Warrior Angel

by Margaret

  The fire of their rage burned bright in their red, slit eyes.

  Work him over, then take him to headquarters.

  Headquarters. Their headquarters. Known by various names: Hades, Sheol, Gehenna, Tophet, Abaddon, Naraka…

  Hell.

  Imprisonment. Torture. Just like the Inquisition. And, just like the Inquisition, God wasn’t going to give a damn…

  Slavering and gibbering, the demons leapt on him.

  Derek gave a sideways lunge, grabbed hold of the beer bottle, and came up swinging. He struck one of the demons in the face. The bottle smashed. The demon howled and staggered backward, clutching at the socket where its red eye had been. The other three fell back.

  Derek faced them, swinging the broken beer bottle, holding them momentarily at bay.

  The Dark Ones watched him warily and he wondered almost angrily what they were waiting for. Then he knew. They were waiting for him to use his angelic powers! They, too, had fought in Purgatory. They feared him, feared the dread warrior angels. They didn’t know he wasn’t permitted to use those powers. They were waiting for that beer bottle to change to a silver sword, for his face to glow with the radiance of Heaven, and his hands to fling lightning bolts.

  Are they ever gonna feel stupid! Derek thought. His face was glowing, but only with sweat. The beer bottle was nothing but a damn beer bottle.

  The demon who’d lost an eye said something in its horrible language to its fellows. One of them cackled. They were starting to get the idea.

  Why not use my powers? Derek wondered, suddenly tempted. He could hear Archangel Michael’s sonorous voice.

  It is too dangerous. We cannot risk being discovered.

  They don’t care about being discovered. Why should I?

  Because you are different. And now it was William’s voice he heard. You swore an oath of obedience and you are a man of honor.

  “I died once a man of honor,” said Derek grimly. “Looks like I might do the same again.”

  The demon who’d lost an eye charged Derek. He jumped to the side, dodging the creature’s fangs, only to feel its clawed feet swipe at his legs. He staggered back, right into the arms of a second demon coming at him from behind. Lifting Derek in its clawed hands, it slammed him against the wall of the alley.

  Derek heard ribs crack and felt searing pain in his chest. He slumped to the ground, gasping painfully for breath. One of the demons grabbed him by the hair, lifted him up. Its claws raked across his chest, slicing his shirt and his flesh to ribbons. Blood streamed from the wounds. He gasped and moaned from the burning pain.

  Dear lord, he wouldn’t last long like this! He was a warrior. He would not disobey his orders and use his powers, not to save himself.

  But to save Rachel…

  One of the demons kicked Derek in the stomach. He doubled over, groaning. Another smashed him in the head and drove him to the ground. He tried to get up. The demons began to rain blows on him. He was starting to lose consciousness and then, suddenly, a dazzling white light was in his eyes.

  God had not forsaken him.

  The blows ceased. The demons let go of him.

  He heard the Dark Ones chattering in anger and then he heard the sound of an engine and smelled diesel fumes. The light wasn’t shining from the bright halos of a heavenly host. It was shining from the headlights of a garbage truck that was pulling into the alley.

  Immediately, the demons shifted form, changing back into ordinary humans. They bent over Derek, as if they were helping him. The driver rolled down the window. Leaning out of the truck, he called, “Everything okay here, boys?”

  “Our friend’s had a little too much to drink,” one of the thugs said and he took hold of Derek’s arms, apparently with the intention of dragging him back into the club.

  And then a voice rang out with the fury of a heavenly trumpet. “That’s them, boys! They’re the ones who have been beating up our friends. Let ’em have it!”

  Derek lifted his head in wonder. The voice was William’s!

  Suddenly the night was filled with shouts and curses and flying objects. Leaping off the garbage truck, William’s cavalry of homeless warriors charged into battle, flinging rotten tomatoes, old shoes, rocks, cans, and cabbages at the disguised demons. The attack took the thugs completely by surprise. They tried to run for the safety of the bar, but the barrage momentarily pinned them down. All they could do was raise their arms over their heads, try to protect themselves.

