That afternoon Quinlan sat precariously perched on the hood of a car. "I feel like a hood ornament."

"You are a hood ornament. It's another way to protect, guard and comfort."

"Are you sure I can protect this way?" Quinlan wiggled around on the Velcro mat attached to the hood of the car. "It's not exactly what I expected."

"Meaning what?" Angela asked.

"I don't feel very...secure. Don't I need a seat belt?"

"Just sit tight. There are straps to go across your ankles if you wish, but it's not necessary." Angela's eyes held a twinkle of mischief.

Quinlan's muscles tense, her posture rigid. A hood ornament? Really? "What about protection?"

"Like b.u.mper pads?" Angela smirked. "You are the protection."

Angela's sarcastic laugh chilled Quinlan.

"Don't be such a wuss."

Easy for you to say, you're not sitting on the hood of a car. "I just thought-"

"Be off!" The car leapt forward at the command. Quinlan grabbed the mat beneath her, the pen behind her ear flying off into the wild blue yonder.

Day two. Quinlan spent the morning on a school playground observing Angela comfort children suffering from sc.r.a.ped knees, bullies or other childhood boo-boos.

In the afternoon she practiced her compa.s.sion skills at a nursing home. The day ended at a hospice facility adjacent to the nursing home. She stood at the bedside of an elderly woman, her body ravaged by the ugliness of cancer, a subject Quinlan remembered well.

On Angela's suggestion, Quinlan placed her hand over the woman's. A few minutes pa.s.sed. The dying woman opened her eyes and found Quinlan's. Her lips parted in a brief smile.

"She can see me?" Quinlan asked, returning the smile.

"Yes," Angela said. "Her physical journey is almost complete. She's started the transition. She can see you because...." Angela paused. "It's like when you saw Meghan. One foot has already crossed over. For this short time, she's part of both worlds. As you were," Angela added.

"Wow," Quinlan said, exiting the nursing home. Her voice softened. "She looked so peaceful."

"She is at peace," Angela said. "Now she's let go of her Earthly fears."

Quinlan grew thoughtful. "I never realized there'd be so much...awareness when someone dies."

"Remember when you waited until Grace left the room before you took your last breath? You wanted to spare her, didn't you?" Angela smiled, knowingly. "You had that awareness."

Her skin tingled. "But, how did you...." Of course Angela knew. Pulling her trouble-shooting chart from her pocket, Quinlan fanned her face. "This is deep stuff."

Angela b.u.mped Quinlan's arm. "Did you think you were going to jump right into your own agenda?"

"Not really." A big fat lie. How much does she know? Quinlan wondered.

"Remember: guard, protect and comfort." Angela used her index finger for emphasis. "Very important."

"I see that." Quinlan two-stepped to keep up with her ground patrol's pace. "It's just... well, I didn't know I'd have so much to learn."

Angela quirked her eyebrows. "Oh, we're just getting started."

What could be worse than being shot out of a cannon, or being a hood ornament? Dread filled her. Oh no....

Angela stopped in front of Quinlan's living quarters and checked her watch. "It's four o'clock now. Meet me back here at eight."

"For?"

"Guard duty."

Shortly after eight o'clock, Quinlan learned the meaning of guard duty-a far cry from school-crossing patrol; no stopping traffic, no walking kids across the street...no such luck. Guard duty had her and Angela perched high on a cornice board in the nursery of a sleeping rosy-cheeked baby boy. Framed prints of cartoon dump trucks and tractors hung on the sponge-painted cornflower walls. Soothing rain forest sounds whispered from the white noise machine.

Quinlan took deep breaths, smelling the freshly decorated room. "I don't like this," she moaned, both of her hands iron gripping the cornice board.

"What's wrong now?" Angela asked.

"I'm afraid of heights." She licked her dry lips.

"You're afraid of heights." Angela threw her hands up. "Well, I've heard it all now."

"Please." A thin bead of sweat lined her upper lip. "Don't do that."

"What. Like this?" Angela flailed her arms like a wave at a football game.

"I think I'm going to be sick." Quinlan wrestled one hand away from the vice-grip on the cornice board and covered her mouth. Her face paled.

Angela stopped mid-wave. "You're serious?"

"Yes."

"But you're supposed to have...." Angela shook her head, then made another notation on her iPad. She peered intently at Quinlan. "So the flight down must have been-"

"Surprisingly, not as terrifying as I thought." Quinlan wiped her upper lip. "I'm still not sure how I managed that."

