Again Father Peter gave a slight smile. "Sure."

"The Circle of Seven owns angels."

I watched Father Peter's expression, hoping maybe to see the light bulb moment when he suddenly understood what I was talking about. Or had a hint. A clue. Something. Anything.

But his expression didn't change, just stayed thoughtful and slightly confused.

"I don't know Riley...a Circle?" he said.

"Nothing rings a bell? Even something small?" affected by our power personK2 Father Peter shook his head and leaned back in the pew, turning his face away from me and staring out before him in thought. The confusion was growing as he pondered it. He was starting to look kind of agitated, actually. Then he gave a big sigh and looked back at me. "Why don't you ask Pastor Warren? He knows all about angels." He said it bitterly, with an edge to his voice. I'd never heard Father Peter sound anything other than nice.

"I'm asking you," I replied. Without warning, Father Peter stood up and walked out to the aisle. It took me by surprise. "Um, are you okay?"

Father Peter paced back and forth for a moment and then stopped and leaned against the pew. He gave a small laugh and smiled kind of sadly. "Yes, I'm fine. I'm sorry, Riley. It's just...no one from this town has asked me about angels...well, ever. And it's. .h.i.t me in a strange way."

"What do you mean?"

I followed Father Peter's gaze to the pine carved Jesus on the cross over the pulpit. "I was raised to believe certain things. I went to the seminary and was educated to believe certain things. And then I come here and...what I was taught, what the Bible tells us, and what's been going on in this community...it's all very hard on a person who's spent his life believing these certain things. It makes you start to doubt yourself."

"Oh." I was starting to feel a little uncomfortable, like I was in reverse confession or something. Not that I'd ever been to confession.

"I've had to work very hard to wrap my mind around the behavior of our angels in this town. It doesn't reflect what's in the Bible, and when you see something that is totally different from everything you've come to think is true...you can doubt. You can doubt a lot of things. All I've ever had in my life was my certainty in what I believed, and now that it's been shaken..." He paused. I think he realized how personal he was getting. He cleared his throat slightly. "Because it doesn't make any sense that they come and take people. That they only come to this community. That they only come once a year. That is to say, it doesn't make sense if you believe what the Bible tells us."

"But maybe what's in the Bible is how people at the time interpreted what was happening," I said. I didn't like hearing that Father Peter was confused like this. He always seemed so content in his small role in the town. And he was so well-liked. Of course, being liked the way a lost puppy is liked is not the same thing as being respected. I'd never really thought of it like that before. "Like Pastor Warren now and his theories. Maybe what has been written about angels is observation without the whole story. Maybe it doesn't conflict at all."

"Maybe." He didn't sound convinced.

I didn't think it was wise to stick around anymore. Things were getting way personal, and I didn't want to make Father Peter more uncomfortable. "I'll go now," I said quietly. I stood up and made my way over to him.

"Sorry I couldn't be of more help." He seemed genuinely so.

"No problem."

I gave him a smile and then, not sure of what else to say, turned and headed up the aisle.

"Riley," called out Father Peter, his voice echoing in the empty church. "Do you mean Nephilim?"

I turned. "I don't think so, seeing as I've no idea what that word means." affected by our power anywayK2 "That this Circle of Seven, that they own Nephilim?"

I shook my head. No they owned angels...they owned Gabe. That was indisputable. "No, angels. Not...that thing you said. What is that thing you said?"

Father Peter walked up to me and once again gestured for me to sit. We sat in opposite pews, facing each other across the aisle. "Nephilim. They're mentioned in the Bible, but little is known about them. The Hebrew word "Nephilim" translates to "fallen ones," but what "fallen ones" actually means, no one's sure. The most common explanation is that they are the children of angels and humans."

"Nephilim."

"Yes."

"So angels can have relations.h.i.+ps." I felt myself turn red realizing why I'd jumped to that conclusion.

Father Peter must have noticed my face change color because he asked, "Are you okay?"

"Uh, yeah."

He nodded. "To answer your question about relations.h.i.+ps, that's also highly debated. Definitely not the Archangels of course, but the other angels..." He stopped.

"Father?"

"I don't know why it didn't occur to me before, maybe because I'd never heard that Circle term." He spoke slowly, as if the thoughts were forming as he articulated them. "You've heard of Archangels, right?"