  Derek glanced over at the bar, saw the door open. Zanus stood there, staring out. His face was dark, his expression grim. His eyes caught Derek’s.

  Bring it on, you bastard, Derek fumed.

  The thugs finally ran for the safety of the bar. Zanus waited until they had ducked inside. He gave Derek one last baleful look. His lips moved. Derek couldn’t hear him, but he knew what Zanus was saying.

  “This is not over between us.”

  Zanus slammed the door shut. The homeless kept up the barrage, flinging garbage and vegetation at the door and yelling for the cowards to come out.

  Then came the distant wail of police sirens.

  “Come on, boys!” William ordered, taking charge. “You best get out of here! Go ahead. I’ll stay with my friend. Don’t worry! And don’t forget to return that truck like we promised!”

  “We won’t, boss!” shouted the driver.

  The ragged warriors gave a whoop of triumph, leaped onto the truck, and it backed down the alley, turned around, and went careening off down the street.

  William knelt beside Derek.

  “Are you hurt badly? I can’t tell through all the blood,” William asked anxiously.

  “Just help me stand,” Derek gasped. “Did Rachel get away?”

  William grabbed his arm, assisted him to rise.

  Every breath sent pain shooting through Derek. He gasped and staggered, nearly fell.

  “You’re going to have to heal yourself,” said William.

  Derek looked at him in astonishment. “That is against the rules.”

  “Yes,” said William. “I can’t explain now. Just do it, will you? Be quick about it and don’t let anyone see you!”

  Derek turned his attention to the human body that had been so maltreated. He had broken ribs, a punctured lung, damaged internal organs, a broken arm and wrist.

  “Bastards,” he muttered, as he worked, sending warmth and healing power throughout his battered frame.

  Once he was feeling more himself, he looked at William. “Did Rachel get away?” he asked again, insistently.

  “Yes, she caught a taxi. The last I saw of her, she was dialing nine-one-one to send the cops in to rescue you. Of course, that couldn’t be allowed. She’s safe. No thanks to you.”

  William was extremely angry. Derek had never seen an angel so mad. His eyes blazed. Derek understood now what was meant by the “wrath of Heaven.” He was facing that wrath right now.

  “What were you thinking?” William raved. “You put her and yourself in terrible danger.”

  “I had to make her see Zanus for what he was,” said Derek stubbornly. “She knows him now. He talked about how he planned to use her and then murder her.”

  “And so what will she do now that she does know?” William demanded. “Let’s say she refuses to make the trades. Zanus will want to know why. What does she tell him? That she was here tonight? That she found out everything he was plotting? What will he do to her then? You’ve put her in more danger than she was before, Derek! He has to kill her now.”

  Derek stared grimly at William. The Angel was right, of course. Derek didn’t know what to say.

  “I told you we would take care of this, Derek. Next time, maybe you’ll listen to me.”

  “The solution is simple,” Derek argued. “Zanus knows we are on to him. We bring the fight to him, stop him from affecting the world economy.”

  William shook his head. “It’s much more complicated than that, Derek. He’s just a small part of this.”
/>   “What do you mean? How is it complicated?” Derek demanded.

  “I can’t explain. Not yet. I have my suspicions, but I have to make absolutely certain. If what I think is true, it will shake the very foundations of Heaven.”

  William sighed deeply, then rested his hand on Derek’s arm. “You came very near destroying everything we’ve worked for, son. For once, just do as you’re told. Go back and keep an eye on Rachel.”

  “What about Rachel?” Derek asked stubbornly. “What if she is so scared she goes along with Zanus? We can stop her. Lock her in the laundry room.”

  William shook his head. “All humans have free will, Derek. That is God’s gift to them and that is what the Dark Lord wants to take away. The Dark Angels want to make humans slaves. That’s what the fight between us is all about. Don’t you understand this yet? Rachel has to make this decision herself. You’ve done your best to help, though you probably did more harm than good. The decision must be up to her now.”

