by L. A. Banks
“Forcas,” Azrael said in a deep, angry boom. “Know that I will have your head before this war is over!”
“See, Celeste,” Forcas said, smiling. He pushed a long spill of silky blond hair over his shoulders as his gray eyes became pure black. “No more Mr. Nice Guy when you make him angry. The first thing he does is threaten to take my life. He will take yours as sure as we are standing here.”
“Liar!” Azrael shouted, rounding the desk.
“Ask him what his name means, sweetheart. Bet he didn’t tell you that.”
Celeste’s attention jerked between Azrael and the man in black leather with black eyes. A supernatural current seemed to flow between the men as a howling wind kicked up inside the library, scattering papers off the Information Desk and sending pens and paper clips airborne.
“His name means Angel of Death, and he has hunted his own kind for millennia! He is no respecter of free will amongst his own brothers, but is a blind soldier doing Michael’s bidding! So why would he allow the free will of humans, girl? Be smart and choose to run away from him as fast as you can!” the one Azrael had called Forcas said.
“I do the bidding of Archangel Michael because he has not fallen! Archangel Michael of the Light, like Archangel Gabriel, and Archangel Raphael, and like all the others at the highest echelons, is still linked to the Source of All That Is, just as he will always be! As I will always be! Humans have free choice, it is law! Angels have one choice—the Light—or they cannot be allowed to use their power against humans! Do not attempt to twist her mind with your deceit—half demon! You have obviously learned too well from your new Dark Lord, Satan. Your choice to follow the darkness of evil instead of the Light is what plummeted you into the fall from Grace.”
Forcas smirked. “Why not join us? Our leader, Lucifer, which means ‘Light-bearer,’ if you want to get technical, is much more understanding than the first master I had, so I traded down, shall we say. It was less stressful.”
Suddenly Azrael let out a furious war cry, stretched out his hands, and the thick wrought-iron grate that protected the front of the library from intruders tore off the wide front doors. Each sharp rod of the ornate iron grate ripped apart, forming into huge spears that crashed through the outer glass doors as Azrael pointed toward the being named Forcas.
Iron whizzed over Celeste’s head. She could feel the hot breeze they left in their wake. Instantly Forcas sent glass cases, tables, and marble slabs from the wide staircase hurling toward Azrael to deflect the iron bars and then disappeared.
Sirens were near. Celeste was crouched down beneath the Information Desk panting. Two strong hands that were so hot they nearly burned pulled her gently out.
“I’m sorry you had to see that, but we have now attracted unwanted attention. We must collect our bags from the back table by the door and leave this place at once.” Azrael shook her gently when she only stared at him. “We must get to your aunt’s home before the demons do—do you understand?”
Numb, Celeste clasped the two bags of food that Azrael thrust into her hands and allowed him to tug on her arm to hurry her out the door and down the back street. He’d said it was important to bring a food offering to her aunt, but she was so freaked-out that she could barely think of her own name, let alone some damned groceries.
After a block of brisk walking, he closed his eyes, and suddenly a cab came around the corner and stopped.
“Hey, you people looking for a cab?”
“Yes,” Azrael said. “Thank you.”
“No problem,” the cabbie replied, as Azrael helped Celeste into the vehicle. “I was just about to go off shift and it seemed like all hell just broke loose on the Parkway. Cops were flying down the street like crazy, and you two kids don’t need to be out in all of that. So—where can I take you?”
Both men looked at Celeste. She hesitated, but then it suddenly dawned on her that this couldn’t have been a psychotic break with reality if the cabbie said he heard sirens. If this cabdriver actually saw physical evidence of a major disturbance on the Parkway, then that had to mean that she really was sitting next to some sort of supernatural being—because based on the shit she saw in the library lobby...
“Fifty-eighth and Baltimore,” Celeste said quickly, now staring at Azrael dead on.
“Okay, you got it,” the cabbie said, veering away from the curb.
