Hell's Bells

by K. B. Draper

  Danny pulled up curbside, doing his own what the heck and maybe a sexual orientation double-check before starting to lower a knee. “Are you,” I jerked him up by his bra strap, shoulder, whatever, “freaking kidding me?”

  “But that’s an … he’s an …” Danny’s head nodded in pretty boy’s direction as if I need a reminder of who we’re talking about, “an archangel,” Danny whispered with instant-awe in his voice. Which if I’m being honest, really didn’t do much for my present attitude.

  “I don’t care if he’s the pope’s dressmaker,” I growled. “You’re just gonna go wheels down for … for …”

  “An. arch. an-gel,” Danny supplied, breaking the title up so he could emphasize each annoying syllable.

  “Los-er,” I countered, with a knuckle chuck to his shoulder before turning my irritable bits toward the other dude that was teeing me off. “Michael, buddy, what’s the deal-i-o with the low-go?”

  Michael’s back stiffened, and the black wings that conveyed the “fallen” part of his title, came in tight to his back. I started to go wide, trying to get a side view of the situation and saw Ashlyn moving in cautiously from the opposite direction. Her outstretched gun lowered slightly at the sight of our visitor, but quickly raised again when she found Apoc in the mix. Have I said how much I heart her lately?

  Six, back in his doggie version of the Incredible Hulk, moved to position himself where with a simple leap right he could protect Apoc or with a lunge left he could be in front of Ashlyn. I super heart him too, BTW.

  “Michael?” I tried again. “I need a little direction here.” Nothing. “Butt wiggle once for friend, twice for foe.”

  Mr. Big Bright Stranger Danger’s grin went full ray of sunshine on my soul as he turned toward me. My knees went a little wobbly, and I don’t even kind of swing in that direction. “Addison Jo Mattox, it is an honor to meet you. You are quite the topic of conversation these days.” I would finish off that statement with a “he said,” but the deep-silky tone was more deserving of a “decreed,” “proclaimed,” or “enlightened my soul.”

  I checked myself. “It’s AJ, pretty boy. And since you didn’t pick up a ‘Hello, my name is’ sticker on your way in, do you mind telling me who you are and why my buddy Magic Mike is going all kiss-the-king’s-ring on you?”

  And just when I thought the dude couldn’t get any more bomb-a-licious, he laughed. Well, fuck me. I recognized that panty-dropper smile anywhere as its co-owner was currently head down and ignoring my WTFs. So, this was Michael Sr. Like fo’ real deal super angel, Archangel Michael. That explained why Danny was still fangirling it side-stage. “Daddy Michael, I assume?” I asked, as my emotional reaction swung from slightly enamored to “so you’re the flaming dickhole that rejected your son.” “Ya here to pick up your ‘Father of the Year’ mug? I mean, surely kicking your son out of the cloud house for falling in love would qualify you for one.”

  Daddy Michael’s smile dimmed a little, fogged over by an emotion I would categorize as guilt, but I was a trifle leery and a lot pissed, so I double-downed because that’s kind of my thing. “Sure, his lady love turned out to be a demon. Mega demon and the wife of Lucifer. Lucifer, the kingpin of hell, and …” dot, dot, “your broth–” (dot, dot, dot and connect). “Oh Mikey, Mikey, Mikey, I didn’t even think about … Damn Shazam … Auntie, Queen of Hell. Dude, I’m sorry, but that’s kind of Arkansas 1825, but I guess that’s kind of your all’s deal.”

  Eyes back on Daddy Michael. “Speaking of banging DNA matches, I’ve always wanted to confirm the whole Adam and Eve thing. Like there eventually had to be some brother-sister love going on there, right? I mean, two plus two equals four minus one with the Cain thing, then skip to my lou my darling and there was suddenly a family pack of Duggars and then, poof, we’ve populated Asia. Right? Or did I miss something in Diddle-ronomy 1:69?”

  “Sweetheart, I don’t think you’re helping this situation,” Ashlyn stage whispered across our little scene.

  I looked at her then back to Daddy Michael. His clenched jaw probably meant Ashlyn was on to something. “Sorry. Fine,” I waved a dismissive hand, “no need to answer, I can have Danny just Ancestry.com that single tree branch later.”

