I remembered the dream in those final seconds before the bullets tore through my chest.

I had a dream that I saw an Angel of God.

Her hair was like fire and light, her eyes were like the ocean, and her skin was like the wind on a gentle summer day. Her wings were made of feathers that showed silver and white, and as I watched she took on human form. In that way of dreams I understood everything, the motives and reasoning of the Angel, God's plan, everything.

The Angel wanted to know why humans sinned so much, so she took on human form without God's permission. A grievous crime in Heaven, for one so pure to take on the form of such a sinful creature. When the Angel tried to change back she found she could not.

She heard the voice of God next. And she sobbed as the verdict was delivered.

For taking on a sinful form she would have to go to Earth and perform three miracles, to prove that she was pure enough to return to Heaven.

As I remembered this the bullets thundered in the air, speeding towards their terminus. ...

The girl was beautiful, and because I had had the dream I knew what she was: An Angel. Her eyes were blue, but just an echo of what they had once been, and her hair that had been made of liquid gold and fire, now it was merely blond. Her skin was soft, but now prone to bruises and cuts, soft enough to be marred by the world. It was with this body she would have to perform the miracles, not her celestial one.

She came to me as a friend, somehow knowing that I Knew. She told me her name was Angelique, gave it a French accent, and stood there shyly, not sure what do do. What miracles to perform. I was supposed to be her guide, I understood. Thats why I had been given the dream.

My lover saw Angelique and the look on his face was confused, distant. I introduced them, Dante to Angelique, Angelique to Dante, and I saw the sparks begin to fly. It scared me, Knowing she was an Angel, knowing we could both die in our quest for miracles.

When I led Angelique away, to show her something I had in mind as a Miracle, she turned back, looking for Dante. Even then, I knew. ...

I showed her a tree, more of a broken, twisted stump than anything else. It had once been the center of the park, an ancient oak, and people lay beneath it to get out of the sun. They read and made love, played with their children and told stories, I told her. This tree was important and now it was gone. Some plague had struck it years and years ago, eating it from inside, and a recent storm had simply blown it over.

The Angel nodded. I picked up an acorn and handed it to her, and for a second everything was black, and gold rippled in the air around the acorn. She whispered to it in a voice of power, and sang to it to make it live, told it the story of how it would grow strong and true.

I blinked and Angelique was kneeling on the ground, burying the seed in the earth at the foot of the stump. She smiled up at me, hands covered in dirt, and rose to her feet. I felt those same hands that had held the life of a plant and the dust of this earth touch my face, cupping it. She drew me into a kiss.

I felt like I was falling, being lifted up on wings, and I heard the music of the chorus of God.

Then Angelique was holding my hand and leading me back to my car. On the ride home she hung her head out the window, letting the wind play with her hair and laughing. ...

I walked in on Angelique and Dante one day, and when she saw me her eyes were full of sorrow. She stepped away from him and his eyes were on her the whole time. Only when Angelique walked to my side did Dante see me. The look on his face was not repentant.

On the ride to our next miracle she spoke to me, telling me that they had only been talking. That Dante wanted to speak with her, find out where she'd moved from, various small things. I stopped listening halfway through, knowing what Angelique did not.

Dante had not laid a hand upon me since the Angel had arrived.

The next Miracle had to do with a fire, a child having gone back inside to rescue a favorite pet and receiving third degree burns all over her body. She had not found her pet and now lay in the hospital, ready to die. It was inevitable.

Angelique smiled sadly when I said this and nodded. She walked to the gutted house, where soot and ashes stained her white clothes, and knelt, whispering. I saw the ash stir up, saw it pour in from every corner of the house, and it was like locusts. I stopped breathing, terrified for Angelique.

In a second it was over and Angelique held a puppy in her arms, pie-bald and lively. It yipped and struggled, not wanting to be held, but not strong enough to resist. We got back in the car, the three of us and went to the hospital.

