by L. A. Banks
“So, like, you have an address up in the Big Apple for this ancient prophecy dude?”
“No,” Azrael admitted slowly.
“Oh, come . . . on...” Celeste shook her head. “This isn’t some little town where you can just walk up and ask the general-store owner where your boy is. Eight million, you feel me?”
“I have a direction from the meditation. That gave me the first location. From there, we must have faith that guides will help us along the way. All Sentinels stay on the move. They have to or else they would be sent unimaginable temptation by the dark side.”
“Well . . . okay, then, answer me this if you can. Like when exactly is this whole big battle supposed to happen? Seriously.”
“December twenty-first, 2012.”
“Stop playing.” Celeste opened and closed her mouth. “So both the Mayans and Hollywood were right?”
“The Mayans were right. I cannot endorse anything you saw for entertainment value, except that the date is a fact. Life as humanity knew it will be altered.”
“Then what’s the point, for real? I mean that in all seriousness. If a giant asteroid is going to blow us up or the sun is gonna scorch us all . . . or the poles will shift, sending us into another ice age following biblical-type floods, earthquakes, and pandemic outbreaks or some nuclear holocaust . . . dude . . . then, like, why are you here? Shouldn’t we all just stop having babies, open up the beer taps, and party like it’s 1999? Damn . . . Prince was just off by thirteen years—which isn’t bad for a rock star. Then again, maybe he’s a hybrid, too? Just saying.”
Azrael smiled a lopsided smile, even though she was completely serious. “Celeste, I haven’t heard of a grand plan to wipe out all of humanity . . . but those who can see will see. There will be major shifts in the balance of power on this planet. That will involve a major uncovering of hidden truths . . . lies will be brought into the Light for scrutiny by the masses.”
“You know,” she said, her gaze drifting toward the windows again, “we are starting to see some of that. Big-wigs are getting busted left and right . . . and yet, even in the face of truth, some stuff is getting twisted up in rhetoric—the script is totally flipped and suddenly they’re the victims. Then you have to figure out if the news you just heard is true, or is it a lie, or some BS half-truth.”
She brought her line of vision back to meet his and let out a hard breath. “Most people just click on the TV, put on their favorite channel, and take as gospel whatever is said from behind a news desk. They don’t have the time or the energy to research it, and it’s like the people running everything are all in bed together and they know the average person can’t sort it all out. Not to mention that it’s so hard to tell anymore if what you searched on the Internet is true or just the crackpot theory of somebody with an agenda. It’s like the information Wild, Wild West out here, man.”
Azrael nodded. “Confusion is the objective. That’s why there is such a fervent effort right now by the dark principalities that rule the airwaves to dumb down the masses and to keep humans distracted. Still, calm people can think. Frightened, angry people cannot think. The best way to ensure they will have lemmings to leap over the edge of the dark abyss is to ensure divisions and to simply keep people fighting and bickering amongst themselves . . . consuming blindly . . . living with their awareness numbed and their bodies so polluted that they cannot intuit their own divinity or the voice of the Source. Truth is now being blended with untruth in an unholy cocktail designed to poison the minds and psyches of those who allow themselves to be led without discernment. Even much of the clerical community of humanity has lost its way into the valley of greed and ego and decadence. I don’t know where you fit into the equation, Celeste, but I know you are part of the solution. Your voice will resonate with those of the other Remnant and will cut through this misinformation somehow.”
“All right,” she said, drawing back from him. She withdrew her hand from his and hugged herself, suddenly feeling vulnerable. “Then, if they didn’t tell you what I was supposed to do, specifically . . . then what can I do? Like what was with the spooky lights?”
“I also don’t know what gifts will accrue to your spirit. That depends on you. Only time will tell. But each angel has general gifts, and then some have mastery in specific areas. One can never tell with a hybrid...how much of their humanity will affect the angelic abilities latent within. But if you are already intuiting the pain of others and seeing their true Light essence, rather than the divisions that make humans tribal and quarrelsome, then it is a fair bet that you have healing abilities. Compassion is the foundation of that gift. I also know how you make me feel when you touch me.”
