Angel Dust

by Sarah Mussi

  TO MY HOT GIRL

  those fiery eyes

  Hot girl! hot girl!

  Soul on fire

  take out my heart

  i gotta do right

  i gotta talk true this time

  oh oh oh

  i’m fallin for you

  and that is so true

  i gotta do right

  I gotta talk true

  before i lose you

  oh no no

  I looked at a T-shirt flung carelessly on the floor. What was it, to be human? To feel the breeze against your face and know that nothing lasts? If Marcus could have lasted, would he have changed? I could smell change and goodness somewhere in his scent. Standing there, in his room, his life spread out before me, in clothes and music and passion, I saw the speed at which he’d lived. No time for regrets. No thoughts of the hereafter.

  I didn’t return to the living room. Right then his mother was grieving for the loss of that little boy in the photo with his arms around her. There was nothing I could do to comfort her. Not true. I could have touched her, I suppose. I could have given her oblivion. Would she have wanted that?

  I started to fret about the Collection again. The palms of my hands began to sweat. I could feel my feathers tingling. I had to get this absolutely right. Marcus had a definite time pencilled in against his name. There must be no mistake. I must get back to the nightclub. Maybe demons were already sniffing him out. Demons are foul creatures. They feast on unclaimed souls. They soil every death they touch. I went over my checklist:

  Catch him as he falls.

  Give him the chance to repent.

  Get there before the demons.

  Deliver him his Final Moment.

  Pinch out his life.

  Collect his soul.

  Even if he was bound for Hell, he shouldn’t fall into the hands of demons. What the heck was I doing wasting time snooping about?

  I must get to the club immediately.

  Ready to kill Marcus.

  Serafina 2

  I think I was putting it off. I really hadn’t been on Soul Collecting Duty very long (actually it was only two and a half days) and I still felt nervous. The sleepers had been OK. They were my very first ones. They were quite easy. I just arrived and sat at the end of their beds, and waited for them to drift into my arms. All very nice and quiet and respectable. Demons don’t give a damn about them. And the ones I’d done had all been little old ladies, too. They’d all led nice little lives and put out food for the birds. They were headed straight for the First Gate. They had nothing to repent. St Peter fast tracked them through at once. God was very pleased with them.

  Of course there’d been that one soul to be guided downwards. He’d been vicious and hateful. I was even happy when I’d pointed out the river he needed to cross. I didn’t care if the demons got him.

  Marcus was going to be so different. Not only was he young and full of life, but he’d seen me. That was so odd. Nobody had ever told me about being seen. I went back over it in my mind. I’d been watching him from the Twelfth Gate. He’d lifted up his head and winked. I was certain of it. Perhaps it meant something? No mortal has ever seen the Seraphim. Not like that. So that made him? I don’t know what it made him.

  And suddenly I realised that it was very weird. What did it mean? It must be some kind of omen, or a sign? I’d heard of signs – rainbows, burning bushes. There’s always a sign when things are meant to happen – when something is predestined . . . when two people are meant to be together . . .

  How strange. But now I’d thought of it suddenly I couldn’t get the idea out of my head. It must be an omen. Somehow my destiny was entwined with his.

  In the beat of a wing I got down to the club. And it was a good job I did. Immediately I could tell it was going to be much, much worse than I’d expected. For a start there was music. Loud music. I love loud music, but it’s so distracting. And then there was alcohol too, lots of it: gin, whisky, cognac, champagne and alcopops. Imagine being able to drink alcopops! If I were human, and set on living at great speed, I might try one. But drink and music were going to confuse things. I didn’t want confusion. I wanted to bring Marcus the best death he’d ever have.

  And then there were the girls. Big girls, slim girls, girls in tight dresses, girls in high heels, girls with huge breasts and girls who were so drop-dead gorgeous I instantly hoped one of them would. Seeing all those girls clouded my judgement. And there were guys too: hunky guys, chunky guys, funky guys, guys in tight jeans, guys fresh out of sports cars, guys in gold chains, gorgeous guys and guys with amazingly sexy smiles. How in Heaven’s name was I going to be able to stay focused on split-second timing?