  “We are not brothers of the flesh,” Daddy Michael growled. “Only in the spirit of God.”

  “Wham bam shazammed his spirit aunt then.” I noodled that around for a sec. “Eh, I guess that shaves off a little WTF.” Daddy Michael stepped toward me. I did an “eh-eh-eh” with my gun. He flicked a finger with no more effort than if he’d been playing kicker in a table game of paper football. I watched Barbra field goal herself into the river. That’s a good hundred yards away if you’re Google-mapping this scene. I looked at my now empty hands. “Super inconvenient. And to be honest,” I looked up at Daddy Michael, “I’m kind of regretting my recent life choices,” I said, as Norm began to tapeworm himself under my skin to come front and center for this little standoff.

  “I am not here to cause harm to anyone. Quite the opposite. I am simply here to talk to my son and offer what guidance I’m allowed in reference to the upcoming events,” he said as he reached out to place a hand on his son’s shoulder.

  Magic Mike rose as if Michael had activated a hidden release button. “Father, how can I serve you?”

  I snorted. I didn’t mean to; it was a by-product of my WTF reflux condition. Hey, it’s a thing. Feel free to look it up on www.whatthefuckever.com.

  “You can tell your friends that there is nothing to fear from me.”

  Another snort, and I had three sets of eyes on me. Probably had more, but I’d moved and couldn’t see Danny or Grand.

  Magic Mike crossed his waist with an arm, then bowed slightly in his father’s direction. I caught the subtle double tap of fingers he did at his hip before going upright and turning his attention to me. “AJ, if not given reason my father will not cause harm to us.”

  One would think the little statement was a warning for me to “not give reason.” Kind of a subtle “behave, and my father won’t smite you” deal. But nope, I’m an aficionado of the “don’t you dare” looks, as my mom had exercised and mastered a few dozen variations all before I hit the age of five. Magic Mike’s little finger tap was a “be ready with David,” my small but deadly bowie knife that I keep at my hip. Or that’s the translation I was going with anyway as it played better with my current mood. P.S. I know it’s kind of distracting with the whole archangel on Earth thing, but you totally got the knife reference, right? David. Bowie knife. David. Bowie. Got it? Okay, cool.

  “You most likely know by now that certain …” Daddy Michael paused to find the correct word. “Events,” he decided, “were set forth long ago, and it appears the time is quickly coming to pass.”

  I held up a hand in a classroom “pick me” fashion.

  “AJ,” Ashlyn quietly warned.

  I turned to her. “What? I just want to make sure we’re all on the same page. Come to pass,” I repeated with air quotes as my hands were apparently free now. “Danny ate two burritos last night, and if this is all over something a vat of Gas-X can solve, then well …” Danny groaned. Grand let out a stifled chuckle. Yeah, he’s awesome like that. Ashlyn’s eyes went—well, in the way of Daddy Michael’s home, and yeah. “I’m just sayin’, these dudes,” I pointed at the front and center dude, “are responsible for the Bible, and that’s got all kinds of jacked up mixed messages, so I’d think we all could appreciate taking a little extra time to make sure we are all on the same page.”

  Daddy Michael cleared his throat. “It is true, our messages can sometimes appear cryptic, but it is not for deception purposes. And I should point out that it was actually men that wrote the Bible, and they are not always the best listeners.”

  I waited an extra beat or seven. “Oh, sorry. Come again? I flaked for a second. You were saying something about a Philly cheesesteak?”

  Daddy Michael gritted his Crest Whitening Strip ad teeth and continued. “Our Crea
tor has given humankind the gift of free will. Therefore, the ultimate or a single fate cannot be determined precisely. Any one person’s actions can change a great many things and outcomes.”

  “Right, that whole butterfly flutters its wings in Japan and it blows up a stripper’s skirt in Branson and all that,” I said.

  Daddy Michael pondered a moment. “More of a butterfly chooses to land and not fly; the stripper chooses to wear pants scenario.”

  “Are they red patent leather pants?” I asked, for again absolutely no good reason, besides that I got a sick joy from attempting to making this living, breathing, holier-than-thou think about strippers in leather pants. I and my innocent self, however, chose to think about Rocky Road ice cream in the prolonged beat of silence. I mean, seriously, chocolate and marshmallows, yum.

