by C. S. Wilde
“The Gods are with you, and you’re with the Gods,” he began to chant. The possessed man writhed and screamed, clawing at Liam’s arms to no avail.
Heavens, Liam was remarkably strong for a human, even if Selfless. To simply hold a possessed one so easily …
Liam continued chanting the exorcism until black smoke burst from the man’s throat. He quickly snatched his holy gun and shot at the cloud of smoke hanging in the air. Horrible shrieks filled the space around them as the smoke turned into burning ashes.
The sad man fell limp to the floor, and Liam immediately felt his pulse. He nodded at Ava. The man would be all right.
She rushed to the bar and soothed the bartender with her words, asking him kindly if he would step closer to the unconscious man. The bartender smiled and agreed.
“Are all Guardians so eloquent?” Liam asked with an amused grin as he fixed the pendant around his neck.
“We simply suggest.” She shrugged. “Humans can choose whether they’ll follow my words.”
They rarely opposed, though.
Once the men were lying on the floor side by side, she touched their foreheads. She couldn’t erase memories like Erudites, angels who mastered telepathy and telekinesis, but she could make the men’s memories fuzzy.
Ava’s head pounded from the effort. Her telepathic abilities were minimal, but she kept going, smudging the memories as much as she could. Her bones ached, and when her skull seemed to puncture the wall of her brain, she figured this would have to be enough.
“What will they believe when they wake up?” Liam asked.
“Nothing precisely. Just a blur of images.”
He looked around the pub, then at the thorny, pitch-black bodies spread across the floor. “I wonder what story they’ll come up with to explain all this.”
Ava felt the surge of quiet, a tsunami made of void, rushing to shore.
Death’s arrival.
“It won’t matter,” a calm voice said from behind her. “Humans tend to ignore what they cannot explain. I doubt the cleanup teams will even bother with this one.”
Ava turned around to see a woman standing at the entrance of the pub. She wore a sleeveless gown made of night and shifting stars, as if her dress was a window opening to the galaxy. Unlike common folklore, the woman didn’t look like a skeleton. Far from it. Her peachy skin was flawless, her red lips full, and honey-colored waves cascaded down her chest. Her all-white eyes shone on the edges.
“It’s time,” the Angel of Death said.
2
Ava
Liam was a tall, strong man that towered over Ava, but here, in this hospital room, standing by his fallen partner’s side, he looked … smaller.
“You’ll be okay, Archie.” He laid a gentle hand on the man’s brow.
The Angel of Death leaned against the hospital’s faded blue wall, not far from Ava. She crossed her arms and watched the man lying on the hospital bed. “It won’t be long now.”
Archibald’s skin was filled with swollen purple blotches. There were so many of them, Ava could barely discern his features. Gauze was wrapped over half of his head, weaving through gray tufts of hair. Both his feet and arms were encased in thick plaster with metallic needles that pierced the surface.
A cold shiver trickled down Ava’s spine. Whoever did this to Archibald had wanted him to suffer.
Liam squeezed Archibald’s shoulder. His furious green eyes glistened, but he held back the tears. “Soon you’ll become one of them,” he glanced at Ava and pressed his lips in a line, “but I know you’ll still be one of us.”
“Them?” the Angel of Death asked with an enigmatic grin. “We’re all angels, Liam. You simply can’t remember your past as one of us.”
Ava opened her mouth to say that the Angel of Death wasn’t exactly “one of us,” but she stopped herself. The Angel of Death was one of the Powers, an angel so high in the hierarchy that she surpassed the Seraphs who helped the Gods rule the Heavens.
There were only two Powers, one on the light side and one on the dark, brother and sister born from an agreement between the Gods and the Devils. Very likely the first angels ever born.
“If we’re on the same team,” Liam grunted, focusing on his fallen partner, “why didn’t the big guys send a second-tier to heal Archie? After all his years of service, that’s the least they could do.”
Something inside Ava synched with Liam’s words.