  And of course there was Marcus.

  I smelt him as soon as I got there.

  Marcus Montague. Birthday boy. Just turning eighteen and looking like he was already in Heaven.

  I stood in the doorway quite overcome. Not just because of the music and the drink. I think I was grieving for the first time. Grieving for all the things that might have been, and never were. Someone turned the music up. I became disorientated. For a brief second. I tried imagining what it would be like to be human. Not an Angel of Death. Not immortal. I started to sway to the music. I imagined I had a body. A real body. Flesh and bone. A body that someone, some day could hold.

  I watched Marcus. I watched him drag the prettiest girl into his arms. I watched as she moulded herself against his chest. Something inside pierced me. A strange pain tightened around my heart. I saw the muscles in his arms straining against his shirt. I saw the way he used the music to send the girl crazy. For some reason my throat went dry. I tried to swallow. I tried to catch my breath against a sudden longing. I saw Marcus smile, a lovely crooked smile showing off his pearly teeth.

  But he was not smiling at me.

  The chimes of midnight struck. I bit my lip. At any minute his death would arrive. I tried to prepare myself. I looked around. I was right. Demons were already gathering.

  Someone put on a record for him. Marcus dragged the girl into the centre of the dance floor. Everyone stepped back. Someone whistled. Marcus crushed the girl to him.

  Go, go, go, go, go, go . . .

  His eyes were wild with excitement.

  Go Marcus, it’s your birthday . . .

  He shivered in delight.

  The girl in his arms nearly fainted.

  The pain inside stabbed again. I was confused. Why did watching him hurt so much? She was just a pretty little girl. She was nothing compared to me. I was a winged celestial creature more beautiful than a thousand stars. I laughed at myself. But as Marcus tightened his arms around her, I suddenly felt bewildered. In less than ten minutes he was going to be in my arms.

  Not laughing, but dying.

  I stood there. And for some inexplicable reason I felt angry. He was so full of life. Everyone loved him. Everyone wanted him. He was bigger, larger, more alive than anyone I’d ever seen. What was it to be alive? Like that?

  Marcus raised the champagne bottle, shook it. It exploded like gunfire. A stream of champagne shot so high it splattered off the ceiling, drenching the girls crowding forward. But my mood was spoilt. I wasn’t even remotely thrilled any more. In fact I didn’t see the point in any of it. What was it all? This being born and celebrating birthdays, this living and dying, this going up to Heaven or down to Hell? If this was God’s amazing creation – why had he created death? I know all the excuses: Eve, the apple, Free Will – but when all’s said and done God created death.

  It was the first time I’ve ever thought like that. And it spoiled everything. Earth was supposed to be fun and beautiful. Human life a sacred thing. Suddenly I wanted out. I was a bit shocked at myself.

  As I waited I thought of Heaven, of the endless soft zephyrs that blew across its wide fields, of the delight of the Seraphim, our sheltered cloisters, our laughter. And I was confused. We Collected souls too, didn’t we? That was our job, wasn’t it? We killed people.


  A car screeched to a halt outside the club door. I think even human ears could’ve heard it. It brought me back to earth. I focused my attention. And I saw everything. So this was how it was going to happen.

  The guys in it were dressed in black. They had hoods on, sleeves rolled up, black gloves. The biggest one sprang out of the front passenger door. He was amazingly light for one so huge. In a single motion he drew two Mac 10s. He held them at hip height and kicked open the front door to the club. With angel’s ears I heard the splinter of wood, the squeal of metal.

  The main guy, massive, dark, hook-nosed, with thick jetty brows, paused, laid a finger over his lips, then ran down the stairs on tiptoe. Like a thief he crept through the arches and stood next to the large mirror by the exit. Marcus didn’t see him. He was too busy toasting himself in bubbles. But the girl did. She screamed.

  Marcus lifted his beautiful face up and looked at his killer.

  ‘Yo bruv?’ he said very softly.

  The girl screamed again. She yelled at the huge guy with the guns. ‘Stop it, Crow,’ she yelled. ‘It’s his goddamn birthday. Can’t I go to any goddamn birthday I want?’

