Art by Cedar Sposato

The second book written in honor of miracles that have happened and are still happening is Sacred Guardian.

Joe Littlehawk is in trouble. Big Trouble.
        First problem is, well, he's dead. Over thirty years ago while out on patrol in Khe Sanh, he saved his men from a land mine.  But the stinking mine killed him. Joe expected at the very least the chance to approach the Pearly Gates, after all, he was a hero, right? No such luck. Right after his death, an arrogant angel named Ramael met Joe and offered the dead marine a job: Joe could be a "Sacred Guardian," a ghost who helps the living, or Joe could hang out in purgatory while he waited to be reborn.  Even though Ramael embodied all the qualities of a truly bad commanding officer - irritating, refusing to give key information, and basically dumping Joe "into the field" with little training - Joe accepted the job. Hey, it was something to do and that was much better than purgatory.
        The second problem is that it really bothers Joe that he can't do more for the people he looks after. It often leaves him gnashing his astral teeth when he sees what a mess people make of their lives, and he can't do more than whisper in their ears or dump opportunities in their paths. When he became a Sacred Guardian he was given three rules, only three rules: never interfere, never let them see you, and never, ever touch. For the most part, he likes what he does. He thinks he could do this forever. Until he meets Alena.
        Alena Morgan is dying. All her life was a big fat mistake. Her parents died years ago, casualties of cocaine and heroin. Nothing Alena ever did, none of the lame ass jobs she took, the lists she made, the rehab orders she signed, could save them.
 The love of her life, her husband David Morgan, died in a car accident. His insurance didn't even begin to pay off their debts, and Alena was left in grief and poverty, with a one-year-old son and a neck injury from the accident. The injury causes continual migraines, and only powerful medication allows her to function.
 Now, two years later, she is down to her last dollar. The rent is way overdue. Nothing but ice cubes in the refrigerator. Two packages of macaroni and cheese in the cupboard.  She couldn't find a job. Well, she could take charity from her friend Deb. Deb adores Alena's son Michael, and would love to have him as her own. Deb is great; maybe they could live with her.
        But how long would it be before Michael turns away from Alena? She can no longer feed or clothe him. She has no other family. Her public assistance just ran out. The pain that rules Alena's life would rule her son's life as well.  Without money to pay for the operation she needs, for the medications she needs, Alena is no good to anyone at all. No one wants to hire a woman who is in pain all of the time. The pain is growing worse and the medication to control it is all gone. Alena is out of options. Everything she ever touched turned bad. Screw it. Her son is better off without her. She leaves him with Deb to stay overnight, and goes back to her apartment. There she chugs a bottle of vodka, a gift from a party long ago, swallows a handful of Nembutal she had hoarded, pins her note up on the wall, and lays down to die.
        Joe can't let her die. She is his most recent assignment, his to help. He watched her suffer, saw her put one foot in front of the other, stand up straight and give her icy, don't-mess-with-me smile when others would have buckled under and collapsed. But the whispers he murmured into her ear just seemed to irritate her. She tripped over all the opportunities he cast her way. If he had mortal teeth, they would be ground down to the gums by now. When he sees the slight shine of tears in her eyes as her little boy runs to her friend Deb, he is startled. He'd never seen her cry before. He has to look away. Just for a moment, he can feel her anguish.  Her breaking heart pushes an ache all the way through his ethereal form
    

Art by Cedar Sposato

When he looks back, the goddamn woman is downing a third of a bottle of Smirnoff and a fist full of white and yellow pills. Joe does not need to read the note pinned to the wall. This is serious. He has to do something. He does everything a Sacred Guardian is never supposed to do.
        Three rules. The angel had given Joe his orders.  All Joe had to do was to follow them. His service record as a Sacred Guardian was impeccable; he'd followed his orders faithfully. Until he was given the job to watch over Alena.