by Ramy Vance
“You need me to be the witness. To all that you are about to do.”
“Yes. Very good, Katrina. Very good, indeed.”
“The only question I have is … why me?”
↔
A silence hung between us as my question sat unanswered. “No lies, remember?” I repeated.
Still, he said nothing.
“And omissions are a form of—”
“Lying, yes. I know. But whereas I truly desire to tell you, I do not know if you are ready to hear the truth.”
“The truth being …”
“That this was your destiny, woven into the fabric of time so long ago.”
“OK, let’s add being cryptic as a form of lying. Oh, and deduct you major points for being creepy, too.”
Enoch chuckled. “Yes, I suppose you are right. Let me give you part of the truth now. A nibble, if you will, to satiate your curiosity. I learned that the gods would leave even before the gods themselves had formulated their little plans.”
“How?” Curiosity overwhelmed me. Hell, it overwhelmed everyone. Even Egya looked up, giving him that head tilt dogs do when you have their full attention. This guy should have written a book. And that wasn’t sarcasm. He really should have … It would be a massive bestseller that would most likely outsell the Bible, Koran and Torah combined.
“Long before you were born, I was a witness to the three Sisters of Fate, and they showed me the thread that led to this point.” He stared off into the distance, lost in his own memories. “It was the only time I used my position to gain knowledge that should not have been mine.
“They showed me the gods departure, my unfortunate humanity and you, my dear Katrina. And they told me that our destinies are intertwined. That you would bring me before the gods for one final judgment.
“But the Fates, being the Fates, did not tell all. I do not know what that final judgement will be, nor do I know when. But that is why I chose you. Why I have followed you for all this time.”
I stood there, flabbergasted. This guy had literally been stalking me since I was born. Hell, since before I was born.
As cosmically weirded out as I was, I needed to keep my cool if I was going to get out of this. I had one more move to make. It was a long shot, but when you’re screwed, sometimes long shots are all you get.
“What about our pending nuptials? Did they tell you about that, too?”
Enoch paused as his face betrayed a momentary panic. But as quickly as that panic showed itself, it disappeared, his demeanor returning to its normal calm, confident, smug self.
Still, it was there. I’d touched a nerve.
“My dear, no, they did not show us together in any other capacity than our intertwined fates. Still, I know. I know because I have—”
“Because you have what? Used one of those eye thingies to see the future? I know that’s not true. If it were, you would never have let this little scene unfold, would you?” I paused, searching for the truth in my words. Given his reaction—or rather, his lack of a reaction—I knew I had guessed right. He hadn’t seen the future. He only spoke of the future he hoped for. Which meant that he didn’t actually know if he’d ever see the gods again. This was all open.
I narrowed my eyes as if I was struggling to understand what was happening here. “You are so damn confident that we’re going to wind up together. How? Why? I mean, we’ve never met. Sure, you’ve been pinning the celestial versions of pervy photos on your cosmic walls, but that doesn’t mean—”
“Because I know you,” Enoch rasped. “I know you better than you know yourself.”
“How cliché. Did you read that in Villains for Dummies, or was that particular gem something you picked up in Villainy 101?” I threw in as much ire and contempt as I could, summoning every ounce of the intonation partners have used on their lovers since the dawn of time. The tone that clearly says, “I’m not impressed.”
As I used it, images of all my past boyfriends throwing up their arms in exasperation flew through my mind. All two of them: Justin and Aldie—the dark elf I dated about a hundred and fifty years ago.
Boy oh boy, I really am inexperienced on the boyfriend front.
Lovers and victims, on the other hand …
Enoch, much like those two, threw up his arms and head before returning his gaze to me in that way that said, “We’re about to get into it now, girl.”
Good. Finally my feminine wiles were working.
Enoch began to utter something when I lifted a hand. “Ah-ah-ah. Before you hit me with whatever priceless gem you have swimming in that head of yours, answer me this, Megatron …”
That did it. He flew into a rage in that way I just knew he would.
You don’t stalk someone for centuries without being a wee bit unbalanced. The trick is to find the axis … and kick it.
“Metatron,” he growled, and I don’t know if it was real or not, but I felt Deirdre’s grip on me lighten. It wasn’t much, but it was definitely there.
I don’t know much about magic. As a vampire, we never had the ability to burn time. All our magic tended to be inherent abilities that were “on” all the time. But I did date that fae guy, and he told me that spells generally fall into one of two camps: timed or concentration.
Timed spells are just that … magical effects that, once they run their course, are over. A fireball is done and gone once it hits its target. A summoned demon only hangs around for as long as the spell is designed to last. Once that timer buzzes, the creature either goes back to wherever it came from, or is free to do whatever it wants (which usually results in attacking the summoner. Funny thing about summoning demons: they don’t like being pulled away from their fire-and-brimstone homes).
But concentration spells are different. They require the caster to be focused on the spell’s effects. The more powerful the caster, the more spells they can cast simultaneously.
That takes experience and intelligence—something Enoch had in abundance, given how many spells he had going at once while dealing with me.
