not holding him off the wall.
Even better, when he looked at himself, his male body had been restored!
"Thank you, God!" He began the long walk home. *That was kind
of fun, for a bit, but I'm glad it's over."
Elsewhere, something sniffed the air. Something green.
* * * *
Chapter Two
Gabby
By the next morning, Mitch had convinced himself it had all been a
horrible dream. He managed to sustain the illusion by having his clock-radio
set to an all-music station, not turning on the television, resolutely not
looking at the headlines in the newspaper dispensers, and drowning out the
conversations of his fellow bus passengers with a personal stereo.
He even managed to get through the first two hours of work at Valley
Plastics, simply because it was too noisy to talk on the shop floor. But all
good things come to an end.
As Mitch entered the cramped break room, he was waved over by
Hazim Mutik, the closest thing to a friend he had at this job. The Somali-
born man had been an English teacher in his homeland, and had only a slight
accent.
"Have you seen today's newspaper?" Hazim asked. "Is this not truly
the age of wonders?" He held up the front page for Mitch's perusal.
MONSTER ATTACKS DOWNTOWN! blared the headline.
MYSTERY GIRL SAVES DAY! There was a fairly good picture of the
octopus-thing, and a couple of blurred shots of Pastel Angel Pink. Below
the fold was the usual world and national news; a small "extra" section had
more on the incident.
Mitch figured he'd have to get a copy, if only to see how wrong the
press had gotten things. Certainly the "artist's rendition" of Pink on the
front of the extra section bore only a vague resemblance to the girl he'd seen
yesterday.
"Well..." he ventured, "It certainly is strange. What do you think?"
"Definitely an American girl," Hazim declared. "No proper young
lady would expose herself so."
"I think she'd look better in something skimpier myself," drawled
Archie, a burly loading dock worker, who didn't notice Mitch's slight
reddening.
That earned him a cuff from his working partner, Tom. "That chick
is clearly a minor, dude. You got a thing for little girls?"
"Naw, I just think all good-looking girls should wear less. Now, fat
broads, they can cover up."
"It is a coverup," said Shaver, a pale fellow with a lot of tattoos.
"The government was testing some kind of new weapon on civilians,
probably a hallucinatory gas, and this is the puppet media's attempt to
conceal the facts."
Mitch chuckled. "You are so full of it, Shaver. Weren't you the one
who claimed X-Files was a disinformation campaign to confuse people about
the evil Deros from the hollow interior of Earth?"
"It's true, I tell you, all true!" As the probably paranoid lathe
operator ranted, everyone else's conversation turned to the previous day's
Twins game. The consensus was that the team would be lucky to make it to
the playoffs this year, unless the pitching got better.
It was a weary Mitch who returned to his apartment building that
afternoon. Not so much tired from work, as from holding in his secret. he
walked up the worn steps to the red brick building, and bid Mr. Hernandez a
good day.
Mr. Hernandez grunted in reply, and continued staring at the ceiling.
"I heard rats."
"Oh joy," replied Mitch. "Time to lay out the traps again."
He trudged up to the second floor, noting that the yellow wall paint
was peeling again. Mitch put the key in the lock of door 23, opened it--and
had something fall on his head.
Something warm, furry and alive! "Ahgh! Getitoff!" Mitch
screamed as he flailed his arms. The thing obligingly hopped off his head,
and Mitch got a good look at it. He immediately wished he hadn't.
He'd heard about 6-inch-long rats from time to time, but hoped never
to see one. Yet here one was, alive, eyes glittering, and for some reason
dyed a bright lime green, in his apartment. Mitch made a choking noise low
in his throat and reached for the broom he'd conveniently left near the door.
Surprisingly enough, the animal did not bolt, even when Mitch lifted
the broom. Instead, it said (in a voice uncannily reminiscent of Gabby
Hayes) "Now just hold on a second, sonny! 'Taint no call fer using that
thing on me!"
The broom slipped from suddenly nerveless fingers, bapping Mitch
lightly on the way to the floor. "Y-you talked. A talking _rat_?"
"I ain't no rat! I'm a Guide Spirit!"
