by S Lawrence
Seven who had been chosen, who had waited for the archangels to return. Seven female counterparts, seven who had been chosen as companions, only felt betrayal. They experienced a forsaking and a rage like there had never been in heaven.
Led by one, they waited, biding their time, until the Archangels returned to them. And there in the blinding glory of Heaven’s light, they murdered Michael, Gabriel, Raphael, Uriel, Selaphiel, Raguel and Barachiel. Blood flowed over the hallowed ground, and a war was begun.
While they had waited, they had sewn dissent among the other angels. And those of us who were loyal to Heaven fought those intent on destruction. Many died and many chose to fall. The Fallen are the ones we were created to fight. Their intentions are to slaughter as many of those they deem responsible as they can in horrible ways. They are still led by Serafina, who had been chosen for Michael. She was his equal in every way, including his wrath. Her anger is directed towards human women, for she blames them for Michael’s betrayal.
* * *
“Of course, the problem with that is the Archangels made their own decisions. And none of those women are still alive to be killed. Michael and the others had hidden the women and the children away before they returned. I don’t know if they were warned by someone or if they just sensed something. They cloaked the children’s angelic essence and natures, hiding them.” I stared at him, unable to process all the information. I have no memories of any of this, other than the blood and killing in the heavens.
He remains silent as I struggle to deal with the revelation. Luc stands with his back to me in front of the window, bathed in the brilliant afternoon light, and suddenly a vision or memory of him flashes in my mind. He is glorious, with his natural bright light shining out of him as he swings his sword, his golden armor seemingly on fire as it reflects his light. I blink slowly, and when I open my eyes, he has turned and is facing me. Now the light shines on his head like the halos humans believe angels have.
I want to laugh because he is so far from what they believe them to be. Never would they look upon him and think evil. “So, why were you cast out?” I can’t believe I just fucking asked him that. The choking cough to my left tells me Evander can’t believe it either.
“After all that you were told, why would you believe now that I was merely cast out?” I fight to keep my mouth from flopping open. “I chose to fall. He then cast me down, unhappy with my decision and why I made it.” He looks at Evander before sighing. “The days after the battle, Heaven was in chaos. It wasn’t that though, no, it was the screams of those on Earth echoing through Heaven that caused my decision. Those screams and his unwillingness to intervene forced me to fall. And so I was cast to Hell, my punishment for daring to question his inaction.”
I don’t know what to say. I don’t even know where to begin. So I ask the only thing I can think of. “And you made us why?”
I think I know the answer but I want to hear him say it.
“Like I said, before He withdrew and left this mess, He created all of this and yet He leaves, even with them slaughtering His creations. I was first. I don’t know if He realized the powers He gave me. I’m not strong enough to fight them all but I made an army with those powers. Besides, I couldn’t leave you in the darkness.”
At the mention of the nothingness, the memory of it floods back. My heart pounds with a weight that presses down on me. That nothingness, that blackness, that void… It’s worse than anything in hell.
If only humans knew it was Lucifer and a band of his demons that are fighting to save them.
Three
LILLIAN
Crying out as my skin is torn by the metal, I lock my muscles in place. If I jerk, the claws will tear the muscle below the skin, making the pain and the wound so much worse.
“What do you think you’re doing, Lillian?” Celine’s words are low and deadly.
“I just wanted to see the floats and listen to the music. I stayed out of sight.” I hate the pleading tone of my voice.
She flexes her fingers, metal scraping over bone, before releasing me.
“Grace needs caring for.” Spinning, she glides away.
Reaching back, I wipe at the blood that is running down my spine, the movement causes the wound to open more. Another mark of their possession and their brand of ownership. Another badge of honor for me. I see every mark as proof of my resistance and my unwillingness to give up. I’ve earned every one of them.
I used to look in the mirror and hate seeing the one that runs from my eyebrow to my jaw, but now it simply strengthens my resolve each morning. My finger traces it as I walk to the house to help Grace. If not for her, I would have lost my eye.
