Angels on Fire

by Nancy A. Collins

  Joth hopped onto the narrow rail of the fire-escape as easily as a robin perching on a window sill, balancing on the balls of its feet. Lucy stopped struggling, going rigid with fear as she stared down at the street a hundred feet below.

  “J-joth? What do you think you’re doing—? Put me down, Joth—!” The only response she received was the sound of wings snapping open. “Joth!”

  The angel leapt off the fire-escape as easily as an Olympic diver going off the high board. As the top of the dry cleaner’s street-level awning filled her vision, Lucy screamed and turned her head away, burying her face in Joth’s shoulder. There was a sudden rush of wind and the feeling of uplift, as if they were a leaf caught on a gust of wind. Lucy lifted her head from the hollow of Joth’s collarbone and risked a peek. To her surprise she found herself staring down at the head of a man with male pattern baldness. The balding man was watering a roof-top garden.

  They were two hundred feet and climbing over New York’s Lower East Side. Joth’s wings were beating so fast they were invisible, humming in her ears like a wildly spinning top. She marveled at how something as lightweight as she knew Joth to be could carry her and still be airborne—no doubt it was yet another one of the myriad miracles that came with being an angel. In any case, she decided not to question how they were being kept aloft and simply enjoy the view.

  She had lived in Manhattan for years, but her perception of the city was, by default, that of one of the human ants that dwelt in its concrete canyons. Now she was being presented with a genuine bird’s-eye view of her adopted home as Joth flew through the crowded streets, adroitly surfing the updrafts created by the artificial mountains of steel and concrete that flanked the major avenues.

  They zipped past executives in office buildings busy talking on the phone, holding meetings and putting golf balls into coffee cups. Lucy spotted a mother rocking her baby to sleep while gazing out her eighth-floor apartment’s window. She was surprised by the number of high-rise window boxes full of flowers—riots of color otherwise invisible from the street. She blushed at the sight of teen-aged lovers indulging their passion on what they imagined was the relative privacy of a rooftop. But, most of all, she was amazed how no one on the street or in the various buildings they soared past seemed to notice them. Maybe they were genuinely invisible, or perhaps since no one expected to see a winged man carrying a woman flying through the concrete canyons of Manhattan no one was looking for them.

  In any case, whatever kept the human occupants of the city from noticing their passage did not extend to Manhattan’s other inhabitants, as flocks of pigeons scattered whenever Joth swooped past, apparently mistaking the angel for one of the peregrine falcons that made their aeries in the older skyscrapers. As they approached Midtown, a brilliant-white German shepherd lazing on the patio of a lofty penthouse apartment jumped to its feet, barking furiously at the passing angel. The dog’s owner, an older man, came out to see what was aggravating his pet. Although he stared right at Joth and Lucy, he showed no sign of actually seeing them.

  The Chrysler Building rose before them like an art deco syringe, its stainless steel cladding sparkling in the sun. Lucy had seen the skyscraper from a distance virtually every day for several years, but never from such a height. From their angle of approach it looked less like an office building than a temple to some ancient sun god. As Joth climbed higher and higher on the updrafts created by the buildings lining East Forty-Second, Lucy marveled at the detailing on the exterior of the building, which had gone unseen, save by pigeons and window- washers, since that day, long decades years ago, when the high-steel workers capped the tower with its triple sunburst spire.

  Joth settled onto the broad, flat skull of one of the mammoth eagles that peered out over the city nearly eight hundred feet above the street and gently lowered her atop the gargoyle’s head. The wind was so strong her clothes flapped against her like flags, threatening to yank her into space. She clutched the angel’s arm with both hands, terrified of losing her balance and slipping off her perch. It was all she could do to fight the instinctive urge to fall to her belly and cling to the platinum-like surface.

  “Joth—what are you doing? Why did you bring me here?” she said through chattering teeth.

  “To show you what I see. You have shown me this world through your eyes—now I want you to see it through mine.”