When an angel died, they got no second chances, no eternity or rebirth. They simply disappeared into the ether. But a Selfless was technically human, and therefore, could make the choice all over again. They could be brought back as the angel they used to be or be reborn as a Selfless.
The high angels, however, preferred they choose the first, which was why they often let the Selfless die.
Ava didn’t agree with this. It was a cruel decision, and it went against her Guardian instincts to protect and aid. She respected the decision of the three high angels, however. After all, the will of the Messenger, the Throne, and the Sword was the will of the Gods.
According to Archibald’s file, he’d chosen to be reborn as a Selfless for two consecutive lifetimes. Ava couldn’t help but smile at the defiance.
Now the brave man lay there, nearing his death, bruised and mangled beyond repair. It didn’t seem fair to her.
Ava wished she could whisper the soothing words of the Gods to Liam and to Archibald, but that would probably infuriate her new partner.
“I can try to ease Archibald’s pain,” she said quietly as she approached Liam.
Only an ascended angel could save Archie’s life, but Ava could make the remaining minutes of his existence bearable.
Her new partner snorted. “Big deal.” He sniffed, then shook his head. “I’m sorry. I …”
“He isn’t feeling pain right now,” the Angel of Death said.
Liam pressed his lips in a sad smile that broke Ava’s heart. She needed to help him, but she had no idea how, which was a first. Ava had always thought she was a decent Guardian; she put her charges first, and she knew exactly how to make them feel better. Not knowing how to help Liam cracked something in her chest.
“Tell me what you need,” she asked as she gently squeezed his hand.
“Bring him back?” he begged, his tone weak, a far cry from the fearless man she had met at the pub.
Ava had never wished to ascend before. She was perfectly fine being a Guardian, a lower angel akin to a harmless kitten, but now she wished she could ascend to Dominion more than anything.
Would it even matter, though? Without the permission of the high angels, she’d be useless, even if ascended.
An idea struck Ava all of a sudden, and giddy happiness raised her spirits. “The Messenger and I, we …” She cleared her throat, and her cheeks flushed. “We have a good relationship. I could ask him to make Archibald your partner after his death, you know, when he turns back into an angel. I’m sure if we tell Archibald, he will choose to be reinstated instead of being reborn all over again.”
The Angel of Death scoffed, but Ava ignored her.
“Sure, it’s unusual,” she continued, her fingers interlaced with Liam’s. “But the Messenger assigned me to you, and I’m an angel. Why wouldn’t he assign you to Archibald?”
Liam stared at her, his mouth open. Finally he blinked and muttered, “Thank you, Ava.”
“Archibald was an ascended angel, dear,” the Angel of Death said. “You’re a third-tier, a lower angel at the bottom of the hierarchy, alongside him.” She nodded to Liam. “It’s very unlikely the Messenger will pair an ascended to a Selfless.”
“Well, we can at least try.”
The Angel of Death rolled her blank eyes. “Guardians and your unending urge to help others …”
The realization she still held Liam’s hand slammed against Ava at once. Heat flushed to her cheeks and she let him go discretely, but he didn’t seem to notice.
A nurse with purple scrubs passed by th
e open door and looked inside the room. She couldn’t see Ava or the Angel of Death, because they masked their presence. After a century being a Guardian, rendering herself invisible to humans was more of an instinct than a thought.
The nurse observed the dying man for a moment before her attention drifted to Liam.
“He’s strong,” she told him, but anyone could see Archibald wasn’t going to make the night. Machines were performing most of his bodily functions, and his heart monitor beeped once every ten seconds.
“He is,” Liam said without turning to her, his focus solely on Archibald.
“If you need counselling,” the woman said with a hidden grin as she eyed him up and down, “I’d be glad to point you in the right direction.”
Ava saw red, which was a rare occurrence to her poised, Guardian self. That nurse oozed desire when Liam needed compassion. Without meaning to, Ava’s hands balled into fists.
The Angel of Death leaned her head left and peered at her. “Something you care to share?”
