I headed for the creepy little alley. There are a couple of cottages next door to me. From the street, about twenty feet away, they seem normal enough, just two little humble shacks butting up against each other. But the closer you get to them, the bigger they become. By the time you’re standing next to them, you’ll feel like an insect. The tiny gap in between the two structures becomes a yawning chasm, fifty yards deep and six feet wide. No light. But there was a reward involved: just on the other side of the alley was my favorite restaurant. Incredible food, these guys, but the only way to get there was to take the creepy walk.
There were creatures in the shadows, things stirring, foraging, scavenging, and preying. I picked up my pace. I could see the light at the far end of the alley, the cheap neon sign advertising that here was “The Garden of Eatin’,” the Home of the Best Pancakes in Creation. The patio outside the restaurant was always crowded during the day. Now, the streetlamps were all out, and the lights inside struggled mightily to pierce the veil of grime on the windows. Murky shapes moved about inside. Good. They were busy. This was looking less and less like an organized hit. I gingerly pushed the front door open and leaned my head inside.
I was greeted by the warm, fluffy smell of those Divine Golden Cakes.[13] The tables in the middle of the restaurant were all crowded with couples and families. To my left, a teary wife was pleading with her husband not to leave, not to take the Long Walk. He finished his last bite of food, hefted his rucksack onto his shoulder, and shuffled for the door. Didn’t even stop to kiss her goodbye. You can’t when you’re taking on something like the Crossing. To her credit, the wife dabbed her eyes, then hastily straightened her hair and makeup and began casting a lusty gaze around the room. Was she the one I was supposed to meet?
I moved towards the back, near the oversized portrait of a maple syrup jar. There was a solitary figure sitting at a small table, his frame covered by a bulky blanket. His hair was coated in thick, black grease, and his skin was splotched and pale. He was shaky, and by that I mean he seemed to be quivering like a mass of gelatin. He caught my eye and, with great effort, used his foot to push the other chair out as an offer for me to sit.
“Be seated. We have to hurry!” he said.
“Please don’t speak again until I’ve had some pancakes,” I replied, motioning for the waitress. I sat and smiled at the man.
The waitress didn’t even approach the table, just tucked a perfect strand of hair behind her ear with her pen and shrugged as if to say ‘Well?’
“I want the tall stack of Manna Cakes and Nectar,” I shouted, giving her my most polite smile. If she heard me, she didn’t feel like acknowledging. She shuffled off to the kitchen. I smiled at my tablemate. “I come for the food, but I stay for the service.”
“Please,” he stammered, his hand clutching and opening on the table. “Please, we must leave. They’re after me.”
“Oh, not another one. Not today. Look, you better grab a number if you’re going to invite me on any kind of quest involving anything, okay? Do you know who I am? Do you have any idea how busy I am?”
“Of course I know who you are. You’re my last hope! This is a matter of—”
“Ah!” I cut him off, “Pancakes!”
In a blink, my meal was in front of me, shining, radiant, drizzled with syrup that cannot be appreciated by the living. I raised my fork, prepared to dig in. And then, the man’s spine seemed to go out. With a crack, his head snapped forward and he buried his face in the stack of pancakes. They splattered everywhere. For a moment I thought he’d been shot in the head. His hair left black stains across the table, and the pancakes, what was left of what should have been my dessert, were now an unhealthy shade of grey and black. I threw my fork to the floor. “You’d better be dead,” I said, “because you’ve destroyed some very fine Manna Cakes…”
With great effort, he sat back, and regarded me. “Did I black out again?”
I nodded. He couldn’t stop nodding. It seemed his body could no longer support his skull.
“You’re the Lord of Darkness.” “I’m a lot of things,” I replied.
“I had a skeleton only hours ago, and it’s fading. We’re in trouble.”
“No,” I said, scraping some fouled dough from my sleeve. “ You , my friend, are in trouble.”
“Have you heard of the obsidian knife? The mirror of smoke?”
