Trouble with Angels

by S E Holmes

Nimbus went. He was too shattered to argue or put up much resistance. The festivities carried on over many days. The whole of the Ethereal Realm was transformed into an exotic and fascinating bazaar; the streets filled with amazing acrobats, jugglers and fire eaters. There were stunning dancers on every corner and glorious music pervaded the atmosphere. The Heavenly Choir in full voice wove joy in the hearts of all who listened.

  The Gods had a rare opportunity to display their lesser known powers and acts of magic and mystery beyond imagination were plentiful. The Cherubs’ senses were accosted by strange and delightful sights, sounds and smells at each turn. It eventuated that Nimbus had a surprisingly excellent week, punctuated with vague bouts of anxiety, too easily ignored.

  Gabriel and Michael materialised in his vicinity more often than usual, gazing at him with inscrutable expressions, only to disappear as Nimbus gathered the courage to approach. No one seemed available whenever he thought to inquire about the extra attention. Even Bacchus, who’d stretched his fame well-and-truly beyond reckoning, wasn’t publicly obvious. Nimbus worked hard to repress brief visions of himself as Overlord of the Damned. And to pretend the sword he’d hidden held no fascination.

  Occasionally, he found himself drifting towards the Ethereal Archives, as if by instinct. Rhapsody’s name whispered in his mind and despite Jam’s prophecy of doom, Nimbus felt an inexorable pull towards her. He had to know more! Merely researching his ‘Mirror’ wasn’t dangerous, was it? But every time he got close, something interrupted him and hours passed before he recalled his quest. And Jam rarely left him unsupervised, as if deliberately steering him away from further knowledge of the matter.

  Luckily, Jam was stellar company and the perfect distraction. He had a far more liberal attitude to the rules than Celestial, and was a perpetual practical joker with often hilarious results. Nimbus had fun despite his worries. Celestial consulted with Paraclete the Advocate on his behalf, and the poor fellow had a wearisome time cornering Nimbus to assess his mental condition.

  Jam and Nimbus led him into one vexing situation after another. Jam shape-shifted into Paraclete and wolf-whistled a group of Valkyrie in front of their intimidating one-eyed boss, Odin. Nimbus and Jam nipped behind a marquee to watch, as the true Paraclete arrived a short while later and inquired after their whereabouts. He was met by a bristling wall of Scandinavian warriors, who failed to contain their hostility. The bewildered Advocate became embroiled in a one-sided scuffle with two massive Viking bodyguards, threatening customary vengeance with a yak’s horn funnel and dwarves liquid silver.

  Paraclete was eventually ejected in a ruffled state from the Norse sector, drenched in llama urine with an ugly new tattoo on his forehead and a hail of insults regarding his mother’s courtship of a chimpanzee, and the remarkable family resemblance. It was the least he could get away with. Odin initially threatened to transform him into a large deposit of whale dung.

  Still, the Gods’ psychoanalyst was tenacious. He resumed his efforts after a good scrub, a calming brew and a wrapped bandage to cover the warning to all women in everlasting ink across his brow. His counselling efforts were thwarted for good however, when Jam whispered in a very inebriated Huitaca’s ear that Paraclete had long withheld a passion for her.

  Regardless of Paraclete’s strenuous denials, Huitaca doggedly pursued him, wooing her hapless prey with a loud, screechy love song. Nimbus was amazed how fast she could run in an evening gown, while balancing an exotic cocktail with floating tropical fruit and a little umbrella jutting from the glass!

  Paraclete’s reputation as a lecherous womaniser was enduringly cemented when Huitaca ambushed him in the main forecourt in front of the entire Council of Greats and miserably beseeched that he ‘not deny his true feelings’. Hera took Odin’s message seriously and promptly suspended his Advocate’s licence. She recommended he undergo therapy for pathological dishonesty. (Zeus’s long suffering wife had some experience with devious men and lying was her highest dislike. Her husband fidgeted uncomfortably throughout the drama, shooting Paraclete sympathetic glances). Nimbus and Jam could not breathe for laughing.

  “Nimbus, finally! You are almost impossible to track down. I’ve been searching for hours!” A frazzled Celestial confronted Nimbus, as he loitered by the Muses’ bathing house. Her face was blue with cold, her Angel’s robe soggy with melted snow. Blonde tendrils hung wetly in her eyes.

  “That’s because I’ve been deliberately avoiding you, Celestial. Sending Paraclete ‘for a nice little chat’ was a low act.” Nimbus guiltily manoeuvred so she could not see what he had been looking at. “Git kept asking me about my mother! Doesn’t everybody know we exist through Divine intervention?”

  “Oh, put a feather in it! What did you do to the unfortunate man? I heard he’s fled our Realm and taken vows of silence and celibacy at a remote monastery.”

  “Serves him right for meddling,” Nimbus muttered.

  “I was only trying to help --”

  “Haven’t you heard the one about Perdition Road being paved with good intentions?”

  “-- and I know exactly what you are doing here, so stop pretending otherwise. Ogling those poor unsuspecting girls!”

  Celestial’s sympathy evaporated when flirtatious calls of ‘Nimbus, where did you go?’ and giggled ‘Come back’s’ filtered over the hedge.

