She glanced back as Archie to see how he was doing. Though he often was sullen, he seemed to have gotten over this morning’s failure, and was watching her work with interest. The last step was to trace a line of blood over her lips before saying the final word, and she tried not to gag at the smell, taste, and texture still. Despite how readily she’d taken to this class, she wasn’t without her standards.
Iofiel stepped away from the summoning circle, joining the crowd of her watching classmates, while her professor took notes. She wasn’t positive as to his name, and by all appearances he was a fairly plain lower demon, human-like sans small nubby horns.
A strong smell of sulfur filled the barn, followed by a circling breeze that sent Iofiel’s hair over her eyes and rapidly flipped the pages of her textbook. There was a sharp cracking sound, and the summoning sigil began to glow.
Out of the volcanic darklight emerged a demon with deep black skin and soft, fruit yogurt colored stripes. He’d appeared looking wild, mildly on edge with a brazen glint to his eyes, but he stood straight the moment he saw the class, his hands on his hips.
“Hey,” Iofiel said.
He appeared rather confused the second he realized she was an angel, but then gave a shrug, toning himself down to a more casual human look. He glared at the Rituals professor. “I thought I told you to take my fucking sigil out of that book.”
“Well, the students need someone to practice their summoning on, Gram.”
“None of your students need to be learning how to summon an incubus, thank you very much. And...” Gram gestured towards Iofiel, “Do you mind addressing this?”
“Iofiel is one of my students, and she’s the one who just pulled you out of Hell.”
Iofiel curtseyed upon being mentioned.
“Show her due respect.”
“Fuck it.” Gram turned back towards the center of the summoning circle, which was still faintly glowing. After flipping the professor off, he disappeared.
The magic left the room immediately. “Well, very good then. On the basis of academics alone, Iofiel, you’re one of my best students. Spread a bit more blood than I would’ve— I doubt the third rabbit was needed— but an absolutely excellent attempt regardless.” The professor scratched his jaw. “I do wonder what they think of you up there, though.”
“Kind things, sir.”
Post-Michaelmas had not been kind to the angelic community of the University. Though they had been good on not clueing their infernal fellows in, the angels were clearly tense, prone to huddling and furtive glances. Iofiel had heard plenty of whispers that something must have happened, though the exact guesses ranged from correct (“The end is nigh”) to broadly untrue (“An important angel was killed to establish dominance”, “The uni is out of funding”, “The Lord is back and shutting this place down”). While she hadn’t exactly returned to a friendly embrace from her fellow angels, they’d come to begrudgingly accept her place among them. Strangely, or perhaps not, no one had asked what had happened between her and Archangel Michael— not even Maalik, who had come close with a quick remark of ‘are you ok’ the moment he’d seen her.
Answer: yes. Surprisingly. She’d made better progress in the last two days than she had all semester. The anxiety of the angelic population had eased the demons into a bewildered state of their own, and for the first time she found herself more kin with them than ever. In her Spell-casting course she’d finally seen progress with her professor— Stolas, Prince of Hell/owl demon, had finally taken a moment to acknowledge she wasn’t a demon, and her presence was kind of ridiculous. ‘Bloody ridiculous’, he’d said, Iofiel adding the phrase to her lexicon.
He still said she’d be required to perform the same types of spells as her peers, but would aim to be more lenient. ‘Not too lenient’, he noted, ‘as one shouldn’t be light on their enemies’. This was meant to be a joke.
So while she simply couldn’t get the hang of levitation, she did get to stand in front of the class and stumble through the theory behind healing spells, something which Maalik had of course made sure to drill into her.
“It’s borderline betrayal, but if Adramelek insists I educate you, we might as well try to find some benefit.” Prince Stolas scowled, watching her present (how he spoke was still beyond Iofiel, truly the worst sort of Hell magic out there was the kind that resulted in an owl with five foot legs and the vocal abilities of a grouchy Englishman).
