Angel Land

By P.S. Scott

Thirteen-year-old Gabriel Perez dreams of becoming the Ruling Archangel of Celestia. The catch? He doesn't have wings. Polishing wings while fantasizing about getting into one of the eight prestigious guilds, Gabriel's aspirations seem out of reach. Until he bumps into a wanted criminal…and almost dies.

The criminal turns out to be Malpas, a dark angel linked to the mysterious disappearances in Seraphim City. After Gabriel escapes his clutches alive, he is sent to live at the best guild— The Holy Guild— where he gets a shot at his dream. Exciting adventures with friends ensue. Gabriel becomes more powerful and everything he aspired for seems within reach. But…

A conspiracy is afoot under the buzzing streets of Seraphim City. Malpas is looking for Gabriel and his disability threatens to get him kicked out of the guild. As secrets surface, Gabriel must overcome his doubts and fight the evil taking over the city. Filled with heart-pounding action, thrilling twists and mystery, Angel Land is a story about the power of dreams that is sure to enthrall middle-grade readers and younger teens.

• Language: English
• Publisher: psscottauthor
• Release date: Jun 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9781091323186

P.S. Scott

P.S. Scott first started writing at seven and hasn’t looked back. An unabashed optimist, anime lover and true believer in the power of chocolate, P.S. now writes books that transport her to faraway lands of imagination and magic and shares them with other dreamers.

Book preview

1

Being an angel without wings is a tough business.

For one thing, you can’t fly anywhere, so you have to depend on the Seraphim City Mass Transit (SCMT), which is always late.

The next train will arrive at 1:30 p.m. a pre-recorded voice announces, which doesn’t fill me with much hope, because the last time it arrived at 1:30 p.m. was well…never.

I twiddle my thumbs, looking up at the sky shielding Station No. 6 of the Central Line. When I’m the Ruling Archangel of our country, Celestia, I’ll never have to take the SCMT. 

My name is Gabriel Perez, I’m thirteen years old, and my dream is to become the Ruling Archangel of Celestia! I shout to nobody, watching my reflection in the glass panels between civilian angels and the boarding platforms.

The silver-haired woman standing next to me stares at me, adjusts her spectacles, then turns left and right. Her wings are old and bruised, probably the reason she’s taking the mass transit instead of flying to her destination. Only the old, the sick, and those without wings, ever have to contend with flying trains. Sometimes regular angels choose to take it for traveling long distances. However, the reason I use the mass transit is none of the above. 

I fall into the 0.001% of angels who are born without wings.

The lady next to me shakes her head at my enthusiastic monologue, wondering if I have a few screws missing in my head. 

But no one can pop my bubble because the Guild Trainee Entrance Examination (GTEE) results come out today, and I hope to find out I have passed it. The flying train on the platform behind us whooshes into place, filling the entire station with light. Angels pile into the long, white carriage, hurrying to get in before the automatic doors close. The scent of sandwiches, soups, and pastries drifts from above the stairs, making my stomach growl. 

You, do you polish wings? a deep voice asks.

Yes, sir, I reply brightly, scouring my bag for a brush. Would you like a super shine?

Unfortunately, it is only now that I notice that this man is an Angel Patrol officer, and I’m facing him armed with a toothy smile, wing polish in one hand, and a brush in the other—the worst possible combination.

No soliciting, boy. Do you hear me? Dressed in signature red and gold robes and wearing a menacing expression, he lifts me up using one finger, and I’m helpless to resist.

Y-yes, s-sir. My voice comes out in a panicked stutter.

"Train arriving. Stay clear of the golden lines," a recorded voice announces—honey to my ears. The policeman drops me and crosses his arms over his chest, giving me a threatening look. I hurriedly follow the other passengers into the train and close my eyes, praying for the door to close.

The Angel Patrol officer points at me. If I ever see you again…

You won’t! The glass door closes. The train climbs up into the air and the patrol officer becomes more and more distant until he’s only a dot on the ground. 

Angels displaying their beautiful white wings are flying all around the train. Feathers are falling and floating gently in the blue summer sky, making my heart thrum with a sense of joy that I always feel when I’m in the air. If I had wings, I’d never set foot on the ground.

Next stop, District 74, the pre-recorded voice announces. I sink down on an empty, silver-cushioned seat as soon as someone stands up. Outside the window, the blue sky stretches forever, filled with tiny specks of white angels flying to their destinations. I press my nose against the glass and try to follow the thousands of angels until I go cross-eyed. The train comes to a stop at a traffic light and more angels dart past. My destination, the Holy Guild, is ten stops away in District 32, Central Quarter.

That’s Ruling Archangel Michael, the woman behind me whispers. On the TV screen I see Michael Hunter, wearing a white robe and a golden R pin. He has bright blue eyes, a powerful build, and pale gold hair. Isn’t he so cute?

