Archangel Evolution

by David Estes

  Despite her reassurances, the demon insisted that he follow Taylor around the Lair as she searched for Sampson. He wasn’t worried about her safety; rather, he wanted to know when she was heading back to UT’s campus, so he could resume his security detail with the rest of her guard. “Fine. But you can damn well stay at least twenty feet away. I’ll be damned if I have a freaking entourage walking around this place.” The guard, taken aback by the directness of her demand, backed off immediately much to Taylor’s satisfaction.

  It didn’t take Taylor long to find her friend. Sampson was in the demon café, scarfing down platefuls of food as if he hadn’t eaten since his birth more than eighteen years earlier. He was sitting with a group of his fellow Hell’s Angels, but stood and strode to meet Taylor upon spotting her.

  As he approached, Taylor outstretched her hand to fist-bump him and then blow-it-up as was their typical greeting, but instead he moved past her arm and hugged her firmly. It was the first time they had hugged, and although Taylor thought it would be awkward—as they just didn’t have that type of touchy, feely relationship—it wasn’t. The hug felt natural, sincere, brotherly.

  When he released her, his face was serious. “Taylor, I don’t know how to thank you.”

  “C’mon, don’t get all mushy on me. You can thank me by not making a big deal out of it. I want the jokester, doesn’t-take-himself-or-life-too-seriously Sampson back.”

  Sampson screwed up his face, fully closing one eye and bugging the other eye out. Touching his tongue to his nose, he mumbled, “Isth thut besser?”

  Taylor laughed. “Much better. Thanks. Hey, I’ve got training today, do you want to come?”

  With a gleam in his eye, Sampson said, “I would love to, but I have an important briefing to attend. I’ve been booked on a mission. You may have heard about it. It’s called Operation Kill-the-Bastard-Head-of-the-Archangel-Council.”

  “What!? You’re on my mission? But don’t you need to rest and recover?”

  “Thanks to you, I’m already at one hundred percent. Clifford asked me if I would do it and I said yes, of course.”

  Taylor couldn’t hide her excitement as a smile filled her face. “I’m so glad, Sampson. It will mean a lot to me having you there.”

  “Me, too,” Sampson said. “Now, where’s that chump of a boyfriend of yours?”

  “Preparing to train me back at UT. That’s where all the action is. Sure you can’t come?”

  Sampson said, “I’ll try to stop by later. I heard it’s being held in the football stadium, right?”

  “What? How’s that possible? Gabriel said it was a surprise but that’s outrageous!”

  “A surprise? Oops, I guess the cat’s out of the bag. Listen, can you pretend you didn’t find out from me? Or even better, that you didn’t find out at all? Just act surprised.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “Thanks.”

  Taylor checked her watch—only five minutes until Gabriel would come by her dorm. She swiveled on one foot, panning her surroundings and quickly locating the demon. While she knew it seemed cold, she refused to learn the names of her demon guards and preferred to refer to them as Demon A, Demon B, etc. They preferred it, too. Less personal was better in war. If something happened to any of them while protecting her, she wouldn’t even know their names.

  Sensing that she was ready to leave, the demon met her at the tunnel that would lead them to the transporter that would deliver them back to the teleport room. Taylor set the pace, a light jog down the passageway. They needed to hurry; Gabriel was generally very punctual.

  In four minutes and thirty seconds they appeared in Taylor’s room. With no reason to linger, the demon said a muffled and succinct “Goodbye,” and disappeared. Less than ten seconds later there was a knock at the door.

  Out of habit, Taylor checked the peephole and saw Gabriel’s distorted head through the portal. Opening the door, she said, “You would look really funny if your head was twice as big but on the same body.”

  Gabriel smirked. “And you would look like some bizarre big-headed chicken from Mars.”

  “What are you saying, that I have chicken legs?”

  Using his best chicken voice, Gabriel said, “Bawk, bawk, bagaw!” and then tried to grab her bare legs, left exposed by the old denim shorts she was wearing.

