She wandered back to the front desk. “Do you have anything else?”
“Not really,” the girl said, clutching the stool. “Haven’t found what you’re looking for?”
“I don’t know if any of these are real.”
“Is that the point? Listen, I can’t control you, but summoning the devil never ends in favor of the human. What’s your problem?”
“I need the devil.”
“Of course.”
“It’s hard to explain.”
“Listen, girl, what’s your name? Do you want to like, email me? I’m Lupe, Kawai, and I’m here every week day. If you need help with something big, turn to professional help before you rush to the spirits.” She flicked her hair. “I mean, I don’t know your life... but please be safe.”
“I don’t have email.” Unexpectedly, Iofiel was on the verge of tears. “Do you have a pen and paper I can borrow?”
Lupe handed a small notepad and a pen to her, but followed her to the back of the store, watching as she traced each symbol. “Have you done a lot of summoning?”
Iofiel was focused on her work. “Listen, Lupe, please don’t worry for me. I can’t explain what I’m doing, but I’ll be fine.”
“Can you like, check in on me some time?”
Iofiel looked up, right into Lupe’s dark brown eyes. Tentatively, she loosened her seal on her magic, just enough to see what she could see. And all she saw was a human, a good one. There was a magic in the air here, a few strands that curved in Lupe’s direction.
Iofiel took Lupe’s hands in her own. “I’ll try, if that’d make you happy. But I’m...”
She was done copying her sigils but she didn’t want to head out again. No one had come looking for her, but if she wanted to fly home she’d either have to wait until late night or walk to the edge of the city.
“What’s your name?”
“I don’t have one.” Seeing Lupe’s expression, she continued, “That I can use.”
“That still isn’t much of an answer. Listen, I get some funny people in here, but you’re clearly something else. Are you going to buy something?”
“I don’t have any money.”
Lupe sighed. She shelved the books Iofiel had taken out, and then returned to the shop counter. Iofiel waited by the door as she shuffled through something outside of sight.
“Here.” She handed Iofiel a bar of soap. She sniffed it; it smelt of peppermint. “I don’t have much to say. How long are you in town for? Do you have somewhere to stay? If you’re able, just swing in and I’ll put some tea on for you. Something about you worries me. I don’t say it lightly that I feel... spiritually invested in making sure you keep safe.”
“I’ll be fine,” Iofiel said. She swallowed. “I’ll keep an eye out for you too.”
Iofiel turned to leave.
“Honey.” Lupe gave a short nod. “Don’t summon Satan.”
Iofiel gave her a little wave, soap in hand.
19: The Line
IT WAS ABOUT a week later that Iofiel got the letter.
After the field trip, she’d wandered the city a little bit more before flying home, and in class the next day Duke had given her a knowing look but remained silent. There was no backlash, and she continued on with her life, only now in possession of a bar of soap.
She slept with it under her pillow, and had even brought it into the study group to occasionally smell while working. Santiago had called this ‘extremely bizarre, even for you’, but Damien had smelled it and said it was ‘actually, pretty nice’, so she figured she was even.
The letter was slid under her door at seven thirty pm, after all her classes, and was sealed in a bright red envelope. The front marked it specifically for her in an exquisite script. Sitting on her bed, she watched it arrive, and though she hadn’t heard anything prior, heard footsteps as whoever had delivered it fled.
Maalik was in the dorm too, working at the desk (they only had one between them, and he really did seem to hog it), and he was the one who went over and retrieved it for her. After picking it up and flipping it, looking at the front and back, he opened the door a crack and peered out into the hall. He said nothing. He looked grim, but he always did as of late.
She felt gloomy too, at first: generally, angels didn’t receive mail. She initially suspected it was relevant to her Greater Quest, that perhaps Archangel Michael was on the premises again and waiting for her in the deepest hue of blue he had. Maybe something had gone horribly wrong.
Instead, when she opened it, she felt a little buzz of energy. The letter crackled when she pulled it out, emitting a patch of white smoke that immediately dissipated.
