by T. R. Hamby
She took his face in her hands and kissed him, hard. Then she said, “Come back to me. As soon as...as soon as it’s over. Right here. Promise me.”
“I promise.”
“We have to go; we’re losing time,” Michael said, stepping toward Mel. “I’ll take you there. We can’t risk you screwing up Traveling.”
Mel didn’t seem to hear, he was still staring at Nora worriedly. She wished he wouldn’t look like that; she wished he would look confident again, even arrogant. Even if he was only worried about her, she would rather he not be worried at all.
He finally gave Michael a nod, and the two of them hesitated before grasping hands. They took a step back, Mel stumbling slightly, and vanished into thin air.
Mel
Nora was on his mind. He was worried about her--terrified for her. What if something did happen to him? Would she be okay without him?
It was all fucked. And there was nothing he could do about it now.
The night was unseasonably chilly. Although he couldn’t suffer from cold, he could still sense the crispness in the air. Across from them was an old brick house, part of a long line of similar-looking houses. The house didn’t look inhabited--a couple windows were broken, and the door was moldy. A rusty plaque that read 142 hung by the door. But under a carport on the side of the house was a blue Ferrari, clashing strongly with its surroundings.
Mel realized he and Michael were still holding hands, and quickly let go.
Michael looked at him, nervous. “You’re sure about this?”
Mel took a deep breath. He was sure. He wanted to kill this prick--send him to the one place where all murderers, rapists, dictators and traitors dreaded going. But he also was afraid--for Nora.
He looked down, trying to stamp down his fear.
“If anything happens,” he said, avoiding Michael’s eyes, “could you…watch her, for me.”
Michael was quiet for a moment. Then he murmured, “Yes. But I won’t have to. Father won’t let anything happen.”
Mel hoped he was right.
He took another deep breath and looked at him. “Be ready with the gas. I’ll Call for you.”
Michael nodded. He opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it, looking confused.
Mel didn’t wait for him to collect his thoughts. He crossed the street, which was deserted, and went up to the front door. There was no point in sneaking in through the back--Alessandro would know they were there soon enough.
He pushed the door open. Inside was dim, and smelled strongly of decay. The only source of light was coming from upstairs, so Mel quietly ascended the moldering staircase. He could hear a slight movement, but he still didn’t sense another Angel.
He finally got to the top of the stairs, and followed the light to a front room. The door was wide open, and he quickly looked inside.
The room was trashed; old newspapers, bottles and dirty mattresses were strewn across the floor. A light dusting of fluff from the mattresses coated everything, and there was a strong smell of kerosene coming from two large jugs in the corner.
Shit. This place was a tinderbox.
“Clever, isn’t it?” a quiet voice said, and Mel looked to his right. Standing by the window was a tall man--brown-haired, brown-eyed, with a relaxed look about him.
He was leaning on the wall with his hands in his pockets, though he studied Mel keenly. “I’m taller than you,” he said with a smile. “I always imagined you were taller than me.”
Mel stared at him. His feet were rooted to the spot, and he couldn’t seem to move anything except for his head. He tried to Call for Michael, but he had lost his voice.
“Yes,” the Angel said, straightening and moseying around the room, “you won’t be able to do that. You won’t be able to do much now...although I might let you. I do love fighting, and it would be a privilege to fight you, Melkira.”
He paused, watching as Mel cocked his head, and he chuckled. “It’s a Talent. I have a couple. I assume you already know how I can disguise my Presence. And I can make others freeze, entrance them with my words. It’s how I killed those girls...it’s much easier with humans, though. I can feel you struggling, and you’re very strong. I just might have to fight you after all.”
He smiled greedily, and Mel felt a surge of white-hot anger, managing to ball his hands into fists. The Angel shivered, and laughed.
“Very good. I knew you would be a challenge,” he sighed, shaking himself. “I always dreamed of this, you know. When I was a child, we were told stories about you. They said you would crawl up from Hell and steal us if we didn’t behave like good little Angels. My siblings were scared, but not me. I was obsessed, actually. I had to know more...so when I was older I found your brother, and I asked him about you. I didn’t use my name, of course...”
