Good Angel

by A. M. Blaushild

  The soccer pitch was a couple turns down the road, a wide green field with a couple benches on the side for viewing, and a good handful of attendees. The match seemed to already be on, and Maalik and Iofiel climbed up the bleachers to sit near the top left. Half the stands were filled with humans wearing shades of green and white, presumably to match their team’s colors. There were several demons around where they sat, well disguised, but none had bothered to color match the dark blue of their team.

  Speaking of, the Uni seemed to be called ‘Wolfcrest University’ among the humans, a name which Iofiel thought was pretty tacky.

  The game was simple, it turned out. Kick a ball from one side to the other. Salem was actually good at it, often wrestling control of the ball from the other team. He played defensively, and it took about half an hour before either team scored, but at least Iofiel had a firm understanding of the rules by then.

  Maalik hadn’t really spoken to her yet. Sometimes she said ‘oh!’ or ‘look at that ball go!’, and he would go ‘wow’ or ‘sure’. But it wasn’t a full conversation, and she was beginning to wonder when this heart-to-heart of theirs was scheduled.

  Half time was the answer, it seemed. Someone blew a whistle, a couple of humans around them stood up to stretch their legs, and Maalik shot her a look.

  “We didn’t really need to wait until they stopped playing for this, you know. If anything we have more of a chance to be overheard.” Iofiel was whispering, and rolled her eyes once for show. “What’s up?”

  “What’s up?” Maalik repeated, stressing the question. He shifted his weight between his feet.

  “What— Okay, look, all I really want to talk to you about is that... Things have been weird between us, I’ve been avoiding you, you’re not really speaking to me, and I just want us to be friends again.”

  “Friends?” Maalik mumbled, his gaze darting from her eyes to somewhere vaguely behind her. “Sorry, yeah. What I did, what we did, is entirely inappropriate. We need to keep things platonic.”

  “Exactly! Platonic friendship, being pals. It was just a kiss.”

  “I do have a bit of a crush on you, though?” Maalik made a face that might’ve been sheepish, but he seemed determined not to smile, and instead he looked pained.

  “I don’t! I have no interest in you beyond you teaching me magic and being my friend.”

  “...Yeah. But it does make being your roommate weird.”

  “Well, uh...” Hardheaded emotions were difficult to muster, and though Iofiel thought she understood the idea of anger, of Hey I Really Don’t Like This, Let Me Tell Ya Why, she was finding it hard to stay focused. Maalik didn’t seem intimidated by her, for one, perhaps a little taken aback by her attempt at a serious tone. Or perhaps taken aback in general by the subject matter. “Can we just agree to talk more though? I don’t like how rude you’ve been. I know you’re a grump, but there’s a line between being concerned for me and being a jerk. I— hey.” Iofiel pointed in front of them, where a demon was looking at her phone while throwing on her jacket. Shortly, she left. “Where’s everyone going?”

  “It’s probably nothing.” Most of the demons were gone, actually, though the human side hadn’t changed. It was still halftime, and Iofiel twisted around in her seat to watch a group of demons behind the bleachers, talking about something and glancing at their phones. Something about it filled her with dread.

  “I think...” Iofiel said, “Something might have happened?”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Maalik closed his eyes, “They’re just demons.”

  “Right, well... As I was saying, I really wish you’d communicate with me clearer. And I haven’t been great at it either, but...” She trailed off.

  The game begun again, and Iofiel tried to keep her attention on it, watching the ball intensely, cheering loudly when the Uni team scored a goal. However, she kept thinking about the demons, and the deep sense of fear she’d felt watching them leave. It could’ve been anything, most likely was nothing that would concern an angel... but there was something seriously unsettling about it all the same.

  This Thursday— two days from now— was Michaelmas, the Feast of the Archangels— the only holiday practiced both by angels and humanity. Every angel, barring emergency, gathered in Heaven for the day. Demons went on as they did, meanwhile, unexpectedly not any more active despite the lack of angels. Demons at the Uni would have the full day off.

