Angels on Fire (21 page)

Without any warning, the gathered cherubim began to wail in unison, causing the Host to disperse in a flurry of wings and flapping tentacles, leaving Lucy, Nisroc and Preil alone on the ledge. Baffled, she looked around to see what might have precipitated such a sudden exodus and saw that there was now a light in the Void.

At first it looked like a single match-head burning in the darkness, then it began to grow. Whatever it was, it was on fire and traveling fast. Was it a comet? A falling star? Within seconds the horizon became a solid wall of fire. And then the flames parted down the middle like a curtain being opened on a proscenium stage.

The Archon stood revealed, its form roughly humanoid, although lacking features or distinct physical characteristic, its form composed of roiling clouds of gas and cosmic dust. The featureless head angled downward, twin suns burning in the place where eyes should be as it stared down at the combatants before it. As the Archon reached down with a hand the size of an asteroid, Lucy suddenly received a vision of herself as detritus jamming the gears of a mechanism. The Archon meant to pluck this offending piece of alien matter free and flick it over its shoulder and into the Void, where it could do no more harm.

The Archon’s hand filled her vision. There were galaxies spinning in its palm, suns going nova under its finger nails. She could feel herself dwindling like a wet sugar cube before its glory. Her fingers groped blindly for the pouch at her waist. Something told her that this was the ‘extreme circumstances’ Ezrael told her to wait until before using the charm he had given her. She could feel the heat radiating from the pouch hanging from her belt as her fingers closed over it, even though her hand was sheathed in translucent armor.

Remembering Ezrael’s warning not to look at the charm, she tried to lift her arm to shield her eyes, but only to find she could barely move it. The Archon had fixed her to the spot. She felt like an armadillo tranced by the headlights of an oncoming tractor- trailer. But then she thought of Joth, and somehow she was able to find the strength to avert her gaze in time.

The Archon screamed with a sound like that of suns collapsing, of nebulae imploding. It was the noise the universe will make in its death throes, a million millennia from now.

Lucy had no idea what it was Ezrael had given her, but it was clearly inflicting pain on the Archon—and on Nisroc and Preil as well.

“Put it away! Put it awaaay!”
shrieked the seraph, lifting its taloned hands to its face.

Preil cowered to one side, its tentacles writhing in agony. “You dare bring
that
to
this
place?” it hissed.

The Archon wrapped its wings tightly against itself like a molten cape, seeming to shrink from the tiny mortal standing before it. Nisroc gave a wavering mewl, like that of a sickly kitten, as it tried to crawl away on its hands and knees, while Preil’s writhing mass of tentacles proved inadequate to shield its unblinking eye from the object Lucy held aloft. The sight of her opponents groveling before her in such rank panic sent an exhilarating surge of empowerment through the young artist. She quickly moved to block Nisroc’s path, thrusting the charm in its face like Professor Van Helsing brandishing a crucifix at Dracula.

“Take it away, deathling!
Please
—!” the seraph gasped.

“Only if you agree to change the schedule.”

Nisroc shook its head, its fiery mane flickering feebly before fading away entirely.
“Never—!”
it gasped.

Lucy glanced at Preil, which now resembled a half-deflated beach ball, its pupil and cornea rolled so far back only its white underbelly was visible, its tentacles trembling and twitching spasmodically. Her previous feeling of empowerment was now being replaced by that of shame and pity. Somewhere along the line she had gone from being a fearless vampire-killer to a kryptonite-wielding Lex Luthor.

“Damn it,” she said, biting her lip. “I can’t do this. I’m not a murderer.”

As she returned the charm to its pouch, Nisroc’s mane and maimed wing instantly repaired themselves, Preil reinflated itself and the Archon unfurled its wings with a rustle of burning silk.

“It’s not fair!” she said, fighting back her tears. “I’m going to lose Joth just like I lost Daddy and Mam-Maw and Mama. I never got the chance to tell
any
of them how much I loved them, and now I’ll never get the chance to tell Joth, either. Forgive me, Joth; I’ve failed you. I’ve failed
all
of you—”

Nisroc smoothed its restored mane, glancing in the direction of the Archon, which made a gesture that was surprisingly subtle for a being with a hand the size of a cathedral. The seraph made a sound like a tiger trying to clear its throat.

