Of Heaven and Hell

by Anthology

  “Jacob Michael Arrens. As an agent of the hosts, I come bearing a message.” A melodic, multi-layered voice sang from the homeless man’s mouth, mismatched with his haggard appearance.

  “You’re kind of slumming it here in the subway, Sammael.”

  Sammael was the only one of his kind who ever approached me openly—without assaulting me anyway—but I wouldn’t call him my guardian angel. Our interactions carried an undertone of hostility, in spite of our respect for each other.

  “I have merely followed you, my child.”

  I felt his aura reach out, probing me, only to be pushed back as a series of runes on my back grew warm. “Then talk to me and stay out of my head, seraphim.”

  He shifted back, looking positively affronted. “You channel the power of the damned, priest.”

  It was a pretty hypocritical response considering I could feel him trying to read my soul. I found a long time ago the light and dark balanced each other. To protect yourself from holy authority, you needed to embrace the opposite. Sammael’s cold luminescence reached for me again, only to be shunted away by an invisible shield of heat and briars.

  “It’s not pretty, but you left me little choice.” Now that I knew my wards were holding, I felt more at ease.

  “You were never granted the right to such knowledge.”

  “Then you shouldn’t have placed it in front of me. By the time I knew what I’d learned, your agents were already trying to kill me. I protected myself with the only weapon I had.”

  When I worked for the Vatican, I translated obscure manuscripts. A rare tome came into our office, written in a bizarre mix of Latin and other obsolete languages. I pulled it from the vault like every other artifact I worked with; no warning ever came my way. Weeks vanished as I learned the secrets it held. Incantations and rituals for channeling the forces of hell were at my fingertips. The knowledge I gained was the only thing that saved me when a choir of altar boys, controlled by angelic forces, tried to kill me for possession of the book. I shuddered at the memory of how they’d forced me to kill children. I took the grimoire and fled Rome, avoiding and defending myself against the agents hunting me for over a century, forced to learn more and more magic fueled by the damned to stay alive.

  I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t bitter and tainted over the experience. I was a good person once, I’m sure of it. Did the witchcraft taint me, or the chaos surrounding a century of looking over my shoulder?

  “The higher powers have a right to wish the Tome of Cardinal Sins to be stricken from this world. There was too much risk of you becoming corrupted by its forbidden knowledge and being used to upset the balance.”

  “But that didn’t exactly happen, did it?”

  “There is still a risk. We would be more content to erase it from this plane.”

  “If your kind wasn’t so fond of vague speech and euphemisms, I might agree with you. But I’m pretty sure you’re not just talking about the book being removed from this mortal coil.” I pointed at my own temple. “It’s up in here too. Every time I consider saying yes, I picture myself being burned into a pile of ash and reincarnated as a harmless dormouse.”

  “The heavens are at war.”

  “Then leave it in the heavens and tell your people to leave me the fuck alone.”

  “You are no longer hunted by us.”

  “Only because I’ve become of use to you.” It was a gamble I started playing about thirty years ago. Staying hidden had become more difficult as technology kept advancing, making their human agents more adept at their work. I started helping people. My power may have been born of hell, but I didn’t want their dark kind in my backyard any more than the light.

  I began performing occult services for others. Mostly purging demons that seeped through into our world, and removing items of power from people who would abuse them or be abused by them. The majority of those objects I destroyed so neither side could claim them. I did all of this for a fee, of course. The more I did, the less the higher powers bothered me.

  Was I trying to gain favor from the side of the light? Or was this an extension of my own sense of justice? I refused to admit to either.

  “We have granted you this kindness as payment for the good works you perform, in spite of your profane methods.”

  “Don’t get used to it. I’m not trying to buy my way into heaven. What message do you have for me?”

  “Forces move against you, looking to reclaim your forbidden knowledge. Even if you’ve gone so far as to use your artist to permanently inscribe it upon your flesh.”

