Angel in Crisis

by C. L. Coffey

  I sensed Michael follow me over, standing just behind me, out of my line of sight, but I didn’t turn to him, not even when he started speaking. “I had never changed my vessel before and I had not realized how arduous that would be. I don’t remember much of the first hours, other than this floating sensation as I located a new vessel. When I eventually settled into it, I was at peace. Then I started dreaming.”

  There was silence as Michael sat down beside me. I frowned, watching his movements. The old Michael was graceful; his actions while seeming effortless had been light and agile. This Michael sat heavily, the action more like he had sprung for the ground but misjudged how close it was. I frowned: there was so little about this new Michael which seemed familiar. I let out a sigh and waved at his new body. “Who is he then?”

  Michael looked down at his body, pursing his lips. He looked just as unacquainted with his new skin as I felt. Strangely, that didn’t feel as reassuring as I expected it to. “His name was also Michael. I believe he had died from taking drugs.”

  “So, you found a body, took it over, and then spent time where?” I asked him.

  Michael gazed thoughtfully out across the water. My eyes dropped to his lap as his fingers started to tap out a pattern on his thigh. When he spoke, my gaze switched back to his face. “It is more complicated than that.”

  “Is it?” I demanded. “I saw you at a random rest stop on the side of the I-10 only days after you had been killed. Or your vessel had been killed,” I shrugged as he looked set to correct me. “That was weeks ago.”

  “It wasn’t a random rest stop for me,” he said quietly.

  I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “Don’t tell me, the Virgin Mary made a trip to the United States and that’s where she decided to make camp.” I was expecting Michael to, at the very least, chide me for my comments, but he didn’t, instead continuing to look out at the water. I peered at him, my eyes narrowing as I tried to study his face in the dim light. “Are you blushing?”

  “It was where I first saw you.”

  He said it so quietly, that at first, I wasn’t sure he wanted me to hear him. “Oh,” I said, eventually, feeling the need to fill the silence, but not sure what with.

  Finally, he looked at me, the light from the warehouse, just about illuminating his features. “I came back for you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Honesty Hurts

  I sucked in a deep breath, the lingering traces of diesel making my nose twitch. “Michael,” I started, though I was unsure what to say next.

  “I saw you with him.” Again, Michael’s voice was so low that I had to think about what he was saying before I understood it.

  I glanced up at the stars. Not many of them were visible, despite the lack of cloud coverage. “I am with him,” I said, before chewing at my lip. There was a voice in the back of my mind telling me to shut up, that there was a chance I could lose Joshua, a chance that Michael would leave again, but life was already complicated enough without a messy love triangle. I was surprised that there was one, considering I thought I had been perfectly clear with Michael that nothing would happen between us, but at the same time, I could see how he would think there might be a chance. “Joshua. I’m with Joshua,” I clarified. “I’m in love with him, and I’m going to do everything I can to make sure it works between us.” My eyes dropped down to Michael, finding him watching me. He might have a new body, but he still had the same poker face. “I care for you, and I’m glad you’re back, but had I known that dream was real, and not a memory, then I would never have allowed that kiss to happen.”

  “You thought it was a memory?”

  I nodded. “I thought I was dreaming, but you being in it was my mind bringing you to life from my memories.”

  “And yet you do not think that your mind was perhaps trying to tell you that you might have feelings for me.” Again, it was a statement, and not a question.

  I still shook my head. “With the number of things that have been happening around here lately, I’m not reading too much into anything. Things have been hard with you gone,” I admitted, my hands smoothing out the skirt for something to do. “Of course I wanted you back, and I will admit it was not just because I have no clue what I was doing. But had I known that dream was real, I wouldn’t have allowed that kiss to happen,” I said, repeating my earlier words.

  Michael’s gaze drifted back to the water. “In all my life, I have never had feelings for anyone until I met you.”

  “Michael,” I sighed.

  “I need to say this,” he said, shaking his head. “There was no one before I met you, but this did not bother me: that was not my purpose. When I first encountered you, I thought you were extraordinary, but still, you were out of my reach. Even when you earned your wings, I did not see a future between us, until Cupid said that if I thought you were worth pursuing, that I should.”

  “Cupid shouldn’t have said that,” I muttered. Nor should I have let him.

  “He may have said something but it was I who made the choice.” Michael sat quietly again while a streetcar trundled past behind us. He didn’t turn to watch it, like I did, instead waiting until it was just background noise like the rest of the city. “The changes a body makes becoming a vessel takes time. Having not experienced it previously, I was unaware that part of that requires my own consciousness to take over any lingering traces of the previous occupant.” As if he sensed my alarm, he sighed. “The soul of this body’s previous occupant was not in it at the same time as I. He had gone to Heaven. What I refer to is something more akin to muscle memory. By not allowing my consciousness to reset his body, I feel I have let certain aspects of the previous Michael to remain, though time will tell what they are.”

  My eyes fell again to his fingers, still tapping out something on his thigh. “You’re saying that if this guy was a drummer, you would know how to play the drums?” I asked, curious. If that was the case, I certainly hoped my next vessel knew martial arts, because that would be super handy.