“Lucille Bender—your petition has been granted. I shall appear to the sojourner come the next midnight on your world and put to it the Final Question.”

Lucy lifted her head, blinking in surprise at the gentleness in the angel’s voice. “I-I don’t know what to say—or how to thank you,” she stammered.

“You can thank me by
leaving,
“ the seraph replied, its hauteur once more securely in place.

One minute she was standing in front of Nisroc, the next she was lying flat on her back in the middle of her living room, staring up at the ceiling. She gasped as her heart restarted and blood once more began to flow through her veins. She groaned, somewhat disoriented by her resurrection. Ezrael’s face suddenly popped into her field of vision.

“How many fingers do I have?” The Muse asked, waving a pair of chalk-smeared digits before her eyes.

“Two,” she replied groggily.

“Actually, I have ten, but I’ll accept two as a satisfactory answer,” he grinned. “Here, let me help you up.”

“How long was I out?” she mumbled.

Ezrael consulted his pocket watch. “Just under a minute.”

Lucy shook her head in disbelief, leaning heavily on the Muse as he walked her over to the sofa. “That’s impossible!”

“What can I say? Time’s a trip,” Ezrael shrugged. “So—what happened? What’s the verdict?”

Lucy eased herself onto the sofa, wincing slightly. Her muscles ached as if she’d been lifting weights in the gym all day. “Don’t you know?”

“I wasn’t able to maintain contact once the Archon manifested,” he explained.

“Nisroc granted my request. It will appear tomorrow at midnight. And speaking of the Archon—what the hell is that charm you gave me?”

“Why don’t you find out for yourself?” Ezrael said, nodding at the Hello! Kitty coin-purse affixed to the white cord wrapped about her waist. “Don’t worry—you can look at it now. Whatever power it once had is now expended.”

Lucy unfastened the coin purse and shook its contents into her open palm. To her surprise, an old bottle cap with crimped edges fell out. The logo printed on it was partially obscured by rust, but she could still make out the brand-name:
Faust.

“A bottle cap? You sent me to battle the Heavenly Host with a rusty
bottle cap
as my freakin’ secret weapon!?!”

“Is that what you see?” Ezrael grunted, mildly intrigued. He plucked the bottle cap from her hand and held it up to light, turning it over with his callused fingers. “I usually perceive it as a glass token—the kind they used to give whorehouse patrons during the days of the Roman emperors, although it sometimes manifests itself as a cat’s-eye marble with a crack in it.”

“What are you babbling about, you crazy old wizard? What
is
that thing?”

“What do
you
think could have affected a creature as powerful as an Archon?” Ezrael said as he returned the item to his mojo bag. “What you held in your hand was none other than a piece of the Infernal Machine. You unwittingly carried a fragment of Anti-Creation into the very heart of Creation itself!”

“Even though that thing was killing them, Nisroc
still
refused to change the timetable. And when I saw how I was hurting them—I couldn’t bring myself to use it against them any longer. But when I put the charm away—Nisroc agreed to do as I asked.”

“Don’t you see, child?” Ezrael smiled, squeezing her hand gently. “It wasn’t that little piece of Hell that finally turned Nisroc to your will. It was your passion, your bravery, and, in the end, your capacity for mercy that humbled them. You wrestled with the angels—and proved yourself their better.”

Chapter Twenty

Lucy stood in the bedroom doorway and watched as Ezrael chalked a protective circle around Joth’s motionless body. “Do you
have
to do that?” she asked, chewing on her thumbnail.

“We can’t risk
not
doing it,” he replied. “Joth could become a full daemon at any moment. We can’t risk anything provoking its dark side, which means we have to make sure it’s isolated from any possible negative situations until Nisroc arrives. Emotional agitation or trauma from an outside source could very well push things over the edge for good! If we keep Joth contained within the circle until midnight, then at least its condition won’t deteriorate any further.”

“I realize that this is for his own good,” Lucy sighed. “But I just can’t help feeling that we’re treating him like a prisoner.”

“Look at it this way—Joth won’t be kept locked up for long,” Ezrael said, dusting the chalk from his hands. “Now—could you be so kind as to hand me my bag?”

