Where Angels Can’t Follow
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It all started with an inexplicable slab of marble.
And now I can’t get her out of my head. It’s more than inspiration. It’s compulsion.
I see her in my dreams. And I wake up covered in marble dust, her statue more complete in front of me.
I can’t stop sculpting, and I can’t save the angel girl.
Now iconoclasts, a quartet of archangels, and a voodoo queen—along with the plague of little old ladies running my life—are all far too interested in the outcome.
I miss normal New Orleans. (Yeah, I said it.)
But there’s no going back until I free her and get the literal heavenly host out of my life. And maybe there’s no going back then.
