Triune

by Willow Polson

  Reverend Charles found himself slumping to the floor along with his wife, unable to do anything else but stare. Mike was getting a little bit used to the effect, but he still found himself blushing a little in embarrassment when people looked at him like that. The preacher read it as anger and started to quiver, sliding backwards along the hardwood floor until his back was, literally, to the wall.

  “My brother’s studio was his life,” Mike said quietly yet firmly. “What you did... he may never fully recover from that. All that work, the art that his mentor had created for us... gone.”

  “But... we... you...” the man stammered, still not entirely believing his eyes. “The scriptures say...”

  “I don’t care what your book says,” Mike snapped, taking a few steps toward them, his voice rising. “I’m telling you that you just devastated my brother’s life, and your hate, or whatever you preach to your people, is going to stop.”

  “The Bible is God’s word!” he blurted out, unable to stop himself.

  “Your version of it is twisted and evil!” Mike shouted, only a couple of steps away now, towering over them. His wings flared open a little with emotion, making him seem even larger and more imposing, making the couple cower. It dawned on him then that Reverend Charles was no different than the religious fanatics he’d seen in the Middle East – there was absolutely no point in trying to argue with them. It was time for his original idea.

  Summoning some unrealized inner strength, he suddenly picked the man up and pushed off hard, going intangible through the upper floors of the Victorian until at last breaking free of the building. He could somehow hear or feel Javier’s reaction, he wasn’t sure which, but knew that it was unlikely anyone else could see them.

  He carried the sweaty, pale preacher higher and higher until finally coming to a stop high above Sparks. Then he let him drop.

  It took the man a few seconds to realize what was happening, then a scream tore from his lungs, one of abject terror and the primal survival urge. Instantly he landed back in Mike’s arms, the angel having simply teleported under him, never intending to do more than scare the wits out of him. Reverend Charles, however, was turning a little gray and couldn’t catch his breath. Recognizing that he was possibly having a heart attack, Mike teleported him back into the entry way, laying him down and unbuttoning his shirt.

  “Well that’s great,” he muttered to himself.

  “What did you do to him?” squeaked Mrs. Charles, still sitting on the floor where he’d left her.

  “Scared him, but more than I’d wanted to.” Mike checked out the preacher’s vitals, tried to do what he could, but realized it was beyond his expertise.

  Brian, I need help!

  Instantly his brother was there, taking a second to get his bearings. His eyes bugged when he saw the doughy man on the floor turning grayer by the second.

  “What did you do to the guy?” Brian knelt down and put his hands on Reverend Charles’ chest instinctively, as if somehow knowing where he needed the most help.

  “Scared him a bit too much.”

  “Well, he’s having a damn heart attack...”

  “I know! That’s why I called you!”

  Brian shot him a look, then closed his eyes and concentrated. In the course of their impromptu rescue efforts over the past few weeks, he’d been getting decent practice at healing pretty much everything that came his way. With his mind, he searched out the source of the problem, sending healing energy and dissolving the blockage, everything flowing where it should again.

  The man took a deep gasping breath, his color warming. After another minute, he opened his eyes and looked up into Brian’s face, framed by pure white wings.

  “I’m dead,” he croaked, his entire body going limp in defeat.

  “Nope. I just saved you.” Brian got up and punched his brother in the shoulder. Mike winced and rubbed at the spot while the soreness healed itself. He didn’t smart off – he knew he deserved it.

  “Sorry.”

  Brian straightened and crossed his arms, looking over the man appraisingly now that he knew he’d be fine. “So is this the guy that trashed my place?”

  Reverend Charles could only whimper.

  “Sure is.”

  Brian just grunted a little, still looking at him, wings twitching with annoyance. He nudged the man with the toe of his work boot.

  “Get up.”

  “But I...”

  “GET UP.”

  The preacher looked something like a turtle on its back as he rocked a few times, then got shakily onto his knees.

  “I happen to know you’re just fine now, but I don’t trust your legs to hold you up right now any more than you do. So you think we’re demons, huh? Well had you bothered to ask us, we could have told you what we’ve been doing with our time. We could have showed you all the people we’d saved from earthquakes and floods and stuff like that.”

  Mike took off his shirt. “And even before that, I got these scars trying to save peoples’ lives, including miserable bastards like you.”

  “So, I tell you what,” Brian said, crossing his arms. “The next time you go on the radio, you’re not gonna spout off about demons and crap like that. You’re gonna talk about how angels are around helping people. Including assholes who probably don’t deserve it.”

  Mike blinked at that, then started thinking. As long as nobody named any names, it wasn’t a bad idea.

  “Yes!” the man gasped. “Today... my sermon... will you come?”

  “No.” Mike turned toward the door, leaving the man struggling to his feet

  “Please! Maybe you can hide? I want you to hear it...”

  Mike turned around to refuse again, but saw and felt his brother considering the idea. “Oh, what, are you kidding me?”

  “No, I think it might be interesting. And he can’t go off about his demon crap if we’re there.” Brian turned to the man. “I’ll be there, at least. Can’t speak for my brothers.”