He’s not cute. I get to my feet. He’s amazing! He’s the most powerful Ruling Archangel ever. And the smartest. And the kindest. Not to mention he’s been elected twice already. His Divine Blast special ability is out of this world…

Two ladies narrow their eyes. Are you a fan or what? one of them, a pink-haired, gap-toothed angel called Piper remarks, bubbling with suppressed laughter. One of her wings is bandaged, which must be why she’s taking the mass transit.

His biggest fan, I announce proudly, with a grin bigger than my face. I’ve seen his final match at last year’s tournament a hundred times.

You must have a lot of free time, she remarks, pointing a finger at me. Hey, you don’t have wings.

Uh…yeah…I was born without wings. It’s a rare condition. 

I turn my face to the TV where RA Michael just said, The government, in partnership with all eight guilds, has formed a special investigation unit to look into the attacks.

What attacks? I ask, trying to detract her from the uncomfortable topic of my wings, or rather the lack of them.

You don’t know about angels disappearing from the Northern Quarter? the green-haired angel named Glenda asks.

The screen flickers, then pictures of missing angels are shown. Some faces are blurred. The scene changes to a picture of District 21. It’s filled with graffiti, old metal bridges dripping water onto the brick walls, and people. The Fire Guild’s orange tapes over the area of the disappearance, blocking access. 

That’s District 21, I say, looking at sketchy streets lined with deserted shops and run-down houses. I used to polish wings there on weekends. What happened? 

Twenty angels have disappeared from District 21 this past month, Glenda says. 

That district is notorious for illegal activity, Piper adds. I suggest you stay away from it. 

So, where are you headed, wing-shine boy? she asks, pointing to the brushes sticking out of my cross-body bag.

The Guilds.

Hey, aren’t the GTEE results coming out today? Glenda asks.

Yes, I reply, with my fingers crossed. I hope I make it this year.

Wow, you applied for guild training? Piper leans in. "That’s tough. I heard entrance is pretty competitive. Didn’t The Daily Messenger say acceptance rate was only five percent? She looks to Piper, who nods vigorously in agreement. Is this your first try?"

Yes.

She laughs. I hope the odds are in your favor then.

Thanks.

Once you get into a guild, your life’s set, Piper goes on, leaning back. It’s a lot of work…

Four years of training and one year of apprenticeship, Glenda adds. But who can complain? Guild members control the top ranks of every profession in Celestia. Getting into a guild is pretty much the passport to success.

I nod.

Next stop, the Guilds, the pre-recorded voice announces.

Gotta go, I say, swinging myself to my feet, clutching a pole.

Good luck! Glenda smiles.

The train descends to the ground, blue fading too gray. The platform filled with angels wearing colorful clothes comes into view. I park myself at the glass door, eager for it to open.  

Thank you for using Seraphim City Mass Transit. Have a good day, the pre-recorded message says as I dash out of the train station, stumbling onto the large road swarming with angels. It’s Central High Street filled with offices and guilds. Here’s where all the productive stuff in Seraphim City happens. Here’s where dreams come true. 

The gleaming pillars of the Fire Guild rise in the distance, coating treetops in glistening gold reflections. It’s colored a vibrant orange today, with a red wing flag imprinted with a yellow F flying over its dome. The latest information on the disappearances scrolls on a digital screen along with the emergency number. The Fire Guild is the second most prestigious of the seven guilds, and its trainees have gone on to become police officers, lawmakers, and law enforcers. Here’s where they train for four years before going to face the world. 

I come here every day to polish wings, but today is different. Today, I can’t wait to find out if I made it. Young students pour out of the train station, all flying to one destination—the Holy Guild, where exam results are posted. I follow their trail, admiring the polished buildings as I pass by. 

Melodious songs drift out of the Venus Guild, which ranks fifth, despite not having produced one Ruling Archangel. The white marble pillars resemble a Greek temple…except for the large screen stuck on the front that broadcasts TV shows and movies in which Venus Guild graduates have starred. It receives the fifth-place ranking mainly because its graduates make a lot of money but art has never been my thing. Grandma loves it, though. 

Coming to a stop before a crosswalk, I wait for the light to turn green. A squirt of perfume coming from the Messenger’s Guild’s Control Tower refreshes the air. The 500-story tall tower rises over the city, a long, needle-like antenna sticking from the top transmitting sound waves. There’s another smaller, silver one that infuses the air with regular squirts of perfume and disinfectants throughout the day. Any liquid vaporized through the smaller needle can spread over the entire city in just thirty minutes. Grandma and I have been inside the tower several times, though we never got farther than the hundredth floor. Visitors aren’t allowed to go over Level 400 but looking at the number of tourists dotted like ants on the tower, it’s no mystery that the Control Tower remains the most popular tourist destination in the city.

