by Skyler Andra
Mike seized my shoulder and squeezed, his signal to ease up.
Fine. Time to let the rat speak. I lessened the pressure on his windpipe, and he sucked in ragged breaths.
“Fuck you,” he spat, rubbing at the bruise burgeoning on his neck. “Dirty angel.”
“Well, if you want to play nice…” I held out my spare arm, my spear materializing in it. “Let’s pry away that darkness and see what you have to say then, huh?”
He slammed his eyes shut. “Please, no,” he stuttered. “Don’t kill me.”
Oh, I was going to do something even better.
I pulled back my spear. With all my strength, I slammed it through his chest. Black mist hissed as it released from him. I let my weapon dissolve back into the light from where it came.
The rat’s posture relaxed, and he leaned against the wall. His eyes opened and blinked several times. “Where the hell am I?”
Mike jerked at my shoulder. Another signal to let him take it from here. Fine. I was done with this guy anyway. He stank of ass and stale beer.
“This your apartment?” Mike asked the rat.
The guy glanced over his shoulder and narrowed his eyes. “No,” he replied, his voice unsure. “Never seen it in my life.”
“Can I call someone for you?” Mike asked, doing his little bonding thing to build trust. “Get them to come and pick you up?”
“Uh…” The man ran a hand through his hair. “My wife.”
I stepped deeper into the apartment, leaving the conversation to sniff around. Music blared, drowning out the conversation between Mike and the rat. I yanked out the power cord to the speakers, cutting the drone.
My foot kicked something, and I glanced down. An empty beer can. God, this place was a pigsty. Empty pizza boxes and other takeaway wrappers littered the floor and couch. Ash smeared the carpet. Smoke curled up from a still burning cigarette in an ashtray on a side table by the sagging recliner chair. I put it out, hating the smell of the disgusting things.
Flannelette curtains pulled tight blocked the pathetic view of the street outside. On my way past the window, I pulled them away from the glass, scanning outside. Nothing. All clear.
Four unopened beers were being used as paperweights to hold down the corners of maps on the kitchen table. I glanced down at one, twisting my head as I tried to understand the schematics. It showed a stage up front, speakers along the front, security railing, mosh pit, and seats at the back.
“What the hell?” I placed my palms on either side of the map and leaned over it.
“Rock of the West Concert” was printed across the top, along with a Sterling City Council stamp displayed in the right-hand corner.
What was a dick like this doing with these plans?
To the left of the map sat a box containing a stack of pamphlets. I grabbed one and examined it. Names of bands I’d never heard of were listed to play for a concert scheduled five days from now at the Sterling City Stadium. Images of camels, palm trees, devil horns, guitars, beers, and rats all formed a sunset.
But that wasn’t what stood out to me.
I squinted harder at the caduceus in the bottom right-hand corner. The staff with the ball at the top, angel wings sprouting from the side, and two snakes curling around it was a symbol used to represent modern medicine. It was also a representation of the staff of the Archangel Raphael. He used it to channel his grace to heal the rats.
I crunched the pamphlet in my hand.
What the hell did this concert have to do with Raff?
Fuck, Silas, you bloody genius. He’d led us to a huge clue.
I turned to look at Mike. He was still applying his friendly savior act, taking forever to pry answers out of the filthy rat. Losing my patience, I crossed the apartment back to them.
“Where’d you get that?” I blurted, and they both stared at me. “That bracelet.”
The man lifted his arm, adjusting the leather to examine it. “Don’t know.” With shaky hands, the rat removed Raff’s bracelet, holding it out to me. “Here, it’s yours.”
Fucking oath, it was. I snatched it and stuffed it in my pocket.
I kept going with my interrogation. “Where’d you get all the plans for the concert?”
Mike’s eyes glinted with interest. I pressed the pamphlet against his chest. He took it and unraveled it.
“I’m a promoter,” the rat said. I didn’t care if I’d cleared his darkness; he’d always be a filthy rat to me.
I stepped closer. “Promoter my ass. You’ve got Council stamped plans.”