They return in the dead of night, screaming for me to come and clean their things, which were coated in blood. Slipping the phone from my pocket, I open the news application, searching for a report on what they have done this time. It’s the same everywhere they settle. They stalk the night, killing women mostly and preying on people they say are sinners. The matter of sin doesn’t matter; large or small, the punishment is death. The problem is they see everything women do as sinful.
At times, their targets are men, those they feel were lured too easily, otherwise righteous men who choose to go down the wrong path following a woman. These poor people are treated the worst, killed the slowest, the pain unimaginable. I think this is how I lost my family. They’ve often told me how they saved me. Of course, it is while I’m kept prisoner even when I wish to leave.
Another reason I don’t understand Grace being with the others; if they knew she had helped me in anyway other than keeping me alive, they would punish her. My feet freeze on the stairs as the words play over in my head. It’s been a year since I woke up to the horrible pain in my face, a year of her returning with injuries.
“Oh, Grace,” I whisper the words before continuing at a run up the stairs. Rushing in the door, I close it quickly behind me, sliding the lock into place. It won’t stop them but it will serve as a warning to their arrival, if they happen to come. She is still on the bed but she is at least propped up on pillows. Her leg is where I left it, elevated on the folded blankets. The gauze is stained red but at least it is dry.
“This is because of me, isn’t it?” I ask. Her head turns toward the window. “Grace, why?” Why about so many things. I ease down beside her on the bed. “Please, Grace.” Still not looking at me, she nods. “Because you helped me?” Another minuscule nod. “Has it been since that day, every injury they have inflicted on you because you saved my eye? I don’t understand.” I don’t get why they would even care. Hell, I don’t know why they even want me alive. I don’t ask her that. I have before, but she won’t answer that.
“It doesn’t matter, Lilly.” She’s the only one who calls me that. I wouldn’t want the others to anyway. “I’ll heal.” She doesn’t need to finish that statement; we both know it will happen again.
“Why do you stay?” She looks at me finally, and her face is so sad it makes me want to weep.
“You should go. I’ll be fine.” Shaking my head, I reach for the supplies I’d left earlier.
“Let me clean it and change the dressing, at least.” I’m already unwinding the gauze, careful to not reopen the wound. She only tenses when I pull the final bit away, the part that is stuck. Gently as I can, I clean away the blood and then apply ointment, but she shakes her head at that. “I know you don’t need it but…” I rewrap it all loosely and then stand, cleaning up the trash before I cross to the door. Stopping in the threshold, I look back at her. “Thank you.” She smiles slightly in response, and I continue out into the hallway. I stop at the bathroom and throw the trash away, then store the supplies back in the closet. It’s well into the night, and the house is quiet. I’m not sure if they are gone or not but I make my way up another flight of stairs to my room. My door is ajar and I freeze, listening for movement. It’s minutes later before I force my body into motion, still I creep inside, pushing the door open as slowly as
I can. My eyes dart around, searching every dark corner before I slide my hand up the wall and flick the light on.
There, sitting pretty as you please in the middle of my bed is an enormous black cat with bright eyes, one gold and one green. I close the door just as slowly behind me, again sliding the lock as an alert.
“How’d you get in here?” I whisper. It just watches me, the tip of its tail flicking. Its hair is long and the ends are lighter, a smokey gray. Fangs protrude from its lips, stark white against the black and curve into razor sharp points. “You have to leave. They won’t like you being here.” I glance back at the door. It meows, and it is a tiny, high noise that doesn’t fit with the huge beast. I grin at it, taking a tentative step toward the bed, afraid I will scare it. Still it watches me.
They never come up here. “Maybe just for tonight, but you have to be quiet.” Continuing slowly forward until I reach the table beside the bed, I reach out. Its head turns, watching my hand. I pick up the TV remote and turn it on. “Just so they might think any noise is from the tv.”
I sit on the very edge of the bed. I don’t move a muscle when it stands and walks over and I remain still when its giant head bumps into me. It does it again before sitting and looking up at my face.
“Hi,” I whisper before reaching out and gently touching its head.
A deafening rumble starts, and I realize it’s purring.
