by Dima Zales
“This is a hybrid body: half-human and half-angel. I look human to blend in with everyone else, but I can still use my abilities.”
“So where are your wings?”
“They’ll appear if I concentrate hard enough.”
I considered asking him to show them to me, but I figured that was a little personal. “What kind of abilities do you have?”
“Seeing spirits, something similar to super strength, influencing emotions and will power…those sorts of things.”
“Are the demons the same way?”
Michael’s eyes narrowed a bit. As with Gabriel, the angels really didn’t like it when I mentioned their evil counterparts. It was understandable: Belial had been the foulest creature I’d ever met, dead or alive.
“You could say that. They too have human bodies, but demon souls. Belial is Satan’s personal favorite of all his minions. He’s the most resourceful, since he’s spent the most time on Earth. It’s hard to keep track of him because he switches among his own line of human bodies every so often.”
A shudder crawled up my spine when I thought about his creepy smile and lifeless eyes. “Can he possess anyone?”
Michael shook his head. “Two souls can’t share the same body without one of them being expelled. That’s why possessed people are so violent. The two spirits fight for control. A demon only uses that tactic if his original body is in danger of being destroyed.”
I lowered the bowl. “Belial mentioned something about a lower class demon he sent as a lure for Mr. N. How is it that things like that can walk around in our world?”
“Trust me, it wasn’t supposed to. As Gabriel said, Father has not directly interacted with the human race since the Transfiguration of the Son. It’s the same with Satan. He isn’t allowed to make his presence known to mankind. Instead, he sends his minions out to corrupt. To counter his actions, Father implements everything through the archangels. Sometimes He will give specific orders, but in general we travel between Heaven and Earth keeping peace.”
“So what happens when I help souls cross over to the other side?”
“The archangel Uriel escorts the souls up to the gates of Heaven for judgment.”
My eyebrows rose in surprise. “Damn, I guess Milton really was onto something when he wrote Paradise Lost.”
Michael flashed me a grin. “He had a little help.”
I rolled my eyes. “Be more vague.”
“I can try.”
Ignoring this, I moved on to my next pressing question. “How did you guys find me after Belial kidnapped me?”
“That’s a bit more complicated. When you fell out of consciousness, you entered a state that can be tracked. Because you’re a Seer, your mind sends out certain kinds of energy that we angels can feel, and so we followed it to where you were.”
I considered his words. “Maybe that’s how Belial was able to find me in the first place. The first time I saw him was in a dream. I wish I had remembered it earlier.”
“Well, at least you know now.”
“Can I ask you something else about him?”
“If you must.”
“Why are his eyes like that? Like a snake’s? I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
“It’s the mark of an archdemon. There are only five of them, if you recall—Belial, Mulciber, Moloch, Mammon, and Beelzebub. They consider themselves to be the Princes of Hell, as they were Satan’s most loyal followers before the Fall. Only Seers and angels can see the mark. To the average person, his eyes look normal.”
Feeling sufficiently full from the chili I’d devoured, I reached out to place it on the nightstand, only to wince as another wave of pain spread through my upper torso. Michael stopped me in mid-motion, putting the bowl down for me. My lack of mobility annoyed me to no end.
“So what do you suppose we’re gonna do for the next ten days that I’m stuck in this bed?”
“I thought you’d ask me that,” he replied, reaching for the floor by the foot of the bed. He held up a plastic bag and dropped it next to me on the bedspread. The thing was nearly bursting with books of all sizes.
I lifted an eyebrow at him. “You sure know how to thrill a girl.”
Michael rolled his eyes. “It’s more enriching than T.V. Besides, there’s some good stuff in here that you might find…therapeutic.”
He glanced at the closed drawer of my nightstand, frowning a little. I couldn’t blame him. My alcohol dependence was unhealthy and I knew it, but so far I hadn’t found a better way to cope with the nightmares. Couldn’t afford the therapy, and the very thought of Alcoholics Anonymous intimidated me.
To distract myself from this notion, I picked up a thin green book with a familiar title, reciting the first stanza of “Do Not Go Gentle into that Good Night” from memory.
“A Dylan Thomas fan, I see,” Michael said with a grin. “Maybe you’re not such a heathen after all.” I fought the urge to make a face at him and pointed to the bookcase on the left side of my bed that was piled high with books: poetry, classic literature, contemporary novels, and pretty much anything I’d been able to get my hands on.
Before he could respond in an undoubtedly smartass way, I spoke. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? You are an up-and-coming rock star, remember?”
I paused, considering my words. “Wait, are you still going to live the way you did when you thought you were human?”
“I thought it over and decided it would be the easiest way to coexist here on Earth. Hiding in plain sight, I suppose.”
He grabbed the remote and shut off the television before scooping the book out of my hands, which confused me.
“Relax. I’ll read it for you. I’ve been told I have a soothing voice.”
“Somebody lied to you.”
Michael sighed. “I’m beginning to regret our arrangement already.”
“Join the club. We have milk and cookies, and go on cookouts every Friday.”
“Jordan?”
“Yes?”