She brought the gym bag over to where the Muse was kneeling. Muttering under his breath in a sing-song voice, he withdrew eight white votive candles, which he placed at the points of the compass, lighting them one by one as he moved clockwise. Upon the eighth and final candle being lit, the outer rim of the magic circle abruptly ignited like the ring on a gas range. Lucy gave a small shout of surprise and stepped away.

“Don’t be alarmed, it’s not actual flame,” Ezrael explained, getting to his feet. “It’s foxfire—its a metaphysical version of one of the elements; just like ectoplasm is a variant of water, and aether represents air.”

With moments of the foxfire igniting, Joth began to stir again, lifting its head from under its wing. The angel’s features were once again those Lucy had come to know so well. The only thing different than before was the darkness in its eyes and what looked like twin lumps the size of golf balls lumps at its temples. Joth looked about, perplexed.

“Why have you placed me under a seal of containment, Ezrael?”

“It was for your own protection, my friend,” the Muse said soothingly. “You are much changed from when last we saw you.”

“I feel—different,” Joth admitted. “There are things within me that I do not understand.”

Ezrael nodded sagely. “The Natures are in conflict with one another. The need to mend and the urge to destroy are fighting one another. That is why you must stay under the seal of containment.”

“But I do not
wish
to be contained,” Joth replied sharply.

Ezrael and Lucy exchanged worried glances before the Muse replied in a stern voice: “Lucy went before the Host, at great risk to her well-being, and pleaded your case to Nisroc. The time of your Final Question has been moved forward, because of her doing this thing. Would you risk all she has fought so hard to win for you?”

Joth glanced at Lucy and the darkness in its eyes dimmed. The angel dropped its gaze to its feet. “I shall remain under seal of containment,” it said humbly.

Ezrael turned and motioned for Lucy to follow him. Once they were in the hall, Ezrael pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and mopped his brow. For the first time since she had met him, the Muse looked as old as he claimed to be.

“Ez—are you okay?” Lucy asked, worried by how noticeably the white wizard’s hands trembled.

“Casting two circles in one night is extremely draining,” he explained. “But until Nisroc’s arrival, one of us will have to be awake at all times.”

“I’ll take the first watch,” she said. “You look done in.”

“I’ll sack out on the couch, if it’s all the same to you. Wake me in three hours. The only thing you need to do is make certain the circle remains unbroken and the points secured.”

“The points?”

“The candles,” he explained. “They can’t go out or be knocked over.”

“Gotcha. Don’t worry—I’ve got it covered. You just go get some shut-eye.”

The Muse trudged into the living room, stretched out on the couch and was sound asleep in less than two minutes.

Well,
Lucy thought to herself as Ezrael began to snore,
if I’m going to keep watch, I might as well fix myself some coffee.

As she entered the kitchen, her eyes dropped to the small pile of unopened mail sitting atop the dinette table. At least that would give her something to occupy her time until she had to wake Ezrael up. After putting the kettle on the boil, she picked up the bundle of envelopes, sighing to herself as she sorted out the bills from the circulars. ConEd, NYNEX, Chemical Bank.. .Nothing but bills, bills, and more bills. The only article of personal mail was a business envelope with a local postmark but no return address. The handwriting looked familiar, but she could not immediately place it. As she tore open the end of the envelope, a news clipping fell out.

It was from the society announcement section of the previous day’s
New York Times.
It featured a photograph of a Long Island heiress dressed in a conservative button-collar blouse, her hair carefully coifed, smiling blankly into the camera. It took Lucy a long second to recognize the woman’s face as Gwenda’s. The accompanying article read: ‘Mr. And Mrs. Charles M. Latrobe of Long Island announce the engagement of their daughter, Gwendolyn Anne Latrobe, to Nevin Carr, son of the late Alexander Carr and Neva Garber Carr of Chicago, Illinois.’

There was more, but she couldn’t read the words because of tears in her eyes.

Lucy didn’t know which surprised her more—the news of Nevin’s engagement to Gwenda, or the fact she was hurt enough to cry. She had known, deep down, that what she once had with Nevin could never be retrieved, but that still did not help blunt the pain. What stung the most was the knowledge that he’d become engaged to another woman within a week of leaving her. Dumping her for someone she loathed was bad enough, but this was the cherry on top. She suspected that this final dig—the anonymous mailing of the engagement announcement--was Gwenda’s doing, not Nevin’s. It had her stink all over it. Still, even if he was not the one twisting the knife, Nevin was the one who had provided Gwenda with the blade.