  “Okay, okay! I give up. I swear I will not come to your aid again unless you beg me to.” She removed the hat from her head and massaged her scalp. “What a relief!”

  “I thought you loved that hat?”

  “I do,” she sighed. “It was such a lovely gesture and I did not want to hurt Jam’s feelings by taking it off. But my brain is frozen numb and I think I’ve chipped a tooth with all the chattering. My toes are frost-bitten. I have to dig myself out of snow banks with tedious regularity. Plus, I’ve learned Pixies, while they may be cute, have the foulest tongues! One swore horribly at Neptune as I passed him by a while ago. He thought it was me!

  “I almost got detention in the depths tending his Sea-Monster Hatchlings and you know I can’t abide slime. Jam, bless him, claimed he’d said it. The Gods are lenient towards him given his origins, and thankfully, Neptune let us go with just a warning. I know how you must have felt scrubbing Jupiter’s Spittoon after Jinx’s now. I’m sorry I was not more sensitive. And I had no idea that Pixies were so brutal. Sprites have been leaping for their lives all day. It’s quite disconcerting!”

  The Spittoon incident seemed like such a long time ago, when life was more innocent. Nimbus changed the subject before depression got the better of him. “Speaking of Jam, where is your devoted shadow?”

  “You would not believe it! He’s at the barn, and aside from a morbid fear of camels, he’s got the most amazing affinity for animals,” she beamed. “Equinox let him ride her! Jam really is very special.”

  “Mmm, he’s great,” Nimbus mumbled without conviction. “You clearly haven’t seen him crunching on pickled locusts. Licks his fingers and everything. Claims he’s doing his bit to prevent Biblical pestilence.”

  She made a face and countered, “At least he grasps the concept of handkerchief use, at last! It sunk in after a particularly unpleasant episode with Athena’s shawl. Apparently Jam’s nose runs when he’s nervous. It’s a defensive mechanism where he comes from. He’s rising above his base heritage so well.” Celestial smiled and her tone evoked pride.

  Nimbus experienced an odd sensation that was more than a simple lack of familiarity with his anatomy. He’d never spent so much time in his body before. His Other singing the praises of a Dark Angel was certainly novel enough to warrant notice, but Nimbus wasn’t sure it was the source of his disquiet.

  What did they really know about Jam? He’d infiltrated their ranks with alarming ease, and all who met him took him under-wing. He was irritatingly charismatic and his brilliant white hair suited him even better than his original black, the paleness against his ebony eyes and mocha skin a pleasing contra
st.

  His powers were plentiful and awe-inspiring, drawing comment whenever he used them, normally in some fat-headed act of chivalry. Nimbus violently caught himself, surprised by his bitterness. He severed the mean thoughts, the source of his churning gut. Was this envy? Holy Sacrament! Jomjael of the Fallen had been in their midst for less than a jot and already he and Celestial embraced the topmost Deadly Sins with wild abandon.

  Oblivious, Celestial got her courage up and launched into the true reason she’d been looking for him. “Nimbus, are you alright? I’m worried about you. You haven’t been the same since… Well, you know.”

  “I’m fine,” Nimbus replied briskly. “Probably still contaminated by that horrid Crown. It will wear off in time,” he lied.

  “Excellent!” Celestial looked less than convinced. “Anyway, Bacchus claims he’s going to start our instruction properly after the celebrations and we’ll need to be in top shape,” she rubbed her hands together enthusiastically. “We’ll finally be on the path to full-fledged Seraphim!”

  “Can’t wait,” said Nimbus flatly.

  He had absolutely no idea how he was going to pull off Angel Training without exercising his powers, let alone avoiding the use of his Instrument of Influence once Bacchus found out about it, which was inevitable. Their Guardian possessed the uncanny knack of never seeming to pay attention and nonetheless knowing everything.

  The Gods and the Angels indulgently minded their young charges. Towards the close of the party Zeus, Bacchus and Gabriel could be found on the Chamber steps overlooking the courtyard crammed with cavorting inhabitants.

  “Bacchus, my old friend!” Zeus clapped him on the back. “You have passed your first test as a Guardian with distinction. It bodes favourably for the trials to come.”

  Bacchus was uncharacteristically clear-headed. “I am not concerned about how things will go for me. What of Nimbus? And Jam. His Other is now an avowed enemy. Ram has taken Blood Oath, he will not be subverted in his mission to annihilate the lad, as retribution for his desertion. And with Azazel’s disappearance, we cannot obtain proof that Aimrod was behind the plot to steal the Book of Lore, and bring chaos on us all. There will be no justice. That vile deceiver has gotten away with it. Mark my words, the Bloodar are only warming up. They’ll not let such a set-back thwart their intentions for too long.”

  Gabriel replied thoughtfully, “Much is obscured. We must be vigilant and attend the unfolding signs before Nimbus’s course is set. His choices are entwined in our shared destinies and will drag us with him whence they lead. We cannot falter or I fear ruin will be our enduring prize.”

  Bacchus nodded with a sly smile. “It’s lucky I work best under pressure and in tight corners, then.”

  “And to think, I voted for Merlin and the Magi in preference to you!” Zeus chuckled and patted Bacchus apologetically on the shoulder. “There is time yet, for a few nectars. Come! The deep fried peacock is on me.”

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