Angel Dust

by Sarah Mussi

  Perhaps he worked for the Devil too?

  I went icy cold from head to toe.

  Perhaps the Extension I’d signed was the pact Kamuel was talking about.

  But there’s nothing evil in a contract to extend a life so that a soul can be saved – is there?

  I took heart. Saving souls was God’s work.

  But I must be careful. When I next saw Larry I must ask him. And I mustn’t sign anything else. Perhaps I’d better tell St Peter after all. Better to make a clean breast of it, if it were all my fault – but then . . .

  Like a cold hand around my heart came the thought of Marcus.

  What would become of him?

  No, I must stay quiet, stay on my guard and not trust Larry again.

  ‘God gets very worried about Satan,’ continued Kamuel. ‘They were old friends once.’ A faraway look came into his eyes. ‘Yes, God knows his adversary well. He doesn’t underestimate him. Lucifer was his greatest Archangel.’

  I wanted to ask then, why, if they’d been such good friends, couldn’t they just make up? But I didn’t dare. Instead I said, ‘What about the angel that made the pact?’ My voice was shaky, my chin trembling. ‘What will happen to her?’

  Why had I said ‘her’? I mustn’t give myself away.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Kamuel.

  ‘Nothing?’ I repeated.

  ‘Nothing at all.’

  I couldn’t believe it. ‘How come?’

  ‘Because I will make sure of it. If I have to go to Hell to do so,’ said Kamuel in a sudden hard, bitter tone.

  And I knew he meant every word of it.

  Serafina 14

  We got the announcement the following morning:

  NO MORE DUTIES INVOLVING HIGH-RISK ACTIVITY WILL BE ASSIGNED TO UNDERGRADUATES AT THE CLOISTERS.

  ‘What does it mean?’ I asked the Superior on Duty.

  ‘It means you’re off Collection Duty and on Ministering to New Arrivals,’ she said. ‘Lucky you, no more trips down to Earth – you can safely stay far away from Hell and all the problems that go with it.’

  Lucky me? My heart shrank. No more trips down to Earth?

  ‘But I have to get down to Earth,’ I said quite simply.

  The Superior looked at me and raised an eyebrow.

  ‘I have to save souls,’ I said. ‘I want to do God’s work.’

  ‘It’s an order, and it’s come from On High.’

  I opened my mouth to protest further, and shut it again. Obedience is the third holy vow. I went slowly back to my cell before I betrayed myself.

  Inside, I sat down. I didn’t move. I couldn’t take it in.

  No more trips down to Earth.

  Marcus would die and go to Hell.

  I’d fail.

  Joey would have died in vain.

  I sat in front of my mirror and watched all my fiery beauty fizzle out in little sparks until I looked like a firework party from last year. What was I to do? No more trips down to Earth and only eight days left. I put on a cloak.

  I needed to get out before a Superior called me to go and start ministering.

  I was trudging down towards the West Gate, lost in thought, when I met Raquel. She was in a hurry. Half-heartedly I greeted her.

  ‘Thanks so much for the party. I’m sorry I left early.’

  ‘Oh, thank Heavens I’ve seen you!’ cried Raquel. ‘You’ve got to help me. I’m on duty again. Look at this – and I’m late.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said.

  ‘Here,’ she said, thrusting the Manifest at me. ‘They’ve doubled my workload. I’ve been put on Motorway Duty and Hospital Collections in my district. There’s no way I can guide seven souls to Hell and Purgatorium and back here today. Not with my morning shift at the Announcer. Look at that! Not one of them can be fast tracked. The aerial tolls alone will be horrendous. You saw the queues by Styx yesterday! If I’d got up earlier, but the party, that dreadful being with that dreadful voice, and now all the checkpoints to get through with this beastly breach business. I’m tired already.’

  I looked at her she was like a gift from God. A desperate plan formed in my mind. Greedily, I ran my eyes over the list of hospitals. A way down to Earth! Yes, there it was: Christ the King, three deaths to Collect. Oh YES! I punched the air. Hallelujah.