But no matter how much experience and intelligence you might have, someone like little ol’ moi will find a way to make you falter, and that was exactly what was happening now.
All that was left was to push him just that little bit more.
“Let me guess,” I said, “they never said anything about us getting married, but after centuries of watching me, you fell in love and convinced yourself that I’d do the same once I got to know you. So this little rendezvous … is it going as planned? Are my knees wobbling? Am I swooning? Tell me, archangel formerly known as Metatron, am I falling in love with you?”
I hit the you hard, lacing it with as much venomous hatred as I could. Which wasn’t hard, given that I really did hate this guy.
Enoch threw his arms up in the air, twirling on his heels in a way that made me think he was going to storm off. Wouldn’t that have been nice? But a guy like him doesn’t walk away from a fight. They turn to confront whomever is pissing them.
And that is exactly what he did. Good thing I was ready for him.
Friends Don’t Let Friends Time Travel
He turned around to look his aggravator in her beautiful, sky-blue eyes, but instead of being met by a shade of blue that makes you dream of rainbows (hey, I have amazing eyes, no sense in being humble about it), he was greeted by the same contact lens he’d used on me earlier.
What’s more, I forced both Egya and Deirdre to look me in the eyes, too, stimulating their greatest desires.
And currently, that desire was to be free of this asshole.
I held Enoch’s gaze as I said, “You two, get out of here.” I noted that Egya hadn’t transformed back. He was still in hyena form, which was both a good and bad thing.
Good because, as a hyena, he could bite. Something he did right away, snapping the Eye of Borvo out of Enoch’s hand. Bad because, as much as his constant cackling annoyed me, I could have really used some sort of witty quip right about now.
“Go,” I said, “before he does something else to you two.” I beckoned Deirdre over.
She took a few steps toward me. “But milady, I must stay by your side and—”
I pulled the pendant from around my neck and pressed it into her hand. “Deirdre, for the love of the GoneGods, just go.”
I heard Egya growl, and the pulling and ripping of fabric as he tugged at Deirdre. That was followed by reluctant footsteps and the slamming of a car door. They were in Egya’s car, driving away. But given that Egya had paws, I guessed Deirdre was the driver. She could barely ride the bus without incident, and I lamented any driver who got the full brunt of her road rage.
They were gone, which left Enoch and me alone. The Soul Jar was gone. Given all that, I was free to do what needed to be done.
I wasn’t entirely sure how the contact lens worked. It stimulated one’s desires, but I’d eventually broken out of its spell, which meant that he would, too.
Walking over to him, I unbuttoned the top two buttons of my blouse. I figured I’d fan the flames of his desire, and in a voice that was as sincere as my acting abilities allowed, I said, “You were right. We do belong together. We are one and the same, fates intertwined. Two souls, one destiny.” Yuck. But hey, these were exactly the kinds of words that got an angel going: fate, love, destiny.
Making love to an angel was the stuff of NC-17, steamy romance novels.
I took a step forward, reaching my hand out to him. He returned the gesture, his eyes misty with the anticipation of love finally requited.
Another step and I’d be next to him. He’s just a man, I kept saying to myself. He’s just a man. And men have snappable necks. I just needed to get close enough to—
But as soon as our fingers touched, I didn’t just feel his skin. I felt him. All of him. The world started to whirl as the two of us were transported to another realm.
No, not another realm … another time.
We were in the distant past. A time Enoch called “home.”
“Crap,” I mumbled as I stared around the sparse wooden shack. “More magic.”
Part II
Intermission:
“Giants walk this Earth,” the wounded angel says, “but they should not.”
Enoch, the mortal human, is young, virile and strong. He is also crouched beside the largest angel he’s ever seen: Oche.
The massive angel grabs at his side, his hand over an open wound where light—an angel’s blood—pours out of him.
Enoch is a healer, but only for humans. He has no idea how to heal an angel.
Oche grunts in pain. “God did not wish for such creatures to be born. He did not ordain their existence. I am sure of it. But my brethren—” His words are cut off by a sudden and violent cough; spittles of light drip from his lips.
“You have internal bleeding,” Enoch says as he prepares his tourniquet. “I must close the wound for you to have any hope of surviving.”
Enoch pulls out the largest needle in his kit, a needle he fashioned from the bones of a whale that washed up on the shores near his village. He made it more as a pretty trinket than with any intent to use. Even though it is the size of his middle finger and as sharp as anything he’s ever made, he doubts it will be enough.
“Hold still,” Enoch says.
Oche tries to move. “I must return to the battle. Help my fellow warriors. I am a soldier in God’s army. I am—”
“A creature who is about to die. Do you understand me? You will die if you insist on moving.”
Oche returns Enoch’s gaze as if confused.
Enoch, for all the limitations of his mortality, understands. “Tell me, angel. What will happen to you should you die?”
Oche says nothing.
“Do you have a soul like humans do? Something that will usher you to the afterlife?”
Again, his question is met with silence.
