Angels on Fire

by Nancy A. Collins

Although she knew Meresin for the daemon it was, Lucy couldn’t help but grimace in sympathy. She remembered all too well the agony of the seraph’s flame. “Stop it!” she shouted at Nisroc. “Leave him alone, you bully! He wasn’t here to ambush you!”

  Ezrael grabbed her arm. “Lucy—! Don’t! You’ve got to stay out of this!”

  “Screw that!” she retorted, yanking herself free of the Muse’s grip. “I’m not going to stand here and watch Meresin suffer—even if he is a monster!”

  Nisroc jerked its head in her direction as she spoke, and the flames followed the seraph’s gaze, leaping from the daemon’s body onto Lucy. Meresin did not question its good luck, but instead promptly got to his hooves and clattered out of the apartment, closing the door behind him with his tail.

  When she was a child, Reverend Cakebread had once warned Lucy that she would one day burn for her sins, but she never dreamt she would do so in the middle of her own living room. The heavenly fire was all over her, biting and tearing at her flesh like a swarm of red ants. It was by turns hot and cold, threatening to boil her brain and turn her marrow to ice at the same time. She hoped she would eventually pass out from the pain, but there was no place she could flee from the agony consuming her. It was then that she realized that this was the punishment of all who would raise their hand against the Clockwork: to burn eternally, with no release from pain..

  As she collapsed onto the floor, clawing at herself in a desperate attempt to extinguish the fire that consumed but did not burn, she caught a glimpse of Joth crawling about on its hands and knees, methodically picking up and sorting the scattered pieces of the jigsaws, oblivious to its surroundings.

  The elohim picked up one of the jigsaw pieces, turning it about with its fingers. It recognized the piece as being number one thousand and seventy-six of the thirty-five-hundred pieces that composed a reproduction of an oil painting of a nineteenth-century whaling vessel. The angel smiled as it carefully returned the piece to its respective pile.

  “Joth!”

  The angel lifted its head and stared up at the white-haired man standing over it. Joth recognized the old man as a friend of Lucy’s named Ezrael. He was also Joth’s friend, too. Ezrael seemed very frightened, judging by the color of his halo.

  “Hello, Ezrael,” Joth said pleasantly. “Why are you scared?”

  Ezrael turned and pointed to where Lucy lay on the floor, flopping about like a fish on a gig. “Nisroc is making Lucy cry.”

  Joth’s smile disappeared. The jigsaw pieces spilled from its hands, instantly forgotten. And, without a single word, the angel got to its feet and stepped in between the seraph and Lucy.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  To be of the elohim was to know no cold, no heat, no hunger, and no thirst. There was no pleasure, but neither was there discomfort. But when the Fire closed on Joth all that changed. One moment Joth dwelt in the sensory limbo of the angelic, the next it knew all pain. It was as if the angel had been doused with boiling oil that covered every inch of its being, both inside and out. The elohim cried out, its wind- chime voice cracking, becoming hoarser and deeper in register. Great strips of its skin begin to peel away from its hands, like paint burning off a house, as fingerprints swam to the surface of all ten digits.

  The feathers on the angel’s wings began to smolder, then burst into flame. Joth shrieked like a wounded hawk and clawed at its back, but it was no use. Within seconds its proud wings resembled little more than burnt matchsticks. When the angel attempted to flap what remained, they crumbled to ash, leaving fresh scars on its shoulders. Suddenly Joth found itself no longer a cipher—a void in the midst of Creation. Nature, abhorring a vacuum, rushed in to fill the gap. The exact moment the angel’s wings dropped away, a tendril of flesh, as fragile as a finger of new ivy, sprouted between Joth’s legs. The angel’s facial muscles jumped and twitched as its jaw line abruptly squared itself and an Adam’s apple ballooned within its throat.

  Hunger, thirst, cold, physical pain—all those things that were unknown to Joth a moment before were suddenly all it knew. The angel gave one final cry, like that of a baby entering the world, as marrow filled its hollow bones, tying it once and for all to the mortal sphere. He then collapsed onto the floor, shivering uncontrollably as a tsunami of sensation crashed down onto him.