  The first real anger I’d felt today flashed behind my eyes, testing my wrath. “You leave Ozzie out of this. He knows nothing.” My first instinct was to lash out with the considerable power at my command, letting them know Ozzie was off limits—the curse sat on the tip of my tongue. I didn’t want to confirm he was something they could use against me, so I stifled the urge. I wanted to kick myself for reacting so defensively to that son of a bitch.

  “Given your suspicious nature, some might question why you involved him in the first place.”

  “Stop deflecting. If you really wanted to give me a message, you’d tell me without the riddles and crap.”

  “The source is rogue and works without our consent.”

  “That’s better than usual, but I’m well aware of what’s going on. I’ve spent the last century looking over my shoulder for your homicidal zealots. To survive, I need to keep track of what goes on around me. Your warning, while very kind, is too little, too late.”

  Honestly, I had no idea what he was talking about, but his cryptic proclamation couldn’t do more than make me paranoid. With a little luck, I hoped I might goad him into revealing something that might actually be useful. I wasn’t sure if it was in their nature to be deliberately obtuse, but if you asked them outright, you’d get even less than I had right now.

  “You once aligned yourself with our cause against the darkness.”

  “But then I gained knowledge, and the darkness treated me better.”

  “Have you no faith left, priest?”

  “I’ve found that knowledge tends to purge faith. As does betrayal by the faith’s source.” When I grew up in the nineteenth century, having an unnatural attraction to men pushed me into the clergy. My life was filled with denial, and in desperation, I tried to fill that void with prayer. A long time passed, even after my loss of faith, before I realized hating myself for my desires was a waste of time, no matter how twisted they’d become.

  “It is during adversity that faith is most precious.”

  I couldn’t hide my derision. “My name isn’t Job. I’m not interested in being the most faithful corpse on the planet. When it comes down to it, I’m on own my side. Call me Switzerland. Unless, of course, you’re planning on helping me beyond this useless warning.”

  Sammael settled back down on the seat, back into the position he’d started from. “It is not in our interest to aid or hinder you further.”

  I snorted as I rolled my eyes. “No, you’ll likely come out well however it plays out. So as usual, I’m on my own. Nothing new there.”

  I wanted to press Sammael, convince him to give me more, but I could feel his retreat. The homeless man closed his eyes, and the angelic charge emptied from the car before I could say more. The spell broke, and the subway and its passengers were back to normal, careening along with their pointless lives as if nothing had occurred. I, on the other hand, was nowhere near as calm as I let on.

  FOR DAYS I obsessed over Sammael’s words. Speaking with an angel was an experience I could do without, but I wasn’t going to ignore him either. He wasn’t known for being altruistic, yet if he took the time and effort to bother, a clue was usually hidden within all the vague sentiments and bitter criticisms. Channeling into a human the way he did was costly in terms of power, making every precious word he uttered worthy of hard scrutiny. There was also the annoying, but useful, fact their nature barred the order of heaven from lying.


  While the warning unnerved me, what bothered me most was his reference to Ozzie. Sammael had approached me three times since I began tattooing the spells on my skin. Never once had Ozzie been mentioned before, even though Sammael had to have been aware of his involvement. And that realization brought with it a sense of alarm I hadn’t felt in ages.

  Because of that, I’d spent the last three days watching Ozzie’s every move, making sure he was safe.

  Hidden in the shadows, I bit back the discomfort at watching him touch others to work his craft. I reached out, scanning his clients, hunting for the arcane traces of light and dark that might endanger him. I followed him to the gym, and home to his apartment, where he ate and slept alone, which settled me in the night.

  I suppose it was hubris to think blocking his memory was sufficient to keep the others from paying him attention. Did I really believe I could keep him sequestered for my own needs? If I were smart, I’d walk away and pretend he never existed, to protect myself.

  Then he undressed for his shower.