He cupped her cheek again, but this time it wasn’t a grounding touch but more like a gentle caress. “You want to fix people, to make them whole, and injustice outrages your very soul. I felt it when you spoke of the man who took our tickets. I felt it when you tried to heal me in the sanctuary. That passion comes through when you speak of the iniquity of the powerful that dominate and take advantage of average citizens.”
She looked at him unblinking, her voice calmer now, gentler, as she stared into his liquid brown eyes. “I know what it’s like to be broken,” she said in a soft voice. “I don’t want to see anybody who is a good person hurting or taken advantage of.”
“Your compassion comes from a deep well within, Celeste . . . and my cup runneth over for having experienced the beauty of that.”
He drew away from her and turned to sit back. His eyes left hers to seek the tall pines that whizzed by at the window. Somehow she could feel a deep sense of conflict bubbling within him, although she wasn’t sure of the source. But she did know that silence was best between them now.
Chapter 12
They rode the rest of the way to Trenton in amiable silence, then changed trains on the platform and continued on via New Jersey Transit to Penn Station in Manhattan. But the moment the train entered the tunnel just before the call for New York, Celeste knew something was wrong.
They’d gone through several underpasses along the way, and none of them seemed to have had the effect on Azrael that this one did. Even when they’d taken the subway in Philly, completely enclosed underground, he didn’t seem bothered by being closed in at all. But when he’d dropped his head forward and begun breathing through his mouth, it was impossible to ignore that something was freaking him out.
Panicked, she placed a hand on his back and leaned down to whisper to him in short bursts. “You okay? What’s up, Az? Talk to me.”
“The energy coming up through the tunnels, from the rails, the density of people . . . .” His voice trailed off as he wiped his brow, keeping his eyes squeezed shut. “The convergence is astounding here.”
“Yeah,” she murmured, leaning closer. “New York ain’t no joke—but at least it’s not Calcutta or whatever. So take a few breaths and drink some water. This isn’t where you wanna look suspicious or have Amtrak police start asking if you’re all right.”
He nodded and sat up after a few seconds and then glanced around. “The tunnels here are teeming. But your touch, your Light, is helping dispel some of what I’m experiencing.”
“Okay,” she said, now holding one of his hands within hers. “But when you say ‘teeming,’ I take it that’s not with good stuff.” She glanced around nervously, then stared at him hard. “So where to from here?”
The train came to a stop and he stood slowly. “That’s what I was trying to sense when I got slammed with everything this area holds.”
She got to her feet quickly. “Let’s get off the train and go upstairs and get out of the underground so you can—”
“No,” he said, suddenly pulling her along the aisle behind him. “We have to get another train—two . . . the number two to Flatbush.”
“Okay, okay, chill,” she replied, finding it hard to keep up with his long strides.
It was the most insane thing. New York train stations were always packed and the flow
of humanity was always intense. But to be following a huge angel that was literally running headlong toward a sense or a vibe, like a big hunting dog on a trail, was disorienting. Before he jumped a turnstile, she had to grab the back of his jacket.
“We have to pay, Az. C’mon, you want to get us in trouble?”
“You’re right, my apologies . . . it’s just that I can feel it so clearly now.”
“Okay, but it’s stuff like that you have to be cool about,” she muttered, trying to figure out the machine on the wall and nearly giving up until she watched someone else use it.
“I will,” he said, looking around five ways, “but you are really going to need to stay near me where we’re going.”
He’d kept a protective arm slung over her shoulder during the long ride to Flatbush Avenue, then practically yanked her off the train at that last stop. Every person that bumped into her in the crush getting off the train left an impression. Brooklyn College was here. Students’ backpacks collided with hers, arms brushed, eyes met. If you had personal-space issues, a train in the city was the last place you needed to be.
Once on the sidewalk she looked around, trying to gain her bearings while Azrael sensed a direction.