“Hush.”
After Michael read through most of Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass, I fell asleep. The nightmares came, but I only woke up once during the night. Michael had slipped out of the apartment by then. It was harder to fall asleep the second time, but I managed.
I woke when I heard movement in the kitchen. Groaning, I buried my head beneath the pillow until my body stopped throbbing with pain. I ventured to take a peek. Michael had kindly left the bedroom door open, and I could see him laying plastic bags full of groceries on the counter. Almost immediately, my mood perked up. He’d bought me food? Hell, maybe I could get used to this.
My dry throat begged for water so I obliged, draining the rest of the glass that had been sitting on the ever-crowded nightstand. I cleared my throat loud and calling out “Hey” to Michael.
He glanced over at me. “Morning.”
“Morning. Is it weird that I have a hard time picturing you in a grocery store?”
He gave me a cryptic smile. “There’s a lot you’re gonna have to get used to with me. Anyway, roll over. I have to make sure you didn’t bleed through the bandages during the night.”
I turned over, propping my back against the headboard. I’d ditched the ruined button up shirt for a dark purple one—man-sized so I wouldn’t be exposing too much. Sure, he was an angel, but I couldn’t help wanting to be modest around him anyway. Maybe because he was my friend now. Thankfully, the wound was high on my chest, so I could still wear a bra underneath.
I started to unbutton the shirt myself but he told me not to since one of my hands still had a magnificent bruise across the knuckles. Lucky me, though, because it didn’t hurt that much any more. The purplish skin had grown stiff, but I could tell it was beginning to heal, as was the circle of bruises around my throat. With Raphael’s continued treatments, they would fade within days.
Michael waved his hand in front of my face, making me jump. “I asked you if you were hungry.”
Damn, I hadn’t rea
lized how hard I’d been thinking. He’d finished checking the bandages without me even noticing. “Yeah.”
He tilted his head a little. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”
“You’re chewing your bottom lip like you do when you’re trying not to frown.”
I stared at him in shock. “How could you have possibly noticed that about me? We’ve known each other for like what? Three days?”
Michael merely shrugged. I shook my head. “Go get me food.”
After a moment, I added the word “please” and Michael cracked a smile. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say that.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
“Always a charmer, aren’t we?” With that, he loped off to the kitchen. I watched him go with a strange sort of bemusement. I couldn’t understand how Michael rolled with the punches the way he did. My personality was naturally cranky, but for some reason he didn’t seem to mind. I wondered if the patience came from being an angel.
Somewhere during my musing, I caught a whiff of how I smelled and nearly gagged. My body had been in such a delicate condition that I hadn’t been able to shower since the incident. Unacceptable. I tossed the covers back and set my feet on the floor, firmly resolved to fix this problem. My legs burned with pain after I stood up and several ligaments cracked, but it wasn’t too bad altogether. Huzzah.
I shuffled my way over to the dresser in front of the bed and gathered some undergarments from the corner of the drawer. Really needed to wash my clothes soon. Maybe I’d guilt my new bodyguard into doing them for me. I managed to reach the bathroom without toppling over or anything when Michael called from the kitchen.
“What kind of food are you in the mood for?”
“The edible kind.” I yelled back. “It’ll have to wait until after my shower.”
A pause. Hurried footsteps. Michael appeared in the doorway with a frown. “Wait, what?”
I pointed at the tub. “Me. Shower. Now.”
“Jordan, you really shouldn’t be moving around that much. Your stitches might tear. Can’t this wait a little longer?”
“The day I can’t wash my own ass is the day I don’t need to continue living,” I said, flipping on the faucet. Water rushed into the tub—a relaxing sound in itself.
He sighed. “You have a point. But don’t take a shower. You shouldn’t be standing for any long period of time. Take a bath and don’t let the water soak into your wound. I’ll be out here if you need any help.”
I paused. There was just no way I could let that one go. “Would you like to help me bathe, Michael?”
To my amusement, he cleared his throat and wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Not what I meant.”
“Honestly, it would make the entire experience more bearable.” I could feel the grin taking over my lips and didn’t fight it. Hell, it was the most fun I’d had in a while. Apparently, the new Michael could get flustered. Interesting.
He shot me an accusing look. “You really are shameless, aren’t you?”
Was it my imagination or was he blushing? Ha! “It’s all part of my charm.”
Michael shook his head and shut the door without replying. I allowed myself one small giggle before adjusting the water’s temperature and shedding both my clothes and the bandages.
As the tub filled, I took a good look at myself in the mirror. There was really only one word for what I saw: yikes. The stitches were still visible on my chest, where ugly mounds of light brown flesh had gathered around the wound. Whenever they came out, there would definitely be a large, jagged scar in its place. A ring of bruises marred my neck and a sizeable one peeked out from beneath my hair where my head had hit the wall in the alley. I felt another surge of anger towards Belial. It was one thing to hurt me emotionally, but the bastard had physically marked me. Gabriel said there was no known way to destroy a demon soul.
I was sure as hell going to find one someday.