  “It would be of the wearer’s choosing as, again, free will,” he finally answered.

  “With or without matching tassles—” I was already swirling my upper half when Ashlyn and Danny’s double “AJ!” objection cut me off. “What? I’m just trying to get a clear picture.”

  Danny finally manned up or sucked up; sometimes I get those two actions confused. I blame politics. “Archangel Michael, sir,” he started, his head lowered as he stepped forward. “I apologize for … she’s … well, she’s …” Danny gave me a sidelong look.

  “Awesome? I think awesome is the word you’re looking for,” I interjected.

  “AJ means no disrespect,” he said instead.

  I snorted. “Um, unless I totally do,” I muttered.

  “She is fiercely protective and sometimes her—”

  “Again, awesomeness,” I inserted.

  “… her protectiveness,” Danny continued, “well, sometimes comes out in creative ways. I hope you can understand.”

  Daddy Michael glanced at his son. “I do. Sometimes, our intentions or actions are not clear to others.” Magic Mike dropped his eyes as his father placed a hand on his brain cap, giving it a loving stroke. “And sometimes the things we do, the choices we make to protect them, are very difficult.”

  My shoulders relaxed a little. Okay, maybe Daddy Michael is not as big a flaming maxipad with wings as I thought.

  He straightened. “I’m sorry, but my time here is short and we have much to discuss. As you know, my brother, Lucifer, has waged war against our Creator. Since his fall, he has vowed vengeance against humankind, destroying our God’s greatest creation. It is believed that time is nearing with the birth of this child—”

  “Your grandson,” I inserted, as a friendly reminder.

  Daddy Michael nodded sharply, but didn’t commit to the title change. “The existence of such a power …” We all instinctively turned to ‘the power’ who was at present licking the sand from his fingers as if he’d just dipped them in a jar of Nutella.

  “And destroyer of sandboxes everywhere,” I inserted.

  Magic Mike moved quickly to pick up his sand-laden son, holding him up, giving him a couple of up and downs, so the sand in his shorts could salt and pepper itself out through his leg holes. Giving up, he held his son to his chest. “I will not let my son be used in his war. He has no part in the fight.”

  “There is one way to ensure that,” Daddy Michael stated.

  Magic Mike stepped back. I stepped forward and do-si-do we were about to go because no one here thought Daddy Michael was talking about a witness protection plan for half-angels, half-demons. “And we’re done. Last call for alcohol. The bar is closing. Uber is waiting at the curb.” I threw a thumb over my shoulder.

  “Son, you must consider—”

  “Nope. Nopedy. Nope. No. And you can tell Mister Geppetto, or whoever is pulling your skirt strings, that they’re going to have a fight on their hands if they don’t put that little idea in their back pocket and sit on it.”

  “—the greater good,” Daddy Michael finished. Paused. Then started again. “There is little time. My brother is amassing his army as we speak. We feel the pull on the balance. There will be great loss and devastation to the human world.”

  “Ain’t. Happening,” I growl-peated.

  Daddy Michael looked at his son and his grandson, nodded once, then began to retreat, pausing to look at me as he passed. We did the soul gaze thing for a beat, but where I thought I’d find a warrior’s fierce coldness, all I found was a father’s deep regret. He lowered his voice to a whisper. “There may be alternatives, and I pray you can find them. There is little time.”

  “Little time? What is little time exactly? I mean you guys are working on Central Standard Eternity Time, right? So, what are we talking— like ‘don’t start a movie because you won’t finish it’ kind of little time? Or ‘don’t get out the assless chaps and the pogo stick six Tuesdays from now ’cause it will be awkward to dismount in the middle of an apocalypse’ kind of little time?”

  And that’s when I think I might have broken the pretty angel. He blinked. Blinked again. Then did a back and forth with his head as if to reset it. “We believe only days. A week at most, but likely less as the pull is strong and getting stronger.” He turned for a last look at Michael and Apoc. “We won’t be able to stop this without ...” He didn’t finish the statement, his jaw flexing as if chewing on the words left unsaid. He nodded once, and then with a flash and pop he was gone. The only evidence of his presence was the residual snark left in my throat and the “protect them” left whispered in my ear.

