Flower explained, “Between the days of August eighth and tenth, a man by the name of Manson, claiming to be a prophet, invaded a home in Beverly Hills. With his followers, and without conscience, he murdered seven people.”
Phoenix’s laugh grew to a crescendo, “August eighth—the day of the angels, when our influence is the greatest. August ninth—the celebrated day the angels were created in heaven. Now defiled with blood and death. August tenth—the angel’s day of completed thing. The number seven—the number of man. All signifying the end of the age of man and the rule of our kind upon the Earth. It is pure prophecy.” His voice had a passionate breathiness to it. “He promised it to us, so our time is at hand.”
He flexed his wings, and they spread to their full size. There he stood with a wingspan of twenty feet. He reached one wing toward Flower and attempted to caress her face with the tips of the feathers.
She pushed it aside and glared at him in disgust.
He shrugged and drew back his feathery appendage.
I should have been frightened spit-less, but I wasn’t. Something in me couldn’t stand there and hear him mock so many senseless deaths, I yelled, “Phoenix, you truly believe this crazy man was inspired to kill seven people so others could read it as a statement of prophecy? No way. This was a crazy man, not a prophet.” At the sound of my voice, Flower froze. Maybe she was second-guessing herself for bringing me along, I don’t know. But I prefer to think she stood in silence pondering the validity of what Phoenix had said. As for my thought on his rantings, I wasn’t buying it.
Drawing the angel’s attention back onto herself, Flower warned, “You know your archangel lies.” She put her hands on her hips and stared. “I still don’t understand, Venus has always been about love and sex. She has no reason to change and cause one of her prophets to kill. Why would she suddenly convert to an angel of death?” Flower turned and started for the exit.
I advanced one step closer to the angel, and asked, “Do you mean the same Venus as in the Roman legends?”
“Yes, friend of Flechia, one and the same. Some prefer to call her Aphrodite.” He spread his wings, I felt his alluring warmth, and inhaled his fragrance. I was drawn to trust him, even though I knew better. His voice sounded so pleasant when he spoke. It resonated with the melodic harmonies of a chorus. “I had decided, my love brought you along for the sheer enjoyment of being in my presence, but at last you ask something worthy of an answer.” It was then our eyes met. His expression changed and I’m sure his pale skin went a shade whiter. “So, it has begun. The marked prophet has been sent, and the herald is ushering the way for….”
Flower whirled around and asked, “You all but said a name. Who is coming with such fanfare to be ushered by Venus of olde?”
“It is he who rides upon the backs of pestilence, famine, war, and death. He who is betrothed to the crowned Queen robed in red, riding upon the marked beast. He whose name brings indolence, lust, greed, envy, gluttony, pride, and violence upon the Earth.”
Flower almost whispered her reply, “Oh…Him.”
I understood nothing Phoenix said. It was as confusing as one of my visions. Thankfully, Flower seemed to know what he was talking about.
Phoenix pointed at me and said, “Prophet, step into the light…please.”
I got the impression he didn’t use please and thank you very often. I looked over my shoulder at Flower for permission. Her expression spoke volumes about her worry and concern, but she didn’t say a word. I didn’t know if I should, but I stepped forward.
“A child. Oh my, you’re nothing but a boy. And a child will lead them.”
“I’m not a child,” I insisted.
“The child will not judge by what he sees with his eyes, or decide by what he hears with his ears; but with righteousness, he will judge the needy. With justice, he will render verdicts for the poor. He will strike the Earth with the words of his mouth. With the breath of his lips, he will slay the wicked. Righteousness will be his belt and faithfulness the sash around his waist. The wolf will live with the lamb, the leopard will lie down with the goat, the calf and the lion and the yearling together; and a little child will lead them.” He grinned. The razor-like teeth glimmering wet in the spotlight. “That was written long ago for this very moment. Tell me little one are you going to slay me with your breath.” He stepped as close to me as his bonds would allow and roared. The ground shook with the power of his howl.