"Yeah, they supposedly take care of humans."

"There are hundreds of them, and, yes, they're in charge of human affairs. They have other angels who do the actual work for them, though. They kind of act like CEOs, I guess you could say, telling other lesser angels what to do."

"What's a lesser angel?"

"Like a guardian angel or a messenger."

"Okay."

Father Peter leaned across the aisle toward me. "But, Riley, there are seven that are considered the most powerful."

"Seven Archangels."

"Yes."

"Holy s.h.i.+t."

"Riley."

"Sorry."

"But they don't own angels. I think that's what threw me. Angels aren't owned."

"That's okay," I said standing.

Seven powerful Archangels. Seven that told other angels what to do. Maybe the belonging thing had to do with more of a chain of command than actual owners.h.i.+p. That would make me feel a bit better. I didn't like the idea of anyone owning anyone, especially not Gabe.

"Thank yo

Anyone is welcome at Commune. At least that's what all the pamphlets said. And the sign outside the church. The Church of the Angels is a place that wants everyone to experience the Glory. Commune is an intimate experience. Commune brings you closer to the angels than anything else. Old, young, rich, poor. Everyone should want to go to Commune. Everyone is welcome at Commune.

If they don't mind being stared at.

If they don't mind being questioned as to their intentions.

If they don't mind feeling like even more of a freak than usual.

We were lucky that Amber had agreed to meet us out front, otherwise I think Gabe might have decided to just turn around and go home. I'd learned over the last several weeks that he wasn't the kind of guy who liked being questioned. I think, actually, it was the fact that he didn't like answering questions that was the bigger problem.

So when Amber's folks decided to make him do just that, they were pretty lucky that their daughter had the sense to roll her eyes and say, "Jeez, Mom, just leave them alone, okay? I was the one who invited them."

Of course, Amber had technically invited me, not Gabe, but she wasn't about to send Gabe away. That would be insane. He was too hot for any girl to want him to leave places.

"This is bulls.h.i.+t, Riley," Gabe whispered in my ear. I placed a hand on his arm.

"You promised. It's one night."

"One night where I could be necking with Charlotte."

"No one says necking. Stop saying necking, please."

"What should I call it?"

"Making out, hooking up..." It was kind of ridiculous that I was giving a lesson on what to call something that I'd never actually done to someone who apparently had done it all.

We stopped talking because we were now in the great hall. It'd been a few years since I'd been inside. It was pretty impressive. Bright white, one large room. That's it. But one large room can be pretty extraordinary when you think about it. No pillars affected by our powerLSkDivers...o...b..oks holding it up, just emptiness and light from the setting sun s.h.i.+ning in from a wall of gla.s.s behind the altar. Suspended from the ceiling there were these giant wings, made out of copper. I remembered them being blindingly bright that time I'd gone with my parents and Chris. He and I had concluded it was probably best to go to church on a cloudy morning.

I realized that the last time I'd been here had been that first time, when Chris and I had collected all the fallen sins outside. The memory hit me hard. I could feel my throat tighten and tears well in my eyes. I forced myself to calm down. I hadn't had that missing Chris feeling for ages.

And then I felt even worse. All this time with Gabe, even though I'd told myself it was to find out what happened to Chris, had still been a distraction from really missing him. Chris had become some idea, and he wasn't that. He was a person. My best friend. Possibly the love of my life. I felt so guilty that I couldn't contain myself. The tears managed to find their way up, out and down my cheeks.

Gabe noticed.

"Hey, sweetheart, you okay?"

I nodded but couldn't say anything. At that moment Pastor Warren came to greet us, in that usual combo of white s.h.i.+rt and beige trousers he wore, with that brown and yellow bowtie of his. The pits of his s.h.i.+rt were stained yellow from sweat. He saw the tears right away and without any warning suddenly pulled me to him.

"There there," he said in that melodic voice of his. "First time's always a powerful thing."

He held me tight and rubbed my back slowly. It felt super uncomfortable. I could also smell the sweat through his s.h.i.+rt, and a sweetness, either his deodorant or aftershave. Whatever it was, it mixed badly with his body odor. It didn't seem like he was going to let go of me any time soon, so eventually I pushed my body away from his, and he finally released me.

I looked at Gabe who didn't seem happy with what had just happened, and he moved protectively toward me.