  “Joth, please—I’m afraid—!” The furiously blowing wind threatened to push her own breath back inside her lungs. Her hair was whipping across her face so strongly it was impossible to raise her head, leaving no other choice but to stare at the dizzying drop directly beneath her feet. They were so high up the din of the street-level traffic was swallowed whole by the rushing of the wind.

  If Joth heard her pleas, it gave no sign. Instead, it touched her chin and lifted her head, enabling her to stare out over the cityscape. “See through my eyes, Lucy. See as I see,” the angel said, its words filling her mind like a voice in a dream.

  The paralyzing vertigo that had gripped her a moment before was suddenly replaced by a sense of awe. The wonder washed over her like an ocean wave, subsuming her within itself. At first there was fear—the fear of being consumed by the immensity of what she was experiencing—but some instinct buried inside her told her not to fight it. There was a feeling deep within her like that of a key turning in a lock, and, if only for the briefest moment, she looked out over the city through the eyes of an angel.

  Before her were spread the landmarks of East Forty-Second—the Graybar Building, the Chanin Building, the Daily News, 500 Fifth Avenue. Seen from on high, the ugliness, hatred, and cruelty that she knew thrived within the city was invisible. In place of people there was a pattern of lights, zipping back and forth, leaving smeared tracers in their wake, like the headlights of cars filmed with time-lapse photography. Some of the lights were bright, others dim, and some even seemed to burn darkly, like ultraviolet lights. There were more colors than she had ever thought imaginable—multitudes of reds, blues, greens, yellows, and every possible shade in between.

  The pinpricks of gaily colored light zipped back and forth, like fireflies dancing on a summer night. At first it seemed as if their frantic maneuvering was without rhyme or reason, but the longer she looked, patterns began to emerge. It was as if she were watching a tapestry being woven by blind happenstance, yet it somehow incorporated designs of breath-taking skill and complexity. But just as she was about to grasp the meaning behind the design, suddenly, like Penelope’s wedding shawl, it would unravel and begin re-weaving itself into another, equally grandiose pattern. She was reminded of a photograph she had once seen of Picasso tracing the outline of the Minotaur with a pen-light. The naked human eye could not have possibly grasped what had been drawn, but the camera did. So did it exist? And if it did exist, which was the true work of art? The firefly minotaur or the photograph itself? Or were they twins? One living for the span of a heartbeat, the other for eternity?

  The tears that filled her eyes were not brought by the stinging of the wind. She turned her head and pressed her face into Joth’s naked chest, cinching her arms tightly around its narrow waist. The angel gingerly returned her embrace, pulling its wings forward to shelter her. She lifted her head and looked into Joth’s perfect face. In the shadow cast by its wings, the darkness in Joth’s eyes made them look almost human. As she stared into their depths, she trembled yet again, but not for fear of falling or from the chill of the wind.

  “I’ve seen enough,” she whispered. “Take me home.”

  Lucy remained silent the entire flight back. There was no need to say anything. She felt that she understood Joth far better than she ever had before. She was ashamed for having dismissed the angel as a fool simply because it was ignorant of the physical world she operated in. Now that she had glimpsed, however briefly, Joth’s perception of things, she wondered if this was what the Shinto priests felt when they looked at Mount Fuji and saw the face of their god.

  As they came within
sight of the apartment building, she experienced a twinge of sadness. She wasn’t sure if it was because her ride was at its end, or because Joth would no longer need to hold her. She had forgotten how it felt to be cradled in the arms of someone she trusted without question. The last time she had been held so securely was when her father was alive.

  The phone was ringing as she crawled back through the window into her bedroom. She snatched up the receiver just before the voice mail could pick up the call.

  “Where were you?” demanded Nevin by way of a hello.

  “Oh—hi,” she said, the smile melting from her face. Normally, hearing her lover’s voice was the high point of her day, but now it made the pit of her stomach fill with lead.

  “What’s going on—why are you out of breath?”

  “I was—out—for a little while. I just got back in.” She glanced over at Joth, who was sitting inside the window, legs dangling over the sill, its head tilted to one side as it watched her.

  “Out?” Nevin’s voice was petulant. “Who were you with?”