With my hair down I looked a lot like my mother. She had been from Madrid while my father was black, origin unknown. That was just about the only thing I knew about my father. He’d left before I was born. As for my mother, she was an entirely different story. One I didn’t like to revisit often.
After the tub filled, I took my sweet time lowering myself into the smooth porcelain and soothing hot water. My injuries stung, but it was heavenly after I settled in. I lay my head back and just went still. Got to enjoy the little things in life.
My thoughts started to drift as I lay there, making sure not to let the water hit my chest wound. How long would Michael stay with me? Is this how cohabitation worked—a constant exchange of banter between two people? Or was our situation unique? Hell if I knew. The last relationship I’d been in ended in tatters. We’d never even made it to the moving-in stage. How did people do this on a regular or even permanent basis? Then again, who was I to complain? I had an archangel at my beck and call. You’d think I would be more grateful. Then again, attention from anyone, especially men, made me defensive. Stupid, but true.
I drained the tub and climbed out, drying off slowly on account of my stiff limbs. The underwear took an annoying amount of time to put on, but I managed. Finally, I wrapped myself in a thick navy robe and called for Michael.
Once more, I sat on the edge of the tub, staring at the opposite wall as Michael sat in a chair he’d gotten from the kitchen and redressed my chest. I kept the robe bunched around my waist, hiding everything at navel level and lower. He hadn’t been this close to me before we’d known each other so I started noticing little things about him, like how he smelled. His scent was a mix of Old Spice deodorant and some sort of sweet aftershave. Unlike Gabriel or Raphael, his fingertips were rough from playing the guitar. I’d never noticed how large his hands were up until now.
“Something on your mind?”
I glanced at Michael. “What do you mean?”
“Well, it’s been five minutes and you haven’t insulted me yet. I’m getting worried.” His green eyes sparkled with amusement.
I scowled. “It’s not all about you, y’know.”
He chuckled. “My fault. Still, what’s on your mind?”
I searched for something to say because it wouldn’t be appropriate to admit I’d been thinking about the way he smelled or how big his hands were. “Not much. I was just thinking how long it’s been since I’ve had someone around all the time.”
“No boyfriend?”
I winced. “Once. Terrell Molding. It…ended badly.”
“What happened?”
“We had been dating before the incident with Mr. N. As you can imagine, things got rough afterward. I knew I couldn’t tell him what I’d seen because he wouldn’t believe me, so I pushed him away.”
“That must have been hard for you.” His voice was soft with sympathy rather than pity. A small part of me felt relieved by that.
I shrugged and then winced because it still hurt. Gotta stop doing that. “I got over it. It wouldn’t have worked out in the long run anyway.”
“What makes you say that?”
“He wanted the American dream: a beach house in Hawaii, a white picket fence, two kids, and a dog. Despite everything around him, he still held on to the illusion that people are good and life is sweet. We were from two completely different worlds.”
Michael was silent. “I don’t think that’s the problem.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s still the same world, but you two just saw it differently.”
“I guess that’s true.”
“Now that you’ve gotten your life back, will you try to make things work with him?”
That caught me off-guard. “W-Well, I didn’t really consider it, no.”
“Why not?”
“Who are you? Dr. Phil?”
“Jordan, for once, just answer the question.”
“I…I never felt like I was good enough for him, alright? He was on track to become a pediatrician and he came from a
large, successful family. I couldn’t stand the thought of going home to his family in California with my background.”
“Background?”
“I already told you what happened to my parents. I didn’t even go to college. His whole family comes from a prestigious line of African descent and I’m mixed. They weren’t very happy with that.”
“Why should they matter at all if you loved the guy?”
“No one ever said I loved him.” My voice was small and defensive when I spoke. I hated that. He didn’t speak at first—just finished the last bit of my bandages and tugged my robe closed.
I shook my head. “I guess that’s a pretty stupid reason for not trying, hm?”
“Want to know what I really think?”
“Knock yourself out,” I said, avoiding eye contact because it made me feel too vulnerable.
Michael leaned forward in his chair and brushed a lock of hair behind my ear to catch my attention. “I think you’re way harder on yourself than other people are, and you shouldn’t be because there’s nothing wrong with you that’s beyond saving.”
Before I could reply, he stood up and offered me his hand. “Now come on. Your food’s getting cold.”
10
“You ready?”
“Yeah.”
“You sure?”
“Did I stutter?”
I had been expecting a right cross. Instead, I got kicked in the stomach.
My body crumpled like a paper doll. I couldn’t help clutching the injured spot with both hands, as if that would dull the pain. It wormed up from my abs to my chest, blossoming outward to my limbs. Still, I couldn’t stay in the same place or he’d hit me again, so I threw myself to the side as he tried to trip me. I came up on one knee and brought both forearms up as his right leg came down, heel first. I blocked the blow and punched him in the back of the knee.
Jared hissed and danced two steps backwards, hopping on one foot. “Damn. Good hit, Jor.”
“Thanks,” I rasped, rubbing my midsection. I’d be bruised later. Michael wouldn’t like that. Then again, that was why I hadn’t told him about this little session of mine.