"Uh...thanks," I said to Pastor Warren. "Yeah, I guess I'm a little overwhelmed."

"Of course you are, Miss Carver. You've come here against the will of your parents, and this hall alone provokes awe. I can understand your reaction."

Okay, so evidently Pastor Warren had an opinion about my family.

"And you're the new boy, Gabe. I was hoping you'd join us, though I didn't think you'd come to Commune right away."

"Yeah?"

"Many newcomers who haven't experienced a Taking can be skeptical. Coming to a sermon puts them at ease. Commune is a deeply profound emotional experience, even true followers can find it frightening."

"I don't scare easy." Gabe's voice was hard. I'd never heard the particular quality before. Heard him angry sure, frustrated, but not...mean.

"You are both welcome, of course, of course." It seemed like he felt his welcoming duties were now taken care of because he floated past us to greet George Smith Sr. and his son without skipping a beat. "The Smiths! Welcome again, gentlemen, welcome..."

"I don't like that guy," said Gabe.

"Me neither," I replied. "Come on."

I grabbed him by the hand and took him over to a pew a little further down the aisle. I didn't really feel like sitting with anyone, especially Amber and her parents who seemed a little too excited to be there. I thought that was kind of odd affected by our powered by K2 considering they came once a week, and it wasn't like it was anything new to them anymore. I guess they really liked Commune.

That's when I noticed Mirabel Jennings standing up near the altar surrounded by half a dozen people or so. She was smiling in that soft way of hers, playing nervously with her long mousey brown hair but saying nothing. Mirabel Jennings always seemed to be living on a different plane than the rest of the world, seemed to float her way through life. Made sense she'd float her way through Commune too, I guess.

Still. I wanted to see it for myself.

Another ten minutes pa.s.sed before we got started. No one else showed up, but it seemed like Commune was not just a spiritual event but a social one as well. Took a bit of time for Pastor Warren to finally gather everyone up. In the end there were about fourteen of us. It was kind of how many I'd expected. The lights were dimmed, and we all gathered at the altar and stood in a circle holding hands.

I'd kind of expected that too. Fortunately I was between Gabe and Amber, so I didn't feel too uncomfortable. Gabe, on the other hand, had been personally requested by Pastor Warren to be his right hand. Yeah, he was not happy about that.

"Welcome, everyone," began Pastor Warren. His voice filled the entire hall, even though there was just us. "We have some newcomers with us. Why don't we welcome them all into the fold?"

"Welcome," said the others in this soft intense unison.

"Uh...thanks," I said back. I didn't feel that welcome. Especially not when I looked into their eyes and saw the deep suspicion there. Maybe it would have been different if I'd come to the church on Sundays. Maybe they could tell I wasn't here for the same reason they were. But I was still here because of angels. Sure I was skeptical...but I had come. Just in case.

Stupid fold, I thought, and pouted inwardly.

Gabe squeezed my hand. It was nice to know I wasn't alone.

"We begin as always by thanking the angels for choosing us. Amber, will you lead us in thanks?"

"Yes, Pastor." I glanced over at her as she lowered her eyes. She seemed so demure here, so pious. Hard to think this was the same girl I'd seen sucking face with Brett Warren, who was holding his dad's left hand at the moment looking equally virtuous. Eh, I guess you're allowed to suck face and also revere the angels, unless of course you're not. I didn't really know the rules, actually.

"Thank you for choosing us, and in your Glory we ask that you continue this gift. We thank you for sending us guidance to steer us into your love, and we thank Pastor Warren for taking this burden unto himself. Thank the Angels."

"Thank the Angels," repeated the fold.

I wondered if Pastor Warren ever said the thanks, and if he did, if he had to thank himself: "We thank me for taking this burden unto myself. . ."

"Thank you, Amber. Now it is time for tellings. Has anyone a story to share?"

"I do, Pastor Warren," said Anna Brown looking sickly as usual.

"Anna."

"Last week I mailed a letter to my mother. I'm ashamed to say I'd written some things in it that just weren't nice. I'd sent it off in anger. When I calmed down, I realized what I'd done, and I felt rightly shamed. I asked for forgiveness. Three days later the letter came back to me. There was a note saying I hadn't put proper postage on it, but I'd been mailing these letters to her on affected by our power t m felt ce a week for three years. Same postage as ever. I knew I'd been forgiven and given my second chance."