Cover Him with Darkness

by Janine Ashbless

  I shook my head. “No… He said ‘Who is that?’”

  “Milja, I’ve picked up enough Serbo-Croat to know that’s just not true.”

  “Don’t call it Serbo-Croat,” I muttered. “We don’t use that term anymore.”

  “Fine. Montenegrin.” Egan cleared his throat pointedly and waited for a real answer, and when I kept quiet he pressed on; “What did he mean? Who did he think I was?”

  The kitten hopped up into my lap and lay down, staring up at Egan as I stroked its furry back and chewed my lip. It was a fair question, I admitted. Egan had the right to ask what sort of trouble he was getting involved in. For all he knew it could be drugs or people-trafficking or some organized-crime vendetta.

  “I… There’s this…” My brain felt like it had flatlined. “I don’t know how to explain.”

  “Well, start at the beginning.”

  “I can’t. You won’t believe me.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because you’re…sensible.” I looked helplessly toward the altar. “Really really sensible. And normal. And not from round here. And I wouldn’t believe it if I were you, and you were me.”

  “Okay…that’s some buildup. Should I be flattered by the sensible bit, then?”

  “Oh yes.”

  “You make it sound like I’m a turnip farmer.”

  I snorted, covering my nose. The kitten dug tiny claws into my lap.

  “Just take it bit by bit.”

  “The antiquities I told you about…” I started, realized that was a dead end and then began groping for some sort of agnostic gloss on the story. “The priests…think…that I’ve done something really bad.”

  “Uh-huh?”

  “They think there was something kept in the church in our village. Someone. Like, a prisoner.” I paused, waited for Egan’s response, whether encouraging or derisory, but he made not a sound and did not stir, and I didn’t dare look at him so I blurted, in a rush, “An angel. A fallen one. They think I let it out.”

  The silence was excruciating. I made myself look at him at last. He was staring down the nave as if he hadn’t heard me, his face expressionless, but when I turned my gaze to him he met it.

  “And what do you think, Milja?”

  I felt myself crumbling inside. “What do you mean?”

  “Do you believe they’ve got it right? Did you see an angel? Did you let it out?” His voice was so gentle that I wanted to cry, but there was a bead of sweat on his temple that caught the candlelight like gold.

  He thought I was delusional.

  I wanted to deny it. I wanted to tell him, Oh no, it’s just some crazy local superstition and this old man Father Velimir has taken it way too seriously, but how do I prove that? Yet the thought of lying to Egan made me ache. I’d already lied by omission, over and over again. It weighed on me like slabs of rock.

  I looked away. “Am I a crazy-ass religious nutcase then?”

  “I don’t think so. That’s not the impression you’ve given so far.”

  He had his cautious, sensible voice on again, and all of a sudden, quite perversely, I wanted to break that. “There was an angel,” I said flatly. “Tied up in a cave. He’d been there five thousand years, he said. I let him go free.”

  Egan kept quiet this time.

  I started to count, wondering how long it would be before he laughed, or stood up and walked out. One…two…three…four…five…

  “Why?”

  “Huh?”

  “Why did you let him go?”

  I blinked. “I felt sorry for him.” That was so woefully inadequate that I had to follow it up. “He was in pain, and it was so cruel, and so unfair…” I broke off abruptly. Where was he leading me in this?

  Egan was sitting with his hands steepled together before his face, fingers pressed against his mouth, frowning at me.

  “Do you believe me then?”

  He tapped his fingertips against his lips, thoughtfully. “I don’t think you’re lying. And those priests believe it, presumably.” Tap, tap. “I’ll tell you something else…”

  “What?”

  “They’re trying to take you alive.”

  I pulled a face, uncomprehending.

  “If they’d been trying to execute you as some sort of act of revenge, or punishment, they’d have had you shot in the drugstore, without hesitation. And it’d only take one man to do it. Or they’d have shot out our tires at speed afterward and killed us both in the crash. They’re trying to bring you in alive. Why do you think that is?”

