Good Angel

by A. M. Blaushild

  “Ooo, Wolfcrest, huh? I always suspected you silly dirty rich kids were up to something evil. Do you have many demons up there?”

  “What?”

  Lupe laughed. “I’m asking how your ritual went. Did you get the right sigil?”

  “Haven’t tried it yet,” Iofiel said, “Don’t know. Hopefully.”

  Lupe rolled her eyes disapprovingly. “What about you, Adam? You in on this silly escapade?”

  “No. I don’t really talk about that sort of something,” Archie said. It was true Iofiel didn’t quite know the constraints of the bind Maalik had set up, so for him staying silent was a smart move.

  “I keep telling your friend here, ‘don’t mess around with demons!’. Y’know? But she seems kinda hellbent on this Satan thing, which no offense, seems to be the set up to a horror film. I’m a pretty fast and loose Wicca who maybe isn’t pro-demons-exist, but I still get worried.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I can tell you weren’t kidding when you said you don’t really talk about this.”

  Iofiel heard another church bell, but it definitely hadn’t been an hour from the last. “We’re going to browse for a bit,” she said.

  “If you need any help, you know where to find me,” Lupe said, again leaning back with her book. “And if you want any tea, send me a holler.”

  Iofiel gently pulled Archie to the back of the store, where the large comfy chairs were, by the dividers for ‘angels’ and ‘demons’. Iofiel fell into one of the armchairs, and then got back up and sat on the floor. Archie stayed in his chair.

  “We should head back,” Iofiel said.

  “But clearly, you’re not doing that.”

  “I’m not.” She bit her lip. “Archie, we’re...”

  “What is this about?” he asked. There was sadness there, there was always a sadness about him, and Iofiel felt her gut crumble. She couldn’t pull of her scheme, some silly plan to grift him. She had learned to lie, but it was ruining her.

  “We’re both outsiders,” she said. It was nearly what she’d been planning to say before. “And I don’t like you, but I love you. In that friendship-y way, and, um—”

  “You feel pity for me,” Archie said, like it was the simplest thought in the world.

  “I feel pity for you, but I feel pity for everyone who isn’t living how they deserve to be treated. You’re good. You’re weak, and it’s saved you. You’re small and fragile, and I love you for it.”

  “Do you have to point out how weak I am constantly?” Even without his horns and wings and the watery red of his eye, Archie would always be himself. Iofiel couldn’t imagine him any different, couldn’t imagine seeing him ever being unrecognizable to her.

  “I’m patronizing you—”

  “Very astute,” Archie said dryly. He shifted in the too-big armchair, pulling his legs up so that he looked even smaller. “I don’t appreciate it. I know I’m not as strong as you or the other demons. I know I’m short and brittle, but that’s for me to know, not for you to point out.”

  “Sorry, I know,” Iofiel said, looking at her nails and for a moment thinking about if she should cut her nails. “But sometimes I forget you’re a, ah, different from me. I’ve forgotten you’re any different from me, because you’re someone I’ve just... Archie, I like you.”

  “Yeah.” Pause. “Thanks.”

  “I had an amazing time today. And I don’t think you deserve do anything else but eat good food and listen to the music on the streets.”

  Archie sat up a little straighter. There was a small, thin window on the wall across from them, and it painted a golden box on the bookshelf above his head. “I want to be important.”

  “And I don’t think being important, surviving, has to be... well, I don’t know if that’s what you’re going to get. No matter what happens to anyone.” She shook her head, “It’s not pity. It’s concern. Why did you have to go to Uni, challenge conventions, nearly die? Why were you made, only to serve a single purpose? I know your father—”

  “My father,” Archie said flatly.

  “Your father, my estranged older brother.”

  Archie turned his head so she couldn’t see his face. Iofiel was digging her fingers into carpet.

  “Consider him. Why’d he do this to you? You deserve free will, don’t you?”

  “What about you?” Archie bobbed his head as he spoke, though he was still staring into the corner, his angry whisper was accentuated by the harsh jerks of his head. “Like you’re really one to speak about duty and willpower. Like you get to talk to me about choices.”