  Derek didn’t understand. He didn’t want to argue with William, though. He owed the angel one.

  “Anyway, thank you, sir,” said Derek contritely. “I would have been on my way to the bad place if you had not come for me.”

  “If you had faith in Heaven, son, you would’ve known that I’d come,” William said, and, sighing again, he walked away.

  Seventeen

  For the rest of the night, Derek struggled with the inner demons that were putting up as big a battle as the real ones he’d faced in the alley. Despite what William had said about this being Rachel’s decision, Derek longed to go and tell her what to do. He could not sleep. He was frantic to know what decision Rachel would make. One moment, he thought she would defy Zanus and stay home from work. In which case, Zanus would probably come here after her. Derek was hoping that this was what she would choose. He would like nothing better than to tackle the archfiend again—one on one. Not even William could fault him for that, for Derek was obeying orders. He was watching out for Rachel.

  Then again, if she did decide to defy Zanus, she would be putting herself and her friends in danger. Perhaps it would be better if she went along with him. Heaven knew what was going on now. Perhaps they could act to stop things.

  He tried calling her, but her phone was turned off. Of course, she wouldn’t want to talk to Zanus. Figuring that he might be needed, either by Rachel or William or both, Derek called in his replacement, then told the manager he was taking the day off.

  When it was her usual time to go to work, he stayed inside his apartment, keeping the door open, watching for Rachel. She came out of the elevator and he went out to meet her. She was a mess. Her hair was uncombed. She wore no makeup. Her clothes looked as if she’d grabbed them up out of the dirty laundry and flung them on without paying any attention to what she was wearing.

  She headed for Derek’s desk. “Are you all right? I’ve been worried sick! I tried to call the police, but for some reason my phone quit working! I tried to convince the cabbie to call nine-one-one, but he didn’t speak English.” Rachel sighed and ran her hand distractedly through her hair. “I guess I could have called you, but I’ve been afraid to even turn the phone on. I don’t want to hear his voice…”

  “Uh, everything worked out okay,” said Derek soothingly. “As you can see. I managed to get away.”

  “But he saw you!” Rachel said. “You blew your cover!”

  “Actually, my bosses think it may have helped. Pushed him to act before he is ready. The important thing is that he didn’t see you.”

  Derek was about to ask her what she’d decided to do, when he saw the car that normally picked her up in the morning pull up in front of the building.

  “I’ve got to go, Derek,” she said hurriedly. “I’m glad you’re safe. I was…worried.”

  “Where are you going?” he asked, following her to the door.

  “To work,” she said. “I need some normalcy in my life.”

  “Are you going to do the trades?” he asked tensely.

  She didn’t look at him. “I don’t know,” she said. “I haven’t made up my mind.”

  She paused, then said softly, “I know what I should do, Derek. I should go to Mr. Freeman and confess everything. But…I’m afraid. When I heard Zanus say those terrible things…”

  She lifted her gaze, met his. “Can this organization of yours help me?”

  Derek didn’t know what to tell her. He wanted more than anything on Earth or in Heaven to reassure her, to say yes, they would help, but had no idea what William was doing behind the scenes and he didn’t want to make promises he couldn’t keep.

  She sighed. “I didn’t think so. Don’t feel bad. I did this to myself. I’ve got to go.”

  She hurried out the door, jumped into the car, and it drove off.

  Derek went back to his apartment to get dressed. He had done some research on the Merc, as Rachel called it. He knew they didn’t allow unauthorized personnel to go onto the trading floor, but they did offer tours and there was a place where tourists could look down into the pit and see the action. He could keep an eye on Rachel today.

  When he was dressed, Derek dashed upstairs to talk to Sampson.

  “She laid down, but she didn’t sleep after she got back,” Sampson reported. “She kept rolling around in bed and squishing me. Her house phone rang and she pulled the cord out of the wall.”

  “I am going after her,” said Derek. “I will be late for our walk today.”

  “That’s all right, sir. I don’t suppose you could take me with you?” Sampson asked.