During the entire ride to West Philadelphia, the cabdriver tuned into different radio bands trying to find out what happened, speculating about the nature of mankind and crime and delivering his take on life as he knew it. Azrael spoke pleasantly but remained noncommittal when he interjected. Celeste kept her focus out the window, too freaked-out to talk, let alone discuss anything mundane.
“You all have a blessed night and be careful out here,” the cabbie said as he collected his fare and they exited his vehicle.
Azrael touched the roof of the cab and leaned down. “You also be blessed and may your fortune multiply and your health improve. Thank you for going out of your way to answer a prayer to give us a ride tonight.”
Celeste watched the roof of the cab glow blue-white and tightened her grip on her bags.
“Aw, it wasn’t nothing but the right thing to do,” the cabbie said with a wide smile. “You two seem like good people, and after all, ain’t we supposed to help each other? If everybody did that, we wouldn’t have the crap going on in the world that we do now.” The cabbie wiped his brow. “Y’all have a good one.”
Azrael shut the door and met Celeste on the curb.
“You did something to him, didn’t you?” She stared at Azrael and waited.
“The man had a lot of problems, most of them being financial and health-related. He didn’t have to answer my prayer for a fast deliverance from the site of danger, but a good soul in proximity picked up on it and did. His problems were easy to help repair. I just answered a few of the requests he’d sent out.”
“Before we go into my aunt’s home, I really need to know who and what you are . . . because the things I saw...” She backed away a bit. “The other dude’s eyes turned full black and he lifted off the floor. Was he a vampire or something really crazy? I know better than to invite death into my aunt’s house.”
“Do not say his name, as the vibration carries on the wind. But the other you saw is one of our fallen. He has gone dark, now more demon than angel. He rules the principality of invisibility for the legions of darkness—does the bidding for the demon world. At one time he used his gift to help humans remain unseen on the battlefield, to help hide the enslaved from bounty hunters or to protect the innocent from witch hunts and searches. At one time his ability to cloak people from danger would have helped keep Roman soldiers from seeing villages of people they might round up for their horrific gladiator games . . . or would have hidden men, women, and children from ethnic-cleansing roundups of the many holocausts this world has seen. We would have called on him to hide the innocent and little children from predators. But he no longer uses his abilities for good. He once warred on our side hiding the legions of the Light during battles. He and the others with him commingle and corule with all manner of demons—but I am not one of the fallen.”
Her heart was beating fast and her eyes were so wide they were drying out from not blinking. “He called you the Angel of Death.”
Azrael nodded. “For those angels of the Light that fall. Yes. Most assuredly I am that. But I have never been beset upon humans. That is not my charge, nor my mission.”
“Then why would they send an Angel of Death looking for me?” Her voice quavered as she asked the question, still trying to absorb what she’d seen and what she was hearing.
“Because I am one of the more feared champions from the first wars . . . and those that direct my mission must have known that to find you required sending in an able destroyer of the fallen. Now that I have seen one of the adversaries, I know this to be true.” His gaze was furtive as he studied her face. “Celeste, you must have faith in me
until I can further prove to you who I am, but it is not safe for you or your aunt that we tarry outside of an unblessed structure.”
He didn’t have to tell her twice. Somehow Azrael’s words again connected to that pit of knowing way down deep in her belly. She turned and headed north a half block to Ellsworth Avenue, then motioned with her chin. “Fourth house in.”
She said nothing as they trudged up the steps. Initially it had been her plan to get near her aunt’s home but not show him the address, give him the slip down the many narrow West Philly streets, then loop back and get in.
However, after what she’d just seen and heard, Celeste simply knocked on the door.
After several tries, an upstairs light came on, and then she could see through the steel-grated window of the security front door that her aunt was headed down the steps. Celeste clutched the supermarket bags she held while also holding her breath. It had to be close to four or five o’clock in the morning, and her aunt was gonna have a cow.