  “I’m one construct led by another. You should have rights I’ve never been allowed to collect on. This is about free will, isn’t it?” Iofiel swallowed. “If Morningstar rebelled for it, why don’t you have it?”

  “I can’t do anything, okay? I can’t help you,” he rolled over, his brow furrowed, staring her down with a small tear welling under his eye “and I can’t leave, and I can’t— I don’t know what you’re trying to get from me.”

  “Archie, you’re going to hate me for saying this.” And Iofiel hated herself for saying it. “But God loves those who suffer without reason most. He protects those who aren’t protected. And She loves anything that has lived. Soul or not.”

  “Then why Hell? Then why...” Though they were speaking mostly in whisper, the pretense of hiding what they were was gone, “Why do the damned go where they go? Iofiel—”

  She swallowed. “Do you torture the damned? What do they look like?”

  “Pale ghosts. Chalk pastels worn by rain. Dirty sheets without form or emotion.”

  “Lost in sleep. Same as in Heaven. I don’t know if He tortures the evil, but... I think He loves everything. Hell itself. Your father, still. You too.”

  “Then why are things the way they are? Why...”

  “She doesn’t control,” Iofiel said, thinking of Heaven. “She dreams.”

  They were both very still. Speaking of such things, defiling her tongue, even out of love, stilled even her bones. The name of her Creator— not a sin, but such a great thing she was never to speak of. Even ‘God’, a term not a name, was too vast for a being like her.

  But humans could use it.

  “What do you want me to do?” Archie asked, shaking his head.

  “Ease the world into ending. I don’t think She will let it be too bad for any of us.”

  “Kill my... father.”

  “When an angel dies, we are reborn anew. Do you think he will be any different?”

  “I don’t want to… I don’t know. I don’t know about this,” Archie shook his head, pulling himself further into a ball.

  “He won’t know it’ll be you. No one will unless you want them to,” Iofiel insisted. She wished she could believe what she was telling him to be true, but this was what she was trying to be now: dutious. Proper.

  Archie was naïve. That was it, wasn’t it? He was small and weak and easy to trick, desperate for a world that’d show him a little more love, and Iofiel knew all this, and now Iofiel was going to use this against him to get what she wanted.

  It didn’t matter what she thought about any of this, it only mattered what she did. Still, she hoped some of it was true, because Iofiel would’ve liked to see Archie again, after the world had ended.

  Archie was so stiff. “You don’t know what he’s like.”

  “He’s the devil, Archie. Just. Nod if you’ll do this for me, please. For me, and for humanity.” Iofiel took Archie’s hand, palm up, and began to trace her best guess of Morningstar’s sigil. He didn’t move for a minute, but very faintly his eye flicked up to meet hers, and moved his head an inch. Then he took her hand in his and drew almost entirely the same shape, but with a few very slight alterations.

  “How did you know I would know?” he said.

  “I’m not an idiot, Archie,” Iofiel said softly. She was as uncomfortable as him at what had just transpired, even if it was exactly what she had needed to do. Another
friend isolated. For the best, right?

  And was she wrong? Had she been lying? Not really, but it had felt like it.

  “I should go,” he said, getting up a little too quick, turning his head a little too fast. He nearly stumbled, but didn’t, catching himself on the bookshelf.

  “How are you going to get back?”

  He shrugged, sharply, if a shrug could be sharp.

  21: Book On Birds

  IOFIEL STAYED IN the shop, crawling back into an armchair, and eventually sipping a cup of tea. Customers came and went, and she stayed there. She took a few books to leaf through, though she still didn’t enjoy reading. On her armrest was her approximation of the Morningstar sigil drawn on a napkin. She was practicing her breathing, Lupe paying her little mind after three attempts to chat. Archie was gone, and had not come back. Iofiel was sitting here, with her hot leaf water, and trying to pretend to be human.

  Partway through a book about summoning the dead, Iofiel noticed a man had arrived and not left. While he may have had a right to linger, as she was now, Iofiel was fairly unsettled by him. He had an energy about him like an angel, a sort of restless blur that told her more about him than a human would know.

