Archangel Evolution

by David Estes

  “Focus. Right,” Taylor said.

  “Good. Now you try.”

  Wanting to prove him wrong and show him that she could focus without using her hands as training wheels like some twelve-year-old angel learning the basics, Taylor remained still, like Gabriel had, directing her thoughts at the beaming stadium lights. Monkeys! Cute, little chimpanzees running amok through a supermarket, throwing cans and boxes and fruit and rolling cantaloupes down the aisles like bowling balls. And ice cream! No, no—an ice cream maker! A giant, shining metal machine filled with churning, oozing, viscous ice cream. Chocolate, her favorite! And then it was overflowing, dumping gallons of the cold treat onto the floor, creating a tsunami of flavor! Dammit, get out of my head, damned monkeys and ice cream! Taylor silently screamed.

  Gabriel interrupted her thoughts when he said, “Taylor, just try it using your hands to help the first time, nothing is happening.”

  “No, shut up,” Taylor said through clenched teeth. “I can do this.”

  Refocusing herself, Taylor tried to imagine that she was reaching her hands out to grab the lights, to steal away their precious energy. Now the monkeys had left the supermarket and were at the ice cream factory. Happily, the marsupials swam in the ice cream lake, swallowing mouthfuls of the chocolaty delight and spitting it back out. Others had started an ice cream ball fight, rolling piles of snowball-like projectiles and launching them across the room. Splat! One monkey was hit in the face, but instead of hissing or growling, it squealed with delight as it licked the sugary slime off its face. No, no, no, no, no, splat! Another monkey hit. No, no, no! Get the hell out of my thoughts, monkeys! Taylor cursed in her head. But it was to no avail, the monkeys continued to swing and swim and splat across her mind.

  Grudgingly, she admitted defeat. “Can’t concentrate,” she said.

  Gabriel said, “What did you see?”

  Taylor sighed. “Monkeys.”

  “Monkeys?” Gabriel said, smirking.

  “And ice cream.”

  Gabriel’s smirk turned into a chortle and then a guffaw, and soon he was laughing so hard he was crying. His case of the laughing-flu soon became airborne and the various demons and angels who had been watching Taylor began chuckling, too. If there was one thing that Taylor’s mom had taught her to be, it was a good sport. “Taylor, if you can’t laugh at yourself every once in a while, you will become so uptight, even dogs won’t like you,” she used to tell her—and so Taylor was soon laughing with the rest of them.

  When she stopped, she said to Gabriel, “Did you enjoy that? I hope you peed your pants,” which started a whole new round of laughter.

  After wiping the happy tears from his eyes, Gabriel said, “Are you ready to try to do this my way?”

  Ignoring him, Taylor outstretched her arm and aimed it at one of the massive stadium spotlights in the corner. Seeing her hand reaching out for the light, Taylor was easily able to visualize her fingers pulling at the beams of light, like cords of rope, extracting them from the fixture. And there were no monkeys this time.

  She felt her body begin to warm as the light was soaked up by her eyes and start to flow through her veins. In seconds her arm was glowing, and then her entire body. “I think I’m getting the hang of this,” Taylor announced. “How do I make an orb?”

  “Just visualize it. Again, it might help if you use your hands to help. Pretend you are rolling the orb out of the incoming beams of light.”

  Licking her lips in concentration, Taylor imagined that the beams of light were coming so fast that she could barely keep up with them. She made a motion with her hands like she was squeezing something together to make a snowball. She felt like she was a mime on the streets of New York, performing for a group of tourists while dressed as if she had recently swam in a bag of flour. Or maybe she was playing charades, trying to act out making Christmas cookies so her team could guess it.