  Mike winced inwardly a little at the plural, but then realized the preacher assumed that his brother must have meant the entire heavenly host. Which started him on another train of thought that was soon interrupted.

  “Yes! Thank you!” Reverend Charles was practically bowing and back on his knees, actually looking more energetic than he had when Mike had first arrived, the removal of the blockage in his artery helping his entire system function better. “It’s... what time is it? I need to get ready...” His wife was still sitting on the floor, having pushed herself timidly into the corner, watching the strange drama unfold.

  I gotta get Javier back home. Meet you across the street and then we’ll fly to your place?

  Brian nodded at his brother, and they both disappeared, leaving the shaking preacher talking to the empty hallway.

  FIFTEEN

  Dressed in simple, casual, yet nice clothing, all three of the Mason brothers walked up to the front of the Victorian house on Vista Boulevard like ordinary men. Evening had fallen, the porch light attracting a few insects despite its yellow color, the people entering the front door being given an unnatural sallow hue to skin and clothes.

  Barrett looked at his watch, letting an older couple in the door ahead of them. “Well, this should be an interesting way to kill an hour or so.”

  They went inside and were surprised by how large the space inside was. Walls had been removed from the old building in order to make a huge meeting space, folding chairs in neat rows facing the back of the room near the swinging kitchen doors. There was very little decoration other than a large cross on the back wall, carefully illuminated behind a podium draped with a pale gold cloth surrounding another cross. They estimated at least fifty people were seated, with more standing along the windowed walls. The brothers slipped in along the back and stood quietly, waiting.

  Mike mentally reached out a little to see where Reverend Charles was and what he was thinking. The man’s thoughts were still a nervous jumble, but Mike figured he could cut through we
ll enough.

  We’re here at the back of the room, he sent into the preacher’s head. And if you out us to these people, you won’t like the results.

  Reverend Charles’ thoughts suddenly snapped to attention, stunned by what had just happened, not having had a voice suddenly make itself known in his head to such a degree. Whispers of madness and other things, perhaps, but not the clear, reasonable voice of an angel, speaking as if he were a man standing right next to him.

  “I... I won’t...” he said aloud, not knowing how to direct his thoughts privately. His wife looked at him curiously, but it wasn’t completely out of the ordinary for Marcus to talk to himself (or to things only he could hear), so she shrugged it off and started getting out the cups for the punch.

  Moments later, looking nervous, the Reverend Charles pushed through the kitchen door and stepped behind the podium, dabbing at his sweaty forehead with a hankie.

  “Believers...” he started, his voice a little shaky at first but gaining strength as he went, “I have had a revelation. A visitation. A communication!”

  A collective shiver went through the crowd. They sat in rapt silent attention, already hanging on his words.

  “I have been contacted by the agents of heaven! I am here this very minute because an angel came to me and saved my life, right here in this very house, in that very hall, not two hours ago!” He pointed toward the front entry, every head turning, then looking back at him in wonder.

  “And there was not one, but two!” He started to raise his hand toward the back of the room but thought better of it, instead merely flailing it in a general heavenly direction. Mike suppressed a snicker and was suddenly grateful they were in the back and everyone was focused on Reverend Charles.

  “The first one that came to me this afternoon was Michael himself. And he warned me about the cost of what happened last night in the outskirts of Reno. Oh, but we were wrong, brothers and sisters. Wrong, wrong, wrong. That was not the home of demons, but of angels!”

  Brian turned pale, eyes widening, Barrett closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Mike looked at the preacher sternly and gave a little mental nudge, making the man’s next words die in his throat. A heavy silence came over the room as Reverend Charles tried to collect his interrupted thoughts, staring toward the back of the room. A couple of people coughed. One or two started to turn toward the back, wondering if the preacher was looking at something.

  Talk. Now, commanded Mike.

  “Uh... yes... so I say to you tonight...” he stammered, getting everyone’s attention back to the front, “That angels are among us. Brothers and sisters, they are here doing God’s works, fighting the very demons that we know are here as well, hiding in disguise...”

  The rest of the sermon consisted of his usual tirade against demonic forces, the coming end of the world, and the possible locations of portals to hell. He did occasionally make reference to angels, which seemed at least somewhat hopeful. Earlier that afternoon, after Mike had flown off with Javier, Brian and Barrett had found a few videos and sound files of the reverend’s sermons on the Internet, and they were quite illuminating. They played them for Mike when the brothers were back together, and they agreed that Reverend Charles had a knack for not just saying what this particular group of people wanted to hear, but for spurring them into action. Sometimes violent action. A most dangerous combination.

  Barrett realized someone was nudging him, and he looked down to see a young Hispanic woman pressing a collection basket into his hands. He passed it to his brothers, who passed it on to the rest of the back row. The woman frowned as she watched – none of them had donated.

  “We contributed earlier,” said Mike. Now it was Brian’s turn to suppress a smirk. Mostly satisfied with this answer, she turned back to minding her own business, wondering when it would be time for the punch and cookies.