  “No,” said Derek firmly.

  “I guess not. You don’t know how hard it is, sir. Having to sit around and do nothing all day while Rachel might be in danger.”

  Derek was halfway out the door when he paused, looked back at the cherub. Sampson looked very forlorn. He was all scruffy and the cat food, clearly dumped hurriedly in the general direction of a bowl, was untouched.

  “I do know,” said Derek. “You have done a really good job, Sampson. I am proud of you.”

  “Are you, sir?” Sampson perked up. “Thank you! That means a lot. I don’t suppose before you leave…the liver treats…They’re in that bag on the counter…”

  Derek took a cab to the Chicago Mercantile Exchange. The structure was imposing—two glass-and-steel towers rising up on either side of the building that housed the pits. He joined the tour, ignoring the guide and making his way immediately to the glass-partitioned balcony overlooking the volatile pits. He looked down into a sea of people. According to the guide, there were over six thousand traders on the floor, all of them wearing various color jackets. How was he going to find Rachel?

  Searching the crowd, he listened to the guide in the background and he began at last to have some understanding of why Zanus had chosen Rachel as his target. One year alone, contracts with an underlying value of $333.7 trillion changed hands here. Derek couldn’t even begin to wrap his mind around such an astounding figure.

  Fortunately, there weren’t all that many women on the floor and Derek soon spotted Rachel in the heaving mass of bodies. She wore a red jacket and she was standing on a stool on one of the risers that framed the pit. She was surrounded by men, all of them pressed shoulder to shoulder. Derek watched her shouting and moving her hands with incredible speed. Every once in awhile, she’d speak into a headset while still making signs with her hands.

  According to the guide, the hand signals meant a variety of things and were used because they were fast and, in the melee of the pits, with everyone shouting to draw attention to themselves, no one could hear themselves think, much less try to perform transactions at the same time. It was incredible to watch.

  Two hands held up, palms facing the body, meant buy. Two hands held up, palms away, meant sell. They had come up with a way of signaling numbers with one hand—seven, for example, was a closed fist with the index and second fingers extended. A closed fist pressed against the forehead was one hundred. There we
re lots more signals: months of the year, market signals, and so on.

  Sometimes, the entire mass of bodies swung one direction, then they would shift another, like a great swelling wave of bright-colored jackets. The red-jacketed traders were throwing wads of paper into the air and the runners, in gold jackets, were dashing back and forth, yelling at the traders. Some traders wore bright, splashy-colored jackets to try to stand out in the crowd.

  Derek watched with his face pressed against the glass. Rachel stood in the middle of the chaos. She would get pushed one way, then pulled another, and then pushed again. Bodies were writhing around her, their faces red and sweating, their arms flailing wildly in the closeness and heat of the pit.

  For the love of God, how does this work? he wondered. How does anyone know who’s shouting at whom? How does anyone hear anything? How can you possibly figure out what all the hand gestures mean? How can she stand the din and the noise? It was like the seething pits of Hell…

  Then Derek remembered what it was like to be in the midst of a battle, fighting for your life and the lives of your comrades. The din of swords clashing and men shouting and crying out and the fear and the exhilarating adrenaline rush…

  Then it dawned on him. This is what Rachel did on a daily basis. This was her life and it meant everything to her. And she was good at it. William had said so. That was why Zanus had targeted her. Derek’s respect for Rachel grew tenfold that moment. This was what Rachel chose to do five days a week. This was a battle that never ended. Sometimes she won. Sometimes she lost.

  “As you can see,” some guy next to Derek was explaining to a friend, “working in the pit is grueling. It is both physically and emotionally draining. Most traders don’t make it through their first year on the floor. They go broke and are never seen or heard from again.”

  The guy shrugged. “The rest will burn out, eventually. Some even crash and burn, they go broke and commit suicide.”

  Derek remembered what Zanus had said last night. About how he’d make it look like Rachel would commit suicide. He shuddered. No one would think to question it.