Multicolored head scarf on, pink robe securely wrapped around her robust frame, Aunt Niecey blinked behind her glasses with a frown and talked through the security door as she opened the inside door.
“Chile, have you lost your ever-livin’ mind showing up on my doorstep with some man you done dragged in off a street corner somewhere at this hour of creation? You best not be on them damned drugs, ’cuz I swear ’fo Jesus Hisself I will—”
“Ma’am . . . I helped her get away from someone who is on drugs and who was beating her,” Azrael said in a calm tone. “Your niece is clean of any drugs and she has even brought healthy food to your home. We apologize for the hour, but if you open the door, we can explain everything.”
Celeste just stared at Azrael as her aunt released a grunt of annoyance but turned the locks. She now understood why he’d said they needed to bring the food along; it was evidence, and the only evidence that would have made Aunt Niecey open up. Drug addicts didn’t waste money on food.
“Well, I thank you kindly,” Aunt Niecey said, peering at the bags. “I never could stand that fool she was going around with from the pizza shop. He was a demon, I tells ya—had somethin’ wrong with that boy.”
Azrael nodded as Celeste’s aunt stepped aside to allow them in. “Your fruits of the spirit are accurate. The poor man was possessed.”
Aunt Niecey cocked her head to the side and folded her arms over her ample breasts after she locked the door. “You speak like you’ve had a little church up in you . . . you in rehab?”
Azrael smiled a slow half smile. “No, ma’am, but I do know most scriptures from the old texts pretty well.”
“Ain’t nothing wrong with that,” she said, going to Celeste and holding her out to inspect her. “She looks better than I’ve seen her in a long time. Don’t smell like an ashtray, either.” Then slowly her aunt pulled her in close. “You say that fool been hitting on my chile?”
Celeste nodded, tears suddenly rising in her eyes as her aunt Niecey’s thick arms enfolded her into the only safety she’d ever known. A rough, arthritic hand petted Celeste’s hair as she buried her face against her aunt’s shoulder.
“Hush, chile, it’s gonna be all right. I done prayed night and day for you to be delivered home like this to me...whole, healthy, and away from a fool. You still young and pretty and got your entire life ahead of you—so don’t you get no crazy ideas about cutting your life short, you hear me? I can take a lot of things, but losing you after I done lost your mama . . . my dearest and best sister, no. That would put me in the ground.”
Clinging to the warmth and the wisdom, Celeste tried to steady her breath, but it was impossible. Aunt Niecey’s hug dredged up the sob that had been waiting since her world turned upside down.
“Aw . . . baby, you jus’ go on and let it all out and give it to me.”
Her aunt’s words only made her cry harder, as she remembered Azrael saying those exact words when he’d healed her cut.
“This po’ girl done been through a lot,” Aunt Niecey said, looking at Azrael as she rubbed Celeste’s back. “I don’t know who or what you are to her, but if you hurt this baby girl after all she done endured, ain’t no power high enough in Heaven to keep me off your ass, son. You hear? This is my baby. My baby sister’s only chile. This one here is special. This one here is anointed—jus’ like every door and windowsill and floorboard up in here is anointed, I done put down special prayers on this one. An’ jus’ like the devil can’t come up in this prayed-up house, can’t nobody who ain’t right stay with this special chile to bring her down. She ain’t like all them others out there, so if that’s what you want, you best get to steppin’. Knew it when I first held her in my arms, so ain’t no fool gonna mess with one of God’s children, we clear?”
“Yes, ma’am, and I couldn’t agree more,” Azrael said in a respectful tone.
Celeste lifted her head and looked at him, slowly understanding that for all these years, her aunt’s fierce prayer-warrior nature had been the only thing that stood between her and whatever was hunting her. Azrael subtly nodded. Celeste wiped her face quickly and kissed her aunt, then hugged her hard.
“I love you, too, baby,” her aunt said in a tender murmur, cupping Celeste’s face with thick, meaty palms. “That’s the most powerful thing this side of Grace, so you never forget that. Your mama loved you hard like that, too.” Releasing Celeste’s face, Aunt Niecey stared at Azrael. “What’s your name, son?”