“Is there even an afterlife for angels?”
Oche starts to speak, but quickly falls silent.
“From your silence, I gather that the answer is no, or perhaps you do not know. Either way, I suspect it is best you let me help you than gamble on your very existence.”
What Enoch does not add is that the mere act of this surgery is a gamble. He doubts the angel will live through the procedure, let alone the night.
Oche stares deep into Enoch’s eyes before nodding. “Very well.” The giant creature lays back down on the ground, and Enoch begins his arduous task of saving an angel’s life.
↔
The angel sits surprisingly still during the surgery. No easy feat, given Enoch has no herbs to dull the pain, no remedies to send this creature to sleep. The creature does wince and groan, but other than those minor expressions of pain, he doesn’t move a feather.
Once Enoch is done, he turns to Oche. “Does your kind sleep?”
“On occasion.”
“Then sleep.”
Oche does not close his eyes.
“Please,” Enoch begs. “You need to heal, and your body requires rest.”
Oche looks at the shack’s door.
“The war will still be here tomorrow,” Enoch says. “And you will be all the more capable of fighting then.”
In truth, Enoch doubts the angel will be here tomorrow. It is a miracle that he is still here now.
Eventually Oche nods, closing his eyes. Whether it is the exhaustion of battle or the toll of his wounds, the angel drifts to sleep almost as soon as his eyes close, leaving Enoch to clean his other wounds.
Deep slashes pierce the angel’s incredibly tough hide, bruises the size of boulders spotting his body.
“What kind of creature could inflict so much damage on one such as you, Oche?” Enoch murmurs.
↔
The next morning comes, and Oche’s eyes open with the light of dawn. The angel sits up, his head brushing against the roof of Enoch’s shack.
Enoch cannot hide his surprise. “I did not think this day would smile upon you.”
Oche winces, touching the wound on his side. Whereas yesterday it was deep, today it looks little more than a scratch.
“God in Heaven.” Enoch’s head goes dizzy. “You are almost healed. How?”
“I am a soldier in God’s army. We are not so easily killed.”
“Still, whatever being that hurt you—”
“A giant,” Oche spits out. “A creature I have never seen before. But as we fought, I saw the holy symbol of Azazel on its neck.”
Oche speaks as if that explains all, but Enoch does not understand.
Oche grows impatient with Enoch’s ignorance of the ways of angels. “Only those sired by us can share our name. This creature, this unholy creation, must be Azazel’s child.” Oche shakes his head. “But it is forbidden for an angel to fornicate with a human. If my assertion is right, then Azazel has broken a holy law.”
“Such a union is possible?”
Oche nods. “It should not be, as it is forbidden, but many of my brethren chose to defy God’s will.”
“How? Why?” Enoch says. “God’s words are final. Who would dare defy Him?”
“I do not understand it myself. But what I do know with all my being is that war is coming between those loyal to God and those who chose human pleasures of eternal glory. War. And if more of those monsters should walk the Earth, I do not know if the side of light can prevail.”
↔
Oche stays with Enoch one more day and night, waiting until his wounds heal.
Once the angel is fully rested, he leaves Enoch’s hut. “Where will you go now?”
Oche points to the east. “Beyond that mountain is where the battle took place. I will go there, see what came of it and report back to the heavens above.”
“And should you encounter that creature again?”
“I will fight it.”
“Alone? You barely survived fighting it before. I suggest that your purpose be not to die this day, but to warn others.”
Oche contemp
lates the mortal’s words. The human is right. Still, to walk away from battle, a challenge … that goes against Oche’s very nature.
Unfurling his wings, Oche prepares to take to the sky. But in the moment before he leaves, he hears the mortal utter, “Take me with you.”
The mortal’s hands are clenched in fists as his body shakes with obvious fear. But there is also resolve in his eyes. “Take me with you. Should other angels be wounded, they will need me.”
Enoch does not wait for Oche’s response, running into his hut to gather his supplies. “Take me with you,” the brave human repeats. “Take me so that I may serve.”
↔
They return to the site of the battle. There are many wounded. Many dead. Enoch walks among the dead angels and remarks how their bodies look like the same empty shells, just like any human body. They even bleed. Granted, their blood is made of light, but still it stains their body.
But there is one difference: the expression on their faces. It is that of deep sadness. True despair.
Later, he will understand that death for an angel is final. There is no second life. There is no Heaven.
There is nothing.
Oche walks among the dead, tears of light streaming down his face. “I should have been here,” the angel says.
Enoch shakes his head. “With your wounds, you would have only perished with them. At least now you can avenge your fallen brethren.”
Oche pounds his chest with his left hand. “This I swear.”
A groan sounds. There among the dead is one angel. She sits upright, her back against a rock, her hand still on her sword. Oche immediately goes to her side. “Miral. Captain—you live.”
Miral looks up, and in her pain and delirium she struggles to focus on Oche. But as the two rush closer, she realizes that this is not a dream. One of her fellow angels has survived.
“How? How …” she manages. “I saw you fall from the sky.”