Though her human studies courses were by far the most tedious for— involving an extraordinary amount of work packets beyond the every-other-day lectures— she’d learned a lot. She didn’t really understand why she’d come imprinted with some of the things she had; She knew in very minute detailing about 1930s Brazillian life, but had only recently learned about New Zealand. A whole country!
Returning to Heaven had cleansed her where it had caused stress for others. Everything was, to a degree, suddenly easier for her. Her old poster of Archangel Michael still stirred a sense of unease but also, now more than ever, duty.
It was Saturday, the first of October, about eleven ten AM, and Iofiel entered her drafty dorm room in high spirits. Then confusion.
“Oh. Hey.” This was how Maalik normally greeted her when he was lost in his work, but she’d about memorized his schedule at this point.
“Don’t you have class?”
He took a moment, long enough that Iofiel could guess whatever he’d say next was a lie. “No.”
In theory he could skip a class if he wanted to, but it would be unlike Maalik. Even if he was doing last minute catchup for another class, something felt off. Then again, he’d been off a lot lately since Michaelmas, and it anything was wrong, he probably didn’t want to talk about it right now.
Iofiel plopped down onto the bed, pulling her Rituals book out of her bag. The class had been assigned to choose from a list of basic rituals, and Iofiel had made sure to select the hardest one available. Concubus Summoning.
She’d pulled it off near flawlessly today, but still skimmed the section of the book the class was currently on. She had homework for Human Culture she really ought to be doing— it was her worst class, as writing continued to be her weak point, and the work load was often too much for her to keep up with. Her interest, however, had become strictly focused on the infernal. Human history wasn’t going to pull up anything related to luring the Morningstar out of hiding. She had her doubts they’d ever come close.
No basic demon spell would pull The Father of Lies out of The Dark Pit In Which He Lay (she’d checked the book a couple times now), but surely it was going to be one of these spells that would get him to come a-knockin’. Maybe if she got good enough at black magic he’d just stop by sometime to check her out? And then she’d... well, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to practice some angel spells too, because Iofiel wasn’t quite sure if there was some Archangel summon spell she ought to know about. Kinda like a holy 911.
“Hey Maal, how hard would you say angel sigil-based summoning spells are?”
“Above your skillset,” he said, without looking up.
Iofiel frowned, tapping her pencil against her lip. “I used blood sacrifice to pull an Incubus today.”
“That’s nice, Blue. I’m studying.”
Iofiel rolled back in bed, holding her book up against her knees. The hardest part about laying a trap for the devil was that there couldn’t be any practice. Sure, it was impossible to know what his sigil was— angelic ones were usually just their name in the holy script, but he’d been excommunicated, so to speak. If he had been bound to a new set of symbols, her textbook made sure to skimp around that.
The problem was that she couldn’t exactly, say, give it a whirl in class one day. If it failed, wonderful, a couple of animals had met their end for no good purpose. If it worked, that was it. Morningstar. Hi.
None of her textbooks had anything regarding him— and that was including her human studies books, her old angelic textbooks, and Maalik’s books. Old Scratch hadn’t eve
n earned a mention in the glossary. Though the library was full on books about angels, demons, and the arcane, not even the human ones seemed to contain anything useful. They were the same stories, over and over again: Satan, Lucifer, Iblis— he refused to bow to humanity and was cast out. There were wars, temptations, evils and sin, but little that seemed to define how to find him. Even if Iofiel approved of the texts’ refusal to give her Morningstar’s personal hotline, it would’ve made things a lot easier.
She turned onto her side, trying to evade Maalik’s attention as he took extensive notes on whatever he was reading. It was, one hundred percent, not his usual medical textbook. It was thinner, and though she wasn’t at a good angle to properly peek, seemed light on text.
“Aren’t we done keeping secrets from each other?” She asked.
Maalik looked up, then closed his book. Left to right, so that the spine wasn’t facing her. “We’re friends. And do I really need to point out the irony of you saying this to me?”