  As the Fire retreated, reabsorbed into Nisroc’s brass talons, the seraph gave voice to a final ear-splitting roar. “So be it: the elohim named Joth has Chosen. The expulsion of the sojourner is now complete. The Host claims you no more: Go in peace.”

  The seraph solemnly crossed its brassy claws over its chest as a new portal opened up behind it. The greater angel’s fierce gaze sought out Ezrael, who was kneeling on the floor beside an unconscious Lucy. The Muse met and held Nisroc’s stare. And, to Ezrael’s surprise, the seraph’s remorseless countenance softened as it dipped its head in blessing.

  Lucy opened her eyes to find herself curled into a semi-fetal position, her arms wrapped around her head. As she lowered her arms, she saw Ezrael kneeling beside her. “What happened?” she rasped.

  “Joth took the Fire for you,” Ezrael explained with pride in his voice. “See for yourself.” He pointed to where the former angel lay on the floor, shivering like an unweaned pup.

  Joth feebly raised his head and looked around. “Lucy?” he whispered hoarsely.

  “Congratulations, Ms. Bender,” Ezrael said with a weary laugh. “It’s a boy!”

  Lucy crawled over to the shivering, new-born Muse. She gingerly stroked Joth’s golden head as she took his hand in hers, squeezing it reassuringly. “I’m here, Joth. There’s no need to be afraid.”

  “It’s so cold!” he said between wildly chattering teeth. “And my bones— they’re so heavy!”

  Lucy looked at Ezrael, who was leaning against the doorjamb, watching them with a faraway look in his eye.

  “We have to get him to a hospital, Ez! He’s sick!”

  Ezrael laughed gently and shook his head. “No, my dear—he’ll be fine. Besides, how would you explain to the interns at the emergency room his lack of a bellybutton, eh?” Ezrael pointed at Joth’s stomach, which was as smooth as a lizard’s. “Just clean him up, feed him and put him to bed—and be sure to climb in with him! He’ll be right as rain in no time.”

  “But he’s in pain!” she protested.

  “No, my dear, he’s just alive, that’s all!” Ezrael chuckled as he reached for his gym bag. “He’ll get used to it in day or two. It’s up to you to show him the joy that also comes with being one of the living.”

  Lucy frowned. “You’re not going somewhere, are you?”

  “You don’t need me anymore, Lucy. Nisroc and Preil are gone from your life forever—and I doubt Meresin will be bothering you anymore, either.” Ezrael took a deep breath, smiling ruefully to himself. “The devil was right, you know— these aren’t the Dark Ages anymore. Nowadays his kind are only dangerous if you mistake them for benefactors, and you’re far too clever to be seduced by the likes of him. And I think it is finally time you and Joth get to be alone by yourselves, don’t you agree?”

  “You’re not going to disappear on us, are you, Ez? I mean—we will see you again?”

  “Oh, don’t worry—I’ll be around,” the Muse said with a smile.

  For the next two weeks Lucy spent every minute of every day in Joth’s company, doing her best to live up to her responsibility as his tutor and guide in the brave new world he found himself in. Since he no longer possessed an encyclopedic knowledge of Creation and all who dwelt within it, it was up to Lucy to school Joth on everything from what country he was in and the name of the street he lived on.

  It was a great deal of work, but there was never a moment where she regretted her decision to open her heart and her life to the former angel. Even though she knew she needed to be out looking for a job to replace the one she had lost, she decided it was more important to see the world anew through Joth’s eyes.

  Their days were spent going out
to Central Park and pointing to things like birds and trees and fish and asking him to name them for her. Joth was a quick study and soon mastered not only the names of animals and flowers, but reading, writing and mathematics as well. Their nights, however, were spent in more physical pursuits, as Joth proved an eager, if unskilled, lover—but one with great potential. After all, he was a quick study. But all idylls must have their end—and Lucy and Joth’s came to a halt on the third week after the angel lost his wings.

