Not Your Average Hot Guy

by Gwenda Bond

  Callie stands silent at my shoulder, peering out the windows.

  I don’t know what frightened me more—the idea of having to strike Solomon down or of Callie watching me do it. The last is why I hesitated, that I’m sure of.

  I could imagine her expression of disappointment. Then, in reality, that resolve I’ve come to recognize crossed her face as she gripped the lance, and suddenly poof, no more Solomon. Only Cupcake, a fainting pygmy goat.

  I want to laugh.

  Well, I wanted to until I took a fresh peek outside.

  The fire and brimstone stopping their ceaseless torrent should be an unqualified good, and I’d bank that everyone who had it raining down on them agrees that it is.

  Everyone except the armies of the divine and infernal. They see it as a sign ending. They see it as an opportunity to be seized.

  They see it as an order to advance.

  Each line creeps forward, posturing as they travel to the other side. With us smack in the middle. Heaven’s brass section is so loud, we can hear the trumpets like they’re in here with us. Hell’s legion, never one to be outdone, cries out and shrieks and howls, the only instruments their voices and clanking weapons.

  “Can I stop it, with this?” Callie asks. She means the lance. “Should I be using this for world peace or something?”

  I turn my head to gaze into her now-familiar green eyes, then sweep mine down to the Holy Lance. The Spear of Destiny. The thing that almost killed me. Her question is fair, and I consider it. I can only come up with one answer.

  “It’s a weapon,” I say. “Filled with divine power, yes, but a weapon nonetheless.”

  Callie understands instantly. “And weapons aren’t good at world peace. How would I even know what to command? How long before I start randomly turning anyone I think is bad into goats?”

  “It wasn’t random,” I say. I don’t say she has a point.

  Mag steps up to the other side of her.

  “I love you,” Mag says, “but I don’t think you should have the One Ring.”

  Ah, a Tolkien reference point. Just what the conversation needs. The Ring of Power created by Sauron. Father loves that story cycle.

  “You are all a bunch of nerds,” I say with mock disgust.

  “Guilty,” Callie says.

  “No one should have the One Ring,” Jared says. “Look what happened to Frodo.”

  Porsoth hoots softly. “I always fancied visiting the Grey Havens and journeying into the West.”

  “Nerds,” I repeat. “Back to the task at hand. The lance is first and foremost, in essence, a weapon. There must’ve been a reason it was split up all these years. What did it feel like when you used it?”

  I watch Callie carefully to gauge how the question registers.

  Her fingers tighten around it. Her eyes flicker shut then back open. “Like it would be happy to cleanse with fire. Does that make sense?”

  My body shudders at the memory of holding it. “It does to me, as someone who has felt it attempt just that.”

  “I wonder,” Porsoth says, lifting a wing to stroke his feathered chin, “if it was hidden not to protect it, but to protect you. Humanity. Look what’s happened, in such a short time since its recovery…”

  Callie looks over at Cupcake. “Yeah, we humans aren’t too great at decisions about cleansing with fire. Historically speaking. I guess this means we destroy it. That would show everyone out there that no one’s trying to end the world with it, right? Unless there’s some rule we don’t know.” She doesn’t sound entirely convinced, but she commits to exploring the idea. “But how do we do it?”

  Mag clears their throat and ticks their head toward the windows. “What about asking the guardians?”

  “We don’t have much time,” I remind them as I look out again.

  Rofocale is practically on top of us, leading the vanguard on his beast, steam boiling from its nose. Opposite, a couple hundred feet away, the guardians march toward us in white and shining silver armor, armed to the hilt. Angels with hard expressions and magnificent wings fly above.

  “I know they were rude,” Mag says. “But could they introduce you to Michael? Could he help?”

  Callie’s attention returns to me. “What do you think?”

  Sadly, I find I have no better ideas.

  “Worth a shot,” I say. “But, remember, you have the lance. Use it if you have to. They’re dangerous.”

  “What about us?” Jared asks. “Shouldn’t we all come?”

  “No,” Callie says. “I took this on, and Luke will be with me. You stay here. Be safe. Protect each other and Bosch. And Cupcake. Text Mom that we’re okay.”

  Porsoth makes me meet his eyes. But when he speaks, it’s directed to Callie.

  “Don’t let this one make any foolish heroic sacrifices,” he says. “The guardians won’t like him. You protect each other too. I’ll watch over everyone here.”

  “You got it,” Callie says. Then, to me, “Behave yourself.”

  My chest swells and I grin. “No problem. I’m naturally gifted at that.”

  Callie lets out a sigh.

  And so into battle we go, two upstart pacifists against a universe that’s been spoiling for a fight for thousands of years.

  * * *

  “The apocalypse is less smelly and hot than it was before,” Callie says, making conversation as we venture out toward Heaven’s troops. She grasps the Holy Lance with a mix of nervousness and confidence all her own. I do my best to make us semi-invisible to Father’s legions.

  “True,” I say. “But so much louder.”