She didn’t recognize the writing at first— runic, but not explicitly Angelic or Infernal. Then she realized it was a spell of some sort, transcribed. Yes, the little spark-show it’d put on when first removed from its envelope had been a bit of a giveaway, but it was far more typical to bind a spell to an object without leaving physical marks.
The symbols were vaguely familiar to her, in the same way that she instinctively knew every variety of African ruminant without being able to name all of them. They glowed a little on the paper, and she exhaled a little, focusing on the source of the magic. Generally, all magic was hidden from sight and instead was felt through a combination of touch and a sort of mental buzz. With a little bit of effort, magic users were able to see trails of it like spider webs. Iofiel had been training some basic methods to better understand magic in class, and took a deep breath, trying to track the source of these spells.
It was a hard skill, and not always a practical one. You didn’t need to see magic to play with it. She gently ran her fingers across the symbols, but couldn’t find anything familiar in them. Then she focused on the glamour, the glow and fizz they’d been enchanted with: ah, here was something. She had a clear sense of the person who’d sent this. Except... it was a vague one.
Strange. The angelic method she was trying now usually gave her a clear feeling of the caster’s self, certainly enough that she’d be able to tell if they were an angel or demon. These were a tangled web of something that burned her fingertips and gave her a headache.
This was someone, sure, but fuzzy. Probably a demon, she thought, but her readings were wonky.
Maalik was watching her. “What is it?”
“Do you know what these symbols mean?”
Maalik rolled his chair by her bed. He read it fast, Iofiel was sure of it, but still took a while to respond. “Not quite my expertise, but yes, they’re anti-demon runes. They’re meant to... paralyze, I think. It wouldn’t work on us.”
“But I think a demon wrote this...?”
“It’s pretty hard to be hurt by your own magic.” Maalik took the letter from her and did about the same that she did: a gentle bout of concentration that seemed to return only confusion. “This is odd. I think it may be a collaboration, the anti-demon runes worked by a demon, and the flair— the little burst of smoke and the crackle— done by an angel. Quite ironic.” He handed it back to her. “But what is more concerning is that this is clearly a threat.”
“I suppose.” Iofiel slumped back, “I mean, I’m not a demon, so...” She snapped her fingers. “Oh! I understand. Still, I already knew others didn’t like me doing my thing. I thought it’d been kinda resolved by now; I mean it’s been nearly two months.”
“I am curious as to who sent it.”
“Someone who doesn’t like me?”
“You do know you could be killed here.” Maalik had a way to come off as threateningly serious, even with his candy-pink eyes. It was something in the stiffness of his neck, the way he looked at anything but Iofiel when he was trying to hide his nerves. “Someone could do that, end you, and nothing would come of it.”
“If they want to kill me, they ought to send an anti-angel charm. What do they want me to do? Apologize more? Drop ou— well, yes, I suppose that.”
“You should be a little more cautious,” Maalik sighed, “Sorr
y, you do know how much I hate this. I don’t want to be... I don’t think I should have a say in your life. But this does freak me the fuck out. It’s a threat, a clear threat—”
“If they want to threaten me, they should do it to my face. Ugh.” Iofiel stood up, clutching her bar of soap in one hand. “I’m just sick of this. From the start everyone has been rude to me, mostly not to my face mind you, and now I’m getting half-minded death threats! You know what? It’s dinner time.”
Iofiel put on her shoes and then slammed the door open.
“Blue...” Maalik paused in the doorway with a strong frown before joining her. “What are you doing?”
“Settling all this nonsense, Maal!”
Down the hall, an angel stopped to stare. Iofiel didn’t care. She was in a fury, marching down to the main building and ignoring everyone around her. She only knew Maalik was following her because occasionally he’d plea feebly for her to stop.
The cafeteria was nearly full, and Iofiel took loud steps into the center of the room. Everything was a little bit weird when it came to angels and demons, and this didn’t garner much attention. So she spread her wings, feeling her feathers brush over surprised onlookers and knocking over at least one plate, and with her immaculate nails she drew a small amount of blood from her arm. Once her fingertips were coated, she muttered and then snapped her fingers.
