Angeli Trilogy: Angeli Books 1-3

by Amy Vansant

  Meili laughed. “Not Perfidian. Not like Seth. I’ve done Seth one better.”

  Meili stepped forward and moved his face close to Michael’s cage, far enough away that Michael couldn’t reach him through the bars.

  “Do I look corrupted?” Meili passed his hand over his face. “No? Perfidia isn’t a disease. It’s an awakening. But the Guardian Angels can’t handle the power. They don’t realize that draining all the energy from a human pulls death in as well. They greedily siphon away at these flesh puppets until they’ve taken all the life and all the death from them. Over time, it infects them, rots them, and makes them mad and disfigured. Then you and your Sentinels spot them and dispatch them.”

  Meili turned and walked back to his spot beside Keira.

  “But give an Arch the free will that comes with Perfidia and we don’t run wild. We are simply released. Released from the relentless need to protect a dying race of vermin. Have you ever even siphoned a human in full? Siphoned them until you reached the sweet spot right before they die?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. How many of the Archs are infected?”

  Meili flicked his wrist as if swatting away a fly. “Not many, but we are only at the beginning of this revolution.”

  “We’re here for a purpose,” said Michael. He ran his hand through his hair and paced the small area in which he was able to move. “You’re wrong.”

  “What is wrong? Breaking rules we’ve put on ourselves? Why? Blind fools like you talk about morals and what is right and wrong because you’re just not creative enough to think for yourself. Who cares if humans die? I could kill them all, what would it matter?” Meili paused and chuckled to himself. “Except it would be like killing all the cows. Where would we get our filet mignon?”

  “Don’t forget laborers,” piped Keira. “You need people to build things, to step and fetch.”

  Michael snapped his attention to Keira.

  “Keira, you are a Sentinel. Do you not see he means to kill you as well?”

  Meili laughed. “Yes, we do need to rid ourselves of the Sentinels.”

  Michael looked at Keira to gauge her reaction. Her face remained blank. Meili noticed the exchange.

  “She won’t be a Sentinel for long,” explained Meili. “I intend to make her an Angel.”

  “What?” Michael threw out his hands. “That isn’t possible!”

  “I believe it is. If we can manipulate energy to create the Sentinels, I imagine we have the power to do a lot of things we’ve never considered; especially with the energy of the human race at our fingertips.”

  “You’re mad. How does Seth fit into all of this? Surely his monstrous appearance and total insanity give you some pause.”

  “Seth was the first to realize he could take all the energy he wanted without any repercussion, but not until he had already drained a few humans to death. He realized too late, and began showing signs of madness. We all assumed he was infected and treated him like any other Perfidian. But after we reaped him, he returned, not renewed, but confused, erratic.”

  “You spoke to him on his return?”

  “I did. We battled, and while at the time I thought I’d lost, in reality, I won. His touch changed me. I began to think on my own, free from my moral and mental servitude to the human cause.”

  “And what will keep you from falling into madness?”

  “I learned from Seth’s mistake. I know to drain a human to the point of death, and then leave it to die naturally. But I’m afraid it is too late for Seth. Now he’s like some medieval plague that just keeps returning, each time worse than the last. He’s utterly mad. But I need him to inspire the others.”

  “You mean infect. He’s your Typhoid Mary.”

  “Potato, potahto.”

  Michael remained silent, desperately trying to wrap his mind around Meili’s revelations. Seth had become a powerful and unstoppable source of unpredictability; a threat to humans and Angels alike. Now Meili, for all his bragging about his ability to control the disease, seemed set on the same path. He had to find a way to reverse the illness before Meili became utterly mad and possibly infected even more Arch Angels. But first, he realized, surveying the bars that surrounded him, he would have to escape.

  “Seth’s very presence is changing everything,” continued Meili. “It’s both liberating and frightening for the rest of us, if you must know.”

  “What do you mean, us? How many other Archs are infected?”

  “We’re not infected, Michael. Are you not listening?”

  “Fine. How many of you are liberated?”