“Slow down, Pancho,” I said, waving my hand for the waitress.
She was even further away this time. I motioned for two more orders of Manna Cakes, and this time, she shook her head at me and flipped me off.
“Extra nectar this time!” I shouted. I turned back to the man. “You need to eat.”
“You’re feeding me?” “Yeah, so?”
“But you’re the Lord of Dar—”
“Hey, tonight I’m the Lord of Pancakes. Later I might be the Lord of Kicking Your Ass. Do me a favor. Shut up. Don’t say another word until we’ve both had something to eat. Okay?”
I reached across to the table next to ours, where a man was reading the news. I grabbed his fork while he wasn’t looking. I decided to try his coffee as well. I took a swig, and burned my tongue. There is nothing in Creation hot enough to burn an angel’s tongue. Something was very wrong. Fortunately, the waitress arrived with the second order of food. She slammed the plates down on the table hard enough to make the cakes bounce.
“You’re lucky I didn’t spit on ’em,” she said, looking at the mess on the table.
“It’s not in your nature.”
“And you’re cleaning this shit up,” she stalked away.
I waved her away and pointed my fork at the man. “Eat.” And we ate, and it was good, but not as good as I hoped.
Manna cakes usually give me a little extra spring in my step, but tonight, nothing. Watching him eat was quite an unnerving experience. He stayed swaddled in his blanket, careful to keep his movements to a minimum. His skin hung loose on his bones, where he had them. Sections of his arm sagged, drooped, rested on the table like spaghetti. He chewed carefully, staring out the window.
“Have I seen you around?” I asked.
“No. It’s my third day here. I think.”
“Oh! Is that all this is about?” I scrambled into my inside coat pocket and produced a pamphlet for him. “This will get you through all of the hard stuff. Really, this is just like life on Earth, except that you get to have a lot more fun here, and no real consequences for anything. You like kicking puppies?”
“What? No!”
“Good. You and I should get along well then.”
He glanced at the pamphlet and pushed it back across to me, his wrist buckling from the weight of the paper. “What happened to me?”
I was going to ask him the same thing. “How should I know?” “Because you went through this yourself. You fell from Grace.
You landed here. How did you do it? How?”
My eyes grew wide. “You’re an—” I stopped and forced myself to whisper, knowing the controversy this could cause. “You’re a… one of…Them?”
He nodded, brushed the greasy mop of hair from his face and stared at me. It hit me. “Oh my Me ! You’re an actual angel?”
He shushed me and slunk lower into his blanket. I laughed and reached across the table to slug his shoulder. I found him to be a bit insubstantial. The blanket depressed about half a foot. I didn’t hit him that hard, but if my hand had really traveled that far, it should be somewhere inside of his chest. I slid out of my chair and prodded his shoulder. The blanket sank in, creating a divot in his shoulder. I reached up to poke his face to see if his flesh had the same consistency.
He shot me an evil glare. “It hurts a little when you do that, you know.” He quickly opened and closed the blanket. The look I got was enough to turn my stomach. His body had been molded, like clay – a perfect impression of my hand where I poked him. It made me queasy to see one of the ranks of the Holy in this kind of shape, even if he was a newbie.
&
nbsp; People were starting to stare. There was a guy at the bar, more of a thing really, that had been watching us sideways this whole time. A Garuda from the looks of it, half man, half eagle. Either he had a nervous tic or he was trying to motion me over. I didn’t trust it. Too much weirdness for one night.
“Let’s get out of here,” I said. “Man. This is so… I mean, small world, huh? Finally, some company here from my hometown!” I kept my composure pretty well. Couldn’t let him see me sweat, not until I knew who he was and why he was here.
He stood and wrapped the blanket tightly around himself, as if it was the only thing holding him together, which was probably close to the truth. We made our way to the door.
“I think my legs are disappearing,” he whispered.
“So I guess this is going on your tab, huh?” said the waitress, in the middle of spitting into a customer ’s oatmeal.
I smiled at her. “You’re a radiant flower in the Garden of Midnight.”