I relax, and it doesn’t take long before he’s curled beside me, my fingers combing through the dark fur. I discovered it was a boy as he wound around my body.
“I know you can’t stay, but maybe you could visit.” A certain pirate captain is on the tv, and I decide right then. “I’m going to call you Captain Jack.”
I know it’s crazy to name him but I can’t help myself. It’s selfish. It does nothing but put him in danger. They will kill him or worse just because he mattered to me. Looking down at the huge head laying on my thigh, I can’t help myself.
I’ve never had a friend.
Four
TORRYN
I’ve walked these streets a hundred years and until this moment, I’ve managed to avoid every Mardi Gras parade. My molars will be dust before I can get out of here.
Shoving the drunken idiot that just slammed into me, I don’t feel even a tiny bit bad as he stumbles into his equally drunk friends and they land in a pile on the street. I know what’s on that street; they better throw those clothes away and bathe in bleach.
I’ve been wandering up and down the streets all day. I left the office right after Luc said he couldn’t leave us in the darkness. I couldn’t listen to another word. I don’t want to know anything else. For my entire existence, I’ve known exactly who I am, but that’s not true any longer, is it? I lived a thousand years before I woke up in Hell. Just thinking about it now conjures up images of Heaven. It pisses me off.
I remember the moment I was killed. I see the face smiling as the sword made it past my own. I had been on my way to ask Selaphiel about his time on Earth when I found her standing over his body, his blood cooling on the marble floor. Trinity whirled on me, fierce and angry. I hate to admit I was unprepared for her rage and ability. It almost wasn’t a fight at all. She almost killed me before I drew my sword. I was young and then untried, barely trained for fighting. A member of the lowest triad, a guardian angel with no charge.
Then the darkness.
Shaking my head, I focus on the task at hand: finding the Fallen. I wonder if Trinity is still alive. We’ve never had a report of any of them being killed, and I hope they have not. I want to gut her myself. I don’t know why I’m even bothering. Over a thousand years and we’ve never been able to find them. They are cloaked with a magic we don’t have, how I don’t know. I stop mid-step as a memory slides into my consciousness. I see the seven as they were sent down by God for his chosen.
I had been in awe. Angels of the first triad rarely strayed far from God. Here were seven, sent to seven in the third triad. Seraphims who, until now, had attended God himself. Now sent from his side to be companions for the Archangels. At the time, I only thought of how the Archangels had felt. The honor being given to them. Now, I remember the females faces, tight smiles that didn’t reach their eyes. Anger radiated from them, but of course, we didn’t recognize it. It was not an emotion we saw in Heaven.
A necklace of beads slaps me in the head, reminding me to pay attention. Looking up, I scowl at those on the balconies. This probably a waste of time anyway. Why would they come and face this insanity? No sooner than the thought races through my mind, I hear a muffled scream.The humans are oblivious, the music and reverie drowning out the sound of pain.
Turning in a slow circle, I try to determine where it came from. Listening closely for another sound, I force the crowds to move around me. There. My head whips right and I shove people as I fight my way to a darkened courtyard.
The scent of Confederate Jasmine hits me like a brick as I step through the arched trellis gate. The courtyard is overgrown with the vines, and their white flowers shine in the moonlight. There, in the center is a man slumped over, blood pooling on the bricks below him.
I approach slowly, keeping my eyes on him and trying to see if his chest is moving with breath, but I know I’m too late. I stop just inches from his legs, leaning over to look at the wounds when a flash of movement catches my eye. I drop into a fighting stance as my eyes scan the shadowed back corners but I see nothing.
Moving slowly toward where whatever it was had moved, I draw in a deep breath and there beneath the sweet scent of jasmine is something else. Something I haven’t smelled in over two thousand years -- it’s a mix of clean, warm laundry, flowers, and fresh baked cookies. It is Heaven and those from there. While it reminds me of who I once was, it also makes me more wary. The only heavenly beings that could be here are the Fallen. The man had been killed by one of them.