  Except she couldn’t quite figure if this was true, or if she was paranoid. After all, soon she would have to seek out Archangel Michael, and tell him what she knew. There was still time for something to go wrong.

  He was an adult, ish, with cropped red hair and eyebrows that had been shaved into three segments. He wasn’t even paying attention to her, just leafing through a book on a beat up sofa across the reading area, one finger rubbing against his golden earring.

  “I like your eyebrows,” Iofiel said, hoping that if he spoke she’d feel more comfortable about his existence. “Neat.” She ran a finger against her own eyebrow for emphasis.

  He closed his book and stared at her with a strange look. “Fucking thank you. No one likes them. But they’re cool, right?”

  “Yeah. Real cool.”

  Okay. Not an angel or a demon. Too regularly voiced for that.

  It was probably time Iofiel went back to the Uni, but she wasn’t up for it. At least Lupe was nice to her, warm and unassuming, and not knowing she was going to change the world in a few months.

  “Listen, what’d you think of all that?” the man said, gesturing to the book she was reading. He had a southern United States accent of some sort, Iofiel pinged it as maybe Georgian. “Ghosts.”

  “Well, I am in an occult store, so you might want to assume I believe.”

  “In ghosts, though?”

  “Well, what do you believe in?” She looked at what he was holding. “Angels? How is that more plausible?”

  He grinned. “I’m happier thinking there’s something great Greater out there rather than a endless afterlife of wandering. What’s being a ghost really about, anyway? Having a bad life and being punished for it?”

  “Angels are just silly,” Iofiel said. She thought ghosts were silly too, as to her knowledge they didn’t exist. Well, actually— Yeah, better not to think too much about it. Souls had a set destination. (Alright: in theory a soul could leave an imprint on an area or object due to some near-magical level of emotion, stress, general magic... and a soul looks a lot like a human.)

  (Ghosts weren’t real.)

  The stranger smiled. “Angels are just creatures with an executive function.” He ticked his tongue. “I like that. Good worldbuilding. Knowing what to do, having a purpose throughout. Like blood through the vein, or evaporation.”

  “Except ‘good’ is dumb as a concept. Nothing gets equally balanced. Something good can be good, but have bad side effects, and is always going to throw something else off whack. Like lottery winners who go mad, or an ultimately pointless donation towards someone who’s going to be homeless either ways. There’s no Lord up there dictating us.”

  “‘Lord’?” The man put his head up in his hands, “Are you religious, dear? Believe in ghosts and Gods but not good or angels?”

  Lupe emerged from the bookshelves, tea in hand. “Is he harassing you?” She asked Iofiel playfully, “Let me know and I’ll get him to bugger off.”

  “Do you know this man?”

  “If you wanted to know me, you could have asked,” the man in question said.

  “This is, I believe, Riz. A filthy heathen who’s begun to hang here a little too much since he got to town. I promise there are actual witches and pagans who come to my shop, it’s just that I, you, and poor old Riz here are pathetic examples as such. No offense, Eve.”

  “You said your name was Eve?” Riz said, and Iofiel’s unwell sense was again heightened. At the very least, this man knew that magic was real. Hopefully being a lowly witch was all that was making her skin jump.

  “Do you know her?” Lupe asked, leaning against a bookshelf.

  “Not particularly. But does she look like a ‘Eve’ to you?”

  “Last time she came in her hair was brown, and that would’ve been a normal name. I think blue hair is a lot more suited to a Sage or Rosemary or...”

  “Juniper?” Riz suggested.

  “Something alternative,” Lupe shrugged, “I’m not here to judge names. I do love your hair, though— did I mention that? Where’d you get it done?”

  “I have a friend who’s a beautician,” Iofiel said.

  “Oh, lucky you then. I think I spend too much of my paycheck on my hair,” she flipped her fire-like hair for emphasis, “Should just buy a wig. Riz... I bet he just dyes it in the blood of his enemies or whatever.”

  “Come on now, dear,” Iofiel was so used to angels and demons that she hadn’t realized how rare it was for humans to have unnatural hair colors. Riz was an adult, older than Lupe, which made his deep red hair even stranger. “You know I do it myself. Going to a salon is an utter waste of time.”

