Wish Upon a Fallen Star: Average Angel Read online

  Contents

  Impressum

  Dedication

  The book

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  WISH FOR SANTA

  Newsletter

  Felicity Green

  Felicity Green

  WISH UPON A FALLEN STAR

  Average Angel

  Book 1

  © Felicity Green, 2016

  www.felicitygreen.com

  Cover art and Design: Elementi Studio, www.elementi-studio.com

  Editing: Red Adept Editing, www.redadeptediting.com

  This is a work of fiction. All references to real people, events, and locations are used fictitiously. All other characters, incidents, and dialogue are a product of the author’s imagination and not to be constructed as real.

  All rights reserved.

  Website: www.felicitygreen.com

  Twitter: FeliGreen

  Facebook: Felicity Green

  For my daughter Taya, my angel.

  Stella Martens is a fallen angel.

  Stella's former angel self Vitrella came here as a shooting star and was reborn as a human baby with no memory of her angel existence. A clean slate.

  Pity that Stella could really benefit from recalling what in heaven possessed Vitrella to voluntarily exchange her immortal magic angeldom for a life as an average teen girl in a very average town—Average, New Hampshire.

  She learns the truth when a sexy supernatural being breaks angel code and tells unsuspecting Stella about her celestial alter ego along with the news that Stella has to fulfill Vitrella's wish-granting quota. Turns out, it was Vitrella's job to fulfill wishes, and angels have to meet their job expectations or else face dire consequences. Easy for Vitrella, who had an angel's grace, but how is Stella supposed to manage being an ordinary human girl without superpowers?

  1

  I didn’t know much about angels, which sucked because apparently, I used to be one.

  It all started like a bad joke: A sexy angel walks into a diner and asks the waitress…

  And when I say sexy, I mean wow. They must have had gyms up there. How else could someone explain those broad shoulders, those pecs, and those biceps bulging underneath the short T-shirt sleeves? I was almost certainly drooling over my slice of pecan pie when he walked up to me on my lunchbreak and asked if I was Stella Martens.

  I hadn’t even seen him initially because I was sitting at the small table in the back, where I usually spent my break, enjoying my meal and reading a newspaper.

  But I had felt some sort of gravitational force enter the diner. Everyone's attention was directed toward it. Even the town gossips—three old ladies who always yacked on about something—had suddenly gone quiet. The noisy chatter in the room had died down to hushed tones. It even seemed as if someone had dialed down the volume of the jukebox.

  I turned my head mid-chew and froze when I saw him. At first, I thought he was the most gorgeous guy I'd ever seen. But it wasn't exactly that he was so damn beautiful that caught me off guard. He had that strange elusive quality that people called it. He kind of glowed from the inside. Of course he did. He was a bloody angel. What else could I expect from him? But I didn't know that then, and when he went up to my aunt behind the counter and asked for me, I thought he was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. Consequently, I stared at him, my mouth agape and full of pecan pie, when my aunt pointed me out and he walked toward me.

  He was muscular in that attractive lean way, and I just knew he had those hollows above his hipbones that made his abs form a V-shape blatantly pointing at his you-know-what. Just thinking about it made me blush. His hair was shoulder-length and dark. His eyes were also kind of dark and somewhat exotic. In fact, he looked decidedly Native American, which afterward would strike me as odd. I didn’t think angels were featured in Native-American mythology, but I had to admit that I didn’t know very much about that. My lack of knowledge was kind of shameful, especially because there was an archaeological site and living history village near Average, where the Penacook had lived. The village was Average's only tourist attraction aside from antique shops, and we had made quite a few class trips there.

  In any case, his looks certainly drew attention, but they would have even if he had not been an angel. Added to that, the smooth and agile way he moved reminded me of a panther stalking his prey and made him seem dangerously sexy.

  Then there was his voice. Again, wow. It was deep, sweet, and textured, just like the caramel on my pecan pie, which I still hadn't swallowed.