His face twitched slightly, and Mel noticed the first sign of anger coming from him. “He didn’t want to talk about you. Jealous, I think.
“You see,” he said, taking a step closer, and shivering again at the strength of Mel’s anger, “everyone talks about you Up There. Some with reverence, some with fear...some with disgust. You’re either famous or infamous. But your brother performs a similar task, and they shun him. He won’t answer their nosy little questions about Earth or about you. He won’t let them in, so they ignore him. Quite a fall from grace. I’ve heard stories about how he used to be.” And he looked thoughtful.
Mel was struggling to move; his fists were shaking slightly, but his mind wasn’t focused. The Angel’s words were stuck in his head--was Michael really shunned, for all these years?
“Of course,” he continued, “everyone whispers about what he did to you. Perhaps that is why he is ignored. No one wants to associate with a murderer.”
Mel let out a hiss, and his anger flashed so powerfully that the Angel took several steps back, looking pained. Lilith filled Mel’s mind, and he squeezed his eyes shut.
When he opened them again, the Angel was studying him, his head cocked to the side.
“You could,” he said quietly, “you could kill him. So easily. Just as you were going to do to me. He deserves it, doesn’t he? Regardless of his remorse...justice is justice…”
Mel suddenly had an image of himself, fiery hands wrapped around Michael’s throat, watching him burn, watching the fear in his eyes...the same fear Lilith had had…
He remembered kneeling in the clearing, his throat and belly hoarse from screaming, looking up at his brother and wondering what it would be like to kill him. The urge had been so strong.
And then he remembered the War, how they had battled against each other, swords swinging and clanging, blue fire from the lightning above coating his Blade.
He had been so close. Why hadn’t he done it?
The Angel chuckled, bringing Mel back to the present.
He took a small step forward, his head cocked to the side, an eyebrow raised.
“I want you to know my name,” he said. “It’s not Alessandro--that ridiculous human name. It’s Ariel. Now, after all these years, you recognize me, Melkira.”
There was something about these words that made Mel, already shaking with anger, snap like a twig. He wrenched his body forward, and the spell was broken. His anger surged, and Ariel shouted, throwing himself backward and hitting the wall.
“Michael!” Mel shouted, catching himself on the floor.
Michael was instantly at his side, holding a couple gas cans, but he paused, staring at the highly flammable room around him.
Mel felt another surge of anger at the sight of him, and he jumped to his feet, about to reach for Michael’s throat. Then he remembered himself, and backed several paces away, catching himself on the wall.
“Don’t let me near you,” he said quickly. Ariel was lying on the floor, collecting himself. “He’s Talented; he said things to me...he wants me to kill you…”
Michael looked disturbed. He fished around in his pocket and withdrew a lighter, tossing it to Mel, who caugh
t it with a shaky hand. “Do it.”
“You can’t,” Ariel said, finally getting to his feet. He was shaking too, and his face was pale. “This room will go up with a single spark. The house will follow soon. Are you going to risk endangering the neighbors?”
Mel and Michael stared at him. Mel swore; he was right. The houses were too close together to prevent the fire spreading, and the room was too flammable to put out the fire in time.
This had to end now. Mel would have to--
“Stay there,” Ariel said easily, and Mel felt his body lock up again. Ariel looked from one to the other, a smile on his face. “Sorry, Melkira. I would have liked to fight you. You are clearly the better prize,” he said, before turning to Michael. “But you will give me greater pleasure. Michael the Murderer. Yes, that’s what they call you up there. It’s a fitting name, isn’t, Melkira?”
And Mel remembered Lilith again, and he growled, fixing Michael with a deadly stare. Lilith’s screams filled his ears, and he shook his head, trying to get them out.
“Tell us, Mel,” Ariel said, almost kindly.