His bolstering frightened me, and I probably glowed with embarrassment from his condescending speech. Bravely, I stood there tight-lipped and said nothing.
“Arland,” Flower called, “don’t be afraid of him. He stopped before he got to the best part of the prophecy he quoted. It goes on to say: The young child will put its hand into the viper’s nest and they will not harm him. He can’t hurt you, no matter how much he may want to.”
“No. I cannot harm you, young prophet. But I’m not the one you should worry about.” Phoenix raised his hand and a dark shadowy shape rushed into the light. Immediately I recognized the blob-like shape of Mr. Dark, and he was screaming in pain.
“You’re hurting him,” I yelled.
“Have you ever wondered why he stays out of the light?” The angel made a fist with his outstretched hand and raised it over his head.
The shadowy blob started rising from the ground and took shape. It only took a moment for me to realize Mr. Dark was a shadowy replica, an exact doppelganger of me. In awe, I stood there looking at the dark version of myself.
I glanced over at Flower and she stood slack-jawed, staring at Mr. Dark for the first time. Not only had the angel’s power revealed Dark’s true form, but it allowed others to see him.
“This familiar is your dark side,” Phoenix said, “He is both forever bound to you and forever separate. To do all that judging, condemning so many people as it is written, you will need to be able to separate your dark side from the righteous side. Sadly, from the looks of him, the separation is not complete. See how translucent he is? Yes, he is not well baked yet.”
Mr. Dark cried out to me, “Make him leave me alone. I care for you. I help you. I warn you of dangers.”
“Yes, he warns you of danger because his existence is locked to yours. If you die, the shadow side dies too. He is only fending for himself.” The angel shook his head and uttered a disgusting grunt. “Don’t believe anything this one says. You can’t trust him.” Phoenix dropped his hand to his side and the shadow me melted back into a blob before scurrying out of the light.
I barked, “At least he has never lied to me. How do I know anything you’ve said here is true?”
“You don’t, but my Lady-Love knows I would never lie to her.”
Flower grimaced, “There is always a first time for everything.”
“You have come to me for answers, therefore, for you, my darling, I will recite the sacred words of the angel Reuwel, the revealer of secrets.” He put his hands in a prayerful position and as he pulled them apart, crackling sparks of electricity spat from hand to hand. His eyes glowed and emanated twinkling flashes of amber light. After a moment he slowly put his hands together again and recited:
“Earthly clay made flesh, Child of Zerachiel and child of Ramiel,
Protected Healer and Prophet transcended, instructed by Holy Ta’el.
Remove from your ears the filter and leaven.
Harken to he who sits in the window of heaven.
The Queen of Babylon rises to her throne.
Humanity has much for which to atone.”
Strange, vile creatures crept into the tent from under the bottom of the canvas. Down on their bellies they crawled, drawn by the angel’s words. With deformed human faces stitched into place, they crept around the tent. Their back legs bent forward in what looked to be a painful position. They were the hellspawn, loyal to Phoenix, and they embodied both a human and insect-like appearance. Climbing up the sides of the tent, and racing across the canvased ceiling, the demons gripped the cloth with their ta
lons and hung upside down.
When Phoenix stopped to take a breath, these abominations cried out, “Et ideo scriptum est: Let it be done.”
“Haniel finds favor in his lady’s eyes,
And in her wings, Lilith abides.
Prophecy’s virtuous words, elegantly written.
The harlot lover by her charm is bidden.
Now Ishtar, she who will decimate;
Awaits him alone, her beloved doth hesitate.”
And the demons hanging overhead cried out, “Et ideo scriptum est: Let it be done.”
“He seeks the mystic words forbidden,
Archaic wards for angelic accession.
The script, written by Dominion and Seraphim,
Secret knowledge of Thrones and Cherubim.
Holy text on mortal stone, they did scribe.
Annihilation’s power, they resolved to hide.”
With a frenzy, the demons climbed down the sides of the tent and stood around the edges of the spotlight. One of the demon-creatures stood directly in front of me. It growled and snapped its fangs in my direction before in unison they all screamed, “Et ideo scriptum est: Let it be done.”