  I marveled at the solid muscles hidden under the decorated skin. His arms and shoulders were a tapestry inviting closer inspection. The rings in his nipples glinted in the light of the desk lamp, begging to be pulled. When he peeled his jeans over the rounded globes of his backside, I growled with appreciation to find nothing underneath. I wondered how that meaty ass would look with a lattice of welts from a riding crop. I allowed my eyes to linger over his naked form, something I’d rarely taken the time to savor during our aberrant encounters.

  Even those memories left me hard and aching, and I couldn’t let his kindred spirit go. It was my fault he was at risk. It was my responsibility to guard him.

  Two more days passed, and I began to feel I’d read too much into Sammael’s words. Nothing out of the ordinary occurred. Ozzie was safe and sound. And yet I found it difficult to end my voyeur role.

  Ozzie left work in the company of a few of his buddies and headed straight to the bar. It made me think of the night I accosted him in the men’s room. His friends seemed oblivious, but I could see his struggle to stay interested. After a few beers, he went home. A lone lamp brought light to the small dwelling. Ozzie looked lost and isolated as he shed his boots and shirt.

  The loneliness he radiated spoke to me as it always did. I feasted on the sight of his skin, waiting patiently for the moment when his pants would fall. I craved the chance to make the light in his eyes shine as I abused him into the ecstasy we both required.

  I was already preparing to leave my hiding place and help Ozzie lose his jeans when he startled. His head snapped around as he searched the room, a new rigidity in his posture. I could feel the wrongness from here.

  My chest was tight as I dashed across the street and into the building. That static itch of something abnormal raised my anxiety. Ozzie wasn’t alone. I could feel it.

  I pounded on his door, and when he didn’t answer, I gave a quick chant, giving me the strength to wrench it off its hinges. Storming into the small studio apartment, I found him tense and panicked in the middle of the room, ignoring the state of his front door. Ozzie kept spinning, searching the shadows, peering in every direction but mine.

  I could feel the unwanted presence of cold illumination. It was fleeting, and lacked coherence. I spun with my eyes wide, searching every corner of the room. My own power wasn’t telling me anything of use.

  “Back away, seraphim! I know you’re here! This man is mine!” I prepared to defend us, recalling the profane words in my head to back up the threat in my voice.

  “What’s going on?” Ozzie asked.

  I grabbed his arm to pull him along. “We need to get out of here.”

  “Wait! Jacob, what’s going on?”

  An otherworldly sound began to build, a choir of murmuring voices that raised my hackles. The eldritch chill accompanying it felt like licks of cleansing fire along my spine no child of hell could be responsible for.

  “What the fuck is that?” Ozzie snapped.

  I stared, frozen in shock, because he shouldn’t have been able to hear the presence.

  Ozzie began to panic and dug in his heels, his wild eyes flashing in every direction. I could feel an agitation in the holy energy suffusing the room. It wasn’t safe to stay here, and we didn’t have time for explanations. Gripping a fistful of his hair, I shook him into submission. I forced him to look into my eyes, and read the terror and pleading along the edges. He was fraying, moments away from hysterics, so I poured as much command into my words as I could.

  “Trust me.”

  With a shaky nod, he followed me as I grabbed his wrist and bolted from the apartment. He kept pace as we raced out onto the sidewalk. I didn’t stop until I was sure the presence wasn’t following us, his building long ago lost into the skyline.

  Still shirtless and barefoot, Ozzie leaned into me, trembling, trying to hide his face in my shoulder. He shook his head, and begged for support with his silence. I wrapped my jacket around him and held his trembling body tight, hoping to diffuse the curious stares of pedestrians and keep him warm. I was wary and alert, the heat of his body against me keeping it all in focus. I had to get him home.

  When I saw the cab, I flagged it down and wasted no time ushering him into the backseat. My apartment was between his and the tattoo parlor, so the ride was thankfully short. When I turned the lock on my front door with us inside, I breathed out in relief. With the arcane barriers that lined every key point of my home, it would take a battalion of angels to enter. Nothing could reach us within my sanctum. Ozzie was safe.