The rat leaned away. “I’m project managing the event.”
Project Manager. Did he think I was dumb? People in those jobs were paid big bucks. They didn’t live in shithole apartment buildings. They didn’t wear armless flannel shirts. They didn’t have tacky gold teeth.
“I’m the guy that hires materials,” he added. “I get sets built, more seats on the ground, and sell tickets. So yeah, I’m promoting it. For a nice fat bonus.”
“If you’re organizing the event, what the fuck are you doing at home?” I growled, not believing a fucking word that dropped from his mouth.
The rat gulped.
Mike glanced at me. “Who’s organizing the concert?”
“Some guy from out of town.”
“Have you met him?”
“No.”
“Who’s paying you to promote?”
“The touring company.”
God, we were going around in circles here. None of this answered any questions about Raff, his bracelet, or the symbol on the pamphlet.
“What do you know about the caduceus?” I asked.
“The what?” The rat’s forehead wrinkled.
“This.” Mike pointed at the symbol at the bottom of the pamphlet.
“No idea.”
“Are you buying this bullshit?” I asked Mike and produced my spear again, slamming the butt on the ground. The rat flinched.
Mike grabbed my shoulder, jerking me back. “Thanks, man,” he told the rat and wiped his finger on his shoulder, leaving an invisible trace of grace we could use in case we needed to track him down in future. “We appreciate your time.”
“Can I go now?” The rat glanced between Mike and me.
“Sure.” Mike smiled, fast and tight.
The rat scurried out of the apartment, leaving all the plans behind.
Mike scooped them up into a pile, rolled them up, and tucked them under his arm. “Let’s get out of this shithole.”
“No objections here,” I replied.
We exited into the hallway, music thudding from further an apartment down, making the walls and doors vibrate.
On our way down the stairs, Mike said, “I have a good feeling about this.”
“Don’t get your hopes up about Raff,” I said. “This might mean nothing.”
I hated seeing him beat himself up over losing Raff, and I especially hated how he refused to admit to himself that he was one of the main reasons Raff left. Mike might think that the darkness consumed me, but he was one to talk. He was a righteous, proud bastard, and if he didn’t stop thinking with his fucking ego, he was going to lead us all to our deaths.
13
Jophiel
The smell of the roast lamb and vegetables hit me as Uri and I entered his apartment. My mouth watered and my stomach burbled. But I felt guilty having the luxury of a roof over my head to protect from the elements and a delicious meal when the homeless had so little.
“Food’s ready.” Uri offered my shoulder a warm pat as he brushed past to enter the kitchen.
“I don’t think I can eat after what I saw today,” I replied, holding my hollow stomach.
“It’s their choice to be homeless, Jophiel,” Uri said with a grim smile that seemed to echo my thoughts.
My chest jerked as if agreeing with him. Yes. Sadly, it was. They had free will and it wasn’t up to us to change that despite how much my grace wanted to care for them, protect them, make everythi
ng beautiful and new for them again.
It didn’t seem fair that the Most High had charged angels to save the humans from the darkness, but not provide in other ways since Luc had free reign to steal everything they held beautiful. Where was the justice in that?
Uri switched off the heat on the oven. Curious, I watched him work—the ease and beauty of it. Tension fell from his face as he put on a pair of thick gloves, opened the door, and pulled out the crackling meat tray before setting it on the stove. He smiled as if pleased with his effort. Then he closed his eyes when he inhaled the scents of his creation. It brought a little joy back to my heart that had been chilled by the despair and hopelessness of the homeless people beneath the bridge.
Mouthwatering scents of rosemary and garlic drove my senses wild, making it incredibly hard to resist not digging into the meal without waiting for Mike and Zak.
“Right, mini-chef,” Uri said to me, taking out the vegetable tray and settling it beside the meat. “We’ll let the meat sit for a bit so it stays juicy.”
To the trays, he added long, thin sheets of silver over the top. “This will keep it warm for when Mike and Zak get home.”
“Great idea.” I warmed my hands over the heat rising off the vegetables, and it chased away the cold that had settled under my breastplate.
