Angel of Ruin

by Kim Wilkins

  “In English?”

  “In every language.”

  She was fascinated. “Will you stay and talk with me for a little while?”

  “I’m at your command.”

  She flopped down on the thin bed. “I suppose it is beneath you to clean up William’s pool of piss?” she said, giggling.

  “Are you commanding me to do it?” He seemed unsurprised.

  “No. I expect Ruthie will clean it in the morning. But sit with me on the bed. That is what I command you to do.”

  He did as she asked. She was entranced by the faint glow emanating from his skin. Her fingers itched to touch him, to feel that silky flesh. He sat close, their arms almost touched, and she felt acutely aware of how little she was wearing.

  “So,” she said, fixing him in her gaze. “What kind of things can I command you to do?”

  “Almost anything.”

  “Almost?”

  “I would advise you against some things. If I thought they would bring you into danger … Remember, I’m your guardian angel and my first instinct is to protect you.”

  “And your second instinct?”

  He lifted his shoulders slightly. “To give you pleasure.”

  She smiled slyly. “I know what would give me great pleasure,” she said.

  “Yes?”

  “To lie with the King.”

  He laughed, and she felt herself blush. “What’s so funny?”

  “What kind of pleasure would that bring you?”

  “The pleasures of love,” she said, moving a few inches away from him on the bed.

  “You know nothing of love’s pleasures. You lie with men because you feel it makes them weak and you strong.”

  “That is a kind of pleasure.”

  He dropped his voice. “Do you even know what bodily pleasures are available to you?”

  “Bodily pleasures?” she said, a warm, unwelcome wash of embarrassment rising across her face. “Aren’t angels supposed to recommend against such things?”

  “God created pleasure, all pleasure. God is pleasure. The feeling of being in His presence is unmatched.”

  “But aren’t there laws against fornication, in the Bible?”

  He leaned close to her. “Laws may only bind the being who allows himself to be bound.”

  She watched him for a moment, his clear eyes, his perfect skin. Felt the flesh on the back of her neck prickling. “What kind of angel are you?”

  “Angel of the fifth order,” he said evenly. “Guardian class.”

  “And you live in Heaven?”

  He smiled. “I live in London. Thanks to you and your sisters.”

  She thought of Anne and Deborah at home, about the promise she had begged of them. She had broken that promise herself. “Have my sisters called you?”

  “No.”

  “Do you like them better than me?”

  “No.”

  “Even Deborah? She’s so clever and beautiful.”

  “I am moved by neither mind nor beauty. I am moved by spirit.”

  “Do I have spirit?”

  “You wish to be compared to your sisters?”

  She looked at him coyly. “Perhaps.”

  He reached out a hand and gently touched the bare skin on her throat. “You interest me more than Deborah and Anne.”

  A frisson of triumph shivered over her. “Honestly?”

  “Honestly.” He withdrew his hand. “Your command?”

  “You won’t let me lie with the King?”

  “That request may be beyond my ability at present.”

  “Then I shall have to think upon it some more. I want to be a good commander, a worthy commander.”

  “If you have nothing more to ask …”

  “No. Not now.”

  “Then I shall go.”

  “I know! Get me home to London. Soon.”

  “You shall leave tomorrow morning. Goodnight, Mary.”

  “Goodnight, angel.”

  He shimmered and disappeared. Mary climbed into bed and pulled the covers up almost to her chin. She felt strangely melancholy now he was gone. She pressed her hands into her face and felt that it was still warm. An unusual fluttering feeling nagged at her, low in the stomach. Was this desire? Was this what she made all those rich, powerful men feel for her?

  She had seduced many; it had been her game, her delicate display of might. Yet, not one of them had been an angel. Seducing the King suddenly seemed a half-measure.