  He stood in the middle of the living room, like a lost child. His unnerved stare followed me as I settled us in, but in truth, I didn’t go far. When I stepped into the kitchen, I heard a soft whimper of protest. It sped my mission to retrieve the tequila.

  Setting the bottle and a pair of small glasses on the coffee table, I turned back to my broken charge. I fingered his dark hair away from his face, noticing the fine grays mixed in. How many of these were from tonight?

  Ozzie’s skin was sallow, and his eyes were near crazed. I stroked his face, and spoke calmly but with authority. It’s what I knew he’d respond to.

  “Look at me. You’re safe here.”

  He twisted my shirt in his fist as he focused on my eyes. “You know what’s going on, don’t you?”

  “For the most part, yes, but not everything.”

  “Will you tell me?”

  “I will, but not right now. It’s a lot to take in at once.” And I meant it. Full disclosure would require telling him my story, which would take some time. I wasn’t convinced he was sane enough to hear the horrors of my past. Not yet, anyway.

  It required some coaxing, but Ozzie let me go long enough to reach the tequila and pour us each a drink. I took his glass and lifted it to his lips as his unsteady hands cupped mine. After a few hearty sips, he calmed enough for me to let go of his glass and take my own. The smoky liquor was a pleasant distraction, but I stayed close, needing his touch to soothe us both.

  “Does all of this have anything to do with how you messed with my head?”

  I nearly dropped my drink in shock. “Excuse me?”

  “My memory. I know you clouded it somehow.”

  “How could you know?”

  “I don’t know. I thought it was all dreams, the kind you don’t tell your buddies. Then it was like a fog lifted. It’s not all there, some of it’s still out of reach, but I remembered how you whispered those strange words after we’d... been together.” Ozzie closed his eyes, chewing his lower lip before a breath hissed between his teeth. “I don’t know if I can keep doing it, it’s not right, but I needed to see you. You’re the only one who understands, but I didn’t know how to find you.” I watched him swallow, and then stiffen his spine as he opened his glistening eyes. “The last few days, I prayed you’d come back.”

  “Like I told you before, it’s dangerous to have my knowledge.” I shook my head and scrubbed my
face with my open hand. “I don’t even have the faintest idea how the charm broke. I was trying to protect you. My world isn’t for everyone.”

  Ozzie shuddered, the conflict on his face plain to see. I remembered that war to reconcile the desires I’d denied myself so many years ago. Suppressed for so long, they’d finally escaped in ways that were less than traditional. Ozzie was no different in that regard.

  “What if I...”—pausing, he struggled to force the words out—”... need to be in your world?”

  “I won’t lie to you. It’s not a safe place to live.”

  “And I’m scared. Of all of it. But I still need it.”

  The shaky exhale told the tale. Ozzie was just as frightened of what being with me meant as he was of the presence hunting him. I believed I had the power to save us both, in all things, and needed him to trust in that too. I crowded him, sharing my warmth, and cradled his twitching face in my hands.

  “Nothing can reach us in here.”

  Ozzie swallowed hard and tried to straighten. “Okay. That noise in my apartment, whatever it was, why is it after me?”

  I stalled, unsure how to answer. All my actions were automatic, I never delved into the reasons for them, beyond wanting to protect the man I’d endangered. It would be easy to say, and Ozzie would likely accept it. But when I mulled it over, I found myself unwilling to lie.

  “Because hurting you, will hurt me. It’s as simple as that.” With both hands, Ozzie caught hold of my shirt, as if he was scared to touch me, but unwilling to risk me stepping away. Shifting my hands, I clasped the back of his neck. I found a prayer of wishfulness in the depths of his eyes, and the power behind them made me bare my soul.

  “I’m sorry I dragged you into this, Ozzie. But I promise I’ll take care of you. I won’t let anything take you away from me.”