“Want a coffee?” Uri asked as he poured water in the coffee pot.
“Please.” I grabbed two mugs out of the overhead cupboard.
“Minus the whole bag.” Uri set the pot on the stand to heat for few minutes.
I laughed. “How long will you punish me for that?”
“Forever.”
I groaned.
The scent of coffee filled the kitchen. When it finished brewing, Uri poured a mug and handed it to me.
“Thanks.” I cupped the steaming drink, waiting for it to cool. Black words curled around the sides of the mug. I read the inscription on my mug out loud.
“I might have wings but I’m no angel.”
Holding my mug, I flirted with my eyes and mouth. My lips tingled with the curiosity of tasting his kiss.
“Admit it.” He nudged me with his elbow. “There’s a bad girl beneath that layer of angel.”
A faint stirring of guilt churned in my gut at his reference to my theft.
“Lost your halo, huh?” I moved to the sofa, sitting down, wanting to forget it.
“A long time ago.” He grinned as he sat beside me, but I detected the pain behind his eyes.
“Want to talk about it?” I put a hand on his knee.
“I don’t want you to look at me differently.” He stared straight ahead, both hands squeezing his mug.
I could have read it in his grace, like I had with Zak’s, but something stopped me this time. In Heaven there was no need to hide anything when everything we did could be read in our energy. On this earthly plane I got the sense that prying wasn’t welcomed.
“I won’t.” I placed the bottom of the mug in my palm, relishing the warmth soaking into me.
He hung his head, leaning his elbows on his knees while still clutching his coffee mug, which I feared might spill the liquid if he wasn’t careful.
“I need something heavier for a chat like this.” He got up, setting his cup on the table in the kitchen, then grabbed a beer from the fridge. “Want one?”
“I’m good with this.” I lifted my mug and smiled, trying to ease his mind.
He planted himself beside me once more—so close the warmth from his body was a welcome gift after my earlier guilt. We sat in silence for a few moments, him guzzling down his beer and me sipping my coffee, the buzz of the caffeine hitting me instantly.
I rubbed the back of my neck. His reliance on alcohol troubled me.
“I’m not all sunshine and rainbows like you think.” He stroked the edge of his bottle. “A darkness resides in me too.”
By all accounts, he didn’t possess anywhere near the amount of shadow that Zak did. But it seemed to plague every angel in different ways. Who was I to judge that when I had my own? Mind you, mine, an infection from the hand of Lucifer himself, was not a result of my long and arduous time on Earth like Uri’s. But it still haunted me. I fear how it might change me. Make me lose my ability to see the beauty in everything.
Uri tipped the can of beer at an angle. “You’ve probably already guessed that drinking is my vice. I do it to drown my memories. Of home. Of this shitty mission. Of what I did.”
A great wave of pain rose in his grace, one I detected was about to crash down, smashing him all over again.
I ran the back of my hand along his jaw and he closed his eyes, sighing with enjoyment. “What did you do?”
“I killed rats.” He grit his teeth, telling me how much it cost him to speak the words. “I’m not proud of it. Their faces haunt me every night.”
My hand fell to his knee and gripped it. “Why?”
“They surprised me,” he explained, running a hand through his hair. “I was new to Earth, like you. Maybe a month or so. Hadn’t accustomed to the energies yet. Didn’t detect them. A group of them followed me into the restroom, jumped me, slashed me with knives.”
“It’s okay.” I set aside my mug on the coffee table and swiveled to face him.
He shook his head. “It’s not.”
He moved away as if he feared he might contaminate me with his darkness by being next to me.
“I responded in self-defense when one stabbed me in the side.” Shaking, he sunk his beer in one long swallow. “Smashed his head against the sink. An instinctual move to protect myself.”
The alcohol was nothing more than a tool to mask his pain. Each angel expressed theirs differently. Zak conveyed his with barbed words and holding people at arm’s length. But the fact the sunny Uri possessed an innate violence frightened me and I picked at the lose thread of my dress, unsure what to say to ease his pain.
