A Merciless Year One

by Eva Brandt

  But my temper got the better of me and I walked straight into the grove where the three fallen angels were speaking.

  I’d seen angelic beings in the visions the Grim Reaper had shown me before my agreement. I’d seen Lucifer, with his strange, four faces, bright wings, and flaming sword. His subordinates had been similar, although they’d only had one face.

  But that was precisely why it was so odd to find them in the middle of an apple orchard, in a pile of humanoid limbs and tentacles.

  I stared at them in disbelief, distantly wondering how this was possible. My anger lingered at the back of my mind, but it was temporarily set aside while I tried to figure out what limb belonged to which person.

  As far as I could tell, there were three people involved in this debacle. Or at least, so it seemed. The pile had three heads, at least. The limbs were a little stranger, since along with arms and legs, there seemed to be at least five tentacles in the pile. To make things even more confusing, my view of the fallen angels was mildly blocked by a veil of silvery, glowing feathers—presumably, their wings.

  “Get your fucking tentacle out of my face,” one of the men snapped as they wriggled around on the ground together.

  “That’s my line, Azazel!” another shot back. His voice was completely calm and mellow, but there was something dangerous about it, a hint of violence that reminded me of where I was and what I’d come here to do.

  “Not that this isn’t charming and everything,” I said, “but who the fuck are you people and what are you doing?”

  Their reaction was almost hilarious—or it would have been, had it not so clearly displayed their true demonic nature. They jerked so strongly they ended up smacking one another with their tentacles. It was only for a moment, though, and then, their power extended toward me, angry and fierce.

  In the blink of an eye, the trees around me were carbonized. I was left standing there, on what now looked like a barren field, still dressed in nothing more than a swimsuit and very aware of how powerless I was compared to them.

  It was just as well that the fallen angels didn’t seem inclined to harm me. When they saw me, their figures blurred, turning into currents of energy. They reformed right in front of me, so quickly I didn’t even have the chance to take a step back.

  “Are you all right?” the first Watcher asked me with a small scowl. His silver hair matched the glow of his wings and his eyes burned with a white hot flame.

  He was the same man who had mentioned the mysterious Alyssa—whoever that was—so simple extrapolation told me this must be Sariel, the instigator of the incident that had led me to them.

  When I didn’t answer, the other two approached me. They looked a little different. One of them had wings that glowed in all the colors of the rainbow and flickered so much it almost hurt to look at them. His eyes were like burning coals, flashing between an ominous black and a fiery red.

  The third man was a blend of the duo. One set of his wings was silver, while the other was red. The crimson ones kept vanishing as I stared at them, and between that and his very distracting blue eyes, I felt completely lost.

  “I think you must have taken a wrong turn,” he said softly. “This isn’t the right place for human souls.”

  His words snapped me out of my trance, and just like that, I remembered why I was there. “No shit, Sherlock. I didn’t ask to be here, but I don’t get a choice.”

  “Join the club, sweetheart,” Rainbow Wings drawled. “We’re pretty much trapped too. That being said, this place was sort of built for us. No offense, but you don’t qualify.”

  I glowered at him, speechless with fury and frustration.

  “Yeqon, I think you’re only upsetting her further,” Silver Wings—Sariel—said. “Listen, Ms….”

  “St. John,” I hissed, when it became obvious that he was waiting for an introduction.

  “Right. Ms. St. John. My name is Sariel, and these are my friends, Azazel and Yeqon. We’re Watchers. I’m not sure you know what that means, since the concept has pretty much been forgotten among humans, but basically, we’re fallen angels. Right now, you’re in The Celestial Realm, which I assume must mean you died. But—”

  He was being nice enough, but that just pissed me off further. “Yes, asshole,” I interrupted him. “I died. Because of you and your dickhead boss.”

  “Wait, what?” Yeqon sputtered. “Hold up. Because of us? What did we do?”

  “I don’t remember killing any humans recently,” Sariel replied. “Not for a thousand years, give or take a couple of centuries.”