The light turns green, making my adrenaline rise a notch. I run over the crosswalk, and straight into the open gates of my destination–The Holy Guild. The sunlight is blinding as my heartbeat reaches a crescendo. An entire month of waiting is over. Today, I’ll know whether I made it to this guild or not. My day is here, at last.

It beckons to me; a large, white palace with golden gates. A wing-shaped flag with a golden H flies on the top arch of the main building—the Holy Guild’s official symbol. Students in white coats, pants, and skirts with golden buttons dot the school grounds, chatting with each other, looking forward to welcoming their junior trainees. 

This is where I want to be; where I belong.

There’s a nervous lump in my throat and it transforms into energy. Years of dreams buzz in my head, humming a cheerful song. Gathering my dusty duffel bag, I step inside the gate, walking past a stretch of manicured, green grass to approach the main building. Outside, several results machines are displayed, with long queues at each one. I approach the first machine in sight, butterflies dancing in my stomach.

The queue takes a while to clear, I impatiently tap my feet, waiting for my turn. The Destiny Guild’s tower shaped like a cross is visible across the Holy Guild’s fence. It’s made of glass and black concrete, in contrast to Holy Guild’s white surface. It’s ranked third among the guilds and has produced many teachers, spiritual guides, and two ruling archangels. 

At last, the boy before me leaves, disappointed. Through the corner of my eye, I see his test result which says he hasn’t made it. 

I could always be the first to make it, I think, stepping in front of the machine. 

"Please enter your ticket number," the electronic voice instructs. A text box comes up on the screen with a number pad. 

With my heart in my throat, I pull out my exam receipt and enter my ticket number on the touchscreen.

"One moment, please," the voice announces, as an hourglass fills the screen. I tap my foot impatiently, looking to my side in the next line at a blue-eyed angel with pale hair tied in a ponytail. Her clean, white wings are spread behind her, and she smells sweet like flowers. 

Ariel, did you enter your ticket number? I watch a tall lady dressed in a blue dress, fur, and pearls fuss at her side. Her long, red-polished nails adjust the girl’s collar, her red lips pressed in a tense frown. Ariel looks worried as she enters one number after another.

Yes, Mom, Ariel replies in an airy voice. We just need to wait.

Ariel’s screen refreshes and an announcement comes up on it. 

You made it, Ariel’s mother says, her thin lips curving into an approving smile. No hug, no kiss, no screaming, nothing. Your father will be happy to know we didn’t waste our money hiring a private tutor. Now, all you have to do is pass the Practical Exam.

Ariel prints out her results, unenthusiastic about the prospect of joining the guild. She crumples the paper and shoves it into her pocket, holding her mother’s hand. 

We mustn’t waste time, her mother chatters on. You scored low on your mock flight test. We need to improve your wing stamina before the Practicals. 

They drift away as the machine pings with the sound of a programmed bell. 

"Thank you for waiting. Your results are on the screen," it announces. My head snaps back, eyes boring into the screen that bears my fate in five words...

Sorry, you did not make it.

I stare at the screen, hoping the words will change. But when the girl beyond me says, Are you done yet?, I know they won’t. Hurriedly printing the outcome. I run away, winding my way back to the main gate of the Holy Guild. The weight of my test result is a boulder weighing down my body. The thought of telling grandma terrifies me.

Hey, aren’t you the wing-shine boy? A flying angel comes to a stop before me, descending to the ground. The stranger is a silver-haired, blue-eyed, angel wearing the Holy Guild’s uniform. His feathers are a little dull, but his lips are set in a frown. On his chest is a silver H pin, which means he’s in the second year of his training.

Um…. yes… 

He turns his back to me indicating he wants his wings polished. I consider telling him I’m not working today but pull out my brush and tools instead, laying a red bag on the ground. It is filled with greasy wing polishes, combs, and brushes. 

Do you want the wing shine or the super wing shine? My voice is shaky, but she doesn’t notice. 

Super wing shine.

That’ll be ten Celestia Dollars (CD), I reply, spreading some of the superior polish on my brush. Pasting a cheerful smile on, I try to focus on the task at hand. The wing shine begins with scrubbing his wings. His wing muscles twitch and I can feel their majestic strength under my fingers. He must’ve trained hard to get those strong muscles. Wow, you must’ve trained really hard, I say polishing the surface with a rough brush. The grays on the wings begin to face, revealing pearly whites. How nice it must be to have wings and be able to fly whenever you want.

The silver-haired angel turns around, narrowing his icy blue eyes. I didn’t pay you to talk.

Sorry. I finish scrubbing his wings, all the while wondering how I’m ever going to face grandma. 

Hey, Cael, up for a practice match? another student with fiery orange hair calls out. 

Anytime, he says, his eyeball sliding in my direction. Are you done?

Gimme a minute. I apply polish until his matte wing is all glossy. All done. 

