“So I suppose the rest of it is a lie as well.”

“I can’t see that it matters what I look like.”

He looked interested. “Are you that hideous?”

“No!” Now I was the irritated one; how had that happened? “I’m ordinary. My hair is that dirty brown color that so many people have. My eyes are brown, too. My face is too round. I weigh a little more than I’d like. But I do have a good figure,” I couldn’t resist tacking on at the end. If he was picturing me from my description, he may as well include the good bits.

“How old are you?”

Old enough to know better than to even remotely consider flirting with an angel. “I’ll be thirty-two a couple weeks after the Gloria. How old are you?”

It was meant for impudence, but he didn’t seem to mind. “Thirty-five. Or a hundred and thirty-five, depending on the day.”

That made me laugh. “I don’t think I’m ever older than seventy, even during my worst weeks. But sometimes I feel sixteen, so I suppose it evens out.”

“How did you end up at the Gabriel School?”

I was done gathering the dishes, and I was certainly done with this conversation. “That’s part of the story that’s too long to tell,” I replied, edging for the door. “I’ll be late with my chores if I’m gone much longer.”

“Will you be back tomorrow?”

I quashed the desire to say Do you want me back? Stupid, to try to make a sad and heartsick angel confess some need for me. Who was the pathetic one now? I made my answer casual to cover up my self-disgust. “As long as Alma’s unable to climb steps, I suppose I’ll be back,” I said. “And since I don’t think she’ll miraculously heal overnight—yes, I’ll be here tomorrow.”

He didn’t say, Good. He didn’t say I’ll look forward to talking to you again. He just said, “Very well,” and turned away from me before I was even out the door.

The next day was much the same, except I got to bed earlier, slept better, and rose later. I didn’t mind nocturnal hours, but if I was going to fill them with twice the usual activity, I needed to husband my energy. Once again, I made hasty work of my most important chores, then climbed clandestinely to the Great House and spent a little time with Alma. Her ankle was still a swollen purple mess, but the salve had greatly reduced her pain, and she thanked me three times for bringing it.

Tonight’s meal smelled just as appetizing, but it made me think. “Do you have enough food on hand to continue like this?” I asked. Usually Alma or the footman came down to the school once or twice a week to take supplies from our storerooms. These were supplemented every week by deliveries from Telford, including a few live pigs and chickens that Deborah and Elon slaughtered and dressed.

“For another week, I do,” she said. “And I don’t have to worry about water—it’s piped into the house and drains into an underground line.”

I’d noticed that no one had asked me to run a pump or empty chamber pots, for which I was deeply grateful. We had a good plumbing system at the school, so I’d gotten out of the habit of thinking about how precious water was when it wasn’t readily available.

“I don’t think I can sneak bags of potatoes and whole chickens up here,” I said thoughtfully. “If the headmistress isn’t back soon, you might have to let Deborah know you need help.”

She nodded. “I already realized that. I can’t walk down the hill yet, but I think I can wave from the porch and catch someone’s attention.”

“Good. I’ll be on the lookout in case no one else notices.”

I finished assembling the tray, and a few minutes later I was carrying it into Corban’s room. “Here’s your dinner,” I said.

But I was speaking to an empty room.

I looked around harder, just in case he was lurking in a corner, but he was nowhere to be seen. It was late, of course; maybe he had already gone to bed. Or was he simply avoiding me, less entertained by my needling conversation than I had supposed?

But almost immediately I registered the temperature of the room, far chillier than it had been on my earlier visits. I set down the tray and followed the swirls of cold air to the trapdoor above the spiral metal staircase that I assumed led to the roof.

He knew I was coming. He had left the trapdoor open. He must expect me to follow him. I grasped the railing and ran up the curving flight of stairs, into the star-cooled night.

Corban was standing in the far corner, posed as if he were gazing out at the ground below. A quick glance showed me that the whole roof was hemmed in with a half wall, just high enough for a medium-sized person to lean an elbow on. A few knobby pipes poked up from below, and chimneys on two sides added interest to the architecture. Otherwise it was a plain rectangular space, flat as a floor, with little to recommend the view.

By the light of the full moon, I could pick out the curls in Corban’s hair and the interlaced quills of his wings. He was facing away from me, and I had an excellent view of the way his wings sprang from his back to make their distinctive bell shape. I could see his hands braced against the half wall. His fingers were balled into fists; there was tension in the line of his shoulders.

I was certain he had heard my arrival, and I was too contrary to speak first. So we waited a few moments in silence while I studied the silhouette of his body and he contemplated some thought too private to share.

When he did speak, he sounded irritated already. “You don’t like to make things easy for people, do you?”

That made me grin. “Honestly, I don’t,” I said.

He pivoted, his wings making a lovely, majestic sweep. “You don’t even say hello. You don’t even let me know you’re here.”

“You knew I was here.”

“That’s not the point.”

“You think I’m rude?”

“I think you’re—” He searched for the right words. “Deliberately provoking.”

I grinned. “That’s about as accurate a description as I’ve heard.”

“My question would be, why? Is it your goal to make people dislike you?”

“Do you dislike me?” I responded.

His brows twitched together. “I was talking about other people.”

“I can be accommodating when I feel like it,” I said. “I can get along with people if I want to.”

“So you reserve this provoking behavior for me.”

“Not just you. I was very insubordinate with the housekeeper at my last job, for instance.”

“Ah. So you like to challenge authority—or people who believe their station in life puts them above you.”

“Yes, but you can see that I only harm myself by such behavior. I lost that position a couple of months ago. And the one before it.”

“Yet you don’t try to be more submissive. More conformable.”

“There is a certain contrariness at the base of my personality,” I allowed. “It is so hard for me to act the way people expect me to act, even if it’s in my own best interests.”

“How, I wonder, would someone come by such a trait?”

Oh, there was a story it would take half the night to tell. “I was born with it, I believe,” I said lightly.

“But I don’t,” he said.

I was lost. “Don’t what? Don’t believe me?”

“Dislike you,” he said. “Most of the time.”

“I can try harder to be annoying,” I offered.

“I’ll let you know if that becomes necessary.”

It was peculiar to have an angel tell me he didn’t dislike me—though that didn’t mean he liked me, and, at any rate, it scarcely mattered, since I doubted my future held many more intimate nighttime conferences with this one. Because I didn’t know how to answer him, I changed the subject. “So why are you out here on the roof?”

“I was thinking about something you said.”

“Really? What’s that?” I rubbed my arms. It was probably ten degrees above freezing and I’d only worn a light jacket since I hadn’t expected to be outside any longer than it took to climb the hill.

“Flying.”

“Really? You think you might be ready to attempt it again? You think you can sense the buildings and the trees—”

“Not that, not yet,” he interrupted. “I don’t even know if my wings can support my weight.”

“Well, we aren’t very far from the ground up here,” I said. “Three stories. You could jump off the roof and just try to glide down. You’d be careful because you know the ground isn’t very far away.”

“That’s a possibility,” he said gravely. “But I want to try something else first. Coming back to the roof.”

“That seems harder,” I commented.

“Yes,” he replied. “A better test.”

“And you’re not worried about losing your bearings?”

“You’ll have to help me, of course. You’ll have to call out to me. I would not get so far from the house I would lose the sound of your voice.”