Blinking back her tears, she hurried out of the kitchen and back towards the bedroom, careful not to wake up Ezrael as she did so. Maybe some good old, brainless boob tube watching would help her get her mind off things. All she had to do was fetch the portable TV from her room and take it back to the kitchen. As she opened the bedroom door, she saw Joth crouching on the floor within the seal of protection, its arms wrapped around its lower shins. The angel looked up quizzically as she entered the bedroom.

“What is wrong?” Joth asked, rising slowly.

“Nothing—nothing’s wrong,” she said, trying to avert her face from the angel’s gaze.

“That is not true,” Joth said, stepping as close to the edge of the circle as it dared. “Your halo is in eclipse.”

Lucy bit her lip and shook her head, trying her best to control the tears that rose, unbidden, to her eyes. “Joth,
please
—not now—I just need to be left alone, that’s all—”

“You are crying.” The angel took a step toward her, only to be knocked to the floor by a burst of bluish-white energy. Lucy hurried to where the angel lay sprawled, trapped within Ezrael’s magic circle, its smoking wings smelling of scorched feathers.

“Joth!
” she cried.

In her haste to check on the angel, Lucy unwittingly knocked over the south-east candle. The foxfire circling the seal instantly snuffed itself out. She drew back as Joth got back onto its feet and stepped over the deactivated chalk circle. There was a strange intensity in the way the angel stared at her that she found unnerving.

“Who made you cry—was it the one called Nevin?”

“Joth—please—you’re scaring me—” she said as she backed away from the angel looming over her, its eyes glowing eerily in the darkened room.

“Was it the one called Nevin?”

Lucy grunted as she collided with the chest of drawers behind her. She was too frightened to look directly into the angel’s face so she averted her eyes, choosing to stare at the floor instead.

“Yes,” she whispered, in voice so tiny it was almost as if she had not spoken at all.

Joth’s eyes flashed as if there was lightning in their depths and its wings snapped open like Chinese fans. To her horror, Lucy saw the horn- buds at its temples grow even larger. With the roar of an angry tiger, the dark angel spun about and launched itself through the nearest window in a shower of glass and splintered wood. Only then did she finally find the breath to scream.

Ezrael charged into the room, his hair and clothes disheveled. “Lucy— Where’s Joth?”

“I-I knocked over one of the candles,” she stammered. She was trembling, her teeth rattling like dice in a cup. “I didn’t
mean
to—I thought he was hurt—Oh, Ez, he was so
scary!”

Ezrael stuck his head through what was left of the window. Shards of glass littered the pavement and gutter below, but outside of a junkie nodding out in a doorway across the street, there was nothing to see. He pulled his head back in. “What did you say to it?”

“He—he wanted to know why I was crying.”

Ezrael frowned. “You were crying?”

Lucy pointed to the newspaper clipping lying forgotten on the floor by way of explanation. Ezrael picked it up, raising an eyebrow in surprise as he read the announcement. “I see,” he grunted.

“Joth got upset when he saw me crying—then he got loose—and he kept asking me if Nevin was responsible for making me cry—Oh, God, Ez—he looked like the
devil!
And it’s all my fault!”

Ezrael shook her by the shoulders as she began to cry again. The look on the former angel’s face frightened her even more than Joth’s satanic appearance. “Lucy! There’s no time for that! Do you know where Nevin might be?”

“H-he’s probably over at Gwenda’s.”

Ezrael headed towards the door in a dead run, dragging Lucy behind him. “We
must
get there as soon as possible or all our efforts on Joth’s behalf will have been for nothing!”

“Joth wouldn’t
hurt
Nevin—would he? Besides, he doesn’t even know where Gwenda lives!”

“Are you
kidding?
Joth knows where
everybody
lives! As one of the elohim, it is still tied into Creation! It has access to a databank unlike any other! But worst of all, if an angel takes a life on the mortal plane—its fate is sealed. It will instantly become a daemon!”