“Heard that one before,” she replied.
I heard a noise at the door, sort of like a newspaper hitting glass. The angel was on the floor, his blanket splayed open and his body tangled like an old string of Christmas lights. His head, the only solid part of his body, was twisted hard to one side. His eye rolled in its socket until he locked on me, standing above him.
“Carry me?” he asked.
“How?”
“Just tie the blanket around me like a bindle. Sling me over your shoulder.”
“It’s a pretty tatty blanket. Definitely not how I roll.” I twisted the blanket into a large ball and hefted the big lump over my shoulder. He was lighter than I thought he’d be. We stepped out into the night.
He was moaning, mumbling, his voice obscured by the blanket. “This is the first step on the journey—”
“Hey, until we get home, no prophesying, okay doughboy?”
***
I kicked the door open and unrolled the bindle in one smooth motion, laying the angel out across my living room carpet like a giant crepe.
“What’s with the intestines on the floor?” he asked.
“You didn’t send those?”
“ That’s how they sent my message? I’m going to be sick.”
“I’ve got enough mess to clean up here already. I’m down two imps and—”
There was a noise from the bedroom like stones grinding. A massive, flat-headed giant crouched and shuffled through the door, ducking his head low so as not to put it through the ceiling. Once inside the living room, he tried to stand, but, realizing that he couldn’t, had to remain on his knees. He popped the knuckles on his other hand and the stone-grinding noise repeated.
“Missed you at the gathering, Lightbearer.” “Goliath! Buddy. What gathering?” I said.
“Quite the battle we had out on the North End. Coulda used your help. Senta message on your urgent line.”[14]
“What? Well, I know a certain message imp who’s going to get a very stern talking-to, I’ll tell you that. Was this about the business with the Brothers?”
“Brothers? There were no brothers there. When my men and I arrived, it was just man against man. Fuelled by hate. It was a bloodbath, one that I lost. All of my guys. And ya know why they were fighting? They were bewitched. Each man thought he was killing you . ‘Cause of you, my men are dead. Ya know how that makes me feel?”
“Oh, come on. It’s not like this is the first time you lost a battle.” I’ve never been good at stalling for time when I feel my life is threatened. Actually, this was only the second time in existence that I truly felt my life was in jeopardy, so I was out of practice. Goliath was bad news. I pondered the idea of using the angel’s blanket as a titanic slingshot, see if the big galoot would fall for the same trick twice. But there wasn’t room enough in here to get a good swing, let alone decent ammo. So, I tried the direct approach.
“You want some coffee?”|
Gliath shook his head.
“Tea?” I tried again.
“No, thank you,” Goliath replied. “Just your head.”
Chapter Three
How to deal with an angry Philistine when you’re no longer mostly omnipotent?
Run.
This was not as easy as it sounds, given the fact that Goliath took up most of the available space in my living room. The angel was piled against the door, stopping me from opening it. Goliath was in arm’s reach of any window. So I ran. In circles. Goliath tried his best to spin, swat, strike, and grab me, but I kept one step ahead of him. This went on for about five minutes. At that point, both of us decided to take a break, red-faced and gasping for air.
“Whoo…you haven’t lost a step at all, have you?” I asked.
“Shut…up…”
“Who sent you?”
“This is personal…”
“It’s never personal with you…I know you’re always…showing off, or…you know, taking one for the team…so…”
“It’s personal!” he roared again and took a swipe at me.
I managed to roll under his massive forearm as it sailed over my head. He upended my marble-topped coffee table like it was made of balsa. It tumbled across the room and punched through the wall. I doubled over and tried to get my wind back. Goliath wanted to straighten up and look tough, but the low ceiling and exertion kept him sucking air.
“You’re…tired?” he breathed.
“Not...at…all… Just trying…to…make you feel better…about yourself, that’s all.”
Goliath attempted to bellow his outrage, but neither of us was really up for this anymore. I continued to hold my knees while I thought of a way out of this.