  “Yes,” I spluttered and half-choked, confirming that I was indeed Stella Martens. Teary-eyed, I grabbed my glass of water and drank it down in big gulps.

  He sat down opposite me. People had been staring, but Aunt Jeannie had rallied her forces and chatted with the customers in a loud voice so that everyone’s attention would be drawn to their own business. The usual diner chatter resumed, and even though we got the occasional furtive glance, I was sure that nobody heard Zach when he slowly explained what he wanted with me. And I was glad of it. People might have wondered why I continued listening to him.

  But for a while, it didn't seem so preposterous to me, possibly because he never acknowledged the preposterousness of his claims. He didn't apologize or give any sort of I-know-it-sounds-ridiculous-but-bear-with-me preamble but instead explained in a straight-to-the-point and very matter-of-fact way that his name was Zachriel, that he was an angel, and that I was a reborn fallen angel named Vitrella, whose purpose it had been to grant wishes. Vitrella had very cleverly made herself fall—fallen angels were visible as shooting stars—by granting my mother the wish for a baby… me.

  Vitrella evidently had found herself a celestial loophole. Normally, angels were sent to earth as punishment and thus became fallen angels. She had tapped into that wish and had made herself a fallen angel. However, it remained quite unclear why Vitrella would have chosen this fate for herself. Zachriel brushed over this as if he had anticipated the question and wanted to get his answer out of the way before I could probe too far. It sounded a bit rehearsed, especially since I wasn't probing at all but just staring at him wide-eyed.

  Vitrella's act of defiance had created some sort of imbalance. She needed to fulfill her destiny and grant wishes even though she was kind of incapacitated now, being stuck in an unsuspecting human body and all. This balance had to be restored by me or else there would be dire consequences. Zachriel told me I was pretty much an apocalyptic catastrophe waiting to happen and that I surely wouldn't want to be responsible for the apocalypse.

  Looking at and listening to Zachriel had turned my brain matter into sweet, warm, and lazy molasses. I couldn't think until it dawned on me that this had to be a joke. There was no other explanation. But I didn’t know who would be playing this joke on me.

  My eyes darted around the diner. Could it have been Aunt Jeannie? She always went on about finding me a nice boyfriend. I wouldn't have put it past her to set me up. But she was the no-nonsense type. This story didn't fit. Sure, she might have arranged for some guy to just come in and meet me on my lunch break, but she wouldn't have gotten him to tell some fantastic tale.

  I observed my aunt as she busied herself with refilling the coffee machine. She had her long brown hair pinned up, and I could see that she kept glancing over at me. But her facial expression betrayed her thoughts as usual, and she seemed decidedly curious
about Zachriel. No, she hadn't met him before, let alone sent him there for me.

  Who else could it have been? My best—and honestly, kind of only—friend Sarah was spending the entire summer with her family in Europe. But this was exactly the kind of thing she would have found funny. I mean, me, an angel? That had to be the most far-fetched secret identity ever. I was neither ethereal nor gracious. If someone stuck wings on me, I would literally look ridiculous. Snide remarks would be justified because wings couldn't lift me off the ground. I was tall and curvy in a way that could maybe one day turn into sexy if I would stop eating burgers and chocolate cake, which, at the moment, I had no intention of doing. And by intention, I meant self-control. Also, I didn’t have straight blond hair and white luminous skin. My hair was that indeterminable color that could pass for dark blond or light brown, and it always looked slightly greasy. I had about as many freckles on my face as there were stars in the sky. But most of all, I didn’t have that angelic serenity down at all.

  Whoever had thought this prank up was just a little bit cruel. But they were also being kind of sweet because this made-up story suggested that my mother had wished for me so hard that an angel had sacrificed herself to make that wish come true. Maybe my mother had even thought of me as an angel. I wouldn’t know because my mother was dead. It was okay, though. I had only been four at the time, and even though I was sad about her death sometimes, I’d had thirteen years to get used to it. Plus, I had a stepmother whom my dad had married a couple of years after my real mom’s death, so I kind of viewed her as my mother.