  Late on the evening before New Year, Deborah was in Father’s study, sorting the piles of paper and readying herself for the next day’s work. He was growing more and more demanding in his anxiety, as the story took shape and became a real collection of words rather than a grand idea existing only in his imagination. She wrote for him some mornings until her hand ached, and then spent the afternoons reading back to him. Deborah found it endlessly frustrating to watch Anne come and go as she pleased, helping Liza cook biscuits and daydreaming in the garden, when she was constrained to work so hard.

  Deborah tied a ribbon around a pile of notes for book ten, then stood to stretch her legs. She had lit every candle in the candelabra for her reading, but now extinguished all except one. The study was peculiarly empty without Father there. He and Betty had gone to visit friends near Holborn Bar and weren’t expected back until the morning.

  No, it wasn’t emptiness she felt, it was relief. Spending so many hours a day in Father’s company, when nothing she did was quite perfect enough for him, was wearing her down. It was also wearing her down worrying about Lazodeus’s intentions. She longed to talk to her sisters about him, but Mary was still away, and she dared not frighten Anne by mentioning the angel.

  She would have to ask Lazodeus herself, she knew that. But she and her sisters had made a pact not to call him and so she wouldn’t.

  She sharpened the quills and refilled the inkpot. Somewhere in the house she could hear the sounds of Max’s little feet running about, of Liza moving upstairs. Why did she feel so disconsolate and lonely? She had a good home, a vocation, a brilliant father, a good mind, a guardian angel. It was more than most women could ever aspire to. She walked to the window and idly touched the keys on Father’s harpsichord. He still played beautifully, even though he couldn’t see. Monteverdi was his favourite, and he often spoke of having met the composer in Italy many years ago. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine Father as a young man: gifted, spirited, rebellious, with smooth skin and silken hair. She longed for such a young man for herself one day. If she couldn’t find one, then she would be loathe to marry at all.

  A clatter and a commotion outside drew her attention. It sounded like a carriage had arrived, so Mary must be home. Deborah was relieved. She needed to speak to somebody about her concerns.

  “Hello!” Mary called from the doorway. “Where is everybody?”

  “I’m in Father’s study,” Deborah called in response.

  Mary rounded the corner and dropped into Father’s chair, her red skirts frothing. “Lord, I’m so tired. Where’s Father?”

  “He and Betty are out with friends. They won’t be home until tomorrow.”

  “What a lovely surprise I shall be for Betty on her return,” she said, smiling her characteristically wicked smile.

  “I’m glad you’re back, sister,” Deborah said, “for something is troubling me mightily.”

  “What is it?”

  Deborah sat on the little stool in front of Father’s chair, from where she usually took his dictation. “It is about Lazodeus.”

  “What about him?” Mary had adopted a studied informality, which stirred suspicion in Deborah. Had her sister been in contact with the angel?

  Deborah weighed up how to word her concerns. Mary waited. “I’m not sure what his intentions are towards us.”

  “To protect us,” Mary said quickly.

  “Did he not seem to you less than angelic?”

  Mary drew her eyebrows together in irritation. “How would we know?
Who can really know angels until they meet them?”

  Deborah considered. There was some sense in her words.

  “What’s all this about, Deborah?” Mary asked.

  “Lazodeus seemed to me more worldly than an angel should, and Father says that —”

  “Father! You’ve told Father about him?” Mary half rose from her chair, but Deborah put her hands up to placate her.

  “No, of course not. But Father knows much about angels. He says that even fallen angels, those who have been cast out of Heaven with Lucifer, still call themselves angels. That they are vain and proud and interested in the sin of men. I suspect Lazodeus might be from among them.”

  “You have to ruin everything, don’t you? You have to know better than us and ruin everything.”

  “Mary, I —”

  “What’s g-going on?”

  Deborah turned to see Anne standing at the door to Father’s study.

  “Anne, Deborah is saying monstrous things about our angel,” Mary said.

  “About Lazodeus? What things?”

  “Come in and close the door,” Deborah said. “We don’t want Liza to hear us bickering about this.”

  Anne did as Deborah asked. “Liza is upstairs in the withdrawing room. She won’t hear us.”

  “We must be careful. We are meddling with great powers.”