  Taylor felt as if he were moving in slow motion, as she easily sidestepped and kicked him in the butt as he lunged through her room. Almost crashing into the microwave sitting on top of the mini-fridge, Gabriel barely managed to avoid losing his balance. “Damn, you’re fast,” he said.

  “You’ve already said that.”

  “I’m still getting used to it.”

  “You will,” Taylor said. “So…where’s this secret place you are taking me for training?”

  “You’ll see,” Gabriel said.

  Leaving Shyloh Hall, the pair took the long way to the stadium, which basically meant walking rather than flying. As they strolled along, hand in hand, Taylor thought about her life before Gabriel. Dull, boring, uninspired. It wasn’t that she hadn’t been enjoying her life, or that she didn’t have a lot of fun. That wasn’t it at all. God knows her and Sam had fun—and laughed a lot, although mostly at each other. But there had also been something missing. Something that maybe she wasn’t aware of until she met Gabriel. Something that might have left her life when her mom died. Something she needed and would never again be able to live without. Excitement, adventure, inspiration. A reason to wake up in the morning and to get a good sleep at night. It wasn’t only the thrill of battles and wars and angels and demons and auras; rather, it was the feeling of being part of something important. She would cling to that feeling desperately, firmly, as long as she could and hopefully forever.

  Taylor was still lost in her thoughts when they reached the stadium, but was jarred back to reality when Gabriel said, “We’re here.”

  Taylor thought, No kidding we’re here, but then remembered she was supposed to pretend to be surprised. Her reply was a tick late. She said, “What do you mean we’re here? This is the stadium.”

  “I knew it! Someone told you, didn’t they?”

  She was caught in her lie and lamely tried to recover: “What? Uh, no. I thought it would be somewhere less public.”

  Gabriel was not to be fooled. “You weren’t paying attention. I practically let you lead the way here and you never wavered or questioned the direction we were taking. You knew exactly where we were going. Who told you?”

  Busted, Taylor thought. “Sampson,” she said.

  “Yeah, like I’m going to believe that!”

  Taylor was glad to know something that Gabriel didn’t know for once. He probably assumed Sampson was still bedridden, barely able to eat or talk. But she knew better.

  “I’m not lying. I went to visit him this morning while I was waiting for you. He’s fully recovered and walking around as if he was never critically injured. He’ll stop by later to watch the training.”

  Gabriel looked dazed. “Incredible,” he whispered.

  “What? That I wasn’t surprised by the venue or that I cured Sampson so fast?”

  “The latter. You may be even stronger than any of us think.”

  “You keep underestimating me. I’m one tough chick,” Taylor joked.

  “Evidently,” Gabriel said, still looking dumbfounded.

  Taylor turned her attention to the stadium. Her eyes scanned the exterior. The massive structure was constructed on a base of concrete blocks, which gave way to exposed steel girders and cross-beams. Typically the uppermost rising seats could be seen through gaps in the top portion of the crater-shaped stadium, but were now hidden beneath the retractable domed roof, which could be closed in the event of rain during a sporting event. The dome was closed, but the skies were blue, the sun was shining. The place looked like a fortress, impenetrable to all but the most heinous enemy weapons.

  “How’d you get us private access to this place? And get the d
ome closed? What about the maintenance staff, isn’t there a chance they will show up?” Taylor rattled the questions off while counting on her fingers.

  “I’m awesome, I’m awesome, and no,” Gabriel said, laughing. Taylor rolled her eyes. “Just kidding, Tay. I actually had nothing to do with it. There is a woman in the demon army whose husband is one of the top dogs on the stadium operating council. He made this all possible. We won’t be disturbed. The only rule is that we have to clean up any mess that we make.”

  Taylor was impressed. And excited. Training in the massive enclosure that was the football stadium would be incredible! She couldn’t have asked for a cooler location. “Awesome,” she said. “Let’s do it.”

  Gabriel grinned. “Follow me.”