  “I don’t know!” My voice rose a little too loudly and the kitten needled me again. “To put me on trial? To punish me more?”

  “Maybe. It’s interesting, don’t you think?”

  “Interesting?”

  “Ah now, I’m sorry…that was a bit thoughtless of me.” He smiled in self-deprecation. “Look, Milja, I think I need to make a phone call.”

  “Who to?”

  “I have…contacts who might be able to get us out of the country. Through unofficial channels. I think we might need them.”

  Army people? Special Forces? CIA? Irish Republican terrorists? Maybe I really was going crazy.

  “I can’t ring from in here. You just stay for a moment, Milja.”

  “No!” I grabbed his arm. “Don’t leave me!”

  “I’m not leaving you.” His hand on mine was firm. “Not ever. I will keep you safe, I promise, Milja. But you need to stay out of sight. I will be five minutes, no more.”

  I looked into his eyes and I believed him. I stayed, with the gray kitten nestled on my lap, and I tried to pray. But the traditional words were like dead leaves on my tongue and the only prayer in my heart was Please keep him safe. Please don’t let him leave without me.

  There was a creak as someone sat on the pew in front of me.

  “Hello.”

  My eyes flashed open. If it had been anybody I recognized as a pursuer, I think I would have screamed my head off, but it was someone totally unknown to me. An older man: little lines creased around his eyes as he smiled. Silver hair, but black brows that denied he was truly aged. Deepset, hauntingly wonderful blue eyes. A bit George Clooney. But better looking.

  “Ohhh,” I said, as the kitten dug all twenty claws into my thighs.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you. Milja, isn’t it?” He extended a hand for me to shake over the back of the pew. As the kitten rose up on four agonizing paws, arched its back and spat at him, he glanced briefly at it and withdrew his hand. “I’m Uriel,” he said urbanely, as if nothing had happened.

  “Uriel?” I said through gritted teeth. “Like in ‘the Archangel Uriel’?”

  “Yes.” He looked pleased. “That’s right. Exactly like in the Archangel Uriel.”

  chapter eight

  GHOSTS

  It would be nice to report that I said something wise or memorable. I didn’t. I didn’t get any farther than thinking, Oh no. Oh no no no.

  “How are you enjoying this church?” he asked cheerily. “There was a lot of fuss when they decided to put in the pews. The traditionalists don’t like it at all, and I’ve got to say I think it makes the place a bit cluttered.”

  “Um. It’s nice to have a place to just sit. And think.”

  “And pray, I trust?”

  “Yes.”

  “There’s an icon of me up near the Bishop’s Chair.” He winked. “I hope you’ll go light a candle later.”

  “Right.” It came out as a squeak.

  “Don’t be shy. You’re a remarkable young woman, in your way,” he said. “The first person ever to release one of the Watchers from their prison—did you know that?”

  “Really?” My voice was tiny.

  He hooked up the side of his mouth. There was something about his eyes that was truly disquieting. “I somehow imagined you might be… prettier. And with bigger breasts. I mean, his last wife… You should have seen her. Wow.”

  I clenched my jaw. “Sorry to disappoint
.”

  “Oh, I’m used to disappointment. I wouldn’t know where I was without it, to be honest. Sex, was it? Some kind of infatuation?” He rolled his eyes, addressing himself as much as me. “Of course it was. And I thought the bonobos were risible.”

  I blushed. The kitten withdrew its claws from my skin, but remained fluffed up with outrage as it let out a grumbling yowl.

  “Don’t blame yourself, Milja. It was probably bound to happen sooner or later, given the setup.”

  “The setup?”

  “You think it was bread crusts and rainwater that kept your Azazel alive for three hundred generations? He’s one of the Sons of God, girl—created and sustained by the Living Presence. Cut him off from that, bury him in a mountain and forget him, and he dies. Slowly. But surely.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Of course you don’t. To sustain the Egrigoroi, to eke out their torment for eons, they were given guardians. Human watchmen who would feel responsibility and pity and—who knows?—desire. That’s what keeps them alive. It’s a piss-poor substitute for the infinite love of the Almighty, but it suffices.”