  ‘I’ll help,’ I said, ‘I’ll do that hospital,’ before she could argue and say: wouldn’t you rather be on the motorways – where at least there’s some fresh air? I ripped the schedule in two and pocketed my hospital portion. ‘There,’ I said, ‘your duties are halved, nearly. But don’t let St Peter know. I’m officially underage to go on Collection since the breach, apparently.’ I rolled my eyes. ‘It’s a new announcement – security overkill. Don’t be worried. I’m not.’ I bared my teeth in a kind of grin. ‘So I’ll need your spare pass.’

  ‘OK,’ said Raquel. She looked surprised. I guess she wasn’t used to seeing Seraphim quite so keen to get out and kill people.

  ‘If you don’t mind,’ I said, ‘I’ll bunch them and take them to their Collection points in a group. It’ll be quicker that way, unless you think they’ve all got to have an individual send-off?’

  ‘Well,’ she said, a bit at a loss for words. ‘It depends . . .’

  I pulled out the schedule. ‘Oh dear,’ I said, ‘there’s a girl who’s overdosed, there’s an old guy who’s very ill, and a baby, poor thing.’

  ‘Look, honey, you do what you like. Just be there at the right time and Collect them, and get them to wherever as soon as you can. I’ll probably catch you later at the river or back here – or if we get any repenters, then I’ll see you at Black Point.’ (Black Point is a particularly tricky aerial toll on the way to Purgatorium where demons give angels a really rotten time.) ‘Looks like I’ve got a whole family to Collect off the hard shoulder.’ She unrolled her section of the Manifest and peered at it.

  I squeezed her arm. No wonder she’d rather have done the hospital. ‘Oh, poor you,’ I said sympathetically.

  ‘Poor them,’ she said. ‘They don’t even know it yet. They’re probably still having their cornflakes.’

  She looked at me, and I looked at her. It was hard to take.

  I know the whole thing about Original Sin and the Dominion of Death. Believe me, I majored in it for a decade of semesters. How God was totally miserable (still is a bit miserable sometimes) about the whole Garden of Eden thing backfiring so badly. But I’m still not sure unleashing death on the world as a punishment was a good idea. Plus think of the cost in angel hours alone.

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll manage,’ said Raquel. ‘I’ll make their deaths pain free and if it’s truly terrible, I’ll try your tip about Extensions.’

  I shuddered. ‘Oh don’t,’ I cried. I shuffled my wings. For some reason a feather had come loose.

  ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘I don’t think any of them would really like to be the only survivor.’

  I thought of a lifetime apart from the ones you love. I thought of Marcus lying with his cheek on the white pillow. I thought of his mother sitting there with her hollow eyes and her sagging shoulders.

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘keep them together.’

  ‘But the dad isn’t coming here. Even if he repents he’ll have to do time in Torium,’ said Raquel. ‘So they’ll probably be split up anyway. He was drunk. I mean, will be drunk. He’s probably hitting the bottle right now.’

  ‘And we can’t do a thing?’ I asked wistfully.

  She shook her head. ‘’Fraid not. That’s Free Will for you.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘You know: You Better Choose To Be Good Or You’ll Be Sorry.’

  Suddenly I wasn’t so sure I liked Free Will. If it were Marcus about to be crash-victimmed, I’d knock the bottle out of anyone’s hand. And I wouldn’t be up for any Free Will rubbish either.

  I blinked at myself. What a forbidden thought! I blinked again; can you have a forbidden thought if you have Free Will?

  The rest of that morning was a whirl. I rushed back to
my cell. I didn’t know where to start: had to fix my nails, do my hair, choose a new raiment, fluff out my feathers, practise a few ‘fire and glory’ moves, and get down to the city checkpoints, get through the city checkpoints and make it to the start of the Staircase.

  I was just going to have to hurry. Now what should I wear? All my raiments looked so – well, frankly, angelish. I wanted to be more funky, more trendy, more girly, more human, more like someone Marcus would go for.

  I remembered the girls at the nightclub. Yes, I’d wear leggings and a tight top and a tiny skirt. Of course I didn’t have any, so I decided to raid the new arrivals’ wardrobe.

  But it seemed like the new arrivals didn’t arrive in nightclub outfits. There were a lot of nightdresses, pyjamas, a few denim jeans and loads of hospital scrubs. In the end I chose a sweet white cotton bodice with spaghetti straps (quite accommodating for the wings) and a long floaty floral skirt.

