At the funeral, 4

There are veils upon veils of illusion in this place. With this many people, they're changing all the time, overlapping each other. It's getting hard for me to see through them. We're right in the middle of the congregation; there's no getting out until the mass is over. Robert said when his grandfather died, the mass went on for what felt like half the day, but then he was eleven at the time. He guessed it was more like an hour. I can manage for that long. If I close my eyes and bow my head, it will look like I'm praying. And maybe I should pray – although it makes me uncomfortable to pray to Lady Brigid when I'm in a Catholic church. I don't know why – in the side chapel is a lovely statue of the Virgin Mary and I don't think she would mind. Still, it seems disrespectful to pray to a Goddess in a house where only one God is acknowledged. Not that it matters what you call it --

That's odd. There's a dark, shadowy corner of the church towards the back chapel, but something's glowing there. It's a familiar sort of light – I can't be entirely sure, but it might well be the same one I saw in Paxton's apartment during the ritual, the one she didn't want to tell the others about.

"Robert," I whisper. And Lady bless him, he's so tuned into me that he hears, even though I've barely made a sound. He doesn't say anything; unlike me, he has manners, and he wouldn't interrupt the service. But he looks at me and raises an eyebrow. "Look," I say, nodding toward the light.

"What is it?" he says. "I don't see anything."

"Oh. I wondered if you would," I say. "I think I have to go find out what that is."

"What what is? Sara, look, there's Paxton coming in. They'll be starting soon. Can it wait?"

"Probably not," I say. "I'll be back in a bit."

Robert sighs with no little exasperation, but there's love in it, too, and he lets me go. He knows I'll tell him all about it later. I push my way out of the pew as politely as I can, although it's hard to do this when the larger people don't notice I'm here. I don't mind my height, or lack thereof, except in situations like this. I do so hate crowds.

I circle around the back of the church and approach the light from behind. I don't want to scare it off, whatever it is. There are, of course, many possibilities I can eliminate – no fairy would be found dead in a church, and elementals don't usually like company.

The light is brighter the closer I get, shifting, folding in on itself, and it's definitely the same one I saw before. The colors are the same – transclucent blue, aquamarine, silver, like watching a frozen waterfall in impossible motion. I'm feeling slightly giddy.

"Hello," I say, and in less than a moment, the light is gone. In its place stands a tall, well-made young man, his eyes narrowing at me with suspicion. Even though I know the eyes are an illusion, the sentiment is real.

"You're Sara," he says, and his voice is like a low bell.

"Yes. And you are...?"

"It doesn't matter," he says, and turns towards the front of the church, where Paxton is finally sitting down in the first pew. The lady with her is very kindly pinning a bit of black lace into her hair – of course Paxton would have forgotten a veil. I would give a lot to be there with her right now, holding her hand.

I look back at the young man – or whatever he is – and I see that he's feeling exactly the same thing.

"Why don't you go to her?" I ask. "I'm sure she would welcome your company."

"I don't think so," he says, and although I can't tell what color his eyes are, the desperate sorrow in them unbalances me, and my own eyes begin to well with tears. But I don't know why. "She doesn't want me there."

"May I ask why?" I say. "No, I'm sorry, of course I don't mean to pry."

"She doesn't want me there because I'm not real. Not in the sense that she's real, and that you are real. I'm not exactly -"

"Human, yes, that much is evident. But – real? I'm afraid I don't understand."

"The last time I saw her, the day before her mother died, she told me that I was just pretending. That I didn't know what the stakes are, that I didn't know what it means to feel something so deeply it consumes you, what it means to be human," he says, his eyes never leaving the front of the church. "She told me to go away."

I bite my tongue to keep from laughing – it's not the first time I've fought the urge to laugh at an inappropriate time. Robert says it's nerves, and I'm sure he's right.

"And you thought she meant it," I say, once I can be sure of my composure.

"Of course she did," he says. "She's not the kind of person to say things she doesn't mean."

"Not on purpose, I'm sure," I say. "But we all – even you, I suspect – say things that don't show what we really feel. And things have changed for her since she last saw you."

"Yes," he says. "But I don't want to take advantage of that."

"Of course not," I agree. "But I think you're not being as brave as you could be."

He straightens, and his eyes meet mine. They aren't as dark as they were before, as if the light of his being is beginning to radiate through his body, dissolving the illusion. In moments, the human figure is gone, and the glorious light of his being is back beside me. It pulses once, then disappears. I wonder if he was saying good-bye.

I breathe deeply, but the incense in the church is almost more than I can bear. I want to leave, to consider this alone, to get out of the press of people and their layers upon layers of masks. But I need Robert more.

I wait for a moment when the congregation is standing, then I make my way back to Robert. I hold his hand tightly. My heart begins to pound in my chest, and I think he must hear it, because he looks down at me, concerned.

I pull him down to me and whisper directly into his ear.

"I think I've just met an angel."