  Of course, Iofiel had never been to a Michaelmas before, and didn’t quite know what to expect. She did know it wasn’t a big deal, more of a group meeting where a few speeches were made. It wasn’t too important or festive a holiday, but the idea of something happening close to it felt like a bad omen.

  The second half of the match seemed to go by faster than the first, Iofiel’s anxiety evidently helping spur her mind into a hyper state of inattention. At one point Maalik put his hand on her knee, and his words, previously ignored, came rushing back— that he had a crush on her, holy heck— and though he had likely meant it to be comforting, it only prompted her to shake.

  She got up the moment she spotted a human doing the same, and rushed down to the field, tripping at one point before catching herself on a metal fence near the bleachers. She ran straight to Salem.

  “Great game!” she said, her enthusiasm a bit hollow.

  He blinked. “Do I know you?”

  Iofiel ignored him. “Do you have a phone? Can you check the news?”

  “The news...? Who are you?”

  “We met last night? No, we actually met like two weeks ago... Uh, I go to your school, and you... can I just see your phone?”

  “It’s in my bag.” Salem seemed extremely confused, but otherwise utterly healthy, lacking any indicators that he’d been completely wasted the night before. He began walking to the sidelines, and Iofiel followed him, watching as he reluctantly fished out a cellphone from his backpack.

  He handed it to her, the screen displaying text from a website that promised to be news oriented. After getting accustomed to the touch screen controls, she thoroughly combed the website, but was unable to find anything that might’ve caused the demons to leave. Maybe Maalik had been right, and it had been nothing she’d understand.

  “Are you... in my—” Salem was still staring at her inquisitively.

  “I’m an angel, okay.” Iofiel sighed. “The one you have class with everyday?”

  “Oh! Hi...? What are you doing here?” A couple of his teammates had glanced her way when she said this, one waved and the other sneered at both her and the waver. “Your friend gave me this scar.” He still seemed more confused than anything else, but was clearly trying to feel a bit angrier. Still, his voice was soft, and he pointed slow and gentle towards the white X on his skin.

  “Do you remember last night?”

  He raised his eyebrows, “Should I?”

  “Yeah!” When one of his teammates— the whole team seemed to be listening to them— flashed a lazy, suggestive grin her way, she caught herself, “It wasn’t anything weird. We kinda just bonded. You asked me to come here?”

  “I did?”

  “To be fair, you were very drunk. I had to fly you home?”

  “What?”

  “I— oh, this is useless! Nice game, pal. I need to go... go elsewhere. See you.” She turned to walk away, and then stopped, “I take that back, since you seem set to hate me, and I need to learn to be meaner. Screw you! Sorry.” Iofiel ran away, back towards where Maalik was standing. “See you.”

  She stopped and caught her breath by Maalik’s feet, feeling ready to cry. “Why am I such a mess today?”

  Maalik watched her silently for a few seconds. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I’ve told you before to ignore demons.” He pulled her to her feet. “Feel better?”

  “Sure.” She leaned against him, ignoring everything else about the moment beyond the support his shoulder gave her. Across the field, Salem kept glancing back at her.

  “Who was that demo
n?” Maalik was obviously trying not to let his disapproval show.

  “Oh, he’s—” He was, in fact, running their way, his phone in hand and his backpack slung over one shoulder, bouncing with every bound.

  “Angel girl!” Salem shouted when he got near.

  “Iofiel,” Maalik sneered at him, an arm protectively going around Iofiel’s shoulder. She stepped forward out of it.

  “You said you were looking for some kinda news? Well, I just got this text, and, uh...”

  He handed his phone to her, and she read the screen: “Rivers run red throughout the Mediterranean and Middle East due to unknown cause,” she said aloud, “Thought to be algae.”

  “It’s probably just algae then,” Maalik said, peering over her shoulder.