  Even though I say it myself. I did look nice. Very human, but still angelly. I wanted to impress Marcus with my celestial status yet still look very approachable – you know.

  Oh, how I wanted to see Marcus. It made me burn up like fire. At the very thought my mind was a whirl. And he’d be so much better today, a full twenty-four hours after the Healing Hands Blessing. I’d be able to talk to him. I got the flutters in my stomach and went all dizzy and breathless.

  If I hurried, if I got down through the twelve Gates quickly and into the hospital, I could Collect the girl; find her somewhere to rest – so she could gently accustom herself to the Transition – give the old man a little longer on his life support machine, let the baby and her mother have a last sad farewell and squeeze half an hour free to meet Marcus.

  I’d stay with him long enough to tell him everything; to impress upon him the very urgent need to repent. To repent in word and deed. I’d try to give him a few hints on how he could put that into action (Please God, let Raquel stay on double shifts). What could I suggest? Something while he was recovering? A donation to charity? If he could build up a bit of a portfolio of good deeds over the next week, at least we’d be in with a chance. If all else failed, it’d be grounds to appeal on. Get his soul weighed in the Halls of the Dead.

  Why is it that when you’re in a hurry everything goes wrong? I’d borrowed a hairbrush from the new arrivals’ wardrobe and was busy trying to use it. I was only having a little practice at being human. (We angels don’t need them.) But it was one of those circular types, and it’d got itself all tangled up in my hair.

  Ouch.

  Never mind. I tossed my tresses back. I was still more beautiful than a thousand stars.

  This was it.

  No more mistakes for me.

  Today was a fresh start.

  Today everything would be OK.

  Today I’d save Marcus.

  Serafina 15

  No wonder Raquel was stressed. Getting across town was horrendous. For a start nobody was allowed to fly. I suppose the thinking behind that was that if Saints and the Saved had to walk, then angels should too. (Of course, apart from Archangel Jehudiel, God’s Army was all made up of the Saved. So they could hardly set up checkpoints in the sky, could they?) Anyway suddenly there were a zillion tanks everywhere with their flame-throwers pointing ominously upwards, just to make sure no angel broke the rules, I guess. We had to trudge on foot. God, was it slow.

  And scary.

  I joined in with a line of workers heading back to the Suburbs-of-the-Saved after their shifts in the City. It was actually kind of good I was in human attire. I put my cloak over my wings and mingled in better. As we walked I wondered about Vincent. What had happened to him? There was nothing on the front page of either the Trumpet or the Herald. That was weird. Was there a news blackout too? Overnight it seemed the war had moved from the far north by the Abyss to the centre of the Kingdom – and we were more under attack from God’s Army than Satan. But I didn’t say so, obviously.

  I met Raquel as planned by the South Gate. She gave me the pass and told the guards I was just seeing her off. As we went through my throat completely dried up, but I put on my most angelic smile and thank the Holy Star of Bethlehem I passed unchallenged.

  After she’d gone I raced. Every minute counted. The more time I had, the longer I could spend it with Marcus. But my God, did it take for-ev-er to get down the Staircase. I tried floating, waltzing, Cossack dancing (you never know), sprinting, jumping two at a time, I even tried sliding down the banisters. It still took forever. By the time I stepped out through the Twelfth Gate I felt a million years older. I didn’t know if my halo was straight and my feathers looked really soft and floaty or whether I looked like a dead parrot.

  But I was through.

  In the beat of a wing I was beside Marcus. I know I should have gone to check out the venue for the girl’s Collection first. I should have made sure about the demons, decided on my exact position, chosen music, all that stuff, but I didn’t. I just didn’t. OK? I wanted to see Marcus, so I just didn’t.

  And there he was. His mother had gone home. There were cards by his bed (I noticed one was from Candy) and flowers (which I hoped weren’t from her too). And he was still asleep. (She needn’t have put quite so many kisses on it.) But oh, how beautiful he looked! His gorgeous mouth curled into the tiniest smile. His long eyelashes resting so perfectly on his dark cheek.