  “Tell Anne what you told me,” Mary said.

  “I merely said that we need to find out what kind of angel Lazodeus is. Even angels who are fallen may call themselves angels.”

  “You mean d-devils?” Anne said, her cold hand reaching out for Deborah’s wrist.

  “We need to know, Mary,” Deborah said. “And we can know simply by asking him.”

  “Very well,” Mary said with a determined nod. “Call him, ask him.”

  “Are you agreed, sister?” Deborah said to Anne.

  Anne nodded. “Yes, you may call him.”

  “Very well. Lazodeus, come to us,” Deborah said, keeping her voice deliberately steady; madness lurked in the expectation that Lazodeus would come. She was having trouble getting used to such an incursion of the supernatural into her rational world.

  He appeared before them in a moment. He wore the same clothes as the first time, looked handsome and healthy. He bowed deeply. “Good evening. I wondered when I might hear from you again.”

  Both Mary and Anne had fallen silent, so Deborah took charge. “Lazodeus,” she said, “I command you to tell us what kind of an angel you are.”

  “Guardian class, fifth order,” he said smoothly.

  She licked her lips, glanced from Mary to Anne. “Lazodeus, are you a fallen angel?”

  An ominous silence reigned, and the longer it extended, the more Deborah’s skin felt cold across her bones. The flame in the last candle sputtered and died, leaving for illumination only the fading embers of the fire and the eerie glow of the angel’s skin.

  “Lazodeus,” she said again, and her voice was strained. “I command you to tell us whether you are one of the army of the fallen. I command you.”

  “You don’t understand,” he said softly. “Please, please …”

  Deborah took a cautious step backwards. “What are you?” she breathed.

  “Please don’t banish me from the sight of you. You can’t understand, because of all you have heard of us, all of the half-truths and the myths, which have nothing to do with what we really are. Nothing.”

  “We shall not b-banish you,” Anne said quickly.

  “Anne! If he is a fallen angel, he has an interest in our sin.”

  “No, no, you misunderstand us. Everybody misunderstands us.” His eyes became sorrowful, and Deborah was surprised at the tug it caused at her core — a primal anguish, like seeing a child hurt. “Please, please, listen to me. I shall tell you the whole truth, unfettered, from my heart. But don’t banish me yet.”

  Mary jumped up. “I propose we listen to Lazodeus. There can be no harm in listening.”

  “Very well, we shall listen,” Deborah said. “But only if he tells the truth.”

  Lazodeus indicated that the girls should sit. Mary took Father’s chair, Deborah lowered herself to the floor, and Anne sat on Deborah’s writing stool. Lazodeus stood by the mantel, waiting for them to settle. The brass pot hanging inside the fireplace gleamed dully, so ordinary among these extraordinary circumstances. Deborah willed her heart to slow.

  “We are all angels,” he said, “and that is what we shall always be. But there was a war in Heaven. Lucifer and his supporters, fully one-third of the angels, were cast down. Lucifer was a good angel, God’s favourite angel, but through a misunderstanding, through jealousy and rivalries between the archangels, he was wrongly accused of conspiring to rule in Heaven.” Lazodeus shook his head. “If God only knew how it hurts us to be so far from his presence, how we could never wish to overthrow him.”

  “Are you a d-d—” Anne couldn’t finish her sentence.

  “No, I am not a devil, and nor do I live in Hell. Our abode is called Pandemonium. It is a great cave, lit by many fires to keep away the dread cold. It is nothing like the representations of Hell which you mortals produce. We spend our time there in eternal contemplation of how we may once again win God’s favour and return to the realm of Heaven. I am an angel and always will be so, and I beg you, I beg you to understand and not to turn me away, for I love the presence of mortals and it is my small consolation in this eternal misery.”

  “Well, I shan’t send you away,” Mary said with a sniff. “I believe you. It makes sense when you think of it. God always seems so mightily bossy.”

  “Have you lost your wits, Mary?” Deborah said. “How can we trust him?”