“Well, since me not telling you the truth caused you so much anguish, I’d figure you’d leap at the chance to not be shifty,” Iofiel said, “And yeah, the power of friendship. We’re friends.”
“Friends. It’s not like I was planning on hiding it from you.” Maalik shifted in his seat, and then, like he had to think his next move over a couple times, got up. “I’ve... decided not to become a healer. I’m an Archangel. It’s the end of the world. I need to be out on the frontline, and I’ve already taken most of the classes needed to get through military strategy, so I’m—” Out of his backpack, Maalik produced a plastic bag full of mini muffins. “Want one?” he asked, stone faced.
Iofiel stretched out her hand, and Maalik tossed her one. “But don’t you love healing?”
“Do you know me, or do you have a postcard full of character notes on me? Healing’s just... a job. Everything is a job.” He looked an awful lot like he was trying to convince himself of something, but judging by how this conversation was going, most of the argument was occurring in his head. “And I’m a person who does jobs.”
Iofiel was chewing her muffin when she responded, and covered her mouth as to not spray crumbs everywhere. Maalik was an excellent baker. “I know I’ve heard you swoon over Archangel Raphael far too many times for this to be a good decision.” The moment she finished her first muffin, she opened her palm, and Maalik sullenly threw her another one.
“You heard Michael. If I die, there’ll be another me, and that other me will have a great opportunity to die valiantly, ad infinitum until The End. And the last me, the one who ends up in the eternal paradise slash Hellscape we’re all heading towards, will...”
“—Don’t say something stupid.”
“Will probably be more deserving of something good than I am, Iofiel. I am defective. Don’t make some sort of argument that I’m not, or it’s okay— Sunshine only favors the fucked-up humans. We’re servants, and bad servants are never the ones who get freed.”
Brief pause. Iofiel sat up from her side, and moved so that she was sitting on the edge of her bed, level with Maalik’s stare. “I like you.”
“Thanks. But this isn’t about you.”
Iofiel was silent. Unsure of what to say, and what she was feeling. Pity, okay. But a small dab of smug relief too. Michael had said the end was due for what, late February? As long as everything went according to plan the both of them would be living it up in 24/7 paradise before next spring. There was no need to stress, to frown too hard at the sad lines of Maalik’s face. He’d be fine, and if Iofiel did her duty, she’d ensure it.
Well, there was going to be a big battle first, but... maybe Iofiel could call in a favor, down the line? Ask for him to get put near the back, tell Raphael to keep their eyes out?
“Are you okay?” Maalik asked.
“I’m contemplating your mental health. Another muffin?”
“If you can’t tell, I’ve been stressed lately.” He played with his syllables, baring his teeth and raising his eyebrows like he was telling a joke. He then provided what he promised: another sweet morsel of chocolate and fluff. “But this is the right choice.”
“I know you’re going to be fine.”
“Hey.” Maalik smiled. “You hear something? You know something I don’t? Cause I really feel moribund, Blue. But this will be good.” He half laughed, just once, a hacking sound with the faintest traces of failed enunciation. Maybe not a laugh, then.
“I’m going to keep you safe,” Iofiel declared. At this, Maalik turned away, tossing the muffin bag in her direction. Iofiel’s instict was to duck, not catch it, but then she retrieved it from her bed and pulled the bag onto her lap, immediately popping another mini-muffin into her mouth. “I’m like, really good at magic now you know.”
“Just don’t kill someone in my name.”
“I might if it keeps you from pointlessly slaughtering yourself,” Iofiel said boldly, but then recoiled. “No, not really. But maybe if it’s a really bad human, who doesn’t have a soul anymore, and beats his dog? He could die so that you may live.”
Maalik crinkled his nose. “I don’t think I want the blood help of that sort of man.”
“What do you want me to kill then? A puppy? A saint?”
Maalik slammed his book closed with a bang, and then held his head in his hands, looking back at her with cherubic poise.
“...No one,” she said.