  I crept up close. I could feel the heat of his skin and smell the tang of his scent. I reached out and held my hand under his nose. Imagine. Here I was standing in the room right beside him. Just the two of us. Just for a moment, no God’s Army, no stupid rules separating us. Just Marcus and me. I felt his breath warm and tickly on my fingers.

  Oh Marcus! Why couldn’t it have lasted?

  I breathed. He stirred as if he could hear me. I held my breath. Best to let him sleep on, while I got the girl. (OK, I was feeling guilty about her.) I needed to go and sort her out like a quarter of an hour ago. But I wanted to be there when he woke up, to find me standing beside him.

  I waved my hand over his brow, ‘Sweet dreams, my prince,’ I murmured and sent him visions of fantastical waterfalls, of ethereal clouds being chased across deep blue skies by the winds of paradise. I blew him an angel’s soft kiss.

  He sighed in his sleep.

  I left.

  I’d get back to him as fast as possible.

  The girl was lying in a room all on her own. She was very ordinary in a thin way, and she was in a coma. Her face was twisted up, as if she’d tried at the very last to vomit up her decision and expel the pills she’d taken, as if life itself was distasteful to her and death not much more appealing. I stood there a little shocked. What tragedy was this?

  The Superiors at the Cloisters would say: suicide is sinful. It’s one of the most wicked trespasses, such a soul should go straight to Hell. But as I looked down at the girl, I couldn’t find it in my heart to blame her. And why was it so wicked? Was one’s self not one’s own, to live in or escape from? And what about Free Will? Were some acts less free than others?

  I felt so sorry for her. What was it to be human and to hate mortality? What was it to inhabit one flesh for eighteen years only to hate the life it brought you, to cast it off in despair? I wondered what despair was like. And again I felt that sudden confusion about being immortal. The unfairness of it. How estranged I felt. How could I ever be alive (even in the same way as this tired, forlorn creature) if I could never die? How would I ever understand despair? How could I understand any emotion if I were not truly alive? And suddenly I saw death in a new light: not as the end of life but as its whetstone, how it must sharpen each second of living.

  I gazed into the girl’s face, as if I could read all the answers to the puzzle of life written there, as if I could understand what drove a person to such depths. But I couldn’t really understand. You see, I longed for a chance to have a live body. Just for one hour.

  I felt so sorry for her. Her thin pale hand, her pinched red lips. This girl had no
t known love – for it’s love that redeems and keeps the spirit going, isn’t it? How sad she looked. How I wished she could have been loved just once in her short sad life.

  Quickly I closed the doors to her little side room. Nobody had come to sit by her. She’d had a mother, I remembered from the summary on the Manifest. A mother who must now suffer the horrors of her only child committing suicide. That was very wicked. But a mother who wasn’t bothered enough to come and visit her, even though she lay dying? Yes, she was dying after all – wasn’t that why I was here?

  Demons were already peeking in at the window. They’d made an oily web that was seeping in through the casement joints. I flashed my eyes at them. Pure amethyst. That sorted them out. I really should have come straight here. What was happening to me? I was normally so reliable. I’d always been there for every duty, never broken any rules, done my best to be perfect. But since I’d met Marcus, I’d become so wayward.

  I reminded myself today was a fresh start. I would do everything right. So I chose a haunting lullaby, to help the girl’s Passing Over. She looked like she needed something gentle. I wondered if anyone had sat beside her when she was a child, held her hand, soothed her brow, played for her, sung to her. I’d sing to her. I’d sing her to sleep. I started straight away.

  ‘Rest your head my own sweet child;

  ‘Won’t you wake up, dear one, and repent?’ I whispered.

  But she did not stir. Only a slow tiredness fell over her thin face as if she would sooner die than wake.

  ‘Close your eyes and sleep,

  Rest your heart my own sweet child,

  And I your soul will keep.’

  I stroked her cheek. I sent her dreams of skies unlimited, of golden sands by turquoise seas. I took her hand and pressed it to my lips. I felt her spirit stir, felt it rise to my touch, drift towards me. I crooned on until it rose from her inert form and sought around itself, and seeing me gave one piteous cry and came into my arms.

  ‘Good girl,’ I murmured. ‘There, there, was that so terrible?’