  I didn’t have a lot of memories of my birth mom. My stepmom, Allison, was not an evil stepmom at all. She was great and really loved and cared about me. But she was a very pragmatic person and would never get the idea to call me an angel. The reason why it was possible that my mother had had an inkling of my former life was because she had chosen the name Stella, which was Latin for “star.” My dad told me it was because I had been a stargazer baby. I had been looking up into the sky while being born instead of down with my chin tucked in like most well-behaved newborns who wanted to make it easier for their poor mothers to push them out. I’d had to be difficult, which again, didn’t really spell out angel. But the suggestion that my mother had wanted me so much that she had prayed for me and had possibly thought of me as an angel made me feel all tingly inside.

  Whoever had come up with this story didn’t just have a strange sense of humor, but they had to be a friend who knew me well. Of course, it had to be Sarah. I didn't know how she could have pulled it off from afar, and it surprised me that she knew someone like this guy, but it had to be her.

  I exhaled. “So, Zack… can I call you Zack?” I tried to sound cool, but my voice came out squeaky. “How do you know Sarah?”

  Zack looked confused. Either he didn't know my friend, or he was a really good actor. He made an impatient gesture and leaned forward. “Did you listen to me?” he asked earnestly. “This is really important. I’ll repeat it for you. I am an angel. You are a reborn angel named Vitrella.”

  I got even tinglier now that he was so near, and I was arrested by his gaze like a rabbit caught in headlights. I was suddenly one hundred percent sure that whoever or whatever Zachriel was, he believed his own story. That only left one explanation. I didn't know how he knew my name and personal story or why he’d sought me out, but he had to be mentally ill. Schizophrenic. Psychotic. Whatever they called it.

  I suddenly got sad. I tried to be very gentle with him. “That's nice. But my lunch break is over, and I have to go now.” I got up. “Nice to meet you, Zack. See you around, okay?”

  He looked exasperated. “You don't believe me.” It wasn't a question. He probably told people the story all the time and was used to this reaction.

  “Sure, sure, I do. I just have to get back to work.” I smiled and took my plate, cutlery, glass, and newspaper and brought them to the kitchen. When I returned, I put my apron back on as I stepped behind the counter.

  Aunt Jeannie ambushed me straightaway. “Who is your friend?”

  “Um. Zack. I don't really know him.” I looked at the table I had just vacated. Zack was gone. I should have been relieved, but instead, I felt disappointed.

  2

  When I walked out of the diner after my shift was over, the “angel” was already waiting for me. I wish I could say that it annoyed me, but I found it a teensy bit flattering. I mean, he was gorgeous, and I’d never had a guy pursue me before, even though this was definitely borderline stalking. Not to mention, he might be mentally deranged. So I smiled to myself when he followed me as I started walking home, but after a while, I got a little bit scared.

  Average was not exactly known for its high crime rate, but the streets were pretty empty at that time of the evening. It was dinnertime on a Tuesday—most people were at home with their families. So I decided to confront him while we were still near the town square with its shops and eateries. It was more likely someone would hear me there if I had to shout for help.

  “Look,” I said after I had turned around so abruptly that it stopped him short. “Unless you can prove to me in some way that what you told me is true, you might as well forget it, okay? I won't believe you. So give me some solid evidence or leave me alone.”

  I thought that would be it. He’d clearly made up his little story about angels and whatnot. I had heard how convincing psychos could be, but there was no way he could substantiate his claim.

  When he just stood there and looked at me thoughtfully, I followed that up by saying, “Or else I will call the police, and they are going to lock you up in whatever mental institution you escaped from.”

  He sighed. “I’m not supposed to do this, but I was also not supposed to tell you what I did, so it’s up to me where I draw the line, and I can see that I’m not going to convince you in any other way.”

  That confused me. “What?”