I flex my fingers toward my wrist, feeling the hilt of the blade I keep strapped to my arm. My gaze slides over every inch, but I see nothing until I look at the top of the high stone wall. A huge black cat sits staring down at me. Different colored eyes blazes bright in the darkness. Fucking creepy. “Meow.” I almost laugh at the tiny, high pitched sound that comes from the massive beast.
“Did you see the bitch that did it?” I murmur to it. No response. Not that I expected one. Feeling stupid, I turn on my heel and stride out. Pushing through the crowds once more, I’m three blocks away before I hear the first scream. The body has been found.
I search for the rest of the night, all through the Quarter, but never find another trace. As the sky begins to lighten, I give up and head home to the warehouse district. I nod at the security as I walk across the lobby to the elevator. Punching the button for the third floor, the ride up to the top taking all of ten seconds, I step out impatiently, squeezing through the doors before they are opened fully. I’m in my penthouse in seconds, closing the door just as I hear the only other one opening.
“Hey, man.” I pretend I don’t hear Derek the Douche that lives in the other penthouse.
The door locks automatically as I glance at the security screen. He’s standing at the elevator, his eyes locked on my door. I give him the finger as I stalk to the kitchen. My tablet is on the black quartz countertop. My fingers trace over the glistening flecks reflecting in it. I chose it when I moved in because they reminded me of the stars. Now I wonder if they really reminded me of the heavens.
As soon as I log in, I see I have a message waiting for me. Dagen’s avatar is beside the message. Opening it, I skim through it, my hands gripping the counter tightly. He’d also been patrolling the city and found another kill. His had been a woman though. The picture he took glares at me from the screen; she had been beautiful. Pulling out my phone, I tap his number and put it to my ear, waiting for him to answer.
“It’s getting fucking worse.” He’s angry, and his words are low. I can hear him pacing over the phone. “Any idea why they’re ramping up?”
“None. But I think you need to talk to Boss tomorrow.” I don't elaborate. I want to spill my guts, tell him everything. But I don't really know everything.
“Why?” He is immediately suspicious.
“Just go talk to him. I found a guy tonight, just missed the killer. I know it was one of them.” My fingers tunnel through my hair as I turn toward the windows. “Listen, I’m going to crash for a couple hours and then I’ll be at the office. Meet me there at one.” He agrees, and I hang up.
Heading over to the doors, I open them and let the cool breeze blow in, noticing the flowers growing along my iron railing. Mary, the lady who cleans, must have brought the boxes and flowers. I have to remember to give her extra money this week. It won’t be long before she hangs the huge ferns from the hooks over head. She says she likes to make the place look like a true New Orleans home, and I guess ferns and flowers on the balcony do that.
Leaving the doors open, I head into the bathroom and turn the shower on, setting the water to hot. It only takes a minute for the steam to begin to billow over the glass walls and door. I strip out of my clothes, which smell of stale beer and sweat, and step in, letting the water pour over me. Resting my forearms and head on the light grey tiles, I let the heat wash away the night and the anger.
Twenty-minutes later, I twist the knobs and step out, grabbing a towel off the pile on the little black table to my side. Another one of Mary’s touches -- everything in this room is black and shades of gray. Walking out with the towel around my waist, I pick up the remote and use it to close the room darkening shades. I climb into bed and fall asleep in moments.
My sleep is far from peaceful, although this is nothing new. I can’t remember a night where I haven’t dreamed of either death or the darkness. It took years before I could wake up not covered in sweat or crying out. Often it was my own screams that woke me. Today it was another sound. I blink in the darkness, breathing deep and pulling in the smells around me. A horn honks loudly, and I push up, realizing I left the doors open. I never leave them open. Throwing back the cover, I swing my legs over the side, my feet landing silently on the plush carpet. It hadn’t been traffic that woke me. My hand closes over the sweats that are laying in the red velvet chair beside my bed. Mary again -- this room is crimson. I pull them on as I stand. Just as I’m about to move, “Meow.” I whip around, and there sitting on the chaise that matches the chair is that huge fucking cat. He’s staring at me with his unsettling eyes, his tail whipping back and forth.