He returned to studying with a loud scoff.
“I’m only offering because I’m your friend though. I wouldn’t bless just any angel with black magic!”
“Friends let friends read their battle strategy textbooks in peace.”
“Friends let friends sin on their behalf and... you know, build a few altars to The Dark One if it means everything’s going to be alright. You don’t worship evil, you just pull it around on a leash a bit until it’s learned to do your bidding.”
“Remember when you were going to be a Guardian angel, and really liked pancakes? Those were the good days. The golden past of, like, three weeks ago.”
“Hey— I still like pancakes.” Iofiel was about halfway through Maalik’s stockpile of muffins. “Do you bake pancakes, by the way? Can you make me a few some time?”
“Sometimes, amidst all this blood-based tomfoolery, it’s nice to remember you still have a lot to learn.”
“What are you trying to imply about pancakes? I know they’re made of bread, Maalik.”
“Listen, what do you have tomorrow morning? Magic at eleven, right? If you want to swing by the kitchen with me, I’ll finally... I guess make pancakes? It’s not my ‘forte’ so to speak,” He was still facing the desk, but Iofiel watched him form air quotes, “But jeez, it’s not like you can really mess it up either?”
“Yeah! Neat. The only reason I’m friends with you, you know, is because of my admiration for your bakery talents. Otherwise, what do you really offer?” Iofiel teased. But Maalik fell silent. At first she wasn’t sure if this was because of her, if she’d accidentally cut him to the bone. But he seemed fine enough. Just quiet.
She’d gone back to her book by the time Maalik spoke again: “Please don’t make anything out of this. Out of anything I do. I have to do what’s best for the world, Blue. I can’t be like you, promised some end game. We need beings who can battle, and I’m going to be doing that. You’re right that it’s not what I want, not my choice... but the fact I had any choice to begin with was uncomfortably benign.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yeah. Fine.”
18: Those With Freedom
ON MONDAY, IOFIEL went on a field trip.
Human History and Human Culture were nearly the same class— they took place next to each other, and had plenty of overlap in subject. They were required for every freshman, angel or demon. However, demons had exposure to humanity from when they were growing up in Hell in the form of select television shows and movies. The angels in the class were still working their way through the
concept of satire.
The demon professor from History chaperoned along with the angel from Culture— Iofiel still wasn’t one hundred percent on either of their names, though she knew the jaguar-headed demon had some sort of title like Duke, or Prince, while the angel bore an unusual name— perhaps Zoubir?
She was waiting on the quad in the middle of the Hub, lined up with her classmates. October had turned bitterly cold fast, and she was bundled up in the black and gold coat she’d now about stolen from Maalik. Even with it, she was chilly.
“Why’d they put this school up in Canada?” she whispered to Archie, who was waiting next to her. “We’re both from hot places. It feels like it’s either an attempt to toughen us up or just bad planning.”
“Is Heaven hot? Hell’s actually pretty chilly.” He watched her with his single eye, wearing a puffy yellow jacket with his favorite yellow scarf.
“Chilly? Aren’t you guys supposed to be, you know, fires of hell, burning sinners, et cetera?”
“Well, not in the residential zones.”
“Listen.” The jaguar-head spoke clearly above the near din of chattering students. “We will travel together first. Due to uneven numbers, you may have to sit next to someone you do not fancy. Any squabbling will result in the both of you barred and banned from this trip and any future ones.” Then, with a couple finishing gestures, the professor tugged over a wave of glamor, at once becoming a regular human man. Iofiel could still see the demon in him, that fiery way his eyes caught the light even on a sunless day, but it would trick a human.
His angelic companion swayed over, her long arms cutting the air in front of the former jaguar-head. “Alright, everyone. Please get in line. We won’t allow you on the bus unless you’re suitably disguised. You should have learned by now from your lessons anyway.” The angel still wasn’t one hundred percent human either, her toes skimming the ground like it was ice, her pupils a soft purple.
Good Angel Page 20