  “Just one other. She was with me when we were approached by Seth following his second reaping at the hands of your Anne.”

  “Who?”

  “Eris. I believe Seth came to kill me for reaping him, but in the end, he freed both Eris and me.”

  “Surely you see that Seth is mad and that you will be as well, sooner or later.”

  “Seth may be mad, but he is also proof that we are invincible. He is proof that we are here for more than servitude to the human cause. Seth brought chaos back with him and freed us.”

  Chaos. Michael knew Meili did not use the word by accident. The Angeli told stories about the beginning of the universe, and how it had been born of chaos. Many human scientists proposed the same idea; that once only disorder existed. In Ancient Greece the word Χάος first meant the initial state of the universe and, by extension, space, darkness and lack of order, an abyss. Even the ancient Egyptians had a chaos god named Set.

  Michael realized the Egyptian name Set had a more modern spelling now.

  Seth.

  “That’s quite a coincidence,” he mumbled.

  “What’s that?”

  Michael looked up at Meili. “Nothing. So...you propose to control chaos? After Seth has done so well.”

  Meili scoffed. “We’ll avoid Seth’s mistakes. We’ll lock him away and learn from his errors. But we need your help. You and I were the Archs able to capture Seth before, before we understood what was happening to him. I hoped you, too, would see that our plan is the future of the Angeli.”

  Michael moved to grip the bars that separated himself from Meili, and then, thinking better of it, returned his arms to his sides.

  “Meili, do you not think it is odd that Seth was known to the Egyptians as the god of chaos? And that Eris is now also on the same path? Eris, once known by the Greeks as the goddess of discord and strife?”

  Meili shrugged. “Many of us were seen as gods by the humans, just as dogs look at humans as gods.”

  “But the coincidence doesn’t strike you as odd? You yourself were imagined a god of chaotic battle.”

  Meili shook his head. “I don’t see how human perception of us is relevant...”

  Michael stepped as close to the bars as he could. With a furtive glance towards Keira, he beckoned Meili to come closer to him.

  Meili took a step forward.

  “Could it be,” Michael whispered, “the humans see us more clearly than we see ourselves? What if how they perceive us is who we are?”

  Meili straightened. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “What if,” continued Michael. “the humans created us?”

  Meili stepped back. “Truly Michael, you are the one who is mad.”

  Michael took a deep breath. “There are more things in heaven and earth, Meili, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

  “Beautiful words, but some Arch probably gave them to Shakespeare.”

  “So, what is it that Seth wants? If we are on our own, destined for autonomy, what does he want?”

  Meili rolled his eyes. “I don’t know. He is an unknowable at this point. That is why he needs to be captured and contained.”

  Michael turned and, using his body to block Meili’s view, tried to pass his hand through the bars of his prison. The result was a jolt of pain that traveled the length of his arm and radiated throughout his body. His energy felt scattered; he found it difficult to
reassemble his human hand.

  “I think somewhere along the line the world became less complicated and consequently, less beautiful,” Meili mused. “These complications are all quite exhilarating.”

  “So Seth will be in prison like this,” said Michael, tucking his damaged hand under his arm as he turned.

  “Works beautifully, doesn’t it? I don’t know if you’ve noticed yet, but it is also dampening your power in every way. Are you feeling weak? Remember that little feature? Your idea, I believe.”

  “I’m good. So... You just plan on leaving me in here? Until I see things your way?”

  Meili smiled. “I think you’ll realize the logic of our plan soon enough.”

  Michael returned the smile. “I doubt that. The three Archs perceived as gods of chaos by the ancient humans were the first three to fall.”

  “So? Perhaps it was our fate. What does it matter?”

  “But I’m Michael,” he said, holding out his hands. “If we fit into our roles so neatly, I’m the last one you’ll be able to turn. I am the protector. My only goal will always be to defeat you and defend the weak.”

