Page 268 of Castings & Curses

“Valory. V-a-l-o-r-y,” I say as I type her name into the Recently Deceased Records.

“Oooh, like Ross Valory?” she asks curiously.

“Who?”

“The bass player of Journey.” Mercy turns, raising an eyebrow at me like I’ve grown two heads.

“I don’t know who that is…” I admit. The only song I know by Journey isDon’t Stop Believing,as I wasn’t allowed to listen to much Rock 'n’ Roll because my parents said it would rot my brain.

“More like the word. Valor, you know… great courage in the face of danger,” I say with a smile as I comb through the records. I’m seeing a lot of Mercedes James, so I decide to filter the search. “How old are you, Mercedes—I mean, Mercy.”

“On the edge of seventeen.” She smirks at me.

Is this another musical reference?

I blink, and she rolls her eyes. “Really? No Fleetwood Mac, either?”

I shrug. “I prefer the oldies.”

“Pretty sure Journey and Fleetwood Mac are considered oldies.”

“Oldies like The Chordettes or The Penguins,” I say, looking up at her briefly as she pushes around some magazines and pamphlets on an end table.

“Who the hell are they?” She instantly clamps her hand over her mouth. “Oh shit, can I say that?” she asks, her cheeks reddening as she realizes she swore again.

I let out a little laugh. “Of course you can.” Her expression makes me want to laugh. “I wouldn’t recommend going around dropping the f-bomb or anything publicly, though.” I wink at her and she eases up.

“Oh, so like cursing in private. Got it.” She laughs, and the sound is sweet like wind chimes.

I turn back to my computer, still not coming up with a Mercedes Rose James, age seventeen.

“Birthday?”

“July 25,” she says as she peeks her head into the waiting room.

I enter the date, taking a moment to do the math with her current age. I continue this line of questioning and punching in details, but nothing comes up. Then again, I’ve never tried to use the computer after APD and the Annex has been closed, so maybe the system isn’t working properly.

So I do the next best thing.

I assign her a temporary placement with HHD, Heavenly Housing Department. Just for the night. In the morning, I’ll talk to Matthew and we’ll get her sorted properly.

See, that wasn’t so hard.

Just as I get ready to bring up HHD’s temporary visa paperwork, I hear a crash. I look up to see Mercy has knocked over a rather ornate white glass vase, one that always holds a beautiful collection of white lilies and carnations.

“Oh my Go—gosh.” She catches herself, her gaze darting up to me. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to, my bag just—”

“It’s okay,” I say as I finish typing in her name, age, and birthday. I get up and head over to the mess. I smile as I bring my hands in front of me, a part of me excited to actually be able to show her one of the perks of being an angel.

I breathe the ancient words, snapping my fingers, and it’s like a scene from Fantasia. Like Mickey and the broom. The dustpan and broom from the corner dance to the center, sweeping up debris.

Mercy’s jaw drops open. “Wow, neat trick,” she says in awe.

I magic the discarded flowers into the trash, feeling a sense of pride. “You’ll learn soon enough. I just have to fill in a couple more spots and get your printout and you’ll be on your way,” I say with a smile.

Mercy just looks at me. “You mean you’re not coming with me?” The sadness in her voice isn’t lost on me.

“Unfortunately, no. I can’t. Once someone is placed, that’s the end of it for me. Unless you somehow end up in my department, we likely won’t see each other again.” The words make my heart ache for some reason.

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