"And the hood ornament exercise?"

"Terrifying."

"Hmmm." Angela nodded and returned the mini device to her pocket. "Would you be more comfortable on the floor?"

"Could we?"

"There's no rule about being up here near the ceiling," Angela said. "It's just so boring on the floor."

"I do boring," Quinlan's puppy dog expression pleaded.

With a snap of Angela's fingers the two floated down to the Thomas the Train floor mat near the baby's crib.

"Better now?" Angela asked.

"Much. Thank you." Quinlan glanced at the video baby monitor mounted on the wall. So far no alarms had sounded by the extracurricular activity in the nursery.

Grateful to be on the ground, she breathed and leaned back, her hand touching the tip of a pacifier on the Thomas mat. She returned the soother to the baby's side and remained with Angela in guard position for the remainder of the night.

In the wee hours of the morning, Angela walked Quinlan to her sleeping quarters. Sunrise intensified by the minute, growing brighter and sharper, visibly improving as night cast off.

"Get some rest," Angela ordered, advice she needed to heed as well. Watching a weary Quinlan enter the building, she pulled out her cell phone and headed to her office.

"Hi Maggie, how's the cafe going?" Angela asked.

"Absolutely fabulous." Maggie's English accent soothed Angela's worn nerves.

"Good. Glad to hear it. Listen. I've been working with this special a.s.sign-"

"Quinlan," Maggie said.

"Yes, Quinlan-"

"She's as rare as hen's teeth, that one is," Maggie said.

Angela laughed. "She's special alright. So, what's the deal with her and heights? That shouldn't be-"

"Only completed forty-eight percent of the Veils of Self-Deception procedure."

Angela halted. "She what? Only forty-eight percent? You're kidding."

"Luvvy, why would I joke about that?"

The puzzle pieces connected. "Well, that explains a lot." Angela rubbed her eyes.

"You didn't pick up on that little tidbit in her profile?" Maggie asked.

"The case summary arrived last week. I've spent so much time with her I haven't had a chance to read it."

"You must do it at once. It's an interesting read." Maggie chuckled.

Angela yawned. "I'll read it tonight. I'm beat."

"It's a pity you have to take her through the entire required training," Maggie said. "Her being a special a.s.signment and all."

"I know," Angela said. "It's a b.u.mmer."

"Mary explained the reasoning behind their decision. Want to hear it?"

"Enlighten me." Angela twirled a curl around her finger.

"Mary and George decided it imperative she have the full training for her own safety...and everyone else's, I imagine." Maggie's jovial tone turned serious. "If she managed to slip through the system and left to her own devices...well, I don't even want to go there...." Maggie's voice trailed off.

"Good point," Angela said. "She's already an accident waiting to happen."

"Where are you in the training module?" Maggie asked.

"We've finished guard, protect and comfort. The rest of the week will be a.s.sist, support and intercede.

"Well, well," Maggie said. "I'd say you're in for an interesting next couple of days."

"Yes, I agree." Angela said. "Thanks Maggie. Take care."

Angela flipped her phone closed. "Geez, and I thought Edward was a mess." She ran her fingers through her loose curls. "It's going to be a long week."

CHAPTER 30.

QUINLAN.

"What we'll work on for the rest of the week is a.s.sist, support, and intercede, which involves the power of suggestion," Angela said.

Quinlan sat in Angela's office, bored.

"You need to pay close attention." Angela said. "This part can get tricky."

Tricky? How much more had she signed up for? She'd been shot out of a cannon with a parachute strapped to her back, posed as a hood ornament on a speeding car, and performed a balance-beam routine on a cornice board.

"We'll be working with seven mediums. There're more, but I want to start with the most common. By using these seven, we work on offering strategic suggestions and messages."

"What's a medium?" Quinlan looked up after scribbling in her notepad.

Angela poised her index finger at the corner of her mouth. "A medium is a means by which something is expressed, communicated, transmitted or achieved." She rattled off the response like a vocal Wikipedia. "The first one is media. It includes television, movies, and commercials. The other mediums are songs, inspired thoughts, b.u.mper stickers, street signs, billboards, and finally, dreams.

"Media...songs," Quinlan wrote. "Ooh...inspired thoughts."

"Put the notebook down."

Wincing at the command, Quinlan obeyed; submission...not her favorite thing.