  He sighed again. When he touched me, I was much too excited to shake off his hand in time. It felt good. Tiny sparks ignited, and goose bumps rippled across my skin.

  Next thing I knew, I barfed. That's right. I felt really dizzy all of a sudden, like when someone spun on a desk chair for too long, and I just threw up. I managed to turn away from him, thank goodness.

  As I stood there, leaning over with my hands on my thighs and trying to catch my breath, I noticed that what I had spewed out some kind of black stuff on a bush. It looked like melted tarmac. And the bush looked pretty sorry already, just a few twigs coming out of the dry earth, really.

  I shook my head in confusion. I was pretty sure that the black-stuff-dripping-bush-thingy hadn't been there before next to the sidewalk. The Average town beautifying committee would never have allowed it.

  That seemed to be a moot point, though, because when I looked up, I was not in Average. At least, that was what I thought at first. It sure wasn't the Average I had been in a few seconds earlier. A few derelict buildings surrounded us, and everything else looked as though it had been bulldozed. Everything was more or less covered in the black stuff.

  My mind couldn't catch up with what was happening. Wide-eyed, I looked at the angel.

  “The future,” he said. “I took you to the future.”

  My mouth stood open for at least a minute, and as I still had a foul taste in my mouth from barfing, it really didn't help when the spit dried up. I tried to swallow, but it didn't get any better.

  “It’s the air,” Zack said. “We shouldn't stay too long. It's not good for you.”

  “Hang on,” I managed to croak. “What do you mean, the future?”

  “I’m an angel of apocalypse. I can see and travel to the past and future to prevent such an apocalyptic scenario from happening. It is my gift. I thought if I showed you what I can do, what surely no mentally ill human can do, you'd believe me.”

  Bewildered, I looked around again. There was no color. It was all… gray. “This is the future? When? When is this going to happen? And what is this blac
k stuff?”

  “Does it matter? We don't have time for these questions, anyway.” He seemed to be getting a little impatient with me. “My point is, I can see this, and I can take you here.”

  I nodded slowly. It felt as if the oxygen was slowly but surely being sucked from my lungs. I was somewhat relieved when he touched me and that dizzying thing happened again, taking us back to the present Average. I felt somewhat relieved even though I threw up again—this time in a nice planter I would have expected to see on the side of the road in Average.

  “So now, do you believe me?” Zack asked.

  I actually pinched myself, just to make sure I wasn't dreaming. Maybe I had passed out on my way home from the diner. Maybe he’d injected me with some psychedelic substance. Maybe… My mind went into overdrive. What if I was psychotic, making the entire thing up in my head? That thought was a major mindfuck, until I remembered Aunt Jeannie acknowledging Zack in the diner.

  I crossed the road to the town square and sat down on a bench. Zack followed me and waited for me to respond. He didn't rush me; I had to give him credit for that.

  “Well, it proves you are… something,” I said eventually. “But it doesn't have anything to do with what you told me. Vitrella, the wish thing, my mother…”

  I looked at him, and for the first time, I could see something besides mild interest or desperate earnestness in his eyes. I could have sworn it was curiosity—some spark, at least. Of course, it could have been the reflection of the lightbulb in the streetlamp.

  “You’re right,” he said. “There’s a much better place and time where I can take you.”

  Before I could utter any protest, he touched my arm, and I barfed again. This time on my shoes. Great. I was cold, and I shivered, but it gave me some consolation that a few specks of vomit landed on his shoes.

  He didn't seem to care much, though. “Up you get.” He pulled me up before I could wipe my mouth. Everything around me looked just the same. Maybe it hadn’t worked this time. But as he pulled me along the street, I noticed that something felt different about Average. It was more… sparkly. The buildings seemed newer, and the flowers, the window decorations, everything looked more colorful. I saw some color combinations that would be considered bad taste. I had to do a double take when I saw a car driving by. Then I noticed all the parked cars. They were all really old models. That made no sense to me.