There was a snap of fire, a definite crack that echoed across the cafeteria. The room quieted down, and she flared her wings.
“I’m done,” Iofiel said, “You already know who I am: Iofiel, Beauty of the Creator, and I am just utterly fucking done with all of you.” She felt bold, she felt good— yelling was not quite right, but then neither was she. Born too nice, too curious, and maybe too impulsive. “I am an angel, and I have a role to play, so the constant belittlement— this silly doubt that somehow I shouldn’t do what I’ve been consistently been doing this entire time— is bloody ridiculous.”
It was still quiet. She looked to the demons, and then the angels. At least the former were reacting— Santiago in fact flashed her a thumbs up. The angels were stiff, not scared or angry or repulsed or anything else she’d imagined they’d be.
She continued. “Someone sent me a letter today. Deadly anti-demon sigils with a little bit of sulfuric glamor. For all the flack I’ve picked up, it’s nice to know I’m inspiring a sense of angel-demon kinship. Look, I have demon friends. I have angel... friend. And I just really think it’s about time everyone collectively got the fuck over that!”
“You should watch your language,” a demon called out. A sort of murmur of consensus came in response from both sides of the cafeteria.
“Well, I’m glad I can bring unity to such a fractured community.” Iofiel’s moment seemed to have passed, and while nothing had happened, that was for the best.
“So does this mean you’re like, part of the The End?” a demon asked.
“The— Er. Ha. No, The End isn’t right now.” She shrugged a bit late. “Bye!” She spun on her heel, began to move, and immediately crashed into Maalik.
“You’re really bad at lying,” he said, getting up and pulling her along with him. Without looking back, they left together.
They were followed back into the halls, however, by Santiago and then by Damien. Archie came too, a little late, and not at all as emboldened as Iofiel was.
“Could you give like a little nod if any of that is true? Is it really the end?” Archie asked. The group hurried through the halls, all following Iofiel.
“Of course it’s not true.” Maalik said, half spitting. He hadn’t looked back at the demons yet.
Iofiel ran outside, only now realizing she was heading for the library. What she would’ve really liked, though, was to jump up and head for the skies. It was a windy, dark night, the sort that’d lead to her getting tangled in tree branches, or flat against a rock face. It wasn’t safe to leave, but angels and demons and reality itself was not offering her much comfort.
Yes, there was catharsis, with a few thin strands remaining of her anxiety and fear. What she did was no longer good or bad but rather happened. She just had to sort out her friendships next.
The library was empty from what she saw, but Iofiel went to the study room and collapsed in a chair. Someone flicked on the lights, and Iofiel reactively groaned. The lights were turned back off, leaving the only light source what little moonlight shone through the window and the soft light of the angels’ halos.
Maalik sat next to her, glancing over and then speaking in Angelic: “Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
Santiago sat down last. The demons in the room were rigid and nervous, Archie seemed to have bit his lip and drawn blood, while Damien bore a sharp frown. “Well,” Santiago said, “I’m sure we’re all wondering why you’ve gathered us here today.”
“You followed me,” Iofiel said.
“True. But what a speech! And, ah, what’s this about the end of days.”
Iofiel picked at her nails. She wasn’t supposed to tell them, and she knew that. She hadn’t really revealed it either. If she was smart, she could say something about nothing, and leave it at that: a guess at the apocalypse, but no spoilers.
Iofiel was not smart, and she was a little bit tired of a lot of the things she was supposed to love. So she sighed, and pulled a line of skin off her cuticles. “It’s due soon.”
This washed over the room like a tidal spout, hard and noxious. Maalik went pale— “Blue!” he hissed.
“We have three years,” Iofiel said, flatly, hoping she sounded believable. There was still a line this way, a little lie to soften a large, forbidden truth. Three years was a while, and it would be easier on all of them if it was true, if they’d complete their schooling and be able to face the final fight matured and ready. “I shouldn’t be telling you this. Archangel Michael announced it at Michaelmas, and...”