  “I was with Joth.”

  “Oh. Him.” Nevin’s displeasure was clear in his voice. “I thought you got rid of that fruitcake?”

  “I did. But he’s back for a little while.”

  “You mean he’s still there?”

  “It’s only for a little while, sweetie.” Lucy said, cringing at the sound of her own voice. She decided it would be better all around if she changed the subject. “Where are you calling from—?”

  “Avenue A. I wanted to see if you had any plans for tonight—I thought we’d have a romantic dinner for two,” he said. “A little candlelight, a little wine...”

  “That sounds wonderful!” she replied, brightening instantly.

  “Good! I’ll be over in ten minutes.”

  Lucy hung up the phone, and then looked up at Joth. “Nevin’s coming over.”

  “You want me to go away again,” Joth replied flatly.

  “No, I don’t want you to leave,” she said, putting aside the phone with a sigh. She stood up and took Joth’s hand in hers. “I want you to stay. But you have to promise me you’ll keep out of Nevin’s way.”

  The angel looked down at Lucy’s hand, folded about its own, and then nodded its head in agreement. “I shall do whatever you wish me to do, Lucy.”

  She stood for a long moment, gently squeezing the angel’s hands. Then, as if startled from a daydream, she blushed and let go. “Okay! Now that we’ve got the ground rules settled, I’d better find you some more clothes before Nevin gets here. If he sees you running around the house buck naked, he’ll throw a fit!”

  Nevin arrived roughly fifteen minutes later with a large bag of Chinese take-out in one hand and a bottle of plum wine in the other.

  “I thought we were going out?” Lucy said, trying her best to hide her disappointment.

  “Well, actually, I thought we could stay in—after all, dinner by candlelight can be even more romantic at home, if you know what I mean...”

  “You’re right about that,” she smiled. “You can open the wine while I set the table...”

  “You don’t want to eat in the kitchen, do you?” he said disapprovingly.

  “Oh—?” Lucy shut the pantry door and turned to look at him. She tried to keep her discomfort from registering on her face. “Where do you propose we eat dinner, then?”

  “I thought it’d be really romantic if, you know, we had dinner in bed.”

  “I don’t know if I’d call it ‘romantic’—it sounds more like ‘convenient’ to me.”

  Nevin frowned. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Nothing,” she sighed.

  He frowned again and nodded in the direction of the living room. Joth was standing by the window, dressed in a pair of her old jeans and a loose T-shirt, watching the setting sun. “What’s he still doing here?” he said pointedly.

  “Joth doesn’t have anywhere else to go right now, Nevin,” Lucy stage- whispered. “Don’t worry—he’s promised to stay out of our way. Come on— let’s go have dinner.” She took hold of his arm and steered him away from the living room and towards the bedroom. As she ushered Nevin into the hall, she paused to glance back at Joth, who was still standing at the window, framed by the glow from the setting sun, and for the briefest moment it looked as if the angel was sheathed in a nimbus of fire.

  Nevin started awake. He’d dozed off after the sex—he hadn’t meant to, but the plum wine had gotten to him. Since the room was dark—the candles having burned out a while back—it took him a moment to orient himself and remember where he was. After all, it wouldn’t do to slip and blurt out the wrong name.

  He glanced over at Lucy’s naked body curled beside him. She was still dozing, judging from her light snores. If he was careful, he could sneak out of bed and get dressed without waking her up. He glanced at the alarm clock next to the bed. According to the digital display it wasn’t quite eleven o’clock in the evening. Things were just starting to heat up in the city that didn’t sleep. He had places to go, people to see, connections to work. Gwenda would be expecting him at her place around midnight. They usually didn’t start nightclubbing until after one. Tonight there was that fetish fashion-show at the Milk Bar...