  “That’s…” I struggled to express my feelings. “That’s horrible.”

  “The Lord of Hosts certainly has a sense of irony.” He shook his head. “Of course the weakness in the plan is that one of you might love…too much. Quis custodiet ipsos custodes, heh?”

  “What?”

  “Who watches the watchers?”

  “That’s just disgusting,” I whispered. “To use compassion like that…”

  Uriel lifted a finger and wagged it at me gently. “Careful, girl. Sin of Job. Don’t go there.”

  “Job?” I remembered my Bible stories reasonably well I thought, even if I hadn’t read them in years. “Job was an upright man, without sin. That was the point.”

  “But he questioned the justice of God. That was his sin, to be repented in dust and ashes.”

  I stuck my lower lip out, feeling the heat rising in my chest. “Then it’s already too late for me. And I don’t repent it.”

  Uriel’s eyes widened. In the shadowy nave they looked like they had a pale bluish glow. “Really?”

  I floundered through my hot thoughts. I regretted the consequences of what I’d done, of course: my whole world had been torn apart. But I did not, could not, repent or disown the feelings that had made me cut Azazel’s bonds. “Yeah,” I answered, like a stubborn child glowering before a teacher. “Really.”

  “You will,” he said.

  Then he rose and walked out.

  “Milja, we’ve got a place.”

  I jumped as Egan’s hand fell on my shoulder. The kitten sprang from my lap and ran away under the pews.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  I nodded. For a moment I considered telling him what had just happened, but the impulse passed. I’d somehow garnered a sort of qualified acceptance for my story from Egan, and I didn’t want to blow that by talking of archangels paying a visit the moment he wasn’t looking. “Where are we going?”

  “For the moment, a safe place. Just someone’s house, I think. But I’m trying to arrange a way across the border. I’ll let you know as soon as I hear the details.”

  “But what about your stuff? Your job? You’re just going to walk out on them?”

  He touched his pocket. “It’s all covered. I’ve spoken to them, and I’ve got clearance.”

  I bit my lip, humbled and a little horrified by his willingness to drop everything and throw his life into chaos.

  For me.

  He led me out into the sunshine and we walked down an avenue of sycamores to a corner opposite a bar, where a vehicle waited for us. Not a taxi, but a beat-up minivan with a back made of slats, the kind that takes agricultural workers to the fields and then heads to the market loaded with boxes of vegetables. There were even kale leaves scattered across the corrugated metal floor. Egan made me wait in a doorway as he approached the driver, had a brief chat and then signaled me to climb into the back.

  “Who’s the driver?” I asked as we set off, rattling over every pothole. I wasn’t really expecting an open answer.

  “Just a guy who works for some people I know.”

  I pulled a face. “Why can’t you tell me?”

  “I will, later. It’s just that now…well, we’re not exactly in friendly territory here.”

  I squinted between the planks. It looked like we were heading south, toward the outskirts of town.

  “What’s he like?” Egan asked.

  “Who?”

  “This escaped angel of yours. Did he tell you his name?”

  “Azazel.”

  Egan sucked in his lips.

  “You can look him up online, if you like. The Book of Enoch—this really crazy apocryphal book that never made it into the proper Bible. It’s all about the fall of the angels.”

  “What’s he like?” he repeated.

  The answer to that was so huge I didn’t know where to start. All my life I’d kept quiet about our family secret. I hadn’t even mentioned it to Ben, in college, and reticence had become an ingrained habit. I made a face as I tasted the words. “Angry,” I said, slowly. “Resentful. Horny. Pretty much like you’d expect to be…if you’d been tied up for five thousand years.”

  Egan’s eyes were hooded. “Except I’d be dead after that long.”

  “Yeah, well. He’s not.”

  “Horny, you say? So, have you two…?”

