18. Guardian Angel

When Sarah was four, her mother gave her a small figurine of an angel holding a sword.

"This is Michael," she said. "The Defender of Heaven. He'll protect you."

Sarah nodded and kept the angel on her bedside table, where it was the first thing she saw in the morning and the last thing she saw at night.

When the fire happened, no-one really knew how it was Sarah's bedroom was untouched, when the rest of the house was destroyed, including her parents' room, but in the end it was chalked up to "a miracle". Sarah went to live with a foster family.

Sarah was twelve when her foster father died in a car accident while he was taking her to school. Everyone said it was a terrible tragedy for such a fine, upstanding man to be taken so soon. Sarah held her tongue and didn't mention that he'd had his hand up her skirt when they'd hit the truck.

In university, there was an incident where one of the boys from her Politics class disappeared one night. Everyone knew he'd had a crush on Sarah and had been following her around - stalking her, really. They all thought it was just as well he'd gone, even if they didn't say it out loud.

Over the years, Sarah's life continued to be marked by strange incidents and near-misses. People thought she led a charmed life. "Someone's watching over you," they said and she would smile and nod.

"They certainly are," she would reply.

One night Sarah came home and interrupted a break in at her apartment. The thieves were armed and somehow in the course of a struggle, one of the guns went off, killing one of the burglars. Sarah gave a statement that it had been self-defence. But when the surviving man was interviewed, he had babbled incoherently about "a glowing man with wings" who had appeared in the room and stabbed his partner with a great sword. The interviewing officers had shaken their heads and sighed. Another one going for the insanity defence, it seemed.

They gave Sarah a cup of tea and took her home. "Are you sure you don't want a friend or a neighbour to stay with you?" asked the woman officer who had driven her home. "To make you feel safe?"

Sarah had laughed then. "Oh, that's all right," she replied. "I have Michael watching over me. I'm always safe."

People forget, not all angels are cute little cherubs.

19. Canvas

"I want you to paint me," she told him.

"Paint you?" He gestured around his studio. "All I do is paint you. Dozens of portraits and sketches. There's nothing left to capture!"

"No, silly." She climbed onto his model's stool, her back facing him. Her dressing gown made a faint whispering sound as she let it fall to the floor, exposing her smooth, pale skin. "I want you to paint on me. Use me as your canvas."

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Something about the texture of her skin, the way the muscles played across her back as she breathed and spoke, he could almost see the painting underneath. Almost without realising it, he had picked up his palette and brush.

"Stay still," he commanded.

***

"It's beautiful," she said. It was late, very late. They were both tired, but somehow exhilarated at the same time. "I've never seen anything like it."

"It's my masterpiece," he said with a weary sigh. "I don't know if I'll ever paint anything like it again."

"Better get your camera," she told him. "You'll want plenty of pictures before it comes off."

"Comes off?" He looked up, panic entering his voice. "But, it's my masterpiece. It can't come off. All that work... you mustn't!"

She laughed at him, a light and teasing sound. "Of course it has to come off, my love. I can't possibly go without washing for the rest of my life." Leaning over him, she pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Take your photographs and then let's make love on your masterpiece."

His hand tightened on the paintbrush he was still holding. "I can't," he said. "It is too beautiful to destroy."

The paintbrush jabbed forward, the handle sinking deep into her eye socket.