“Is that…uh…the same sword?” I gestured to his scabbard, “David used to…you know?” I mimed cutting off my head. “You can hardly see the scar anymore.”
“Enough small talk,” Goliath huffed. He hauled himself to his knees and shuffled towards the new hole in the wall. After a bit of scraping and groaning, he managed to pull himself out onto the street. “Outside. Now.”
Oh great. Fight the Philistine when he’s got room to stretch his legs? Plus, he always draws a crowd, and I don’t need anyone else seeing me in this condition.
“I don’t think so.”
“Mmmpph,” the angel offered. In all of the hubbub, his body had gotten crammed in the corner like a cheap rug. His legs and torso had the consistency of a sheet of taffy, and were piled on top of his head.
Goliath leaned his head back into the apartment. “What’s that?” he motioned towards the lump with his chin.
The angel managed to poke his lips out from beneath his foot. “I’m an angel, thank you.”
Goliath looked at him, then at me, then back at the angel. He whispered to me, “Seriously, what is that?”
“I’m an angel, you moron!”
“Fine,” Goliath snapped. He drew his sword.
It was indeed the same sword David used to sever Goliath’s head. There was something different about it. A thin stripe of black matter was embedded in the center of the blade, blacker than night. In fact, it was midnight, and his sword was swallowing any available light, collapsing vision, casting shadows. His sword was enchanted, wired with something evil.
“Upgrade?” I asked.
“Come find out,” he replied.
“What’s it do?”
The moonlight let me notice something else about Goliath. His right hand was veined with the same dark matter as the sword. Thin rivulets of liquid night crawled over his hand, up his forearm and across his face. His eyes were bleeding black. I didn’t notice this inside, perhaps because of the artificial light. Something like this spoke of enchantment or possession. The bad news was, this confirmed the whole “more will follow” threat from earlier tonight. Good news, it meant there was a small window of escape opening up.
“Maybe you should set it down,” I offered.
I knew there was a connection somewhere, that some force had made Goliath their puppet. I just had to find out
how to break the spell. He was reasonable. He’d only kill you if you’d crossed him. I had in the past, but I’d settled my debts with him, and he wasn’t the type to hold a grudge. Goliath reared back his hand and brought his sword crashing through the front wall of my building. If I wasn’t coming out, he was going to cut me out. Goliath reared back again, and chopped another large chunk out of my house.
“He seems angry,” the angel murmured from the floor. “You think?”
I ran to the bedroom to see if I had anything that could help me out of this. I never was one for material possession. Especially down here. I mean, I essentially created and owned everything in my empire, so what would be the point of keeping trophies? Well, a trophy would have been nice at this point. Something nice and heavy, maybe with one of those little pointy metal men at the top. Anything that would give me a fighting chance.
It was then that I spotted my Heavenly friend crumpled on the floor and an idea began to form. “You still feel angelic?”
“Do I look angelic?”
“We’ll see. Your hide should be nigh impervious.”
“As should yours. Why, what do you have planned?”
Goliath took a running charge at the front wall of my house and exploded inside. I curled into a little ball and pulled the angel over myself like a blanket. The giant began raining fury down on me, alternately striking with his sword and fists. I heard the angel yelping in pain and begging for mercy. I, in turn, felt nothing but a mild thumping. Goliath was wearing down, his blows slowing to one every ten seconds or so.
I sprang to my feet and grabbed two fistfuls of the angel, throwing him into Goliath’s face. The giant turned and swatted him aside, but before he could recover I was on my feet. I grabbed a broken beam from the wall and swung straight for his nose. It connected with a tremendously painful crack that shot through my elbows.
“Dammit!” Goliath tottered, then slumped down on his butt, dropping the sword.
I thought that should have been enough to knock him out, but then, what do I know about mortal strength?
“Nobody fights anymore,” the giant bellowed. “I mean, mano a mano out in the open at least? But no! You have to run around like a nancy little butterfly all over the place.”
Angel Falls Page 4