  Something began to form in her hands. An amoeba of light, ill-defined and wobbly, bounced and waggled through her fingertips. More power, she thought, I need more power. She reasserted her claim on the light’s energy and imagined her eyes were huge vacuums, sucking generous watts of electricity from the bulbs. The amoeba was not an amoeba any longer, having formed into a glowing ball, an orb. As Taylor strained to get every last drop of energy, the ball suddenly grew bigger and bigger and brighter and brighter and then was gone, having imploded into nothingness. There was a crackle and a pop and a shower of sparks from above, as one by one, the dozen or so bulbs exploded and burnt out, leaving a quarter of the field in shadowy darkness.

  “Nice one, Tay,” Gabriel said.

  “What the hell….but I did everything right!” Taylor said.

  “Almost everything,” Gabriel said. “I wanted you to make your own mistake on this one to ensure you learned the lesson. In this case you tried to soak up more power than you needed to form the orb you desired, and thus, it had the opposite effect. Not knowing what to do with the extra energy, the orb reversed itself and was unmade.”

  “Unmade? What is this, the freaking science-fiction channel? Speak English, you mean destroyed?”

  “You could put it that way, but it’s not like a piece of paper going through a shredder—there are no scraps—rather, it’s like a drop of water evaporating into steam. The orb is still there, it’s just changed—back into light.”

  Taylor frowned. “But why couldn’t I just store the energy I didn’t need?” she asked.

  “Actually, you could have. You just didn’t know how.”

  Growing impatient, Taylor snapped, “Why didn’t you just tell me how before I started?” She glared at him.

  Gabriel stared right back, emotionless. He said, “Taylor, I am attempting to teach you ten years of technique in only a few months. You are just going to have to trust me. Sometimes you will need to make mistakes and figure things out on your own in order to learn. Can you handle that?”

  She wasn’t sure why she had gotten so angry. She knew he was only trying to help her. The speed that the anger had boiled up took her by surprise. She felt chastened. Raising her eyebrows, she said, “I’m sorry, you’re right.”

  With a wink, Gabriel said, “I never thought I would hear those words.”

  “Don’t push your luck, buddy,” Taylor said lightly.

  “Okay, now try again.”

  Taylor outstretched her arm.

  Chapter Sixteen

  While the War Room remained nearly half-empty—with five of the twelve chairs unused—somehow it felt fuller than before. The New Archangels, as Dionysus was calling the current members of the Council, were seated and discussing the future, which was feeling brighter by the minute. It had taken more than two hours to use the room to evolve the remaining angels. Even Cassandra was able to participate after being revived with smelling salts and a bucket of water on her head. Although there was anger in her eyes, it dissipated after seeing that Lucas was not dead and was, in fact, improved, perfected. Given Cassandra’s bold reaction when she thought Lucas was dying, Dionysus suspected there was romance in the future for the two of them. He would have to monitor that situation carefully to ensure it didn’t impact their judgment, although he suspected it wouldn’t, given they were cut from the same mold manufactured by Evil Corporation, of which he was the President.

  While each member of the Council had been attractive to begin with, the act of evolution had taken that beauty to a whole new level. To his frustration, Dionysus could barely take his eyes off of Cassandra. Her skin was like porcelain, her features perfection. The use of makeup would be silly, like trying to improve upon a work by Michaelangelo. And she was aware of the attention he was giving her, batting her eyes and pouting her lips like some damn showgirl. He would come up with a solution later—maybe a bag over her head or clown’s makeup or something.

  The others were changed too: Lucas seemed calmer, more reserved, more intelligent even; Johanna and Sarah looked like Amazon women, as fierce as they were beautiful; Percy l
ooked like a Swedish-god, with strong features and captivating blue eyes; Dionysus was also improved, but the differences were more subtle.

  However, the most impressive changes had surely been wrought on David. While he had looked a year or two older than his age at the start of the day, the boy now appeared to be a half-decade older. His boyish features had dissolved, and in their place was a vision of a man. If he looked like Gabriel before, he appeared as his twin brother now. In fact, if the brothers were standing next to each other, it would be difficult to discern who the eldest was. The similarities in appearance between the brothers were so great that it was disconcerting for Dionysus to rest his gaze upon the boy’s face for too long. It was as if his greatest enemy from the past had found a way to inhabit his brother’s body and thus learn all of Dionysus’s darkest secrets. But the comparison ended when the boy spoke, his words harsh and uncaring, eerily mature and wise, definitive. Dionysus realized he was speaking now.