She had a hold of the room, and it was like even the wind from the window, even the books on the shelves, were holding their breath for her. She knew she shouldn’t say anything more, but her duty to Archangel Michael seemed flimsy compared to her own emotions. Maybe they would help her, maybe they would hate her. Iofiel just wanted to let them know, no matter how foolish it’d be. “He gave me a special task.”
Maalik watched her, slack-jawed. Damien and Santiago were holding hands on the tabletop, Santiago still smirking, but a little hollow. Archie was pale, his eye wide, his knuckles tapping on top of the wooden table.
She continued, straightening her posture. “We can’t have the end without the death of The Dragon, but he’s been secluded in Hell. I’m to lure him out, summon him or call to him in some way, and set the trap.”
“Oh, you sinister beast!” Santiago exclaimed, seemingly enraptured. Her red eyes had a definite sparkle. “A cutie on the outside and a plotter of our doom on the inside. Boy.”
“You have to promise not to tell.”
Santiago cackled, dancing her fingers across the tabletop. “I’m your friend! But I’m also a demon, from Hell, who works for the devil. No promises.”
“I’ll kill you,” Maalik said. To prove it, he drew something in the air, two hard pressed fingers together in the air near his throat and he had a shining knife. “Blue, you know you can’t trust them. I’ll place a curse on them to keep their mouths shut.”
“Hello, Maalik,” Santiago said, turning her head suddenly to stare him down. Her teeth were barred, her thick grey hair swaying as she did.
“I don’t want any... curses? Since when do you curses?” Iofiel asked. She wasn’t sure if there were any angelic curses, binds, or contracts. Those were all very infernal spells. “I’m sure Morningstar already knows Michael’s planning to kill him. If I force-summon him right, it won’t matter if he knows the plan or not.”
“I’m still going to bind them. Iofiel, your role is huge. One of them is going to slit your throat now that you’ve told them this.”
“I don’t think so, Maal,”
she said, though she wasn’t thrilled with their response either. “Anyone could do it. If I die, I’m sure there’s a few back ups in place.” Actually, now that she thought of it, why was she ‘the chosen one’ for this task? Surely one of the Archangels, above corruption and easily controllable, was capable of learning the same demonic arts and fulfilling this role. “They’re my friends. I thought we could talk this over, like friends.”
Clearly, this wasn’t going to happen. The air in the room was stale, the persons stiff. She pointed at each in turn anyway, “Santiago. Damien. Archie. Maalik. There, now we all know each other.”
There was a brief pause, and then Santiago spoke. “Iofi, you know this does put us in a very uncomfortable position? As much as I like your moxy, my loyalty is to Hell. If I keep your plot to basically win the Final Battle to myself, I’m kinda betraying my own kind. I don’t want to rat you out, but there’s no real alternative.” She looked at Maalik. With one hand, she held Damien’s hand up, running her fingers over the back of Damien’s hand. “And letting him bind me quiet would still be marking myself a loser.”
Iofiel felt like the only warm body in a freezer of corpses. Why didn’t any of them understand her? University was already a truce. Couldn’t this be an extension of that? She shook her head and did her best impression of a brick wall. “Sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“You’re lying.” It was interesting how Santiago could spot that one, but not that the end wasn’t actually three years from now. Maybe because this one was more personal. Her words hung in the air. There was a small glass window on one wall, and a low cicada song was drifting in, soft enough that it was sometimes drowned out by the breeze.
“I need... people on my side, okay? I just can’t keep being quiet about this, weighed down...” That felt like a good answer to Iofiel, but in truth it was more complicated than that. The decision to tell them was every bad impulse in her body, all her pent up lonliness. She liked having friends, she wanted to have friends, and wasn’t secret-sharing what friends were for? “Maybe if you helped I could let you live if Heaven wins. And if Heaven loses, you could spare me.”
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