  “You once told me you prayed to the fae for your hair color. Like that makes any sense.”

  “I imagine if faeries were real, they’d bother to listen to reasonable prayers such as that.”

  “You’ve lost your mind, Riz. And those eyebrows are only one part of it.” Lupe rolled her eyes. “Again, Eve, tell me if you need something.” She left.

  “You’re a witch— what do you believe in, then?” Iofiel asked.

  “What makes you assume I’m a witch?”

  “We’re in an occult shop arguing about angels and ghosts. Surely you can’t be that much of an atheist.”

  “I know a good deal about the occult. To call me a witch would be a reach.” He pointed, slowly, to the sigil still on Iofiel’s armrest. “I don’t buy you not believing in angels,” he said. He stared at her for a moment, and then it sunk in a little late that he’d spoken in Angelic.

  “A demon,” was the first words she could sputter out, though it wasn’t quite a proper defense. Who was this? No angel she’d ever met had given out such a confused reading, including Adramelek. Was he someone a higher, a Principality or Dominion compressed into human form? If so, why was he visiting this human store?

  “A fallen angel, dear,” he said. Of course, there was no word for ‘Dear’ in Angelic. “I think I’d know my own name when I saw it.”

  Oh gosh darning damn it.

  He smiled a devilish smile, sure, clearly amused at how quickly every bone in Iofiel’s body seized up, but oddly her first thought was ‘really’? He was not much of a devil, not much of a man. Decisively plain in every way, he didn’t seem like some grant serpent, great dragon, or particularly seductive tempter. His shirt was plain, clearly ironed. He had pallid brown skin, and tired eyes. He had pores.

  Archangel Michael had many of these things, too: clothes, skin, hair. But the devil— again, The Devil— was simply average. Not well-built, or tall, or evil. Iofiel had been trying not to spend too long imagining the Morningstar, but in her mind he was some scaly, horned demon with burnt black wings, or else some exceedingly attractive man that even she would’ve somehow found appealing.

 
; “What are you doing here?” Iofiel asked. It didn’t seem like a good question. But then, what did you ask the devil?

  “What are you doing here?” Morningstar said in turn. “You can relax, hon. I would never hurt you. Would you?”

  “Would I? It’s not my place.” Nor did she think she had the power to hurt him. Even if she wanted to.

  “See? Nothing to fear, dear.”

  “You never leave Hell.” Iofiel shook her head. She needed to leave immediately. The longer she spent in his company, the worse the consequences. She didn’t even know what the consequences could be, but— come on. The devil.

  “I was curious as to who this angel Archie was spending so much time with was. And when I happened to catch you come in here, I thought it was worth it to linger. There’re enough tolerated demons in the area that my occasional step up into this city doesn’t raise alarm. I may need to leave soon, however.” He looked at his wrist, which instead of a clock had a black mark. Iofiel had dismissed it as a tattoo at first, but clearly it was some advanced rune.

  Iofiel was tense. She didn’t know what to say or do, honestly, and wasn’t even sure if this was something she should mention to Archangel Michael. Morningstar was an enigma even to demons.

  “Iofiel,” he said, standing, “Why do you have my name? Formatted like that, I do believe you plan to use it as a summoning ritual. If you wished to speak to me, there are easier ways, far easier. So few angels these days seek me out...”

  Though he was standing, he made no effort to leave, and in fact towered over Iofiel. He was short for an angel, maybe her height, but standing he still seemed enormous, his dark eyes shining like blood amethysts. “Maybe I was just curious,” Iofiel said, choosing to not meet his gaze.

  “Curiosity kills angels nowadays, hon. I’m all for free will, but make sure you’re really free. I won’t hurt you, but equilibrium might.” He cocked his head. “I’ve been watching the sky. Talk to me if you’d rather keep it right.”

  Morningstar picked up the napkin with his sigil on it, smiled, and handed it her. Once she took it, he picked up his teacup and walked to the front of the shop. Exchanged pleasantries with Lupe. Left with the jingling of bells.