  Mary and Deborah glared at each other for a moment in silence. Then, breaking the quiet with her tremulous stutter, Anne said, “I t-t-trust him.”

  “As do I,” Mary said quickly. “I trust him.”

  Deborah looked from one sister to the other incredulously. “He is fallen from Heaven.”

  “Deborah, what if he’s telling the truth?” Mary reasoned. “What if innocent angels really are living in that ghastly cave longing to return to Heaven? How can we send him back there?”

  Deborah threw her hands in the air. “No. I shan’t hear of this, not until I have had enough time to consider. Lazodeus, you shall go. We shall ask you to return when we are of one mind about your attendance on us.”

  Lazodeus bowed, and once again his eyes took on a sorrow so keen that Deborah almost called her words back. But that made no sense. She was determined to reason this out, to think about it clearly and thoroughly before she endangered herself and her sisters.

  “No, don’t go!” Mary cried, leaping to her feet.

  “Your sister speaks wisely,” Lazodeus said. “I hope I shall see you again. I shall dream of you always.”

  Deborah had the distinct feeling that the last line had been intended specifically for her, and a tendril of discomfort curled into her stomach. He shimmered and disappeared, leaving the room almost in full darkness.

  Mary turned on her angrily. “You are the youngest; what makes you think you can dictate what we do?”

  “I am clearly the wisest, for your immortal soul is at stake.”

  “My immortal soul! Listen to yourself. He just told us the truth.”

  “Why are you so quick to believe it?”

  Mary fell silent. Anne stood awkwardly, and looked down upon Deborah on the floor. “I have b-been t-taunted, and I have been t-taken for a fool all my life. But I am not going to be t-told what to do by you.”

  Deborah thought she had misheard. By the time she realised that Anne had indeed sided with Mary, she had been abandoned by both her sisters. She sat for a few moments alone by the dying fire, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

  She remembered Anne’s words from Christmas Eve, “Our lives will change forever.” But Deborah hadn’t expected their lives would change so soon. They had known Lazodeus just one week, and alread
y they were divided.

  6

  Can it Be Sin to Know?

  “Ah. I thought I might see you back here again.” Amelia Lewis stood aside and let Deborah in.

  “Thank you, Amelia. I have questions.”

  “I knew the instant I met you that you would be the one to ask the questions. Please, come through to my withdrawing room.”

  Deborah could hear Gisela, the old maidservant, coughing loudly in the kitchen. She almost tripped over a cat as she stepped into the withdrawing room. The smell of the place — faintly citrus, faintly floral — seemed heavenly after the stinking street outside, where filthy melting snow ran rubbish over the cobbles, washing the entire city in waste. She sat in a deeply upholstered chair and leaned back against the velvet cushions. A large ginger cat approached and put his front paws on her lap.

  “Sunday wants you to pick him up,” Amelia said.

  “Sunday?” Deborah said, lifting the cat into her lap.

  Amelia gestured around. “They are all named for a day of the week. As I had seven, it seemed appropriate.” She fixed Deborah in her gaze. “Now, tell me why you are here.”

  “Lazodeus is a devil.”

  Amelia recoiled. “Don’t use such a word.”

  “You told us he was an angel, but he lives in the underworld with Lucifer. He admitted as much.”

  Amelia sighed and shook her head. “The trouble is that most people haven’t the slightest idea about the spirit world, so they believe the superstitious rubbish that they hear in churches and they never experience the full exercise of their power. I had thought you would be different, Deborah.”

  “Me? Why?”

  “Because you are brilliant like your father. You question things, you make connections, you think think think, all the time, thinking.”

  “Really? That is your opinion of me?” Deborah was pleased in spite of herself.

  “It is not an opinion, it is a fact. I see such a light of intellect within you … I feel you may even surpass your father for learning. In the right circumstances.”

  “Surpass Father? ’Tis not possible.” The cat in her lap miaowed loudly, and she realised she had been squeezing him too tightly. She relaxed her grip and he jumped off and padded away.