The Blue Door - By Christa Kinde Page 0,32
curls; his long fingers flowed easily through a rippling series of scales. Behind the drum set sat a woman with warm skin, wide-set eyes, dozens of coiling braids, and a pierced nose. She twirled one drumstick in her gauntleted hand.
“Which one is the other angel?” she asked curiously.
“Can’t you guess?” Milo asked.
“None of you look like each other, so how am I supposed to tell?”
“You shouldn’t be able to tell,” he assured her. “I was just curious to see if Kester is blending in. He’s new to our Flight — as new as Koji.”
“Which one is Kester?” Prissie asked in an undertone.
Milo shook his head. “First things first. Mentor and then apprentice, hmm?”
“What?”
“Haven’t you realized yet? We come in pairs — one who has more experience, and one who’s still learning the ropes,” he explained.
“I figured that out already,” she said loftily. When her conscience twinged, she admitted, “Koji told me about some of it.”
“Harken and I have been together for quite some time. Koji here is brand new, and this is his very first assignment. Kester has been around much longer, but he’s newly assigned to Baird.” Milo grinned and added, “Between you and me, I don’t think he’s quite adjusted to the partnership.”
“Why not?” she asked.
“Let’s just say that Baird’s style isn’t what Kester’s used to.” A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and with a sidelong glance, he remarked, “I don’t really think this is what you’re used to either, right, Miss Priscilla?”
That was an understatement; her church tended toward the old hymns, and the only accompaniments to their singing were an organ and a piano. She wasn’t really sure she approved of how things were done here, which was confusing, since the worship leader was apparently an angel … and angels should know better.
Rather than answer, though, Prissie asked, “Won’t it be kind of weird for you guys to have a conference right out here in front of everyone?”
Milo chuckled. “Why? Is it so strange that I have friends outside of our home church? I’m here almost every week.” Stepping up to the edge of the stage, he propped an elbow on the carpeted platform and called out to the worship leader in a sing-song voice. “Oh, Baird! I have a message for you!”
The redhead turned, and his hazel eyes lit up. Unplugging his guitar, he strolled over, calling, “What’s up, Milo!” He crouched down so they wouldn’t have to crane their necks to talk, and suddenly, Prissie found herself on the receiving end of an easy smile. Offering a hand, Baird said, “I haven’t seen you here before.”
Milo jumped in to handle the introductions. “This is Miss Priscilla Pomeroy, the one who knows about us.”
Baird turned wondering eyes on the girl whose hand was still in his possession. “No kidding?” the redhead drawled thoughtfully, then broke into a huge grin. “That is so cool! Are you freaking out? I mean, you’re not scared of me or anything, right?”
Prissie’s eyes drifted to the tattoos that peeked over the curve of Baird’s shoulder and the cuff that decorated his left ear. “Not really.”
“I’m not what you expected though?” he inquired, giving her hand a light squeeze before releasing it.
“Nobody has been,” she replied honestly.
Baird sat down on the edge of the stage, letting his legs dangle. “Well, some of the other guys are much scarier looking than I am. Me? I’m just a harmless musician, an angel with a harp!” He tipped his head to one side as he smiled, then plucked a few notes on his sky-blue guitar.
Just then, the young woman on the stage launched into an energetic drum solo. At the sound, Prissie jumped. Noting her discomfort, Baird smiled sympathetically. “You’re way out of your comfort zone, aren’t you, Priscilla Pomeroy?” She shrugged noncommittally, and he nodded wisely. “Well, you’re not the only one. Hey, Kester!” he hollered, waving to the man who’d been at the keyboards. He stood near the back of the stage, a violin in his hands. “C’mere!”
Carefully placing the instrument in its case, Kester slowly strolled over. Baird thumped the floor at his side, and Kester hesitated only a moment before unbuttoning his suit coat and stiffly lowering himself to the floor. Prissie gazed curiously at the serious-faced man, who had a large nose and dark brown eyes. “Good evening,” he greeted politely.
“This is Priscilla Pomeroy, and she’s a friend of Koji’s!” Baird exclaimed, elbowing the neatly pressed gentleman. “Pretty amazing, right?”
The violinist pursed his lips thoughtfully,