  As expected, the landlord had taken a dim view of Lucy’s bedroom window being demolished, so when her rent check bounced, the realty company that managed the apartment building wasted no time in slipping an eviction notice under the door. As much as it upset her, there wasn’t really much Lucy could do about it. What little money she had saved was almost gone, since her budget had not been prepared for feeding, clothing, and housing a second adult. She tried calling Ezrael, to see what help the old Muse might be able to suggest, but all she got was a message telling her the number was no longer in service. That left her with only one option, as loathe as she was to take it: calling her Cousin Beth in Arkansas and begging her for a place to stay. Although she was certain Beth would be willing to find room for family, Lucy doubted Joth would be as welcome--and there was no way she was going anywhere without him.

  As she sat at the kitchen table, staring forlornly at the eviction notice, there came a timid knock on the apartment door. Looking out the peep-hole, she saw a blonde woman and a small child, both of whom looked vaguely familiar, standing in the hallway.

  “Yes? Can I help you?” she asked as she opened the door, lifting her eyebrow quizzically.

  “Are you, um, Lucille Bender?” asked the woman.

  “Yes, I am,” Lucy said, still slightly baffled. “What is this about?”

  “My name is Carla Mearig, and this is my daughter,” the woman said, gesturing to the little girl dressed in a sunflower print jumper standing beside her. “The gallery manager over at the Ars Novina gave me your address...”

  “Lucy—who is it?” Joth called out from the living room.

  The little girl smiled broadly and broke free of her mother’s grasp, zipping past Lucy and into the apartment.

  “Penny!” her mother shouted. “Come back here, young lady!”

  “There he is!” the little girl exclaimed, throwing her arms around Joth’s legs. “I told you he was real! Here’s my angel, mommy!”

  “I’m so sorry, Miss Bender!” Carla said, blushing bright pink. “I’ve been having problems with her ever since her father became ill—”

  “That’s all right, Mrs. Mearig,” Lucy said with a wry smile. “Why don’t you come and sit down—seeing how your daughter’s already in? You said the Ars Novina gave you my address—?”

  “Actually it’s ‘Mrs. Uxbridge’. Or, rather, it was. I’ve gone back to using my maiden name.”

  “Uxbridge—?” Lucy frowned, despite herself. Now she remembered where she’d seen the woman and child before. “You mean The Matador Gallery?”

  “Yes,” Carla replied. “I don’t know if you’ve heard about what happened to my husband—?”

  Lucy glanced over at the little girl, trying hard not to wince as she remembered what Josh had told her that night. “No, I’m afraid I haven’t. I’ve been somewhat, um, out of the loop lately. Please, sit down.” She caught Joth’s eye and motioned for him to take the child into the kitchen. “Why don’t you and Penny share some lemonade and cookies, honey?”

  Joth nodded enthusiastically and took Penny’s hand as he her led from the room. “I like lemonade and cookies! Do you like lemonade and cookies, Penny?”

  “Oh, yes! I like them a lot!” Penny said emphatically.

  Lucy seated herself on the sofa beside her unexpected guest. “Now—what’s all this about?”

  “Well, about two weeks ago my husband suffered some kind of—brain seizure, I guess you’d call it. It cost him his sight and his sanity. The doctors aren’t exactly sure what might have caused it.” She took a deep breath and looked down at her hands knotted in her lap. “I was drunk at the time it happened, so I have no idea what happened. All I do know is Penny keeps insisting that an angel flew into her bedroom and struck her father with a bolt of lightning. The child psychologists tell me it’s a fantasy she’s developed as a means of dealing with whatever really happened—”

  “How horrible!” Lucy said sympathetically. “I’m sorry to hear about your husband, Mrs. Uxbridge, I mean Ms. Mearig.”

  “Call me Carla.”

  “Okay—Carla. As I said, I am sorry to hear about all this, but what has any of it to do with me—?”

  “Well, since Page has been declared incompetent, I’m the one running the Matador now. While I was going through his office the other day, I found your name written down on some papers. I admit I don’t remember much about the night of the opening at the Ars Novina—but I do recall my husband being interested in your work. So I took it upon myself to go back to the gallery today on my own—clean and sober. And, Ms. Bender, I must say I was genuinely moved by what I saw…” Carla paused as a trill of little-girl laughter emerged from the kitchen, followed by Joth saying something in his deep, gentle voice, which was bracketed by another childish giggle. “Is that man your husband?” she asked suddenly.