“All the blood,” he whispered, his eyes glazing over with sorrow. “I should have used my grace. But he surprised me.”
Seventh Heaven. I couldn’t imagine the horror and shock of it. My fingers twitched with the urge to touch him, brush the hair from his eyes, and whisper to him that it would be all right. But I knew that if I made that move, he’d push me away again. His grace told me of his disgust, his deep shame and self-loathing. He didn’t want to taint me with that horror. All I had to comfort him was a story of my own.
“I hurt a demon too,” I admitted, twisting my hand palm side up and examining it, remembering striking the demon in the face with it. “Burned the darkness out of her.”
“That was helping her,” he disputed. “Not ending her life.”
Murder was still a foreign concept to me like most things in this strange world. I detested the idea of it. But I remembered my first encounter with rats where they had overwhelmed me too. It had frightened me, scarred me, left me feeling so hopeless. I hadn’t felt the need to kill one however, even when Lucifer had shown up. I guess I’d never understand. I tucked my head, feeling useless after my pitiful attempt at providing encouraging words. A week as a human had not given me enough experience to console him. I could only try and support him now as I had for Zak.
“I ran,” he confessed. “Left them to die. Michael said it was for the greater good. I prevented those rats from infecting others with their darkness.”
I considered the logic but didn’t understand it either. But I trusted Mike’s judgment as the leader. He’d been gentle, patient, and kind with me and I had no doubt that some souls had to be lost in this war to save the majority trapped by the darkness.
“Anyway,” Uri, dismissed, putting his empty bottle beside my mug. “That’s enough about that.”
I didn’t want to leave the conversation like that. More pain dwelled in his grace, seeking release, forgiveness, and clearing.
“I forgive you,” I said the only words that formed on my tongue. Words I hoped absolved him of his guilt.
He nodded, staring at the floor. Then he
looked up, the pain dissolving into a grinning mask. From his jacket pocket he removed his cell phone. “Let’s take a look at this Angel’s Blood song—research it a bit more so we’ve got something to report to Mike.”
He activated the screen and typed in: Angel’s Blood Sweeping Curse. Little black rectangles with faces in them popped on the screen. Uri clicked on one and twisted the screen so I could see it.
Black occupied the screen. Enochian runes flashed on the screen in scratched white followed by a statue. Blood poured from the eyes of the angel. I gasped at the blasphemy of it.
Scratchy, jerky music commenced in a mash of guitars, drums, keyboard. It was a mix of horrid noises that wreaked havoc on my grace. Like cats screeching and fighting in an alley. It stirred feelings of disarray and warring within me, prompting me to take up arms and turn them on myself.
“Sweeping curse plagues this land!” a man with a long beard sang in a horrid, raspy voice that sounded like he had been brought back from the dead. How anyone considered this music amazed me.
Coal lined his eyes. A leather vest decorated his chest. His fingers, nails painted black, gripped a device a few feet long with a cone shaped head. Rings lined one of his earlobes, while more piercings marked his nose, lip and eyebrow. Tattoos of upside-down crosses, demonic faces, and dragons covered his arms.
He continued his song, thrashing his head. “Shrouds us in darkness, every man!”
I clutched my chest, my darkness clawing at my grace, urging to be set free. To dance and writhe with this demonic music. I turned my head away, unable to gaze upon the screen. With each note struck, my fingers dug into the sofa’s cushions. I trembled, attempting to shut out the noise until the burning sting, the scratching, the snarling inside my chest intensified.
“Oh god!” I shouted.
The singer roared at the screen. “I am the Master! You my slaves! Accept my darkness! Your heart it craves!”
Needles jabbed at my chest and I scratched at it to free myself. My insides churned as if Lucifer was twisting them with his own hands, causing me to gag.
Uri’s body tightened beside me and he hunched over as if he felt ill. Then he dropped his phone, leaned all the way back, his body pressing into the cushions. Dark circles sprouted beneath his eyes. Red lines crawled along the whites of his eyes. His skin turned an ashen gray, his lips a deathly blue.