His heart was racing. He could see Lilith lying beside him, his arms around her; he could see her reassuring smile before her face lost all life in it, before she collapsed to the ground. He moaned; the pain was so great it was nearly ripping him apart.
He looked up at Michael. “I should have killed you when I had the chance,” he hissed, and the color drained from Michael’s face.
Ariel was smiling. “But let me try first,” he said, and he turned to Michael. “The strongest Angel. You have no choice now. You’ll have to kill me the old fashioned way.”
Michael looked dangerously angry, and his hands were balling into fists. “Go on, then,” he breathed, and the two went for each other, while Mel stood rooted to the spot, watching.
Ariel was stronger than he looked. The two struck at each other, punching and parrying, ramming into the walls and knocking piles of newspapers over. Mel watched, and as Ariel’s concentration faltered, he slowly regained feeling in his legs.
But the anger remained, and he watched the two of them fight, wondering which one he wanted to die the most. Maybe Ariel, so he could kill Michael himself. Yes, Ariel first. Michael next. One murderer after another.
Michael was winning, as expected. He was the strongest Angel there ever was, and he easily parried Ariel’s blows, grabbing him by the shirt and tossing him into the wall, which crumbled slightly. Ariel got up, and suddenly produced a knife--a shining, glittering dagger, that clearly had been forged at Home. Michael’s eyes widened--he didn’t have a weapon on him. Ariel swung the Blade at him, slicing the air, and Michael stepped back, flustered.
Mel swore. Ariel was going to win.
He began to struggle, urging his body to move against Ariel’s charm. Move, move, move. His foot slid just an inch. Keep going.
Ariel swung the knife, and the Blade made contact, cutting across Michael’s stomach. Michael stumbled backward, and Mel saw red.
The binding broke, and he charged Ariel, bowling into him.
Suddenly they were outside, landing on the hard pavement. Mel had just enough time to guess they were in the alley behind the houses; Ariel must have taken them there.
Ariel swung the knife at him, slicing his shoulder open, but his hand was weak; Mel’s anger was overwhelming him again. Mel growled, snatching the knife from him.
He kept a knee on Ariel’s chest. He looked at the knife for a moment, before tossing it aside.
“I could kill you with that,” he breathed, his voice deadly soft, “but since you love showing off your Talent, I thought I’d show you mine. Besides,” he added, holding the lighter aloft, “you deserve to burn.”
Ariel looked terrified, weakly pushing at Mel’s leg as he flicked the lighter. The fire instantly engulfed his arms, and he chuckled slightly.
“No….no…” Ariel whispered, “please…”
Mel seized Ariel’s hair, which immediately caught fire. Ariel screamed, and Mel held his hand over his mouth, muffling him and burning him at the same time. The effect was grisly, but Mel still watched, cocking his head, remembering the women who had died such horrible deaths at the hands of this monster. Ariel’s arms and legs flailed, and the fire spread over his face, his torso, until he was merely twitching.
Mel finally got up. He was breathing heavily, and it took him a moment to focus enough to vanish the flames on him. His clothes were smoking and tattered, and he smelled like burnt flesh.
“Mel…” Michael’s voice said, and his head snapped towards him. He was standing nearby, looking cautious. Anger surged within Mel again, and he bent down and picked up Ariel’s knife.
Michael tensed and held up his hands--just as Mel had once done before him.
“Mel...don’t...”
But he wasn’t going to listen. All he could think about was Michael, standing by as Lilith sobbed, sentenced to death. Michael striking him across the face, in front of everyone. Michael banishing him from Home, from his beloved sisters.
Michael was watching him, and there was suddenly a resigned look on his face. He lowered his hands, breathing heavily, and watched as Mel drew closer.
But Mel slowed and halted. The knife was suddenly heavy in his hand, and he felt confused.
No. Don’t do it. Please don’t do it…
He looked at Michael, and remembered kneeling before him again, utterly broken, imagining killing him.