  “My lord, we now have the firepower we have been seeking. I recommend we march out in the next battle and decimate the demon army. In our evolved state we cannot be stopped.”

  The strength of David’s words resonated with others around the table. Percy and Sarah were nodding, and Lucas seemed to be hanging on his every word. Only Cassandra and Johanna appeared unmoved: Cassandra was more interested in gawking at herself in the portable mirror she had brought to the Council meeting, and Johanna was probably still angry with the boy for the way he had spoken to her in earlier meetings.

  Dionysus said, “What about the girl?”

  “She is only one, we are many. We will crush HER!” David slammed his fist on the table when he said her, emphasizing his point. Cassandra flinched and almost dropped her mirror.

  “Your point is well-taken, but I would propose a slightly different course of action. Look, we are in no danger at the moment. The demons, as usual, are probably waiting for us to make the next move. And we will. But not yet. At this point, we do not fully comprehend what the girl is able to do, or what our new bodies are capable of. We need to know what we’re dealing with.”

  David said, “What do you propose?” The man-child’s voice sounded so different that Dionysus found himself shuddering each time he spoke. He would need to do something about that too, maybe force him to speak in a voice changing device that made him sound like a little kid again.

  “I propose we train. We learn about our new powers and ensure we understand how to use them most effectively before we fly into battle like a bunch of testosterone-crazed teenagers that just hit puberty. At the same time, we’ll enlist one of our demon spies to keep tabs on the girl, and gather intel about her powers. Once we are informed, we’ll plan our next move.”

  “Interesting,” David said. “I am willing to live with that.” Dionysus smiled. He had been somewhat concerned that there might be dissension in the New Archangels, especially because the boy was so unpredictable. Now he knew that David was on his side, just another pawn to be used. “Thank you, David. Your agreement is appreciated. I propose a vote!”

  As expected, the voting was unanimous.

  Chapter Seventeen

  A single bead of sweat twisted and turned and meandered down Taylor’s face. It paused mid-cheek and quivered for a moment, as if it were fighting gravity and losing, before continuing to her chin. The droplet reached the edge and fell to the ground, making a tiny splash that went unnoticed by anyone in the stadium.

  “I can do this,” Taylor said under her breath. Despite her stronger, more capable body, her muscles ached and her lungs burned. She had been training for two hours straight—no breaks, no water, no rest—and had barely learned anything. All she had been able to do was to create a small orb about the size of a basketball, which had taken more than an hour to accomplish. During that time, she had basically been standing still, so she was surprised at the toll it had taken on her. Gabriel explained that every angel act—whether mental or physical—had a physical component to it. Therefore, the thirty or forty attempts to harness the power of light to create a ball of energy had been the equivalent of running about twenty miles, based on Gabriel’s estimations. Taylor felt like she had run a hundred miles—or more. But her new and improved body managed to sustain her in a way that never before would have been possible.

  For the last thirty minutes she had been trying to fly. “You can do this,” she repeated as she took her first step. They had started with hovering, but Taylor was unable to encourage her wings to break from the skin and muscles in her back. You can’t hover if you don’t have wings. Changing tactics, Gabriel had instructed her to try a running start, almost like an airplane speeding down a runway. The hope was that the forward momentum, along with a high jump at the end, would allow her instincts to take over, thus forcing her wings out.

  The first three times she had crash landed before ever really taking off. But she had stayed true to her promise to Gabriel that she would not get frustrated, and had kept trying.