“It’s a house a few blocks down this large boulevard,” he announced.
She glanced in the direction he pointed, noting the West Indian restaurants and food stores, as well as the primarily black pedestrians. “We’re in a Caribbean community I think.”
Azrael nodded but seemed distracted. “The house of Bath Kol should be close. Come.”
Not sure what to expect, she followed Azrael without voicing her questions. The sun had set, painting the fall sky a dusky red-orange. Nightfall would soon come and she wasn’t sure she liked going into a new environment after dark where angels were looking to war with demons.
They turned off the main thoroughfare of stores to a residential block that had small white houses and tiny front yards, not very different from many of the blocks in Philly. She relaxed a little until he stopped in front of a house that had a huge black rottweiler barking furiously in the back.
“You know, we could try to find a really cheap motel, like the kind that takes cash . . . and, uh, we could do this in the morning.”
He stared at her and cocked his head to the side in question. “Why?”
“Because don’t demons come out at night?”
Azrael walked up the steps. “They are out night and day and never rest. You watch too much television.”
“Yeah, but don’t they get stronger at night?” she asked a little louder as he banged on the door.
The dog stopped barking. Celeste held her breath. A tall man with an exquisitely chiseled brown body opened the door. He had dreadlocks down his back and was naked from the waist up, wore a pair of nylon runner’s shorts bearing the colors of the Jamaican flag, and was toting a pump shotgun.
“I’ve come seeking Bath Kol,” Azrael said.
“And who you be?” the man said, frowning as he assessed Azrael.
“An angel.”
The man laughed and opened the screen door, then peered around Azrael. “And who dat?”
Azrael smiled. “If you cannot see for yourself, then maybe I’ve come to the wrong sanctuary.”
“I am Isda,” the man said, slapping his chest to a round of male laughter behind him. “I have been here a long time . . . that tends to blur the vision, but we can make it all better with a spliff, brother. One thing for sure, if you are a wayfarer, I will nourish you and da lady. No worries, mon.”
“May we enter?”
“Yes, yes, come in.” Isda rested his shotgun on the wall beside the door. He stepped aside for Azrael and held the screen open for Celeste, then shook Azrael’s hand in an old-world warrior’s embrace, clasping Azrael’s right forearm as Azrael clasped his.
“I saw your Light from the steps . . . but hers . . . wow, mon. I didn’t immediately see from so far away. So you found one.”
“Yes. Her name is Celeste.” Azrael glanced at her, then back to Isda. “I need to find Bath Kol as soon as possible.”
“Hello, pretty lady. My brother here must be new to the...” Isda’s words trailed off as he looked at Azrael. “You have talked to her, yes? She understands what this is—so I can speak freely?”
Azrael nodded.
“Hi,” Celeste said quietly, taking in the environment.
Isda looked her up and down, then rounded her to go to the door. “If I had met you years ago, tings would be different. My brother is a lucky man...but I have no complaints.”
Celeste stood just inside the door as Isda closed it behind her. The small living room was filled with a wide, brown leather sectional sofa and a flat-screen TV. A carved wooden coffee table and ashtray caught the corner of her eye, reminding her of Brandon. The scent of weed was heavy in the air along with rose incense. African masks and art from the Diaspora graced the walls. Drums lay idle in a corner as delectable smells from the kitchen wafted toward Celeste, overlaying the blunt and the incense, making her mouth water.
Men sat in the dining room around the table with plates in various stages of wreckage. A bottle of 151-proof Appleton rum was the centerpiece of what seemed to be a ferocious card game that she and Azrael had interrupted. All eyes were on them now. Cards had been abandoned and three pretty women stood by the kitchen door, silently inspecting them.
Isda smiled broadly. “Anyway, dat is spilt milk. So, as I was saying, your locator must be new to this density to not introduce you to our family straight out. Come, eat, rest. Bath Kol is gone from here tonight.”