  Lucy blinked, slightly surprised by the question. Then she smiled and said, “Yes, he is.”

  “He must be an extraordinary man to draw Penny out so quickly,” Carla smiled wistfully. “I can’t tell you how good it is to hear her laugh like that! I’ve barely been able to get her to talk to anyone since her father fell ill. But, back to business--! I would consider it a great honor, Ms. Bender, if you would permit the Matador to host a one- woman show of your work. What do you say?”

  Before Lucy could respond, there was another, much louder, knock on the door. “Uh, could you excuse me for second, Carla?”

  The super was standing in the hall, chewing on his cigar while holding a large manila envelope in one hand.

  “What do you want?” Lucy scowled. “I’ve at least another week before you can kick me out of this place.”

  “The new landlord told me to give ya this,” he grunted, shoving the envelope at her.

  “New landlord?” Lucy frowned. “What new landlord?”

  The super shrugged. “All I knows is yesterday some jerk bought this dump and he told me t’ hand this over to ya.”

  Puzzled, Lucy closed the door and looked at the manila envelope. The return address for the new landlord was called Azrael Realty. It seemed kind of heavy for a final eviction notice. Well, no point putting off bad news. She opened up the envelope and pulled out a letterhead, some legal-looking documents and what appeared to be a birth certificate and a passport. Lucy glanced at the handwriting on the letter and recognized it immediately, even though the words were in English, not arcane runes or mystic symbols.

  Dear Lucy & Joth:

  Consider this an unofficial wedding present: free rent for life. Yours or mine, whichever ends first. I’ve also enclosed identity papers for Joth. He’ll need them if he wants to earn his keep.

  All my best,

  Ez

  Lucy looked up at the sound of Penny’s laughter. From where she stood, she could see the little girl was sitting at the kitchen table next to Jot, drawing something on the pad of paper she kept by the window in order to sketch the pigeons and sparrows that congregated on the nearby ledge. Joth was leaning forward, watching the child with rapt attention. For a half a heartbeat, Lucy glimpsed a blazing corona about her lover’s head. As Joth leaned forward, the fingers of light radiating from his halo reached out and touched the pinkish-blue aura that surrounded the child’s head. As she watched, Penny’s halo strengthened, until it glowed from within like a cloud at sunset. Sensing Lucy’s gaze, Joth turned to smile at her, his eyes golden as a tiger’s.

  “Ms. Bender?” Carla had left her place on the sofa to see what was delaying her hostess. “Ms. Bend
er—are you all right?” she asked, startled by the tears rolling down the other woman’s face.

  Lucy laughed and shook her head. “I’’m more than all right--I’m Blessed.”

  Epilogue

  The man worthy of praise the Muse forbids to die.

  —Horace

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The sky was blue and clear that morning, the air crisp and brisk as it blew in off Puget Sound. All in all, it was an exquisite day for a double funeral.

  Handel’s Water Music was playing over the sound system as the mourners made their way down the center aisle and took their places in the pews. The immediate family sat in the front, along with the closest friends. Members of the press—easily identifiable by their Line-Of-Sight camera-headgear— jockeyed as politely as possible amongst themselves for prime coverage.

  There were no caskets on display—but then, there were no bodies to place inside them. As was the custom with those whose physical remains could not be recovered, be it due to deaths via orbital re-entry or at sea, two life-sized holographic icons of the dearly departed revolved before the assembled mourners.

  On the right was a projection of Lucille Bender, possibly the most influential and renowned artist of the early Twenty-First century. As her image rotated, her features shifted from that of a silver-haired eighty-year- old grandmother to that of a fifty-year-old woman with laugh-lines and steel-gray temples, then to a thirty-five-year-old mother holding her children in her arms, to a twenty-year-old wearing ragged, paint-spattered jeans and T- shirt and a mischievous grin, then back to the eighty-year old grandmother. To the left revolved the holographic image of Joth Angelin, Lucille’s husband of fifty years. As Joth’s image aged and rejuvenated alongside that of his wife’s, it was obvious that he had remained a vigorous man, even well into old age. Looking at the octogenarian’s broad shoulders and strong back, it was easy to understand why the couple had thought they could undertake such a hazardous voyage without any help onboard.