  ‘Any except his,’ said the Crow, raising the guns.

  I prepared myself. This was it. I opened my mouth and said the words. ‘I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. Turn and look upon your death.’ And Marcus did. He turned. He looked straight at me and smiled.

  I didn’t know what to do. He could still see me. How could that be? It had to be a sign.

  In two strides the guy, the Crow, crossed the dance floor and reached the girl. She tried to resist. He yanked at her, pulled at her until she was in his line of fire. The Crow levelled his guns. With a shudder I realised he was going to kill them both.

  The demons crowded forward.

  ‘No!’ yelled Marcus. He swung the girl behind him, shielded her with his body, faced the Crow.

  ‘Stop!’ screamed the girl.

  Dazed, I moved in. Yes, this was how it would happen. Marcus would be shot, protecting the girl. She wasn’t scheduled to die. I knew. I had the Manifest in my raiment. His blood would coat my wings. I would hold him as each throb of his heart beat and bled and ebbed.

  But he’d seen me, and somehow we were destined to be together.

  I wasn’t ready. I was caught off guard. I didn’t step forward far enough. I’d only ever done sleepers. I’d never seen a violent death, nor been to any with one so young. I froze. I was confused.

  He’d seen me.

  I got the timing all wrong. I stepped forward too late. So when the guns went off I wasn’t there.

  Everything went very quiet, except the music. It wound on, stuck on a phrase.

  Go . . . go . . . go . . . go . . . go . . .

  But I wasn’t there.

  And then all Hell broke loose.

  Serafina 3

  Demons skulked forward. Shadows descended. Oily phantoms slithered down from the ceilings. I tried to move. My legs wouldn’t work. I tried to jump to the spot where I should have been. Spectres groped their way across the floor. Nothing happened. My heart hammered. I wasn’t going to make it. The demons, my God, how they smelt.

  And I wasn’t there.

  There was another burst of fire.

  Frantically I beat my wings. I commanded the air to let me pass. Nothing gave. I was frozen. Bewildered I thrashed my wings in panic.

  Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

  Something was holding me against my will. The music cut. A crescendo of screaming tore through the club. Blood, thick and slippery, coated the floor. And Marcus falling. I couldn’t reach him. I couldn’t reach him.

  ‘Oh God help me,’ I screamed.

  As if in answer, a figure detached itself from the crowd. A stranger, tall, graceful. He slid smoothly forward and seemed to push the demons aside. There was a slight smell of drains. The shadows fell back at his touch. He caught Marcus, held him steady by the shoulder. Marcus staggered and pitched into the centre of the dance floor. The stranger looked at me. He looked directly at me. And for the second time that evening I realised I’d been seen.

  ‘Quick,’ he said, ‘I can’t hold him.’

  At that the demons seemed to flood everywhere. Shadows with greedy tendrils lurched out, clutched at the shining figure in white, at Marcus falling. But the stranger stood firm, holding them off, holding Marcus up, holding time back.

  And just as suddenly as I’d been frozen, I unfroze. I didn’t question that. I should have. I should have thought: What power could halt a Seraph in her divine duty? But I didn’t. I was too relieved. I wanted to bring Marcus his perfect death. I wanted to get it completely right. Golden glimpses of Elysian Fields.

  ‘There,’ the stranger said. ‘Catch him.’ And he let go.

  Slowly, gracefully, Marcus pitched forward. Thank Heaven I was there. Arms open, wings outspread, I caught him. I held him. I smoothed back his damp brow. I pressed his head to my bosom.

  Hallelujah in the highest. And a huge sigh of relief.

  Instantly I switched into action. I unfurled all my wings and beat the air. Without warning I sent hot fireballs raining down on the demons. We Seraphim have nasty tempers when roused, you know. The shadows fell back, the spectres squealed, but they cleared off before I tossed thunderbolts at them too. Demons aren’t stupid, are they? With a toss of my thick locks I perfumed the air. Then I tended to Marcus.