  He led Taylor through a player’s only entrance which he happened to have a key for. Three hallways later and they were in the locker rooms. Taylor always expected that a football team locker room would stink of dried sweat and body odor, perhaps with the slight metallic hint of blood from past gridiron battles. In this case, however, all she could smell was lilac and cotton candy. Weird, she thought. Evidently, even tough-guy football players appreciated a well-perfumed preparation area. She spotted five or six automatic, continuous air fresheners plugged into simple wall outlets—the source of the lilac and the cotton candy.

  From the locker room they followed a wide, high-ceilinged corridor that grew lighter in the distance. It led directly to the field. As Taylor walked out of the tunnel, she realized why football players always appeared so energetic and emotional when they ran out onto the field before a game. The stadium looked mesmerizing: rising seats pyramided upwards in what might have been a stairway to heaven; bright lights gave the field the appearance of being a giant stage on Broadway; the perfectly trimmed grass seemed to stretch on for miles, rather than merely a little over one-hundred yards. Even without the band, or the cheerleaders, or the fans, or the cameras, the sight was still thrilling. Taylor tried to imagine what it would be like with the stadium filled to the rafters, fans cheering and clapping, and dozens of players streaming all over the field. She had been to many games, which all proved to be fun and exciting, but she now had a whole new appreciation for the experience.

  On the field, Taylor noticed a handful of dark figures—demons—as well as several angels who were hovering in the air by gently fanning their wings. Gabriel explained: “They’re here to help. A few demons volunteered to assist with your sword work, and a few guys and girls from Hell’s Angels came along to demonstrate flying and light powers.

  “Hell yeah,” Taylor said. “I can’t wait to try flying for real this time.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lucas was screaming. Dionysus was grinning. Cassandra was the angel who had grabbed Dionysus’s shoulder from behind. She was yelling, “Stop! Stop the machine! It’s killing him!” Dionysus ignored her, soaking up the beauty of the tortured cries from within the room.

  It was nothing personal against Lucas. He certainly didn’t want him to die and truly believed that he wouldn’t. His theory was simple: no pain, no gain. In fact, Dionysus had only heard such a cry of anguish once before. More than five decades earlier, he himself had once issued a similar noise. Because it hurt—really, really hurt—when he evolved from a demon to an angel. The pain had been worth it then and it would be worth it now for Lucas.

  Which is why Dionysus was smiling.

  Because it was working. Or so he believed.

  What he really wished was that the blonde would stop yelling in his ear. Without turning around, he angled a fist backwards over his shoulder and fired off a powerful orb of light. At such a close range the impact was deafening. BOOM! He heard the girl crash to the floor; she would be unconscious for at least an hour.

  He heard laughing from behind—probably Johanna finding his response to Cassandra’s yelling amusing. She was always amused by the pain of others. At least she was consistent, he thought. Whether angel, demon, human, or gargoyle: sadistic Johanna loved watching the destruction of others.

  Dionysus was aware that the screaming had stopped, which meant one of two things: Lucas had died from the strain on his body, or Lucas had evolved. There was a third possibility—that he was still alive and no evolution had occurred—but Dionysus the optimist discounted it immediately.

  He shut down the system and waited. Slowly, bit by bit, the cover slid over the dome, blocking out the sunlight, as the lower lights were extinguished, restoring the room to a dull gray; the only light was provided by the filtered rays of sun finding their way through the covering. The process took about ten minutes.

  When the shutdown process was halfway complete, they got their first glimpse of the raised platform, which had partially descended and was continuing to creep towards the floor. On the platform, Lucas remained standing—or had regained his feet. He stood up straight, his spine in line with his legs, his head tilted back, his eyes looking up as if towards heaven.

  Lucas shone.

  As the room continued to darken, the contrast of his gleaming body against the dim background became more severe, until he looked like a beacon of hope—a lighthouse?—in a sea of rough, stormy waters.

  Lucas remained like a statue when Dionysus entered the room, with the other Archangels—minus Cassandra the nag—following closely behind him.

  He approached Lucas. Lucas the Shining; Lucas the Beacon; Lucas the Archangel perhaps? Even as Dionysus moved within Lucas’s line of peripheral vision, he remained still as stone, head craned skywards. “My son,” Dionysus said, “how do you feel?”

  No response.