  So days to protect Apoc from whom exactly was TBD. I spun back to the audience that had gathered. “Alrighty then, so a little birdie just told us we’re on slay-cation for a few days. Disneyland? Who’s in?”

  Ashlyn dropped her weapon, coming to stand next to me. “I … you … are, I can’t even,” she let her words die as she simply curled into me.

  I pulled her closer. “I know, I know. I should go see someone about my irritable bowel mouth. Maybe after the whole world ending thing works itself out.”

  Ashlyn chuckled into my shoulder. “In the meantime, can we just try not to piss off the good guys?”

  “Are we sure they are the good guys? Their solution is ...” We both glanced at the solution held protectively in his father’s arms. “I won’t let them.”

  Ashlyn leaned into me. “Neither will I.”

  “We,” Grand corrected, as he waved a hand around at Danny and the rest of the tribe that had come silently to encircle the father and son.

  Michael did a slow Lazy Susan, and when his eyes came around to mine again, they were glistening with tears. “But you are the very people that will suffer the wrath if—”

  “If we don’t figure something else out,” I said, end-gaming his sentence. “Which we will.”

  “Thank you, my friends. All of you,” he choked out.

  Apoc looked up at the strange sounds coming from his father’s throat. He then laid a hand on his father's cheek where a tear had slipped. His chubby finger swiped at it, then pulled away, and the single tear pooled at the apex of Apoc’s fingertip. He studied it there for a long beat; then, slowly it began to grow into a brilliant sphere of light. It lifted from Apoc’s hand and began to spin overhead like a psychedelic disco ball. Apoc began to clap at his father’s cheeks, a wide smile on his face as he sang, “Happy daddy. Happy daddy.”

  If any of us needed any more incentive to protect this special child, we were total goners now. And before long, despite the small fact that an archangel had just visited us with a total rock and a hard place message, everyone began to laugh, sing, and dance in the swirling rainbow of lights.

  Chapter 2

  Ashlyn slid a hand across my bare stomach, pulling herself closer as she nestled her head onto my shoulder. “Good morning,” she sighed.

  I wrapped an arm around her, taking in her scent. “Morning.”

  “You sleep at all or were you up still thinking about yesterday?”

  After Apoc’s impromptu disco party, we’d all settled back into reality and spent several hours around the dinner table
talking about the what-ifs of our current situation. Michael was confident that his father wouldn’t deceive us, that if he’d said days, it would be days before Lucifer would come topside. However, Michael was just as sure that didn’t mean we were totally in the clear, as his uncle, the asshat, could and would likely send others in the meantime. Which gave Danny an opening to offer the oh so helpful reminder of the horsemen and their pre-apocalypse rumor. The images of the horses and their riders, which had looked down from the canyon walls during my trip to hell, was a large part of what had kept me up all night. “A few hours,” I finally answered Ashlyn.

  “Liar.”

  “A few minutes,” I tried.

  Ashlyn propped her head up on an elbow. “The horsemen?”

  Knowing something was weighing extra-heavy on me, Ashlyn had coaxed the memories out of me once we’d gone to bed. “Yeah. I guess. Just all of it. What if I … we … can’t … I mean, it’s the freakin’ apocalypse. And it’s Lucifer for Christ’s sake.”

  “You beat him once,” Ashlyn offered.

  “I crotch shot him and ran,” I countered.

  “You saved Apoc and Michael, defeated the Queen of Hell, and you survived.”

  “Again, by shooting Lucifer in his man-cha-chas. Need I remind you he’s the dude that’s known for his ginormous hissy fits? I mean, look at his overreaction to a little authority. Boom, insta-demon underworld.”

  “Man-cha-chas?” Ashlyn chuckled.

  “Yeah, you know, man-carenas.” I did a little wrist shake, “cha cha cha. And seriously, that’s what you’re focusing on? We have a solo Nutter Butter coming to end the world—” Ashlyn cut my ramblings off with a kiss. Then another. And ooh-la-la, what were we talking about ... another.

  It was a full forty minutes before I could add nouns and verbs back into my sentences. Another five before my breaths started to resume their slow ins and outs, and my heartbeats returned to their normal boom-da-boom cadence. We lay there in silence, her snuggled up in the crook of my shoulder.

  “Okay, now you can resume,” she stated.