Fear overcame me and I wanted to bolt away—but my feet froze to the spot. I looked over at Flower for support. She took my hand and my fears subsided.
As quickly as they had appeared, when Phoenix finished reciting prophecy, the demons scurried into the shadows, back under the edges of the tenting, and out of sight.
“The Book of Uriel—angel who holds knowledge in his hand,
A book of revelation depicting mysteries unknown to man.
Prophecy for the tribes of Malach and Engel;
Like Isaac and Ishmael, never to mingle.
To restrain Abaddon the destroyer, find the text you must,
Before Ishtar’s unholy light ignites, leaving
ash and dust.”
“Phoenix, there is no redemption for you.” Flower jeered. “You are cursed by far more than the bonds you forged keeping you here. That was nothing but gibberish—meant to impress.” She scowled, released my hand, and shook her finger at him. “Calling your minions here didn’t impress me at all. What a childish ploy, trying to distract me from hearing your words. You think of yourself as master and those pitiful creatures as your subjects. You are master of nothing but corruption.”
The handsome angel pushed his silky hair over his shoulder, placed his hands over his heart, and said, “Go now, my love. Your presence—your closeness—pushes me into the depths of despair too great to bear. You chastise me for naught. So, in my suffering, it is best I be alone, living with my unrequited love.”
Without another word, she took my hand and led me out of the tent. Outside, after being in Phoenix’s spectacular presence, everything appeared muddled and dull; even daylight took on a brown haze. Perhaps when I got back to the commune, I would find a way to sort out what Phoenix said.
“The Book of Uriel, that could be it,” Flower said as she took my arm again. “I read something about it somewhere, but I can’t remember what it was right now.”
Behind us a carny yelled, “Tell Mr. Cumberland, we need some patch money over here. Johnny Law just arrived, and he wants his cut.”
Flower leaned around the corner of the tent and pulled back, hiding. “It’s Sheriff Briggs. He’s here.” She pointed toward the Ferris wheel. “Stay out of the center of the midway. Stick as close to the attractions as you can, and with a bit of luck, he won’t see us.”
In silence, we headed toward the back gate where the van was parked. What the angel said weighed on me. I had been sent with a purpose. My arrival at the commune wasn’t by chance. I had no eerie hallucinations directly relating to what Phoenix said, but with certainty, I knew most of it was the truth. I could feel it.
Even though I was holding Flower’s hand, an icy depression overtook me. I felt like a spectacle from one of the sideshows. Between us and the back gate stood every cursed human from the tented attractions. The disfigured freaks stood out in front of their tents, staring at me as we passed. It was like they had all been informed of my presence and were waiting to just get a glimpse of me. I was about to lose it and start running for the gate when the bearded woman reached over and lightly caressed my forearm. Her touch felt gentle and kind.
A four-armed girl leaned over the rail separating the midway from her booth, trying to get a look at my eyes. She reached my direction, and I felt a surge of compassion rush over me. An eight or nine-year-old kid, wearing acrobatic tights and a thin white gauze over his face, climbed a flagpole as if to peer over the crowd.
The tattooed man, wearing a swimsuit much smaller than mine, stood on his platform calling out, “Prophet, bless us for we are cursed.”
The snake woman reached out with both hands as her python wrapped around her waist and curled about one arm. Her eyes were kind and sad. The very sight of her filled me with a dark depression.
I knew the hour was almost up. It was like my heart counted down the seconds before the clock would strike twelve. Flower may have felt the same because her pace quickened.
We approached the end of the midway where the Hoochie Coochie girls danced. Homer stepped in front of us, and said, “A friendly tour, indeed.” Behind him, the girls didn’t gaze at me in admiration like the freaks did, but danced more provocatively than before. Homer cracked a grin, and said, “Flower, you better leave before time runs out. Remember, what’s left at the carnival belongs to the carnival. Who knows if you could beat the curse this time? Phoenix is growing in power by the day.”