  “Of sorts,” Michael vaguely agreed. “But by rushing the process, it also meant that my own thoughts were not coherent. Only certain things stood out. One was you. That was why I went to that rest stop. I was not expecting to see you there, and yet I did. I saw you, and was able to acknowledge that you were someone important, but there was something stronger speaking to me, which was why I did not say anything. I left for Canada, returning to the previous location of my House in central Quebec. That was where Raphael found me several days ago.”

  “Why didn’t you return then?” I asked. “Why didn’t Raphael say something?”

  “I asked him not to.”

  Michael’s response was simple, but it angered me. “All things considered, that’s not a good enough answer. We thought you were dead,” I ground out through gritted teeth as I tried not to yell at him.

  He looked to me, tilting his head. “You are angry.”

  “Of course I’m angry,” I snapped. Leaving my shoes where they lay, I got to my feet and began pacing along the edge of the wharf. “I’m so angry I could punch you.”

  “Would that make you feel better?” Michael asked.

  He got up, stepping in my path so I had to stop and glare up at him. His new body was a couple of inches shorter than his previous one, but in bare feet, I still had to tilt my head upwards. “Yes… No… I’m not going to hit you.” Even saying the words, my hands still curled into fists. I had to step back, just to make sure I didn’t.

  “If it will make you feel better, you may,” Michael said, watching me, his eyes dropping to my hands and then back up to my face.

  “I’m not hitting you,” I said again. “I just… I understand why you wouldn’t want to come back to the House, but why wouldn’t you allow Raphael to let us know you were alive, at the very least?”

  “I would have been incapable of running the House. You and Cupid would have been distracted, and that would have left you vulnerable.”

  “Are you c
apable now?”

  Michael considered the question. “The House will remain under the leadership of you and Cupid.”

  I folded my arms and glared at him. “Then why did you choose to return now? And don’t say because of me.”

  He stood, silently, watching me, until I rolled my eyes. “You said not to say because of you. Anything else would be a lie.” When I rolled my eyes once more, he reached out, unfolding my arms and clasping my hands. He ran his thumbs over the back of my gloved hands. “Angel, I came back for you. I thought you had found me in my dreams: you told me you missed me, and you allowed me to kiss you. You told me to come back. So I did. It appears we are quite good when it comes to misunderstanding each other, so let me be clear. I came back for you. You: exactly how you are in front of me, with your bright red hair, your stubbornness, and the inner beauty that radiates through both. I will ask you this once, and once only: do you see a future with me?”

  “No,” I said. I didn’t need to think about it. I was in love, and it wasn’t with Michael. “I’m sorry, but no.”

  Michael inhaled deeply, then leaned forward. Gently, he kissed my cheek. Then, he stepped back, releasing my hands from his. “Very well.” He stuck his hands in his pockets.

  “This doesn’t mean you’re going to leave, does it?” I wasn’t sure if I wanted to hear the answer.

  “I still have work that needs to be completed in this city. Beelzebub and Lucifer must be defeated, and I shall remain until it is done.” He again studied me in the darkness. “Angels and humans are not allowed to be in relationships for a very good reason, Angel. You were both given the gift of Free Will, and how you execute that is your choice, but please be careful.”

  He stepped past me, making his way back into the city. I watched him leave, feeling like crap. Disappointment was much, much worse than anger.

  I blew out a long breath and then, only when I could no longer see Michael, I returned to the edge of the wharf, sitting back down beside my discarded shoes.

  I sat there for several hours, staring out across the water. Somehow, no one bothered me. Slowly, my brain started to process everything. And by everything, I mean from the moment I woke up dead. Or undead. Several boats and barges sailed past me. Behind me, the city’s noise dulled, though never completely died down. Finally, the nighttime noises of chirping insects were replaced by the bird’s morning chorus as the sun started to rise in front of me. Overnight I felt like I’d aged centuries.

  Everything had changed, yet at the same time, in this weird paradox, nothing had changed at all. I also came to the conclusion that I was dwelling on all the bad. In the last day – less – two miracles had essentially happened. The first, the big obvious one, was that Michael was back from the dead. That alone should have had me dancing around in happiness. Instead, I was moping on the edge of a wharf, acting like jumping into the water was the most appealing next step. The second was that I had slept with Joshua and I had managed to do so without losing my wings, or my charge. Sure, it wasn’t as impressive as the first, but to me, it was just as important. Yet, instead of celebrating this, instead of confirming to Joshua that I didn’t regret it… instead of talking to him and explaining everything that had happened in my dreams and begging him to forgive me…

  Talk about needing to sort my priorities out.

  I got up, pausing only to scoop up the high heeled shoes and hook them through my fingers, and made my way back to the convent. This time, there was a smile on my face. I crossed over onto Ursulines Avenue, happily imagining the faces of the angels when we told them Michael was back. Then I heard the noise.

  The sun wasn’t completely up, and even though there was some traffic, at this time in the morning, it was minimal. It was far too early for even the vendors to be opening up their stores; which was why the sound felt out of place. Scuffling – at least two people. Then I heard everything more clearly; the grunts, and the yelp of pain. Cautiously, I walked into Latrobe Park which I had been passing.