  Meili paused and stared at Michael. He set his jaw, and then turned and nodded to Keira. With a grin, Keira moved forward with great speed and grabbed Michael’s arm through the bars, pulling him against the cage. Michael tried to resist, but found himself devoid of the strength required to battle a healthy Sentinel. Keira siphoned energy from him, and she squealed with happiness as his power filled her body. Michael screamed as the electrified bars and Keira’s siphoning filled his body with agonizing pain.

  Meili leaned forward and tapped on Keira’s shoulder.

  “Enough.”

  Keira released her prey, and Michael groaned dropping to his knees where he wavered unsteadily for a moment before collapsing sideways to the floor. He felt paralyzed. He lay there, only his eyes able to move as he watched Keira hop into a chair, still writhing with joy.

  “He’s like you. Not like a Perfidian. So much more powerful.”

  “Of course he isn’t like a Perfidian. But be careful not to reap him, my dear.” Meili pointed a finger at Keira to make his point. “I’m not in a cage. You will lose should I become angry with you.”

  Keira nodded and turned lazily to look on Michael, licking at the corners of her mouth like a hungry cat.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Anne and Con stepped into the basement bar below the Ram’s Head Tavern and scanned the stone-walled room. The place appeared empty of patrons, occupied only by benches and tables, a dark wooden bar, stools, and all the accoutrements of a typical ale house. From the ceiling hung the ornately personalized mugs of a local beer club, and from the room above, the bustling buzz of a crowded restaurant provided the only background music.

  “There’s no one here,” whispered Anne. Con stood behind her, his form faded and nearly invisible.

  “Why are you whispering?”

  “Because it looks like I’m talking to myself.”

  “It’s less odd to whisper to yourself?”

  Across the room, Con spotted Amy the ghost, sitting at the same table at which he’d first seen her.

  Amy locked eyes with Con. Like other ghosts, she often went days, weeks or even years in thoughtless catatonia, awakening only when something roused her from her dreamless sleep. But whereas some of her fellow specters came to life only to reenact a single moment in time, like mindless marionettes dangling above a stage, Amy became sentient when disturbed.

  “Ooooh, no,” she said, her face awash with horror as she recognized who had walked into the bar. Amy stood, frantically waving her outstretched palms in an attempt to ward off the Irishman. “Go away!”

  “It’s ok, it’s ok, I’m sorry!” said Con, walking through Anne and waving his own hands in an attempt to calm the girl.

  “Hey!” said Anne as Con passed through her. “What are you doing?”

  Con ignored Anne’s protests, still pleading with Amy to calm as he became more visible in the privacy of the empty bar.

  “I’m sorry dear, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done it!” said Con to the frantic ghost.

  Amy pressed herself against the wall beside her favorite table. She eyed Con suspiciously, and then cocked her head to one side.

  “You are you. You do not don the body of another?”

  “No,” answered Con. He relaxed, feeling he had made some headway towards Amy’s forgiveness. He’d disappointed enough women to know that if they talked to him, not all was lost. He was making progress.

  “Why did you do that horrible thing to me?” Amy’s voice was high and strained.

  Con shook his head, telegraphing disappointment and self-loathing. “I’m so sorry, luv. I have no excuse, really. I was having a bad day and you caught me at just the wrong moment. Can you ever forgive me?”

  Amy stared at Con. He knew, as a ghost, she had few friends and counted on the novelty of his company to keep her from fleeing.

  “Fine,” she said, after a moment’s reflection.

  Con released a deep sigh.

  “So, Amy, I have a question for you, dear. Remember the last time I was here and you said you knew someone like me?”

  Amy’s face twisted into an angry pout.

  “Yes.”

  “Who was that, my sweet? Can you tell me anything about this other person?”

  Amy smiled, twirling her ghostly locks around her ghostly finger.

  “Do you promise to spend the day with me if I tell?” she asked in a girlish tone.

  “Oh absolutely, luv. Can’t dream of a finer day.”

  Amy beamed. “Well, the fellow I saw was much like you. He didn’t have a real body of his own, but he wasn’t like me.”

  “He wasn’t dead?”

  Amy soured and glared at Con.