He winked at me. It gave me a strange feeling somewhere in the pit of my abdomen. Then he wagged his head in the girls’ direction. Their bodies hypnotically undulated in rhythmic gyrations. I looked away and saw Jimmy and Roger standing in the crowd of mesmerized young men leering at the Hoochie Coochie dancers’ sweaty, grinding hips. I called to Flower, “There. Look there.” All the while pointing at my friends.
She nodded, and we ran in their direction. “The hour is almost up. We have only seconds left before the clock strikes twelve.”
We each grabbed an arm, I had Roger and Flower had Jimmy. Together we pulled the boys away from the sideshow. Homer and Calypso broke away and chased us while the other continued the sultry hypnotic swaying to the pounding of a drum.
We ran, struggling to pull the boys toward the gate. Flower shoved Jimmy my way and said, “Help him. I’ll delay Homer and his slut. If they catch us while we’re inside the gate, then the boys are doomed.” I dared a glance back and saw Mr. Carter, the cook at the commune, standing in the crowd at the Hoochie Coochie sideshow. He stood slack-jawed, staring at the dancing girl shimmying her shoulders. I wanted to go back for him, but there was no time.
Putting Mr. Carter out of my mind for the moment, I focused on the gate. Beyond it, Rose stood waiting. Jimmy lifted his head toward her and something visibly happened. He snapped out of the hypnotic trance and began running on his own. As for me, without having to all-out drag Dugan, my speed increased. I looked up in time to see Jimmy grab Rose up in a hug before I gave Roger a huge shove, pushing him through the metal archway—the clock struck twelve and chimed.
The world darkened, like a cloud passed between Heaven and Earth. Beyond the gate, everything froze in place. Even birds hung effortlessly in the air without motion.
The clock chimed one and two.
I stumbled forward, my accelerated momentum heaving me onward as I followed Roger. Unexpectedly, I crashed into a hard surface. It felt like I ran headlong into an unbreakable sheet of bulletproof glass.
The clock’s chime rang three and four as I regained my wits.
Reaching toward the arched entrance of the carnival, my fingertips pressed the barrier. Similar to twinkle lights behind frosted glass—it sparkled with my touch.
The clock chimed five and six.
Mr. Dark said, Flower warned you. His words sounded frightened. I told you not to come here. Now, look what you
’ve done.
All of a sudden, feeling completely lost, I looked back to find Flower. She stood, her arms out, preventing Homer and Calypso from catching me. Everyone stopped. There was a certain satisfaction to Homer’s smile, like he won some insidious victory.
The clock chimed seven and eight.
Homer cackled, “I told you he has grown in power. Even the gifted are no challenge for him now.”
I approached Flower
She stood tight-fisted. Her arms dropped to her side. “What do you get from his harvest of souls? Have you taken up the role of a footman to the ignoble Phoenix for reward or pleasure?”
Homer glanced at the clock. “What joy is there here? It’s been a long time since I’ve experienced the mere semblance of pleasure, Phoenix has promised his day is at hand when he will again be free and I intend to stand with him when his glorious time comes to pass.”
“Then you will wait through eternity,” Flower sneered.
The clock chimed eleven and twelve.
In the next instant, everything became normal. The washed-out colors of the carnival returned and the ever-present barrier receded from view.
I pointed past her, and said, “Look there. One of your commune residents, Mr. Carter.”
I’m not sure what I read in Flower’s eyes. It could have been regret—or maybe sorrow.
“What is he doing here?” she asked.
“I told him we were coming to Eudora. He sounded so interested, almost jealous we were coming and he didn't get invited.” I locked my gaze on my new sandals. “I honestly don’t know why he came. He told me the residents of the commune are forbidden to come here, but he must have followed us anyway.”
Homer smugly said, “The smell of selfish desire is all over that one. He’s here because he belongs here—with the cursed.” He pointed at me. “And, your prophet knew it. That’s why he invited him to come see the angel.”
I bellowed, “I didn’t invite him. I didn’t.” Facing Flower, I asked, “Is it true? Did I do something to make him break the rules?”
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