And then he remembered the War. He had been so close to actually doing it...and then the axe had been thrown, heading straight for Michael’s chest, and he couldn’t let it happen…
With another almighty wrench, he dropped the knife, and stumbled away, dropping to the ground and breathing heavily. Michael ran forward, grasped the knife and vanished. Then he reappeared, knifeless, and slowly approached Mel.
“Mel?” he asked quietly.
Mel looked up at him. He was feeling more like himself now; Ariel’s spell must have finally broken. Relief washed over him, and he started to feel giddy. He let out a chuckle, and then a laugh, and Michael looked at him as if he had three heads.
“Why are you laughing?”
He laughed again, and shrugged. “I haven’t got a fucking clue.”
Michael looked almost scandalized, but then his lips twitched. He grinned a little, then chuckled too.
“But...how are you feeling?” he finally asked, and Mel knew he really meant, Do you still want to kill me?
He shakily got to his feet, and looked over to where Ariel’s body had been. It was gone, leaving behind his burning clothes and shoes. He had disappeared entirely--into no realm at all...or into one still not yet understood.
He took a steadying breath. He felt a little shaky; he assumed from Ariel’s trickery. His shoulder was bleeding, and stung a little. But his anger was gone. He thought of Nora, and was anxious to see her.
“I’m okay,” he said, giving Michael a firm nod. “It’s over.”
Michael studied him cautiously, before nodding too. “Right. Well...let’s go. Nora will be worried. And you need new clothes.”
He nodded, and reached out a hand. Michael hesitated again.
Mel let out a sigh. “I don’t want to kill you. All right?”
Michael looked as if he was about to say something. He still looked pale, and his eyes were lowered.
But then he shook himself and nodded, grasping Mel’s hand. In an instant they were falling, falling right into Nora’s kitchen. Mel stumbled, and caught himself on the table.
Nora was sitting on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, with the TV on. She looked around wildly, caught sight of Mel, and sprang to her feet, racing to him and flinging her arms around his neck.
“Thank god,” she moaned, holding him so tight she was nearly strangling him.
Mel was relieved too. He knew how close he had come to never seeing her again. He held her close, smelling her scent and savoring the feel of her body against his. It felt like a long
time ago that he was kissing her goodbye.
“You’re all right?” he asked her, and she pulled away to give him a look.
“Me? Seriously? All I’ve been doing is sitting on my ass,” she exclaimed, looking him over. “Jesus, Mel. What happened? You’re bleeding!”
She ran to get her first aid kit, and after Mel changed out of his ruined clothes and into some sweatpants, the three sat at the kitchen table. Michael and Mel took turns telling Nora what had happened, while she cleaned and dressed Mel’s wound (Michael tended to his own wound). When they got to the part about Mel wanting to kill Michael, she frowned slightly, but didn’t say anything. Mel tried to downplay it--he didn’t feel like dredging up old grievances right now.
“So you--burned him alive?” she asked at the end of the story.
“Yes,” Mel said carefully.
She looked a little squeamish, but nodded. “So he’s finally dead.”
“Yes. He is. Thanks to you,” he added, with a slight smile on his face. “You found him.”
Nora flushed a little. “Yeah, I guess I did.”
Mel studied her. He could tell she wasn’t very comfortable with the idea, even though she had wanted Ariel dead as much as he had.
He reached out and took her hand. “Don’t feel guilty,” he said gently. “Think of what he did to those women.”
She looked at him, and after a moment, nodded.
“Your wound hasn’t healed,” she murmured vaguely.
He glanced at his bandaged shoulder; it was still stinging. “An Immortal Blade, remember? It’ll heal like a human’s would.”
“And it’ll scar,” she replied, and he nodded.
Michael got up, clearing his throat awkwardly. “I’d better go,” he said quietly, not really looking at either of them.
Mel and Nora stood too. Mel cocked his head slightly. Michael looked...troubled. His brow was furrowed, and there was something almost like pain in his eyes.
“You’re all right?” Nora asked, and Mel looked at her, surprised.
Michael nodded jerkily, and in a moment was gone.