“That woman …” Ava cleared her throat as she watched the nurse leave. She shouldn’t speak badly about humans; they were on this Earth to learn. Her anger slowly dimmed, and her knuckles relaxed. “Never mind.”
The Angel of Death smiled as if she knew something Ava didn’t. Then she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “It’s nice when it’s in the quiet of their homes or in the hospital. Right now, I’m present in hearings for thousands of souls. Some happen in dark alleys, some underwater, some with too much blood, and some in a gripping cold, like yours, Ava.” The Angel of Death shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s nice when they pass in the warmth of a bed.”
“It was quite cold that day,” Ava muttered, her stomach churning.
She hated remembering her death. She wasn’t certain about what had killed her, either the cold or the strike to her head. Perhaps both.
Liam ignored their exchange. The pain in the way he looked at the dying man was a heart-stopping sensation that pricked at Ava’s heart. Ava loved being a Guardian, but in occasions like this, she wished she could’ve been a Warrior or an Erudite instead.
“Why did you choose to become a Selfless?” she asked Liam, hoping this would take his mind elsewhere.
“I can’t exactly remember, princess.” He gave her a grin that bordered on playful.
Ava counted this as a victory. If calling her by that silly nickname helped, then he could call her princess for as long as he wanted.
“All I know is that Archie found me on the streets, and he took care of me.” Liam smiled to himself. “It was easy becoming a Selfless after that, becoming like him. Archie always said that the Selfless were the truest of angels, because we chose to have our faith tested by being reborn as humans.” Liam knocked on Archibald’s chest softly and smiled. “I know he’ll be different as an angel, but he’ll still be Archie, and we’ll keep making the Gods proud.” He turned to her. “I really appreciate you putting in a word with the Messenger.”
A man with long blond hair that fell on his shoulders in straight lines materialized in the room. His skin was pearly white, and the only thing he had in common with lower demons was his black, beady eyes.
“It’s time,” the Demon of Death said, his graveled voice booming throughout the room.
The Angel of Death nodded. “The hearing shall commence.”
From the profusion of gauze around his face, Archibald pried his light gray eyes open and blinked, as if centering himself. He couldn’t move his neck, but his eyes turned to Liam.
“Hey, kid,” he said through tight lips, his voice rough, drawled.
From what Ava could see of his face, Archibald tried to smile, but winced in pain instead.
Liam laid a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, old man.”
The Angel and Demon of Death stood on opposite sides of the bed, and Archibald watched them intently. Nothing in his expression denoted any emotion, his features a cold, gripping blank. Finally, he glanced at Ava, who stood at the end of the bed. He frowned, almost as if he were trying to remember where he knew her from, but he soon turned his attention back to Liam.
“This time, you better choose to become an angel, old man,” Liam said. “You’ll keep being my partner, I promise. We found a way.”
Well, nothing was certain, but Ava wouldn’t correct Liam in a moment like this.
Normal humans had no choice upon their deaths; they were simply reborn until the time they were ready for the final destination—the Heavens or the Hells. Their essence spoke to them, like an answer to a question they had never heard.
Some humans though, the ones who were ready, could become angels, like Ava once did.
Or demons.
Those who chose neither side were cursed by the Gods and the Devils to become vampires or werewolves, forever walking in between light and dark.
These hearings were never a surprise when it came to the Selfless, though. Their choices were either rebirth or being reinstated as an angel.
“Archibald Theodore Brennan,” The Angel and Demon of Death spoke in unison. “As it is told, as it is said, the Selfless are granted a choice at their time of death. Like the humans they swore to protect, like the flesh and bone they chose to become. Be reborn as a human, an angel, or a demon. If you refuse, be cursed to the in-between. The Gods and the Devils require your decision.”
Archibald’s focus never left Liam. Tears strolled down his bruised cheeks, dampening the gauze.