  I’d never wanted to punch anyone so badly in my life. He was exactly the kind of guy prone to look down on someone because of his perceived superiority. For him, I was nothing more than an ant, and he couldn’t have cared less about my pain.

  “My parents and I were vacationing together when our yacht was destroyed. Turns out that a battle between angels and demons sends tidal waves toward unsuspecting, innocent humans nearby. Who knew?”

  “Ah.”

  That was the only thing I got. A single syllable from Azazel, not even a real word.

  I hated them. I hated them so much. I wished I could have shown them how it felt like to die, to be so afraid and lost, helpless, being crushed into nothingness. But my hate was just as useless as my desperate desire to live had been.

  “There’s nothing we could do right now to make things better,” Yeqon offered at last. “We could apologize, but I think we all know we wouldn’t completely mean it. It would just be insulting and pointless.”

  “I know this doesn’t help,” Azazel added, “but The Celestial Realm isn’t a bad place to be. We just have to get you to the right department and I’m sure you’ll find happiness.”

  “You’re right—it doesn’t help. I’m supposed to be here, asshole. I’ve been given leave to learn how to be a guardian angel.”

  That caused a reaction. It was pretty satisfying to see them gape at me, although in a way, it was insulting too. “Really?” Yeqon asked. “Congratulations are in order then. I guess.”

  “You don’t seem very sure,” I shot back, narrowing my eyes at him.

  “Well, this sort of situation is very rare,” Azazel explained. “Humans and angels are two completely different life forms. Humans tend to not adapt well to a new type of existence. If you were given this gift, you must be special in some way, but it won’t be easy to learn how to use it.”

  “I’m not worried,” I replied. “If you people can be angels, I’m sure I can do it too.”

  The last part was true, but the rest of it, not so much. I was fucking terrified that I’d be a complete and utter failure and I wouldn’t be able to help my family. But I’d rather die all over again than tell them that.

  The three Watchers ignored my comment. “I still don’t think you belong here,” Sariel said, “since this place is more like a prison than anything else. I’m not sure if it’s the right environment for a human trying to learn to be an angel.”

  “I don’t know,” Yeqon purred, now eyeing me with interest. “Come to think of it, we’re learning how to be angels too, so maybe it does have logic.”

  “It’s about as logical as anything The Supreme Being does,” Azazel commented. “Maybe she’s supposed to be the temptation?”

  “That makes sense,” Sariel mused. “You’d think he’d give us at least a little while to adjust to living here before throwing a sexy mortal at us, but he does this kind of shit all the time.”

  Actually, it had been the Grim Reaper who’d arranged for my arrival, but maybe it wouldn’t be the best idea to point that out right now.

  “Listen up. I’m not your tool, or anyone else’s. I’m here for a very specific reason—to earn my wings and become a guardian angel. I don’t want to have anything to do with you.”

  “No offense, little human,” Azazel said, “but you’re the one who approached us.”

  I felt my face flame at his comment. The way he spoke the words made it sou
nd like I’d been flirting with them or something. Which I wasn’t. God, no. “That’s because you piss me off just by existing,” I snapped at him.

  “Oh, I see how it is now.” Yeqon grinned, suddenly looking like the cat that got the cream. “You’re going to have to learn to control that anger, sweetheart. Otherwise, there’s no way you can become an angel. If you can’t show mercy and forgiveness, it’s impossible for you to earn your wings.”

  “And we mean that literally, by the way. There’s now a class here called Forgiveness.” Sariel shook his head, as if distraught. “It’s all nonsense, if you ask us, since angels are among the most merciless beings to ever be created. But The Celestial Realm is nothing if not hypocritical.”

  “That doesn’t sound very believable when coming from a group of demons.” Fallen angels. Watchers. Whatever they were.

  Azazel shrugged. “You don’t have to believe us. You’ll see for yourself. Archangels aren’t very kind with mortals.”