  “No. He wasn’t dead.”

  Amy’s reaction inspired an epiphany in Con: dead was as insulting to female ghosts, as calling a live woman fat or old might be. He made a mental note, should he be in the ghost dating pool someday.

  “I apologize if I offended,” said Con, his voice drowned in saccharine. “Please continue. Can you describe this fellow?”

  “He was like you. Well, different, but the same.”

  “You said...but different how?”

  Amy shrugged. “I can’t say. Just different. You were in another’s body last time, and he was in a shell, too, but not another person, just a disguise. Inside, his real self was...squiggly. Full of lines and scratches.”

  Con furrowed his brow. “Lines and scratches?”

  Amy shrugged.

  “Ok. When was this?”

  Amy’s stare grew blank. “I’m not very good with time.”

  “Ok, dear. Anything else you can think to tell me about him? Where he might have gone? Can you tell me anything else at all?”

  Amy shook her head.

  Con sighed and turned to Anne. “Time to go.”

  Anne, who had hopped to the other side of the bar to serve herself, finished her drink and leapt back over to leave.

  “Wait!” called Amy.

  Amy positioned herself between Con and the door, holding out her arms in an attempt to stop him.

  “You said you’d spend the day with me!”

  Already outside, Anne stood on the opposite side of the ghost waiting for Con to follow.

  “So I did,” said Con, smiling warmly and opening his arms. He moved forward to embrace the spirit.

  Seeing Con move towards her in this fashion, and unaware a ghost stood between herself and Con, Anne opened her arms to receive the impromptu hug.

  Amy also leaned in to receive the hug. The moment her energy crossed paths with Con’s, the ghost dispersed into a mist.

  Con felt a brief flash of guilt, and then that, too, vanished. He looked up to find Anne standing in an awkward, pre-hug stance.

  “What are you doing? Let’s go.”

  Anne dropped her arms as Con passed, becoming invisible as
he stepped outside.

  “I thought you were trying to hug me,” said Anne, following.

  “Why would I hug you just then?”

  “I don’t know! Why do you do anything? You just spent ten minutes flirting with a chair, why would a hug be odd?”

  “I wasn’t flirting with a chair. I was talking to a ghost. A ghost who had seen Seth. I was hoping she might know where he was.”

  Anne followed the sound of his voice as he walked back towards her hotel.

  “How did you know she saw Seth?”

  “She told me she’d seen someone like me.”

  “Oh. That’s not exactly a great comparison. What did you find out?”

  “I discovered ghosts are incredibly gullible.”

  “Fascinating. Anything a little more pertinent to our situation?”

  “Not really.”

  “We have to find Michael. We can’t just go about town asking ghosts where Seth hangs out.”

  Con stopped. “Well it was the only lead—”

  “Anne!”

  The sound of Anne’s name stopped Con short. They had just entered an alley to cut back to her hotel room and turning, he saw Leo limping towards them. The big Angelus kept his hand pressed against his right shoulder.

  Con solidified his hand and used it to push Anne behind him. He partially materialized so Leo would be aware of his presence.

  Leo stopped short, ten feet from the pair, panting. Blood and a dark green fluid covered the Angelus’ arm, flowing from a terrible wound. Scrapes and sand covered the rest of his body. He appeared exhausted.

  “Con, I didn’t see you,” Leo said. “Where is Michael? He wasn’t in D.C.”

  “Leo, what happened?” Anne motioned to his wound. The gash beneath the Angelus’ fingers foamed.

  Leo followed Anne’s gaze to his shoulder, and he, too, turned his attention to the wound. Wincing, he eased his hand away from the gash to examine it. As he did so, the five-inch-round flap of flesh that he had been pressing back into place peeled away and fell to the ground with a sickening splatter. A second later, it disappeared with a burst of white light.

  Leo swallowed and looked up at Anne.

  “Shit,” he said, and fell to one knee.

  “Con!” Anne moved forward and caught Leo as he started to fall forward. “Con help me, we have to get him somewhere safe!”