"A Spirit Guide? Like in those Castaneda books, with Don Juan and
all that mystic mumbo-jumbo?"
The rat took a deep breath. "No, idjit, a Guide Spirit! Klintara sent
me."
*That would explain a lot,* Mitch thought. "Okay...you're a Guide
Spirit. Who happens to look like an oversized rat."
"Consarn it! I'm s'posed to be a wolf! Must not have been one
available. Never a lupine around when you need one..." Amazingly
enough, the rat had facial expressions, and Mitch was beginning to be able to
read them. "Anyhoo, I'm here to guide you."
"Guide me where?" asked Mitch, starting to forget that he was
talking to an animal.
"Not where, perzactly, so much as how. I'm to guide you in your
role as a Pastel Angel."
Mitch felt a nauseated boiling in his guts. "You can forget about that!
I'm not turning into a girl again for anything! You can just haul yourself
back to Klintara and tell her I quit! She can have her powers back, thank
you very much!"
"Cain't do that."
"And why not?"
"Because, you sorry excuse for a hero, once an entity from the Angel
World fuses with a body, it stays with that body till it's dead! Pink's stuck
with you fer the duration!"
"Don't you mean I'm stuck with Pink?"
The rat cocked an eyebrow. *Rats have eyebrows?* asked a small
part of Mitch.
"I reckon you could put it that way. Sit a spell and I'll give you the
rundown."
Mitch slumped down, leaning against the closed door. "Go ahead
then."
"Now, there's a lot of stuff I cain't tell you right now, but there's
three worlds we gotta concern ourselves with. The Human World, that's
you folks, the Monster World, and the Angel World. The Human World is
between the Monster World and the Angel World, and the Monsters want to
conquer the Angels, so they've gotta take over your world first."
"As a staging area, right?"
"Right. Now, fortunately for y'all, the Monster World can only
open portals to the Human World during a short period of time every
centorm or so."
"Centorm? What's that in Earth years?"
"Dinged if I know. Figger it out later. Anyhoo, for this period of
time, they're going to try to get over here to build a permanent portal so they
can take over. The other fortunate thing is that they have to do it right
around this locality. Which means that we can concentrate our forces here
too."
Mitch's eyes narrowed. "'Our forces'? You mean more guys are
gonna get suckered into this?"
"Hold on a minute, Sonny! Pink coulda never gotten into your
body, lessen you were willing! But you _weren't_ susposta be the one
getting her."
"The girl. The one I pulled into the alley. _She_ was supposed to be
your warrior, wasn't she?"
The rat shrugged. "Prolly. I wasn't there. But we try to get host
bodies that are close to the spirit."
Mitch thought of another point. "And why host bodies, anyway?
Couldn't you just come here like the Monster World people do, or will?"
"Cain't. Our energy levels are too high. That's why the Monster
World wants the Angel World. It'll be like a never ending power source for
them. In order to function at all, we need a local body to link with, so we
don't just burn whatever we touch.
"And the Pastel Angels are so powerful, it'd be like touching off a
whole shack of nitro next to an oil well. That's why you turn into a girl, by
the way."
"Huh?"
"Pink is so powerful that she can change your body to make most
efficient use of her abilities. While she's dormant, you can't use any of her
powers, so she lets your body go back the way it was."
Mitch felt more than a little uncomfortable. "If she can control how
my body looks...can she control my mind?"
"Well, she can certainly influence your behavior, while she's active,
but she cain't take you over. That'd be a violation of her honor. And
Angels take their honor pretty personally."
"That's a relief, I guess. But--"
The rat's hackles suddenly rose. It hissed angrily.
"There's another one a'coming! We gotta go stop it!"
"What we, kemosabe?"
"Right now, you're the only combat-grade Angel on the planet!
Quick, summon Pink!"
"And if I refuse?"
"Then a whole bunch of innocent folks are going to die, for starters!"
Mitch couldn't really argue with that, so he sighed and said, "Angel
Rising!"
Once again all his senses drowned in the feeling of power, and this
time he recognized it as Pink awakening. In the process he rose off the floor
and to the center of the room, giving his wings room to appear.
When the light show stopped, he looked around and said, "Damn!"