  “Anyway, I guess there’s no point in delaying it,” Sariel said. “If you’re telling the truth, we should head back to the academy. Metatron must have been notified of your arrival, and he’ll be pissed off enough without us dragging our feet further.”

  He waved his wing, and just like that, my swimsuit was replaced with a beautiful white gown. I was grateful for the small gesture of courtesy, although I had to wonder why he hadn’t done it before.

  If I’d been inclined to thank him for it, the small spark of gratitude would have been extinguished when Azazel hugged me from behind and enveloped me in his wings. I hadn’t expected his feathers to be so soft. I hadn’t expected him to touch me, period.

  For a few priceless moments, I froze, unable to move a muscle. The world blurred around me, the sight of the barren wasteland disappearing. The next thing I knew, I was transported to a surreal-looking space that reminded me of a field of light. The ground under my feet felt solid, but it was transparent and crackled with a strange form of electricity. Azazel let go of me, and my frustration with him died, crushed under the weight of what I was truly facing.

  The three Watchers had claimed this wasn’t a place suited for humans, and at that moment, I couldn’t help but agree. The academy wasn’t like any structure I’d ever seen in my life. Three quarters of the area in front of me was taken up by towers of different shapes and sizes. Most of them weren’t even stationary or situated on the ground. They just floated around, following graceful patterns and silver streams of energy.

  Up above us, I could see more fallen angels fly in and out of the towers. With a sinking heart, I realized there was probably no way inside those buildings for someone who didn’t have wings. And why would there be? Everyone here was able to fly—with the exception of the stupid mortal who’d somehow landed herself with the job of becoming the protector of mankind.

  Fucking peachy.

  On the bright side, there was one building I could reach on foot. It loomed in front of us like an ominous monolith, surrounded by white columns and glowing silver gates. I could already see a pattern.

  “What is this place?” I muttered.

  “It’s called The Halls of Truth,” Azazel answered. “It’s basically the center of Watcher Academy and among other things, holds the dean’s office. Metatron being… himself, he just had to make it unnecessarily dramatic.”

  I didn’t have a good feeling about whoever was waiting for me inside, but I chalked it up to the natural nervousness these assholes had stirred inside me. I half-wanted them to leave me alone instead of following me around like irritating flies.

  But on the other hand, they’d been right when they’d said I’d likely get lost without them. I resigned myself to having to withstand their presence for a little while longer and desperately hoped I’d learn how to move around on my own soon.

  Together with my companions, I went up on a seemingly never-ending flight of stairs. The steps were so high it was a miracle I didn’t trip over the hem of my dress. The only silver lining of the experience was that, without a physical body, I couldn’t experience fatigue. I wasn’t in the least bit out of breath when I reached the top.

  We stopped in front of a set of mirror-like doors. For the first time since my death, I could get a good look at myself. I was shocked at what I saw. My previously blonde hair had turned silver, and my skin was so much paler than I had realized. Between that and the white dress, I looked almost translucent.

  I’d have probably been more taken aback by what I saw had my attention not been drawn by the reflections of the three Watchers. In the mirror, they looked very different. Their bodies were cracked, twisted, and broken. Azazel’s chest and stomach were ripped open, to the point where I could catch a glimpse of his heart beating and his intestines spilling all over the ground. Sariel was missing an arm and Yeqon was bleeding from the empty sockets where his eyes should have been. All of them were missing several wings. They were utterly mutilated.

  I couldn’t help but recoil and would have likely taken a tumble down the stairs if not for Azazel taking hold of my elbow. “Careful there. We wouldn’t want you to lose your way already.”

  He sounded amused, and I hated myself a little for being so easily startled. For fuck’s sake, it wasn’t like this was a surprise. I might be in The Celestial Realm, but that didn’t mean everything was nice and peachy keen.

  “My apologies,” I said between gritted teeth. “I was startled.”

  Yeqon laughed. “You don’t have to apologize, although it’s funny to hear you say the words. It sounds like it hurt, a little.”