Liam gave a soft knock on Archibald’s shoulder. “We’ll be back in the streets in no time, Archangel Archie.” The dying man let out a dim chuckle, and Liam took his hand. “Those blood-suckers and hells-hounds will run screaming when they see us.”
“The light and the dark require your decision,” the Angel and Demon of Death repeated.
“Kid, you be strong now, okay?” Archie’s voice faltered, but he swallowed dryly and turned to the Angel of Death. “I choose to become a demon.”
3
Ava
Liam let go of Archibald and stepped back. “Archie, what have you done?”
But Archibald’s eyes had closed, and his heart monitor flat lined with a high-pitched whine that hurt to hear.
Ava gaped at the dead man, words hooked on the walls of her throat.
Why would a servant of the Gods choose the darkness? Was this even possible?
Liam turned to the Angel of Death. “You can’t allow that. He’s clearly not thinking right. He’s an angel for Gods’ sake! He can’t become a demon.” He turned to Archibald and shook his limp shoulders. “Tell her, Archie. Tell her!”
But Archibald didn’t move. He was dead, soon to be reborn as a demon.
“Archie, please,” Liam croaked. His desperation slipped into Ava’s skin and squeezed her chest. Guardians could sense how others felt, which could be both a blessing and a curse. Right now, it was definitely a curse.
“There must be something we can do,” she asked the Angel of Death, but the woman dressed in nebulas and stars merely shook her head.
“There was darkness in him, so he qualified,” the Demon of Death explained with a certain glee. “There’s darkness everywhere, if you look well enough.” At this he winked at Ava.
He touched Archibald’s forehead with the tip of his long fingers, and a shadow swam over Archibald’s skin. “The body has been blessed.”
“You mean damned,” Ava snapped.
The Demon of Death shrugged. “Depends on the point of view.”
Ava knew what waited for Archibald. Blessed or damned, their sacraments were fairly the same.
Before she’d woken as an angel, her dead body had stayed in a stasis. She could hear the scream of little boy Charlie when he found her, and the wails of her sobbing mother as she clutched to Ava’s frozen corpse.
Archibald could probably hear Liam right now, and it must kill him not being able to explain or to help the boy he raised. Ava remembered how gut-wrenching it’d been, to know her loved ones were in pain and
to be powerless against it.
“He’s not becoming one of those things.” Liam’s face turned red. “We’ve always done the work of the Gods, we’ve always remained faithful. This is how we’re rewarded?”
Ava’s stomach dropped as she remembered the lower demons from the pub. She hadn’t known what hierarchy Archibald had occupied as an angel, but she knew that as a demon he would be starting from the bottom. After all, he had been human before, a Selfless, but a human nonetheless. Darkness would consume him in the way of a hurricane, hard and at once, just like the glory of the Gods had filled her. High on darkness, he would become a lower demon, perhaps one worse than the Obsessors she’d faced.
“There’s nothing you can do, Liam.” The Angel of Death stared at him with a blank expression. “He made his choice.”
Liam opened his mouth to argue, but then his jaw tensed and he took a deep breath. His furious gaze focused on the floor now.
The Angel of Death turned to Ava. “You can ask the Messenger for help, although I can tell you it’ll be pointless. You may be his favorite, but he’s the Messenger of the Gods and this was his will.”
“She can try,” Liam snapped, then turned to Ava, his begging gaze breaking through her. “Right?”
How could Ava not grant him this?
The Messenger would refuse to help, she was certain, but Liam was her new charge. If there was any chance to help him, she’d take it without thinking twice. So she bowed to the Angel of Death. “I trust you will grant us passage?”
As far as Ava knew, only the Powers could teleport. None of the other angels could, except for the Throne, and even then, she could only teleport herself.
The Angel of Death rolled her eyes. “You know I can’t interfere. I only allowed both of you to be present during this hearing because you begged for it.”
Liam frowned at Ava. “You did?”
“She thought this would help bring you some closure.” The Angel of Death narrowed her eyes at her. “Clearly, she was wrong.”