“She cannot have cooked meats or anything that is not organic, nor can I—but thank you for your hospitality.” Azrael gave Isda a look. “I respect that nourishment is your governance—you are still the angel of sustenance, correct?”
“True dat,” Isda said with a sly smile, glimpsing Celeste with appreciation in a sidelong glance. “I haven’t fallen all da way, brutha . . . just can’t get home. Me and my brothers are Sentinels, just like Bath Kol and his squad are.”
Azrael nodded. “No judgment, but her Light is still replenishing itself. She needs to stay vegan to reach her full Light strength.”
“What you talkin’ ’bout, mon? She cannot have rice and peas, curry goat with roti, a little plantains and callaloo to put some meat on her bones?” Isda said, shocked. “You, I understand. You still have dreams of going home, unlike those of us who screwed up and have to make the best of tings. But she can eat, drink, and be merry. In fact, you’ve probably scared the poor ’oman to death.” Isda walked away from Celeste and called out to the women standing by the door. “Make her a plate without the curry goat. Be useful and somebody roll her a joint.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, man,” Azrael said, now coming between Celeste and Isda’s line of vision. “Not advisable and not going to happen after all she went through to get clean.”
“Weed is a natural herb, mon . . . a plant, right?”
For a moment it was a standoff, then Isda sighed and raked his fingers through his long locks.
“The rum and the joint, okay, mon—that might be over-the-top. But you need to let the ’oman eat.”
Azrael held out his bag to Celeste. “I brought fruit.”
She bit her lip and Isda chuckled. The women at the kitchen door didn’t move, instead waiting for the outcome of the debate as though watching a reality-TV show. Men at the table chuckled and shook their heads.
“How long he been torturing you, love?”
“Don’t tempt her,” Azrael said with a half smile, but his tone was serious. “You are beginning to sound like the other side.”
“Dat’s cold, mon!”
“It’s true,” Azrael said, digging in his bag to produce a mango for Celeste. “I don’t know what these dishes are that I smell, but they are . . . absolutely wreaking havoc on my intentions. I can only imagine what it’s doing to hers.”
“You sure you don’t want a spliff, mon
?” Isda said with a hopeful expression. “Pour the man a drink. You need to chill.”
“No,” Celeste said quietly, going to Azrael’s side. “He has to remain clear. His system is so new that one joint plus that strong-ass rum, and he’ll be high as a kite. Then throw on some heavy food and who knows what’ll happen to him.”
“Wow, mon,” Isda said, looking at Celeste. “How long you been here?”
“One night and one day,” Azrael said. “That’s why I need your help.”
“That’s all it took to bond her to you like that?”
Celeste narrowed her gaze, tired of being spoken of as though she weren’t in the room. “Doesn’t take long to bond to an honest man—or being,” she said with attitude. “So, do you know where we can find Bath Kol tonight, or not?”
“Feisty, too,” Isda said, glancing back at the other men, who were chuckling, before returning his gaze to Azrael and Celeste. “Okay, listen, here’s the deal. He keeps it moving. He just stopped through here, but we made him upset...he saw family, remembered all the ones he’d lost.” Isda let his breath out hard. “Twenty-six thousand is a hard number to do when you can see the future and the average human life span is less than a hundred. Me and the boys, well, we take it all in stride . . . we live life to the fullest and enjoy our wives and children, and we weep. But we still have joy, you feel me? Bath Kol is so bereft his joy is almost gone . . . and the dark side can feel it. So he has to stay on the move.”
“But where would he go?” Azrael glanced around the room and rubbed the nape of his neck.
“He goes to Queen Aziza’s wellness center in Crown Heights to get his energy worked on when he gets like this. Her place is a prayer fortress so he can go in and let his guard down while he experiences the center’s therapies. Mon, he can spend all day getting his chakras realigned and doing the healing work, you know. I tell him to smoke a tree and chill, but it’s getting so that he starts seeing bad tings when he’s high. So...” Isda shrugged. “My advice is to come in, sit down, and heal thyself first, and then go looking for that cantankerous—”