  David said, “He’s changed, my lord. For the better.”

  Dionysus knew the boy was right, if only because Lucas wasn’t responding. Typically, he spoke a mile a minute all the time. His silence was a clear indication that he was improved, in some way.

  Lucas’s face appeared to have undergone a subtle change. All of his features were the same, and yet different, more distinct, improved. His athletic frame looked even more toned, as if he had just finished lifting weights.

  Moving closer, Dionysus extended his hand, placing it on Lucas’s shoulder from the front. Lucas’s head snapped down and he made eye contact. He seemed startled by Dionysus’s sudden presence, but he wasn’t scared. “My lord,” he said.

  “Speak, my son,” Dionysus said encouragingly.

  “The pain….” He trailed off.

  “I know, Lucas. Evolution is painful. But how do you feel now?”

  “Perfect,” he said. He could have said good, or great, or fantastic, but Dionysus sensed that his word choice was important. Perfect. Time to put that perfection to the test.

  Without warning, Dionysus whipped his fist at Lucas’s head with as much speed and power as he could muster. Lucas was quicker, raising one arm sharply to catch Dionysus’s fist in his hand, stopping the attack cold. Impressive. Before the procedure, Lucas couldn’t have thwarted the attack and would now be lying unconscious on the ground.

  “Release me,” Dionysus said.

  Obediently, Lucas dropped his fist.

  Dionysus turned to face the others. Johanna, Sarah, and Percy looked impressed, while David’s eyes were as unreadable as ever. Raising a fist in the air, Dionysus said, “For sixty years, ever since I evolved from a demon, I have been focused on one thing: cleansing the face of the earth from the demon scum—the filth—that plagues it. All that time I was perpetually mired in a belief—which I now know to be a false belief—that I was at the top of the food chain, fully evolved, perfect in every way. Much time has been wasted as I sought the girl who I thought would provide a weapon destined to end the War. I was not wrong about the importance of the girl; rather, I was wrong about how she would come into play. Her weapon was powerful, yes, but she was never going to help us. Instead, her purpose was one of education, of opening my eyes to my mistake. For behold, Lucas is the proof that our kind have never been perfected, that we have been strong—oh, how strong—but no
t perfect. Now I give you perfection! And with this knowledge and this procedure, we, the Archangel Council, will become the true archangels we were always meant to be, to govern the angel race, finally destroy our darker ancestors, and take our place as rulers of the world!”

  Dionysus paused to catch his breath. In the zealousness and anger of his words, spittle had escaped his lips and bubbled on his chin. He wiped it off with the back of his sleeve. He said, “I will take my place next and then I expect each of you to follow. Will you do it?”

  “Yes, master,” David said fiercely. His eyes were gleaming in the dim light.

  “And you, Percy?” Dionysus asked. Percy nodded. Letting his eyes slide to Sarah, he waited.

  “I will do it,” Sarah said.

  Before he could question Johanna, she said, “Hell yeah, I will.”

  “Let it be done,” Dionysus said.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Taylor’s training began with instruction on harnessing the power of light, from which all other angel abilities originated. She wanted to fly first, but understood the logic that flight was also powered by light and therefore she needed to walk before she could run, so to speak.

  Gabriel started by showing how he could capture the lights in the stadium just by wanting them. He explained that his eyes needed to be open, as they were the conduit for the energy to enter his body. Unblinking, he stood still and let the light wash over and into him. His body began to glow. At his sides, his hands were filled with orbs of light that appeared as tangible as basketballs, clearly defined and formed.

  Something didn’t make sense. In the past, Taylor had seen Gabriel harness light countless times. Usually he used his hands more. Taylor said, “I thought you needed to aim your hands at the lights to obtain their power?”

  Like a university lecturer, Gabriel said, “Very astute observation. You’ve probably seen me do it before, right?” Taylor nodded. “That’s exactly how you’ll need to start out. While the only requirement is to desire the light, that can be quite difficult in practice. Because your hands and arms are instruments of your mind’s will, it sometimes helps to direct them at what you desire to help focus your mind. Understand?”