"What?" The rat seemed taken aback.
"How the heck am I going to get out of here without being seen?"
Then Mitch remembered that his bedroom window looked out on a blank
wall. There was still some risk, but it might work.
He opened the window and began to squeeze through. His smaller
girl's body helped, but the enormous wings didn't.
"Wait such a second, Pink, I gotta go with you!" cried the rat.
"I am _not_ going to carry a rat."
"I ain't no rat!"
"Oh, very well." Mitch had never liked animals much, even growing
up on a farm, so he was uncomfortable as the lime green creature scuttled
into his arms. Especially as it stuck its nose between his breasts.
"Hey!"
"Sorry, Pink! Let's go, time's awasting!"
Mitch's flight was a bit more wobbly this time, the power seeming to
be giving him more room to handle things on his own, and the squirming
thing in his arms didn't help.
So it was a good five minutes before they got all the way over to the
State Fairgrounds.
Fortunately, this being spring, the Fairgrounds were mostly empty,
with only a skeleton maintenance crew and security guards, both of whom it
appeared had done the smart thing and hid.
The Monster looked like a cross between a calico house cat and a
canary, if both of them were blown up to twenty feet tall and equipped with a
spider's spinnerets.
The creature was busy tearing down buildings in a straight line and
covering them with its web-like excretions.
"That is really disgusting looking. Well, what now, O Guide?"
"Be careful, Pink. The Monster you faced before was the weakest of
their forces."
"That figures. Well, I'm gonna drop you off here, Gabby."
"Gabby!?"
"Hey, if you get to call me 'Pink'..." and Mitch set the rat on the roof
of the Swine Barn.
Once again he rose into the air, and words came unbidden to his lips.
"Creature of noisome fluids! You defile a place of joy and heritage with
your presence! Begone, by the power of Pastel Angel Pink!"
*I have really got to hire a dialogue coach,* thought Mitch as the
creature suddenly took to the air itself. *Okay, what kind of weaponry do I
have? Peach Blossom Hurricane, and what else?*
The power swelled.
"Mists of Sleep!" A pink fog began to drift from Mitch's wings,
which evidently was meant to make the creature sleepy. The only problem
was that while he'd been accessing the attack, the Monster had gotten above
him, and its own yellow wings were creating a wind that shredded the pink
cloud.
The creature cawed in triumph like a ten ton crow, then dived at
Mitch.
He dodged easily, and it took a few moments for the Monster to
correct its flight vector.
*Okay, it's less maneuverable than I am. And that means...* Mitch
had his plan. He let the creature get a little closer, then took off towards the
midway.
"Nyaah, can't catch me!" he shouted, and noticed that it actually
seemed to understand that it should get angry. It sped up, and it was all
Mitch could do to evade its claw swipes.
Despite his danger, Mitch was starting to get into this. He'd always
envied birds and pilots for the freedom of flight, and now he had it, and was
using it.
At last the midway was below them. Most of the rides and booths
were on the road or shut down for the season, but the roller coaster was a
permanent fixture.
*Just a little bit more...* "Your mother was related to your father
and your breath stinks!" Mitch taunted, letting the Monster get just a little bit
closer--
Then he dived between the supports of the roller coaster. As he'd
hoped, the creature was unable to slow down and plowed right into the
structure. The coaster began to collapse, pinning the Monster temporarily to
the ground.
That was all Mitch needed. He span in place, screamed "Peach
Blossom Hurricane!" and the rose-hued cyclone did the rest. The creature
disappeared just as the first one had.
He noted that once again his power was beginning to fade. Evidently
the PBH took a lot out of "Pink".
Mitch flew back to the Swine Barn, scooped up Gabby, and left the
Fairgrounds.
Mitch was almost back in the window when "Pink" faded entirely,
causing him to lose his balance and nearly fall out again. "Aggh!"
"Take ten, sonny. You earned it."
"Thanks, Gabby. Y'know, you're not such a bad sort for a rat."
"And stop calling me a rat, dadgummit!"
TBC
Next time: Meet a new Pastel Angel! She's exactly what you'd expect...or
is she? Be here for "Blue"!
Comments?
SKJAM!
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