  She sped up, turning her light jog into a run, faster than any human being could move. She hissed over and over again: “You can do it, you can do it, do it, do it, do it…” Taking her already blazing speed up another notch, she began sprinting down the field. Unlike even the fastest football players, who might be able to go end zone to end zone in thirteen or fourteen seconds, Taylor got there in three. Waiting until the last possible second—just before she reached the end of the grassy field—Taylor leapt skywards with all her might, higher than she had ever jumped, willing her body to take over, releasing her mind to her angel instincts. The monkey tittered at her while licking an ice cream cone. Chocolate, of course. Gravity took over and slammed her down forcefully. Except this time she didn’t have soft grass to land on. She careened into the metal bleachers, crunching them under her steely angel frame. “Ahhh!” she yelled.

  In seconds Gabriel was by her side, still smiling. He had been smiling the whole day. Either he was trying to be positive for her sake, or he was amused by her struggles. Either way, it annoyed her, but she dared not complain. “You’re bleeding,” he said.

  “You think?” Taylor said sarcastically, giving herself a minor reprieve from her pent up anger.

  Lifting a mangled piece of metal bleacher that had wrapped around her arm, Gabriel said, “It’s not deep. Watch it heal.”

  As soon as the offending metal was removed from the wound, Taylor watched as the steady stream of white blood that poured from her skin became a trickle and then stopped completely, of its own accord. The three-inch gash became two-inches, and then one, her skin knitting itself together as if she was watching the speeded up process of an injury healing through the use of stitches over the course of a few months. “Awesome,” Taylor breathed.

  “Okay, break over,” Gabriel said, clapping his hands together. “We need maintenance over here!”

  Grudgingly, Taylor picked herself up. Gabriel didn’t offer a helping hand. That was a break? Taking two minutes to watch my arm stop bleeding?

  Taylor watched as two demons jumped effortlessly from the field to the raised seating area. They carried a fresh segment of metal bleachers. Working quickly with metal saws, they cut away the section she had destroyed, and replaced it with the fresh piece. All day the maintenance team had been chasing her around, cleaning up after her mistakes. Like replacing light bulbs she had fried, replacing divots of grass she had torn up, and now, repairing stadium hardware, like the bleachers.

  Trying to control her simmering frustration, Taylor hopped down from the seats and strode back onto the field where Gabriel waited for her. He said, “Flying’s not so easy, even with wings.”

  “I don’t have wings. At least, not anymore. It’s like they’ve disappeared.”

  “Trust me, they’re there. The scans showed them healthy and strong and ready for flight. The first time’s always the hardest.”

  “But it’s not the first time,” Taylor said, remembering how she had hovered magnificently in the air before wre
aking havoc on the Archangels. At the time, the experience had seemed so real, vivid, but now it felt like just a memory of a hazy dream.

  “The other one doesn’t count. You weren’t trying then. It’s harder when you’re trying.”

  “Whatever you say, boss,” Taylor said, hoping he was right.

  “Try again, but this time, don’t think about flying. Assume you are just going to leap in the air and then come falling back to the ground, like you would before—when you were human.”

  Taylor nodded, and without responding, took off down the field. Two seconds and fifty yards later, she planted both feet firmly on the ground and propelled herself up. Expecting to come back down, she kept her knees bent and her stance wide, as she controlled her body in anticipation of recontacting the field. She closed her eyes

  There was a pop! and she felt the wash of wind through her hair. It felt good, as she was still warm and sweaty from the exertion of the day. The breeze was inconstant, however, hitting her from behind and then not. From behind and then not. Like a turning fan, it provided cooling relief one out of every few seconds. She enjoyed the breeze for a few minutes, preparing herself mentally for her next attempt at flying.

  She heard, “Way to go, Tay!” It was Gabriel’s voice, but sounded distant—he was still at the other end of the field, most likely. He had been sarcastic with her all day, with comments like Nice one, or Impressive! after each of her failures. It was really starting to piss her off. Taylor opened her eyes, ready to yell something like, “Who saved your life when you got the poo beaten out of you by Lucas?” Instead, she yelled, “Holy Shnikes!”