  “Never mind that.” Sariel tilted his head and peered at the door a little more closely. “How strange. It looks like you’re immune to the Mirror of Truth.”

  “The Mirror of Truth?” I repeated.

  “Just one of Metatron’s favorite games.” Yeqon shrugged. “For some reason, he always says that truth is the most important virtue for any celestial being. That doesn’t even make sense. I can think of at least a hundred thousand deadly incidents that could have been averted with a lie.”

  “He’s an archangel. What else do you expect?” Sariel shot a look toward me and sighed. “One last word of warning, Ms. St. John. Archangels have a very black and white view of the world. I suspect Metatron isn’t going to like you. I know this whole thing has been upsetting, but try to hold your tongue. Take out your anger on us, if you must, but don’t make your life more difficult by arguing with the archangels. Got that?”

  I was tempted to tell him I didn’t need his advice, but I got the feeling he was being honest. And maybe truth wasn’t always valuable and lies were more comfortable, but this time, I found a strange comfort in the piercing gaze of the man who was my enemy.

  I nodded, took a deep breath, and then stepped forward. Without hesitating further, I reached for the ornate handles of the mirror doors. I never got the chance to even touch them.

  The doors opened of their own accord and light spilled over us, so intense it was almost suffocating. This was getting a little repetitive.

  * * *

  Metatron’s office was white. There was no other way I could have described it, even if the word sounded so bland for the workspace of an angel. But everywhere I looked, the only thing that surrounded me was the absolute, irritating whiteness. The winged symbol on the gates popped up on his walls too, but even that was white and didn’t help at all.

  Metatron himself was waiting for us when we arrived. The moment our eyes met, I knew the Watchers had been right when they’d told me to be leery of him.

  “So, you’re the human I keep hearing about. I’m not sure why the Reaper thought you were so special, but be advised. I won’t allow any human-like behavior here, just because you’re his protégé.”

  So much for keeping my true affiliation to the Grim Reaper a secret. It looked like Metatron took his dedication to truth very seriously.

  Acutely aware of the three fallen angels now staring at me, I did my best to not be intimidated
by the archangel’s burning gaze. “I understand completely, Sir. I don’t expect any special privileges.”

  Metatron narrowed his eyes at me and I got the feeling that I’d already said something wrong. “Don’t you? How surprising. You’ve only just arrived and you’ve already started to lie.”

  I had no idea what he was talking about. When had I ever asked for special treatment?

  “Your sheer presence here is a privilege,” the archangel shot back, his massive, silver wings twitching with irritation. “As you are right now, you wouldn’t even be able to exist here, let alone persevere and become a guardian angel.”

  The way he was looking at me made me feel like I was dirt underneath his immaculate white boots. I desperately wanted to answer, but I remembered the advice I’d received earlier. I couldn’t trust myself to not say anything biting if I spoke, so I stayed silent.

  Metatron didn’t seem to have a problem with that. If anything, he seemed pleased at my reaction. His stern, sharp face still showed next to no expression, but his eyes looked a little less icy—still cold and intimidating, but in a different way.

  “At least you know your place. That’s a beginning. Maybe you’re not as hopeless and pathetic as most of your kind.”

  The insult made my temper flare. I’d have undoubtedly said something snappish in response had Yeqon not been faster.

  “You know, Metatron, I don’t understand you. You dislike humans so much, and yet, you always forget the simplest fact about their nature. Their existence is blessed by The Supreme Being. Do you think you know better than him?”

  Suddenly, the light in the office turned brighter. Metatron’s wings grew in size and his eyes glowed with fury. “How dare you? Insignificant ant! You shouldn’t even be here at all. You and your kind have spat in our faces for centuries, and now, you claim to be celestial beings yet again. You disgust me.”

  “Shame on you,” Sariel drawled, clicking his tongue in apparent disapproval. “You’d think that one of the most powerful archangels in The Celestial Realm would be better at obeying its rules. But I suppose you can never forget your own roots, can you?”