//------------------------------// // Angel in Leather // Story: Angel of Fire // by memphisgurl //------------------------------// When I arrived home much later than usual, no one was there to notice – much less care – what had taken me so long. Not that it surprised me. My mom was simply too busy. Like me, she had to get up at the butt-crack of dawn. But while I slaved away all day at school, she ran the family business from home. Winging Farm Market was a combination apple orchard, cider mill, pumpkin patch, bakery, and garden and gift center. Every fall we offered lots of good, old-fashioned family fun like wagon and hay rides, foal friendly corn mazes, zip cord rides, and the opportunity to pick your own fresh apples and pumpkins. Every weekend, ponies came from miles around to spend the day down on the farm. Translation: the townies brought the kiddies to play farmies for the day. Autumn was our busiest time of year, so right now mom was either out back in the new barn making her award winning apple cider, in the bakery making fresh donuts and pies, or doing something else fall-ish like carving pumpkins. She's so pre-festive, she already hung the Nightmare Night decorations weeks ago. I dropped my book and gym bag at the front door and, for a split second, considered boarding up all the windows, and booby trapping the entire house in case Beastie felt like making another appearance. But then I remembered that Alea had said she'd taken care of him – whatever that meant – and went into the kitchen to make my favorite sandwich instead. Peanut butter and jelly – the perfect pair. They go together like Mr. Harper and punishment...but taste better. Grabbing a pop from the fridge, I took my sandwich and a half eaten bag of chips up to my room to reflect on the day’s festivities. Or as my mom liked to call the daily maneuver; I went to my hole to sulk. If I didn't need answers from Alea so bad, I would have just vegged out in front of my TV and fallen asleep as usual. Instead, after scarfing everything down, I glanced at my clock and decided to change. Since I can never find clothes if I put them away, I rummaged through various piles on the floor, and scored a purple, pink, and teal exercise suit. Once dressed, I checked my appearance in the full-length mirror on my bedroom door, and frowned. Every inch of clothing on my body was either wrinkled, or permanently stained from my inability to eat without wearing my food. My mom would never allow me to be seen in public dressed like this. But I thought my outfit looked perfect. Perfectly horrible, that is. As the sun dipped beneath the horizon, I took a deep breath and tried to relax. It was no use. My nerves were wound as tight as my bowstring. During times of stress, I always found comfort in playing my violin. I checked my clock again. If only I could get in some practice before Alea the “Guardian” showed up. Before I left for the barn, I pulled my mane up away from my face, securing it tightly with a scrunchie. The only time I ever wore my mane away from my face was when I played music because, otherwise, my thick hair – which seemed to have a mind of its own – hindered my concentration. Not to mention the fact that it got tangled in my bow. I grabbed another pop from the fridge. It was nearly dark by the time I headed outside – careful to avoid detection. My mom would expect me to be working on my homework, not playing my violin in the barn. But that's where it sounded the best. Great acoustics. The red, rustic, prairie style barn – built over 100 years ago, and which used to belong to the Apple Family – rose magnificently above the country landscape, punctuating the darkened sky with its soaring roof and proud silo. No longer used to store grain, it now served as my private musical retreat, as well as the place I went to detox from emotional overload. I squeezed in between the double hung doors and noticed that all of the oil lanterns were already lit. Shadows cast from the flickering light danced in a silent frenzy around the barn. “You’re late,” Alea called from somewhere up in the loft. “You never specified a time,” I responded, already annoyed, “so don't push it.” Moving stealthily across the dirt floor strewn with hay, it was almost as if Alea materialized right out of thin air because, suddenly, she stood right behind me. “What’s the matter?” she teased in my ear, scaring the bejeebers out of me. “Somebody skip their happy-juice?” I jumped, spilling my pop and spun around, glaring daggers at her. Great, now my hooves were going to be all sticky. Shaking the excess liquid off my hooves, I groaned, “What are you, in grade school or something?” She glanced at my hooves first, then met my eyes – smirking with delight. “Good. Maybe now you won’t drop your bow.” How in the crap did she know I had a bad habit of dropping my bow? Fun time was over. “Did you come here just to annoy me? Because you're doing a bang-up job.” If possible, her smile widened. “Play something for me.” My eyes went huge. “Excuse me?” I couldn't tear my gaze away – mouth fell open – as I watched Alea casually stroll over to an antique piece of farm equipment – claimed long ago by rust – and climb up on top as if she owned the thing. Lounging with a piece of straw dangling lazily out of the corner of her mouth, she reclined in the seat of the old tractor, propping up both back hooves on the iron steering wheel; front hooves clasped behind her head. she looked resplendent – her body all stretched out like a giant cat wanting its belly rubbed – as a quickly fading beam of sunlight shown on her through the cob webbed window like a spotlight. "I prefer anything by Bach,” she said, voice husky. I snapped my mouth shut, shuddering against my will. I was completely and utterly mesmerized by her. I didn't like it, not one single bit. Okay, maybe I liked it. But just a little. And yes, I desperately wanted to play my violin. But not because she wanted me to. Sensing my stubbornness, she folded her front hooves over her chest impatiently, making the tight leather sleeves moan with resistance as they stretched. The form fitting jacket did little to hide her well-toned physique. “Well?” she urged. I eyed her suspiciously. "First, tell me why you're really here?" "I'm here to train you." "Train me?" I scoffed at the idea. "For what, exactly? I'm already housebroken." She shook her head. "No more questions. Play a song for me." Oh, she was going to hear a song alright, but it was most definitely not going to be Bach. Without taking my eyes off her, I picked up my violin and begrudgingly walked to the center of the barn. Although I didn't usually listen to country music, lately, my new favorite song to play was The Devil Whirls Through the Sky. I took a deep, calming breath and launched into sawing my favorite rock rendition. If possible, my lightning fast, metal re-mix was even scrappier than the original. When finished, I beamed proudly. This time, I didn't even drop my bow. It was Alea's turn to stare – smile gone as if it'd been wiped away. She looked at me and the anger...no, more like the hurt in her eyes was paralyzing. Could she really like classical music so much that she was closed off to other kinds? “What?” I said, feigning innocence. “I was just trying to keep things festive.” Alea gave me a long, hard look before hopping down from the tractor. She landed with a creaky thud that shook the wooden planks under my hooves. A cloud of billowy dust rose around her, hiding her legs like a smoke machine. With deliberate slowness, she reached up and pulled the wet tipped piece of straw from between pursed lips, flicking it with a flourish to the ground. When she finally spoke, her voice was low and forceful. “The Devil...” she spat, as if the mere sound of the word forming on her lips made her want to gargle, “is sharpening her tail while she waits for you. And I can promise you this, Scootaloo, she is nothing to joke about.” “I didn't mean...” I began, voice trailing off as I stumbled over my words. “I mean, I wasn't trying to be funny.” I would've sounded more convincing if my voice hadn't started to tremble. Who did this mare think she was? Supposedly, she'd come here to give me answers, but all she was doing was giving me grief. And it was really starting to piss me off. Recovering quickly, I glared back. “What are you, the angel patrol?” At first, Alea seemed shocked, then she stepped forward to consider me more closely. “You are very perceptive, my dear.” Just like that, her smile returned. “How did you know?” I lifted my brows. “Know what? That you're a bowl full of crazy?” She shook her head. “No. That I'm an angel.”