“Azrael.”
“Hmmm . . . ,” Aunt Niecey said in a skeptical tone. “Main thing is, you promise me you won’t be beatin’ on her or get her caught up in no drugs, then you’ll be all right with me.” Then she hesitated. “You got a bunch of babies in the streets by different women?”
“No, ma’am, on all counts,” Azrael said with a slight smile playing about his mouth.
“All right then, so long as we clear,” Aunt Niecey said, frowning at Azrael, but some of the bluster had gone out of her tone. “I’ll make us some tea, lest you a coffee drinker?”
“Tea will be fine,” Azrael murmured. “And we brought you some things for your kitchen.”
“Much obliged, and I thank you for bringing my chile home—that was all you truthfully had to bring to set my mind at ease . . . so we gonna pray before we do anything else.”
“Thank you,” Azrael said solemnly, then closed his eyes.
Aunt Niecey smiled and gave Celeste a quick wink. “I think I like him already.”
Chapter 8
Hospitality won out over any potential hostility Celeste’s aunt may still have had, given the hour of their arrival. Bags of food offered meant peace in Aunt Niecey’s world—no matter what time of the day or night it came. Her aunt’s motto was “Make the kitchen right, then we all right.” This simple, old-school gesture was imprinted in her aunt’s generations-ago, North Carolina roots. Azrael had therefore passed her aunt’s sniff test by observing three basic rules as a man—he’d come in the door with respect, showed he wasn’t foreign to prayer, and had offered the lady of the house groceries. It didn’t get any more basic than that.
“Look at these vegetables,” Aunt Niecey said in awe as she fawned over the gorgeous produce. Carefully extracting lush bunches of greens from the bag as though lifting a newborn, she shook her head and clucked her tongue in full appreciation. “I don’t know what to say.”
“There’s a juicer, too, ma’am . . . with a little booklet about how to use it to get the most nutrients from the plants.”
Aunt Niecey waved Azrael away. “I know what to do with kale and collards. By the time I finish with ’em, you’ll think you done died and went to Heaven.”
Celeste gave Azrael a look, which he caught. Later she would explain that there’d be no way to tell an eighty-something-year-old African-American woman that she couldn’t cook her collard greens until all the nutrients were in the water—or the pot liquor, as her aunt called it. That Vitamix was most likely going to gather dust on top of the refrigerator, bu
t Celeste didn’t have the heart to tell him so. Somehow his slumped shoulders and sad eyes let her know that he’d probably figured that out.
“Y’all sit down and let me fix that tea,” her aunt said brightly, going to the stove to turn on the kettle as they took seats at the aged table. “Since y’all health nuts now, talking about juicing and such, I guess you can drink this green tea one of my grands came in here with. Me, myself, I like the old-fashioned kind—Tetley. I don’t know what to do with this new-fangled Chinese tea. It don’t even have a string on the bag so you can dip it. But you all are welcome to it.”
“Thank you, Auntie,” Celeste replied. It was impossible not to smile. Her aunt was so set in her ways. “But do you have honey?”
“Of course, suga. You know I keep it around here for colds.”
Celeste glanced at the big tub of white sugar on the counter. “Well, can we have just a little of your cold remedy? Az doesn’t eat anything refined, like white sugar.”
Aunt Niecey gave them a puzzled look over her shoulder as she filled the kettle with fresh tap water. When Celeste opened her mouth to stop her, Azrael interjected.
“It’s all right . . . it’ll be boiled.”
“Somethin’ wrong with my water?”
“No, ma’am,” Azrael said, trying to deflect any potential insult.
Celeste stood. “Aunt Niecey . . . Azrael is real funny about what he puts into his body. He only drinks purified water.” She bent and extracted a large liter bottle of water from one of the bags. “Can you make the tea with this?”