  After the obligatory hymn nobody really knew the melody of, and prayer everybody had to look up the words to, the service ended with an audience participation segment. The first hand that shot up was a middle-aged woman in the front row with messy gray-blonde hair who looked like her head was going to pop if she didn’t immediately get to say what she was thinking.

  “Reverend Charles!” she gasped, standing up to emphasize her point. “We gotta go fix what we done! We gotta go back to Reno and help fix the damage!” Most of the crowd murmured agreement, nodding and starting to talk amongst themselves.

  “But then the cops will really know it was us,” called out a man from the third row.

  “They may already know. Or they’ll find out soon, because the angels that came to me were less than pleased, brothers and sisters,” said Reverend Charles. “But if we help...”

  Hold on, there’s really nothing you can do... sent Brian, starting to panic a little at the idea of a bunch of religious fanatics swarming all over his studio and drawing even more attention to it.

  Donations. That’s really what’s needed, sent Barrett, thinking the same thing his brother was. We had to buy a lot of plywood this morning. Not that we couldn’t afford it, but still...

  “Help... uhhh...” the preacher stammered, getting that distracted look in his eyes again.

  Stay away and help to pay for the damages, said Mike, summing everything up nicely.

  “We can help most,” Reverend Charles said slowly, nodding a little, “by paying for what we did to the building and leaving them in peace. I think that will be all right...?” He looked to the back of the room, Mike nodding just a little.

  “Yes! The collection plate! I mean... basket!” said the woman in the front row, practically shouting. Mrs. Charles dumped out the contents and the woman grabbed it, then started digging around in her purse. Others there got their wallets back out, some for the first time. The brothers looked at each other.

  “Maybe now you’ll donate,” muttered the young woman at Barrett’s elbow, shooting him a glance.

  Eventually the crowd left after the punch and cookies, Mrs. Charles helping to usher them out a little early. Mike had wanted to leave as soon as everyone started mingling, desperate to avoid talking to any of them. The brothers managed to sneak into the kitchen instead, Brian waiting to talk to Reverend Charles about something in the sermon which had caught his attention.

  “Was that all right? Did I do all right?” The nervous preacher looked between the three of them, gaze lingering on Barrett, who he hadn’t seen close up before.

  “Close enough,” said Mike, crossing his arms again. “As long as you guys stay the hell away from...”

  Brian elbowed him for saying hell. “So yeah, my studio’s off limits except for donations, that’s fine. But I wanted to talk about your sermon. Portals? What’s that all about?”

  His brothers looked at him for a second, confused, then realized what he was likely getting at. Reverend Charles flailed a little.

  “Portals! Yes! Oh my goodness... have you been listening to the show?”

  “...Show?” Barrett lifted a brow, wondering what he was getting himself into now. Or getting into deeper. He was more than ready to go home and have some tea.

  “Show! Yes, the... well, it used to be the Art Bell show, but now it’s Coast to Coast. That one. I’ve been on it, you know! On the radio! Twice!”

  “Oh, right. You remember, Bear. We heard those on the Internet,” said Brian. “Or some of it, anyway. Not the whole thing.”

  Reverend Charles reeled dramatically as if stricken. “The portals... I talk a lot about those on the show! Everyone’s heard the show. But the... they’re doorways to hell! The demons are using them to steal souls and people! Every missing person that’s never found again, they’ve been taken by...”

  “Okay, hold on.” Barrett held up a hand to put a stop to the man’s rambling. “What do they look like? Where are they?”

  “The demons or the portals?”

  Barrett blinked at him, momentarily confused, then shook his head. “The... the portals. Not the demons.”


  “Of course!” he said, gesticulating with excitement. “You want to know where they are so you can fight the demons!”

  Mike turned a little pale. “These... demons. They don’t look anything like dragons, do they?”

  “Oh, of course! And worse! Some of them have four...”

  “Okay, can we stay on topic please?” cut in Barrett quickly. Mike looked a little sick and went to lean on the kitchen counter, Brian rubbing his brother’s back gently, comforting.

  Reverend Charles blinked at the scene. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Long story,” Barrett said. “So. These doorways...”

  “Yes, right. They’re in various places around the world.” His voice dropped lower as if someone would overhear them. “If you know what to listen for, you can hear the screams of the damned.”

  “But what do they look like? Where are they exactly?” asked Brian, more curious than ever.

  “They look like they go on forever. Doorways into an endless, dark void.”

  The Masons looked at each other, a shared chill going down their spines. Had their wings been out, their feathers would have been on edge. Sensing something was bothering them, the preacher fell silent as well, the only sound in the house the creaking of the wooden floor as his wife walked around in the meeting room, now in her stocking feet. He looked between them, beginning to wonder if he’d said something wrong.

  “A... void,” said Brian, thinking out loud.

  “Yeah, that’s what I’d like to do,” Mike said with a snort. “Avoid the whole thing.”

  “I think that’s what we’ve been looking for, though. Do you feel it?”

  Barrett cocked his head. Now that his brother had mentioned it, he did feel a tiny something. A little feather touch at the back of his mind. The beginnings of a gut instinct.