  The van jolted on a cracked slab of road and I grabbed at the metal frame. I wished he weren’t staring at me so intensely. It wasn’t like I wanted to talk to Egan about my demonic lover. It made me feel really self-conscious. But I wasn’t going to lie. Not anymore.

  “Yeah.” Was it my fault it came out sounding defiant? “But I didn’t know who he was, at the time.”

  “So, that story you told me. About your man you had a thing with when you were eighteen. That was him?”

  “Uh-huh.” Why was he looking at me like that? Why did I need to justify my love life?

  “He forced you?”

  “No.”

  “Tricked you?”

  Was this some sort of interrogation? “Not exactly. I don’t think so, anyway.”

  Egan bounced his knee in counterpoint to the bumps of the road. “He’s handsome, then, I guess? No horns or bat-wings like in the pictures, I’m assuming?”

  “Well he wouldn’t stand out in a room full of international models. He’s human looking. But yeah…compared to ordinary people, he’s… noticeable.”

  Egan’s pale eyes held mine. “I suppose you’re not to be blamed for falling for him, then.”

  “No I’m not!” My hurt was audible.

  Egan looked away briefly. It wasn’t an apology, but it was a retreat. He took a deep breath. “Do you know where he’s gone?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know what he’s planning to do?”

  I shook my head. “No. And I don’t want to.”

  It was a room full of international models. The women looked that way anyway, and I was sure that some of their faces were familiar from magazines. The men mostly just looked incredibly well-heeled and pleased with themselves. Both genders stood around holding cocktail glasses and laughing as they talked. Photographers prowled the crowd armed with oversized flashbulbs. Through open doors I could see an azure sea, but inside the room were full-sized palm trees and a colossal aquarium two stories high, in which sharks swam among brightly colored corals.

  It looked like the champagne party of the year.

  I walked through slowly, looking left and right. My own dress was bright scarlet and nearly floor-length, though it left my arms and a deep V of cleavage bare. The material was soft and clung to my thighs like silk kisses.

  Azazel just didn’t do underwear, I was forced to accept.

  I found him sitting in a leather armchair, talking to a group of people around a small table. He hadn’t bothered to get dressed up at all, but lo
oked exactly as he had last time—which was enough to make my blood race. He beckoned me over, but there was no space for me to sit so he patted his knee. I perched obediently, and he drew me into his lap.

  “Where are we?” I asked. Sitting like this, our heads were just about on a level. He slipped one hand over the small of my back, caressing me, and my spine arched like a cat’s.

  “I’ve no idea. Some party. I thought you might like to try this very very expensive drink.”

  It came in a fluted glass and looked like champagne with little flakes of gold in it. It tasted like sunlight and went straight to my head with the first sip.

  “Nice?”

  “Yes. Azazel…why me? Why do you want me?”

  Just for a moment he took his attention off my body and looked me in the face. “What a strange thing to ask.”

  “I mean, look at you. Look at you! You could have practically any woman here that you wanted, even without threatening to massacre her family or reduce her country to ash or whatever your usual chat-up line is. Really beautiful, clever women. Why me?”

  “You think me devoid of all sentiment? You were there. You fed me. You freed me.”

  I recalled only too well what Uriel had said about me feeding him. I wet my lips.

  “What was your last girlfriend like?”

  He watched my expression, smiling slightly. “A little shorter than you. Long red hair. Mismatched eyes—one brown, one green.”

  “Big boobs?”

  There was a glint of teeth beneath his lip. “Are you jealous of a woman dead five thousand years, Milja?”

  “Hell no. I just…wondered.”

  “She was an oracle, in a village on the edge of a great river. She would breathe the fumes of certain leaves and tell people what futures lay before them, and she would dance under the moon to call the wild ibex down from the steppe. I was…very fond of her.”

  I wondered what the hesitation hid. He looked a lot calmer in this new dream, I thought, though his right hand was stroking my back and his left caressing my thigh in a way it was hard to ignore. I thought of his wild-dancing Pythia and asked, “Did you have any children?”

  The light went out of his eyes. “We had three.”

  That shook me, for some reason. “What happened to them?”