  ‘Park’ was probably not the correct word to use when describing the area. It was situated between North Peters Street and Decatur Street, and was the size of the convent’s garden. It had two paved circular areas. The lower of the two had a small water feature in the center. A couple of steps higher, at the back, the second area housed an iron statue. The whole thing was surrounded by trees and raised shrubbery. It was a nice, quiet area where you could rest on a bench while exploring the French Market.

  It was in the upper area, deep in the shadows where I could see two figures struggling with each other. “Hey!” I called out, dashing over the second I saw a glint flashing off the length of a sword. The battle was angelic, I knew that, and whoever the angel was fighting, I was going to help. My shout was a distraction. The one being attacked – a guy I did not recognize – stumbled back from the other figure. A female: a teenager.

  I recognized her. She was a cherub. Afriel. “Stay out of this, Angel,” she spat at me. I wasn’t sure if she was calling me by my name or my rank, but I carried on walking over to her.

  “You need a hand?” I offered, keeping my attention switching between the two of them.

  The guy was maybe only a couple of years older than she looked, but he was fairing worse than she was. One hand was hanging limply by his side, while the other clutched at a cut at the top of the useless arm, failing to keep the blood from streaming out of it. “Help me,” he begged, his eyes wide with terror.

  “You shut up!” Afriel snarled at the young man. “Unless you want to tell me where Lucifer is hiding.”

  “I told you, I don’t know!” he cried. “Please!” He turned his attention to me, desperately seeking my help.

  I stood back, prepared to let Afriel do what she needed to the fallen angel, and then her next words had my blood boiling. “Shut up, nephilim!”

  “HEY!” I roared at Afriel. I flung my shoe at her. The throw wasn’t as hard as I could have made it, but the heel hit her behind her ear and bounced off the side of her head, drawing blood.

  The rage which had been directed at the nephilim was suddenly redirected at me. “What do you think you are doing?” she bellowed, taking two steps towards me.

  “Nephilim are half-human,” I told her.

  “Nephilim are the spawn of the Fallen, just as evil and just as connected. This world will be safer with them all exterminated.”

  “It has been the cherubim killing the nephilim this whole time, hasn’t it?” I questioned her, even though the answer was right in front of me. “You can’t judge a person by their parent’s action. I told Veronica this.”

  “You would say that. You were human once,” Afriel declared, the sneer smearing her pretty features. “You’re barely better than they are. Garret was right.”

  I couldn’t stop myself from rolling my eyes at that. Garret was a tool. He was also a tool who didn’t like me. Afriel turned to me, her attention leaving the injured nephilim behind her. “When you’ve actually spent some time with either me or a nephilim and made your own mind up, then maybe your words would carry more weight, but until then, you’re just making inaccurate assumptions. And honestly, right now, I’d say the nephilim are doing better at being decent then you are. At least they’re not running around the city like vigilantes, dispensing their own version of justice.”

  I was rambling, but only so she would keep her attention on me and allow the nephilim she had been attacking to escape. I thought it had worked. He had slowly backed away until he was out of range of Afriel’s swords, and then turned and ran. With lightning fast moves, Afriel tossed her sword in the air, catching it in her hand with her fist to hold it like a spear, and with a move that seemed well practiced, she spun around, launching it at the nephilim’s retreating back.

  I screamed, trying to warn him, trying to move over and stop him, but it all happened too quickly. The sword pierced his back and his body slammed to the ground, unmoving.

  Potential human audience be damned, I continued charging
at Afriel, bringing my fist back to punch her. She ducked, doubling over to tackle me. Her arms wrapped around my waist as I punched her back and she slammed me to the ground. My head bounced off the pavement. While I was still seeing stars, Afriel rolled off the top of me. I wasn't sure what she was doing until she was back, moments later, her bloody sword hovering over me.

  “Veronica was wrong about you,” she growled. “Garret was right. You’re just like them. You’re the reason that Michael died.”

  “Michael’s alive!” I yelled, swinging my legs before she could swing the sword. In a mass of fabric, my ankles hit the back of her knees, sending her stumbling to the side, and the sword skittering across the pavement towards the nephilim’s body. While Afriel was recovering trying to pick up her sword, I rolled to my knees ripping the fabric of skirt away so I could get at my weapon. With one hand on my sword, the other tore the trailing material away, giving my legs the opportunity to move freely.

  Afriel grabbed her sword and twirled back to me. I was ready in a defensive position. “Michael is alive,” I said again.

  The look she sent me said she neither cared nor believed me, but instead of attacking, she disappeared.

  I stood there, panting heavily as I tried to catch my breath. My eyes fell on the nephilim’s body: he was dead. There was too much blood pooling around him for anything else to be true. I straightened, looking around. Somehow, the fight had not attracted any attention. For now…

  I gathered up the tattered fabric that had collected in a bush, along with my shoes. Making sure my sword was safely back in the sheath, I ran back to the convent, ignoring my pounding headache. I was lucky. It was a short distance to cover, and I somehow didn’t see anyone until I entered the convent grounds.