  Salem took his phone back, “But it’s a kind we haven’t seen before, ever. And look at the picture!” He scrolled through the text and stopped on a photograph of a river, blood red at a sunset, an equally red full moon present in the sky.

  “Okay, this looks bad,” Maalik said. Though he was still speaking stiff to Salem, there was a sudden squeeze in his voice, a way that his voice caught on the syllables that made Iofiel think he thought it was bad, not just looked it. “But isn’t the whole blood river one of the bowl judgements? If we’re going down the Revelation route, shouldn’t we be looking for the horsemen first?”

  “They’ve already come,” Salem said, looking down and scrolling up a message on his phone. “At least, y’know, that’s what others are saying. War’s already all over the human world, atheism is all up, plus people are always dying and starvin’ everywhere. And I’m sure a person or two of every faith been martyred within the last few years.”

  “It may just be happening out of order. Humans have never been perfect in recording things.”

  “Huh? Shouldn’t you know? You guys are the ones who...” Salem glanced around, only now noticing his team was gone. Only a few human stragglers were left on the field. “Oh, fuck. I think we’re all going to die, is all. And first sign or eighth, I’d bet something’s begun.”

  He ran off the field.

  Iofiel looked up to Maalik, who seemed pensive, his twitching by his side, the in-out movements of his fingers to his palm the only sign of his surely rioting nerves. She, personally, felt ready to throw up.

  “It is about time,” he remarked. Iofiel didn’t know what that meant, if he was talking about the world’s end or her own, late, revelation that this somehow might be because of her.

  The sun was starting to set, and the moon, half hidden by the clouds, was a bright yellow. She watched the sky for a while, Maalik beside her seeming to understand why, until she saw a streak of light, a shooting star.

  And then she flew home.

  14: Merely Merely

  THE NEXT MORNING, it rained, and Iofiel stayed in bed listening to it. Her first class wasn’t until two, and Maalik had been called out early for some special session of Advanced Rituals that depended on rain like this. So she sat in her dorm, her head on the carpet, sucking on a mint.

  How quickly was the apocalypse supposed to roll out? If the first sign— or ninth— comes one day, how long before humanity is officially off? How long before she’d be called back to Heaven and tossed a blade, her purpose and ambitions forgotten under the blare of trumpets...

  Maalik was right to assure her, several times last night, that humans were often wrong about things. The true nature of the end was something hidden from all but The First One, and there’d never been proof that plans didn’t change. Maybe the judgements would come later, or maybe the hail would never fall.

  She didn’t feel good, though.

  There was a knock on the door around eleven. It took Iofiel a minute to remember she was supposed to be down in the library for another study session, despite not having anything to really study.

  Santiago opened the door after another knock.

  “Hey, kid.”

  Iofiel rolled over as to see her. She was soaking wet, in a hoodie and shorts, her furry legs dripping water onto the carpet.

  “Your schoolmates nearly killed me for asking where you live, you know. I’d think they’d be more willing to sell you out.”

  “I’m tired today,” Iofiel said.

  “Oh, everyone’s downright lethargic this morning. It’s a dreary day on the brink of the end. Come get up and let Damien teach you how to write poetry.”

  She got up. “What?”

  “Damien’s been pissed at you for two days now because you said something about how art is meaningless? She’s a poet slash artist type and just absolutely boiling at the moment. So you need to apologize for that.”

  “I forgot I said that.” Iofiel was actually having a hard time remembering what she’d said, and when. Presumably during the party, or the walk down to it. She got up off the floor and put one of Maalik’s coats on, a long black one with golden buttons and edging.

  “Yeah, well, she’s down in the library with two lined notebooks and a set of sharp pencils,” Santiago waved her hands as she walked, talking loud. Two angels, talking in front of a nearby door, made no effort to hide their glares. “Have you made up with Maal then?”