  I held him close. I felt the heat of his blood and the hammering of his heart. Yes, he was still alive. I wasn’t too late. Thank God. Outside a church bell was tolling midnight. Not a day more. Not a day less. I must be quick. I lifted up my face and with a blaze of my eyes I froze time. We, the Seraphim, can do that, if we really need to. (It’s considered rather flashy, though, and we can’t do it for very long.)

  For an instant all sound ceased. In the silence that followed, I brought Marcus the Grace of Heaven. It would make him comfortable. His Passing Over would be pain free. I was just deciding whether to go for the heart-shaped tears or the shooting stars when Marcus, cushioned against me, opened his eyes and looked into mine.

  His eyes were so full of trust they took me by surprise. My heart lurched. He thought I was there to save his life.

  ‘So, angels are watching over me, after all,’ he whispered, smiling up at me.

  I held him so close then; I forgot who I was. ‘Only one,’ I whispered back, as if I really were his saviour.

  ‘All I need for now,’ he said and closed his eyes contentedly.

  And I was so touched by his faith in me, I didn’t know what to do. Except to wish I wasn’t an Angel of Death.

  Miserably I summoned a freckling of angel dust to shimmer in the air around us. ‘Please repent your wrongdoings, repent your selfish life and the hurt you’ve caused others,’ I said, my throat catching.

  There was no reply.

  All he needed to say was, ‘Sorry.’ I could have worked something out. Got him off Purgatorium, got him through the Twelfth Gate. I’d have done my best. Stayed with him while he did his penances; we could have gone straight up to Heaven together. Climbed the Staircase hand in hand. With a bit of luck nobody would have even known about the car thing, so when I came clean it’d actually have gone in our favour. I imagined St Peter saying: what a marvellous Seraph you are. Saving the soul of a hardened gangster like Marcus Montague. And Marcus, how brave to put your sins behind you. I’ll be sure to let the Senior Team know that a lost lamb has returned to the flock and what a scrupulous, trustworthy angel they have.

  I sighed. A spasm went through Marcus. I watched the pulse of his blood, feeling its warmth as it pumped out against me. I waited for him to open his eyes and speak. But for some reason I couldn’t seem to bring myself to pinch out his life. Instead I just waited for him to repent. Willed him to repent – as if I could change his destiny.

  Just two little words. That’s all it would have taken.

  Oh Marcus, why couldn’t you have spoken?

  Suc
h is the will of God that we, the Angels of Death, may only ask once. One last chance before the clasp of fire and brimstone. And repentance must follow freely, because this is the hour and the minute and the second and after that Time. Runs. Out.

  And Time did run out. I had to let it start up again. The bell tolled. The Crow and his crew left. The music coughed back louder than ever:

  . . . Yea though I walk . . .

  Someone screamed, ‘Cut the sounds, man.’

  Someone yelled, ‘Call an ambulance!’

  Another screamed, ‘Joey Bigga’s down! He’s hurt.’

  . . . through the shadow of . . .

  I should have taken his silence as ‘no’. But I was still a little bit unsure about exactly how long you do wait. Maybe it was longer than I thought? But when Marcus finally did open his eyes, he didn’t whisper ‘sorry’. He raised his gaze to mine and said, ‘Did Candy make it?’

  ‘She’s safe,’ I said and I was moved for a second time. Not only was he trusting, he was kind too. How generous that his first thought was for her. So I still waited, still hoped, still held death back.

  But no word of repentance came. Instead his eyes danced. ‘I like your feathers,’ he said.

  Liked my feathers?

  ‘And the halo.’

  And the halo?

  I blinked. What did he mean? Nothing in my training at the Cloisters had prepared me for this.

  His eyes rolled from me to the demons (who were already crowding back in loathsome number). I knew if I didn’t claim his soul soon, they would, and like a shot too.

  ‘Take heed,’ I said, trying to bend the rules, trying to give him a hint, a last last chance.

  His eyes widened. He flicked them heavenwards as if to defy all last chancing. I was bewildered. Nobody ever defies demons. A bullet had passed clean through his heart. Didn’t he know the danger he was in? Maybe that was why he hadn’t repented. He didn’t understand.

  If only you’d understood, Marcus. You’d have repented. I know you would.

  So, you see, I couldn’t act.

  I couldn’t take you.