He throws a ten-dollar bill at me so quickly that it flies away. His wings leave behind a gust that makes the note fly farther away. I run behind it until I see a foot clad in a black shoe stopped in front of my note. The note is stuck to what looks like a magnet. Holding the magnet is a dark-haired boy with a prominent nose. Spectacles sit on his nose, a test result sheet dangling from his hand. 

    Congratulations, you made it. 

You can keep them from rolling away using this. He holds up the magnet onto which my ten-dollar note is attached. Wait, it isn’t a magnet, it’s his pager device. 

Thanks, I detach my note from his pager and pocket it. I didn’t know pagers had that feature. 

They do, he says. Not a lot of people know about it, though. I’m Raziel, by the way. You can call me Raz. His voice is metallic in tone but has a warmth to it. 

I’m Gabriel, I say, shaking his hand in a rather formal gesture. The polish from my hand is transferred to his. I’m sorry.

Don’t worry about it, he wipes it off with a piece of tissue that also comes out of his pager. I’m sorry you didn’t make it, Raz says, reading my results sheet that’s fallen from my pocket to the ground. I swoop it back up and shove it into my pocket. 

Not this time, I say, grabbing the paper, but I’m sure I will next time.

Raz doesn’t react. Have you ever thought about getting clip-on wings? he asks instead. It might increase your chances of making it through the Practicals next time. Turning on his pager screen, he shows me a picture of a pair of white wings with straps attached. 

What are those? I ask, peering closer. 

Clip-on wings for people without wings, Raz says. My dad works in a scientific inventions company. Basically, they make new stuff for angels, and they came out with these just last week.

That’s so cool. I drool at the picture on the screen. 

Raz! A female voice calls out from the distance. I spot a young girl holding printed GTEE results waving. She has shoulder-length brown hair. Her charcoal eyes narrow at me.

I should go, Raz says. Good luck with your exam next time.

Thanks. I breathlessly watch Raz fly away, leaving me alone with my tests results and an uncertain future.

2

I walk back to the mass transit, watching the orange sunlight wilt to black. The moon has risen, and tiny stars fill the night sky.

"The next train will arrive at 8:30 p.m. Please stay clear of the golden lines." The familiar recording fills my ears. 

The hustle and bustle of the rush hour has faded, leaving behind a soporific lull. After the disappointing results, I spent all day at the Central District, polishing wings. Grandma called me twice on my pager but I told her I was busy. I can’t bring myself to face her.

I stand on the platform, nestled among a few strangers. The hundreds of people have dwindled to dozens, checking their watches anxiously. A cacophonous alarm interrupts the lull, followed by a ringing voice. 

"Warning: Citizens are advised to avoid venturing into dark areas after 9:00 p.m. Multiple disappearances have been reported in Districts 18-21 of the Northern Quarter, and these areas are under surveillance. To report any unusual activity, call 611. You may also press the emergency button on your pagers to alert the nearest Fire Guild officer. Thank you for your cooperation."

The end of the message is followed by another alarm. Murmurs erupt soon after the announcement ends.

Did you hear that? an officegoer wearing a government badge says. Another angel disappeared in the Northern Quarter. He was only twenty. Poor thing. His wings are bruised; a large white bandage covers his left wing. 

Man, that’s awful. What’s the Fire Guild doing? his colleague with serrated wing edges replies. He’s undergone surgery too, from the looks of it.

They formed a Special Investigation Committee, but they don’t have much to work with, the red-haired angel says. The people who disappear never come back. They’re gone without a trace.

They’ve got no witnesses?

The red-haired man leans in, whispering, Nobody lives to tell the tale.

That’s creepy, He pauses. Do you think it’s an inside job? Isn’t that why the Special Investigation Committee got involved?

Who knows? the first guy shrugs. The smell of food makes my stomach growl. The guy notices, smiling up at me. Why don’t we go grab a bite? He asks his friend. It’s going to be a while before the train arrives. 

They leave the platform, making me realize how empty it is. 

Hands shoved into my pocket, I look up at the advertising screen that displays a video of clip-on wings, a new product developed by Angel Innovates Inc. It’s the clip-on wings Raz told me about. 

Were you born without wings?

Here’s a product that can change your life. 

A wingless angel like me demonstrates wearing the wings in the official product video. The clip-on wings can be put on much like a jacket with straps. The angel pulls them over her shoulders like a bag back, smiling at the audience. There are two buttons on her left and one on her right. 

Use this button to activate your wings. She presses the red button on the right and the wings light up. I take a step forward, almost falling over the yellow line. 

Next, she presses a blue button on the left. Use this button to activate the When she presses a blue button on the left, her wings glow, picking up her body’s responses. This blue light means that your wings are ready to go.". 

A second later she’s flying, clear blue skies surrounding her. My eyes are glued to the screen, wanting