He stood at the bottom of the steps and looked at the house. Then he looked to the left and right. Identical houses formed a terrace. In former times legitimate visitors would have climbed the steps to the front door, trade would have descended the steps into the area to knock at the cellar door. Nowadays, the terrace consisted of businesses, their presence announced by brass plaques on the walls: solicitors, architects, consultants and other occupations that produced nothing but cost clients a large chunk of their income.

This one was different though. The plaque was wooden. Painted in primary colours, it announced to the world this was Saint Francis Half-Way House, Peace and Good. There was no doubt; this was the place. But still he hesitated.

He should, by rights, stride into the building and announce his presence. Maybe he would have, if this wasn't his first assignment. But it was so presumptuous. Should he knock and await an invitation? What if they said no? What if no one was home? It was all well and good, telling him what he had to do, but no one had given him any hint as to how to it. There should be protocols, maybe some role play. But no, go do it was all they told him, never mind this was his first job.

No! He had a job to do. More than that, a mission, a calling, a vocation to fulfil! He strode up the steps with a confidence he was a lifetime away from. Knock, that's what he should do. Knock. He raised a fist, then noticed the bell. It invited him to ring for attention. Should he ring, or would a knock convey more gravitas? He hesitated.

A shadow behind the frosted glass resolved itself into a vaguely human form, and the door opened.

"Hello." She was in her mid-thirties, as far as he could tell. Modestly dressed and a smile that conveyed mild amusement, but kindness and strength. "Were you sent?"

She knew! She must be the one!

"Yes," he said, immediately aware of how weak that sounded.

"Thought so. Been watching you try and work up the courage for the last five minutes. Oh, don't worry. No one likes knocking on the door. Scary, isn't it? Not knowing what to expect? Don't worry. We don't bite, nor any of the other things they accuse us nuns of doing. We're here to help, and you don't have to sing any hymns, not unless you want to." She frowned. "Though they're meant to phone us first. Who sent you? Social Services?"

"Sandra Mary Dickinson?"

She clutched at her chest. "Oh my! It's been a fair few years since I've heard that name. And they shouldn't have told you. I'm amazed they even have it. No, I'm Sister Agnes now. Understand? You can call me Sister, or Agnes if you want. And you are?"

"Tavarius"

"Tavarius? That's an unusual name. Is that Italian?"

"Aramaic, I think."

"Yes? Well, that's appropriate. So, do you want to come in?" She opened the door wider and stepped aside. "Or shall we do it all in front of the neighbours?"

Tavarius stepped across the threshold. "Favoured lady -" he began.

"Tea?"

"Sorry?"

"Do you want a cup of tea? Or coffee? I won't, if you don't mind. I'm meant to, to put you at ease, but if I had a cup every time I talked to one of you, I'd explode."

"No, no tea." They looked at each other for a moment. "Thank you," he said, because it seemed appropriate.

"Okay. Let me know if you change your mind. We haven't got anywhere near enough money for what we need, but we have tea coming out of our ears. Paperwork?"

"Sorry?"

"Did they give you any paperwork? The Social? A D2240/73? No? Of course they didn't."

Tavarius froze. No one had said anything about paperwork. They should have said, if there was paperwork involved. He patted his clothes anyway, in case they had manifested the paperwork directly into his pockets.

"Sorry," he said.

"Never mind. I'll phone them. Did they tell you anything? A message?"

"A message!" Tavarius' heart leapt. At last, some solid ground. "Yes, a message."

"Well?"

"Favoured lady --"

"No, I told you. Sister Agnes, or just Agnes. We don't stand on ceremony here."

"Agnes?"

"Yes."

He stood upright and cleared his throat.

"Agnes," he said, with all the authority he could muster. It wasn't enough. He needed more. Then with a shock he realised he hadn't materialised fully. "Sorry. Wait, wait."

He closed his eyes and concentrated. It was so much easier back home. He shuddered and felt his shirt rip behind him.

"Agnes, he said, opening his eyes. She'd stepped to the side. He turned to face her. Something smashed behind him. He turned back and saw the remains of a statue that had been on the wall, lying shattered on the floor. Something moved on the other side of the hall. He turned back, to see Sister Agnes snap her arm out and catch a clock before it could hit the floor.

"Wings!" she gasped.

"What?"

"The wings!" She pointed behind him. "Lose the wings."

Sorry?" He turned to see what she was pointing at. A paper calendar from a Chinese restaurant fluttered to the ground.

"Put the wings away," she cried. "While we still have anything standing. Put them away!"

"Oh, right." He closed his eyes again and concentrated. Now they were out, putting them away again seemed so much harder. "Sorry," he muttered, trying hard to return them. "Sorry, sorry." Behind him the wings disappeared as his ears popped. He opened his eyes and surveyed the damage. "Sorry." He held his hand out to the statue on the floor. A plaque on the base proclaimed it to be Saint Francis, but the likeness to the actual man was poor. He tried, but the power refused to flow. He wasn't good under stress, he knew. He shrugged. "Sorry. I can't heal it."

"Never mind that. Sod the statue. Oh! Forgive me. It's just, well, it's a shock. Let's just make a rule, shall we? No wings in the house?"

"No wings", agreed Tavarius. He felt that somehow he was losing the initiative. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He rallied.

"Honoured lady. Agnes." He gave her a smile. He hoped it was beneficent. He'd practiced it often enough in the mirror, but he had a suspicion it just looked gormless. "I am Tavarius, a messenger from Him above, voice of the heavens, spokesman for -- "

Agnes held up her hand and Tavarius faltered to a halt.

"It's okay," she said, smiling gently. She nodded at the space a couple of inches above his head. "You had me at the halo."