The girl was asleep when we entered, swathed in white sheets and bandages. I went to her side and gently called her name. It was a Miracle, so, of course, through all the drugs and pain she woke. I told her we had her puppy and the girl blindly opened her arms. Angelique handled the bundle of wiggling puppy to the girl, who clutched the animal like a talisman.

It was only seconds until the machine next the the bed began to siren, beeping and flickering wildly. The girl went limp and I felt Angelique's hand on my sleeve, pulling me back, and as the child died there was a burst of darkness from the bed. The scent of fire filled the room, dead fire, and I rubbed ash from my stinging eyes.

The puppy-construct had gone back to it's original form, filling the room with soot and charcoal.

We fled the hospital even as the doctors stood in the doorway of child's room, wondering where the ash had come from. Angelique told me the girl was happy now, reunited with her family in Heaven. Regardless of that comforting fact, tears fell from my eyes, washing the soot from my face.

I felt Angelique's fingers on my chin, and for a second I froze. She lifted the tears away and I turned to see her place those fingers in her mouth, tasting my sorrow. With the other hand she gestured to the road, and I looked back, seeing we were about to careen off the side. I wrestled with the wheel and righted the car.

When I looked back at Angelique she was still licking her fingers, eyes closed. ...

I found that I could find no more miracle to perform. Angelique didn't seem to mind, spending more and more time with Dante. These days neither of them jumped apart when I walked in on their chats, and very rarely did Dante acknowledge my presence. I was miserable.

Dante cornered me one day, eyes off in the distance as he delivered his speech. He loved me no longer, he said, and wished me well. He was gone just as soon as the words were out of his mouth and I felt something inside of me flutter its wings. It fluttered them once, then stilled.

Angelique did not come to devour my tears, this time. ...

Weeks dragged by, and I followed Angelique and Dante around as if there were some invisible chain binding all three of us together. They were never apart, and I was the third wheel that didn't really exist. Angelique acknowledged me, though Dante never did. They decided to go eat one day, and, as always I followed them, riding in the back seat of the car, but miles away to both of them.

I pulled the Angel aside when we arrived, wanting to talk with her about the Miracles. She listened earnestly, nodding, saying that she wanted to return to Heaven, but... She didn't have to finish the sentence; I understood what she wasn't saying. Dante stormed after us, grabbing onto Angelique's arm and giving me a dirty look.

He wanted to know why she hadn't gone in to eat with him, why she was out here talking to me. In the face of his anger I saw her eyes clear and her shoulders straighten, like she was learning something painful. Dante wanted to know why she spoke with me, what was it that I told her.

When she refused to answer he turned away, walking back to the car.

Angelique turned her blue, blue eyes on me and for a second I saw her as I had in my dream, might and power and a being of limitless beauty.

She asked if I was ready for her to perform her final miracle.

I heard the gunshots ring out, and Angelique's human body seemed to give, tearing, shredding as wings spilled out, blindingly brilliant. The celestial gown billowed in wind that didn't exist, and her hair was like fire, eyes like the ocean electrified. I fell to my knees, awed, and her wings surrounded me.

Outside of us the world had stopped, time falling still for a few seconds, the bullets rippling in the air outside the embrace of her wings. Dante stood next to his car, gun in hand and anger carved on his face in a snarl. He'd wanted me out of the picture, so he could have Angelique with no qualms.

I couldn't see it through her wings, but she told me, in a voice like a thousand chimes. She told me where the bullets hung in the air, and she offered me my Miracle.

She could stop all of this, re-write the world and Dante's heart. It would be as if she'd never come, she could make Dante love me again, she could take the bullets out of the very air. Angelique wanted to know if that was what I wanted, to have Dante love me again.

I think my tears surprised her, and she reached out for them, before pausing. Wanted to know what it was I wanted. Did I want Dante to love me again? She asked.

I told her no. I told her that if he did not love me of his own free will, than I wouldn't force his hand.

Angelique nodded, and her wings shifted, silver and white, and in a second she was gone.

The bullets tore through me, and I died.

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