  It wasn’t hard to guess what she meant. “Er... I suppose? I was acting kind of weird yesterday. I really wanted to yell at him, but then I got really paranoid about about the apocalypse, and... I think he’s making more of an effort again, at least. He’s so hard to read.”

  “He’s not worth your time.” Santiago shrugged, “But good for you!”

  “I still don’t understand what you have against him.”

  “You don’t need to know, really.”

  “It’d be nice. It’s not like he ever talks about you…”

  At this, Santiago looked off in the far distance that was the damp, dark Uni halls. Iofiel thought she looked like she was reminsing about something. “What an asshat.”

  The school really did seem lethargic that morning, certainly emptier than expected. Those in the halls were grouped together and wary of every movement, watching Santaigo and Iofiel pass with heavy lidded eyes. The rainfall overpowered every noise, hushing whispers. The only distinctive sound was the far-off squeaks of rubber boots on linoleum, perhaps echoing from down in the cafeteria.

  Amariah was out of her office, perched near the inner yard exit in one of the wide stained-glass windows. Iofiel wouldn’t have noticed if not for a few angels gathered below her, watching. Though Santiago seemed to see her too, she ducked her gaze away. Iofiel bowed.

  Damien was indeed waiting for them in the library with two notebooks on the table. She was sitting on the table, too, arms crossed, chewing gum with angry smacks.

  Archie had his head in his arms and his arms on the table. He looked up when he heard them enter, staring directly at Iofiel for a moment, then put his head back down.

  “So! Here you are.” Damien jumped off the table, swallowed her gum in one chew, and sat down. “Join me.”

  “When I said art was meaningless the other night, I kinda just meant for me, personally, as a being with no need for it. I don’t hate art.”

  “You don’t respect it.” Though she was sitting down, Damien put her hands on her hips.

  “I do! Humans do art all the time, and angels are there on the sidelines, nodding. Art is a big part of human culture and social communication.”

  “You don’t understand it.” As she finished speaking, thunder echoed from somewhere far off. It set an appropriate mood for the scowl on Damien’s face.

  “Maybe.” Damien pushed a notebook in front of her, and then slid a set of pencils forward. “I don’t know how to write a poem.” In an effort to appeal for a little bit of help, Iofiel looked around the room: Archie was still keeping his head down, and Santiago merely smirked.

  Damien sharpened her pencil with rage, not stopping until it was dagger-point sharp. “It’s a collection of fancy words in a order that calls for a lot of line breaks. But it’s more meaningful that way, cau
se, the space of it really creates... meaning.”

  “I don’t even know that many words.” Well, she technically knew just about every word ever, in almost every language: but that was all buried knowledge, only coming to mind when she needed it. When she tried to think of words, all she could think of was what was in front of her. Demon, books, library, pencil… Iofiel drew a couple stars in her notebook, watching as Damien started scribbling something down. “What should it be about?”

  “Maybe you should actually teach her how to write one,” Santiago suggested, looking utterly bemused. A sharp tooth poked against her lips.

  “Ugh! We don’t have enough time to do that. It’s better she try, fail, and let me correct that.” Damien tossed her hair back, prompting a dry laugh from Santiago. “Just write about what’s on your mind.”

  “Not going to be very east then, is it?” Santiago said. Iofiel tried to focus. “You could at least teach her about alliteration.”

  “I know what that is already,” Iofiel mumbled, mildly surprised she actually did. Of all things.

  Santiago snickered. “Wow, Your Old Pal made sure you were equipped with that literary device before you hatched, but couldn’t be bothered to go the whole yard and give you the ability to appreciate art. Oof.”

  Damien tapped her pencil on the table. “Babe, I’m trying to concentrate.”

  “Yeah, and Archie’s crying or something. Tough break. I want to hear the end result.” Santiago had been standing, leaning against the book shelf with her long tail flicking back and forth, but she moved forward, draping her hands over Damien’s shoulders and pulling herself close.