  As he eased himself out from under the bedclothes, Lucy rolled over, muttering in her sleep. Nevin froze in his tracks and held his breath for a long moment before sliding out the rest of the way. The last thing he needed was another tearful freak-out scene. While she was currently a loose end, once he had things in the bag with Gwenda, he wouldn’t have any need for Lucy anymore. Although he had to admit she was far better in bed than Gwenda, who, for all her sado-erotic black-leather slut cutting-edge dominatrix posturing, was a cold fish in the sack. Still, frigid or not, she had bags of money. And if he had to choose between a woman who enjoyed sex and a woman with a platinum card— well, that was what getting it on the side was all about, wasn’t it?

  After he wiggled back into his skin-tight black jeans, T-shirt, and leather jacket, he eased out of the bedroom and headed down the hall. Although he reeked of sex, he didn’t dare risk a shower, for fear of alerting Lucy. He’d just swing by his loft for a quick hosing off before heading to Gwenda’s place. The rent on that hell-hole was worth it for nothing else if not making sure he had a place to wash off incriminating evidence.

  Although bathing was something he was willing to postpone, thirst was another thing entirely. At least the kitchen was far enough away from the bedroom that he could risk grabbing a soda without worrying about waking up Lucy. He downed a can of ginger ale while standing in the cold light of the open refrigerator, then tossed it into the trash. As he turned to leave he collided with someone in the darkened kitchen. He was about to blurt out his pre-prepared explanation for why he was leaving unannounced when he realized the figure blocking his way was Joth.

  “What the hell are you looking at?” he snarled.

  Joth said nothing, but did not offer to move.

  “I’m talking to you, asshole!” Nevin poked sharply at Joth’s chest with his index finger. “What’s your problem, headcase? You deaf as well as dumb?”

  “Are you going to make Lucy cry again?”

  Nevin blinked. Usually the weirdo sounded zoned out on Prozac, but there was an edge in Joth’s voice he had not heard before. “What did you just say?”

  “Are you going to make Lucy cry again?”

  “And what if I do?” Nevin sneered. “What are you going to do about it, ass-wipe?”

  “Something I’ve never done before.” Joth took a step forward, forcing Nevin to take one backward.

  Until that moment, Nevin had not realized just how tall the fucker was. He swore under his breath and hurriedly shouldered past Joth, who did not offer to stop him, and left the apartment. As he clattered down the stairs of the apartment building, Nevin made a mental note to make sure Lucy got rid of the weirdo for good. She was going to have to decide who was more important to her—him or some sc
ramblehead from Bumfuck, Arkansas.

  He couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was definitely something about that mook he didn’t like. Not that the asshole scared him, or anything like that—but he could have sworn he saw something glowing in the back of Joth’s eyes.

  Part 3

  An Angel In The Sun

  The angels were all singing out of tune.

  And hoarse with having little else to do,

  Excepting to wind up the sun and moon,

  Or curb a runaway young star or two.

  —Lord Byron, The Vision of Judgment

  Chapter Sixteen

  The Ars Novina occupied the top floor of a converted SoHo warehouse and had bare wood floors, white-washed walls and track lighting identical to every other downtown art gallery since the beginning of time. However, what made it unique, as far as Lucy was concerned, was it was the first legitimate space she had ever been allowed to hang her art in. All of her previous shows had been in tiny Lower East Side hole-in-the-walls that could be described, at best, as “funky.”

  For all its sterility and pretension, the Ars Novina was the type of place where collectors—the lifeblood of the arts community—could be found, so it was important that she be there before the doors were scheduled to open in order to make sure her photos were hung correctly and that the sales information had been typed up and posted beside the corresponding work. This meant she had to leave Joth with Ezrael for a few hours, but at least she didn’t have to worry about getting the time off from work. Of course, showing up early also gave her a chance to scope out the other entries in the show and see who would be giving her a run for her money.

  The first thing she noticed was that her photographs were in the farthest corner of the gallery, while Gwenda’s canvasses were just inside the front door. She also found it telling that Nevin’s “entries”—which consisted of the nude studies of him she’d photographed—were mere feet from Gwenda’s installation. Lucy resented Gwenda hogging the best traffic area in the gallery, but there wasn’t much she could do about it except take some comfort in knowing how lame her rival’s art actually was.