  I do a small working to help drown out the trumpets and the howls. Callie notices. She slides me a look. “Like having earplugs at a show without earplugs,” she says.

  It hits me in this moment, an extremely poor one for romantic notions, that I don’t know nearly enough about her. What kind of music does she like?

  “Have you been to a lot of concerts?” I ask.

  I’ve been to Hell’s, which are invariably screeching heavy metal or intentionally off-key riffs on classical pieces. We all secretly love Earth’s music. There’s a significant black market in bootleg streaming devices with all the good stuff, harvested off new arrivals. I’ve heard rumors that some souls even get targeted for their taste.

  Callie doesn’t know that much about me either, I suppose, and what she does know should have her running away. Yet, here she is. Here I am.

  “Concerts?” she asks, distracted. “Not many—Mom runs a small business and I work for it, you know? They’re pricy.” She stops. “They spotted us.”

  I mean to ask her if she wants to go to more concerts, assuming we live through this. But she’s right. Guardians have the worst timing.

  Here they come with the leader, Saraya, in the, well, lead. She spins a murderous-looking multibladed ax that reflects off her gleaming armor.

  “Little not-guardian,” Saraya says, “the rumors are true. Here you are with the demon spawn, and I see you have the Lance of Longinus. Prepare to die as I recover it.”

  “Don’t think about attacking her,” I say. “She knows how to use it. Hear her out.”

  “Yes, Saraya,” Callie says, subtly muscling in front of me. “Saraya the Rude is how I’d say you should be known. Hear me out.”

  I duck my head to hide a grin. Callie has just saddled Saraya with that nickname forever; I’d bet on it.

  “Start talking,” Saraya says, making an extravagant gesture with her blade. “Then you can die.”

  I lift my hand to shield my eyes a bit from the glow of the angels. One would wonder why they aren’t leading the charge, but having met a guardian and seeing how they operate, it makes perfect sense. No way the guardians wouldn’t insist on throwing themselves into glorious battle first. Angels, on the hand, they’ve been around for millennia. Why be so eager on the front lines?

  For demons, it’s more of a pride thing. Cowards at the rear, bluster and chest-beating, and all that. Probably it
’s where most of the smart, future Porsoths are—even though he used to be fearsome himself. I digress.

  Callie’s searching for words. “Saraya the Rude,” she says, at last, and the other woman grimaces, “as you can see, we have reunited the two halves of the Holy Lance. Do you see me using it to fight? No, because I’ve only ever been trying to stop Solomon Elerion and his order—which is now done. So call all this off.”

  “This seems like a trick,” Saraya says. “A clever one, but nonetheless.”

  Typical. “I didn’t tell you this is what I feared they’d say, because I didn’t want to say I told you so. But I could’ve told you so.”

  To her credit, Callie doesn’t blink. “I propose we destroy the Holy Lance, then,” she says, “to prove we have no intention of using it. To prevent anything like this from happening ever again.”

  Saraya roars. Other guardians come forward, weapons at the ready. “She has threatened to destroy the Holy Lance,” Saraya tells them. “Seize her!”

  “Saraya the Rude, it shall be done!” one of them calls.

  I can’t laugh because they’re serious. They rush Callie and she has a frozen panicked expression on her face. Her brain must be cycling through possibilities like turning them into pygmy goats too.

  “No,” Callie pleads, extending the lance to ward them off. “I just want to end this.”

  “We know,” Saraya tosses off.

  They’re about to overtake her and Callie looks at me. “What do I do?”

  Something breaks open inside me. My body heaves, out of control, as if a new skeleton is forming under the skin, determined to make me shed it and leave it behind. The searing pain stretches on and on and I wonder if I’ve touched the Holy Lance again.

  I haven’t. But I scream.

  “Luke!” Callie clearly doesn’t know what’s happening to me either. “Stay back!” she cautions the guardians, who pause in their progress.

  The pain spikes, and then it … fades.

  Callie stares at me. “Luke,” she says again, but with a note of wonder instead of panic.

  My wings unfurl from my back and I may as well be taking the first deep breath of my life.

  I turn my head to check one out. Tipped with gray, the rest a killer gleaming black like my jacket.

  Angels are flying toward us now too, but I beat my wings—my wings!—and I’m right beside Callie. An arrow barely misses me and then Callie lifts the Holy Lance and says, “Leave him alone!”

  “Callie,” I say, “careful with that thing. Need a ride?”

  I have an idea. Never in a million years did I think my wings would arrive. That I might be in a position to help good win the day. Real good. The kind Callie is.

  “Where to?”

  “Heaven,” I say.

  She hesitates. “Don’t hurt him either, you,” she tells the Holy Lance, although she still arranges it in her right arm, where it won’t touch me. She shakes her head and grins at me and my wings while the guardians and angels watch in shock. She loops her left arm around me. I enfold my arm to hold her to me, because I still have those obviously, and up we go. Every beat of my wings is like a breath.

  Angels streak toward us, following, but it turns out that I’m magnificently good at flying, even sans practice. Blue sky and clouds stretch out and we leave the battlefield behind.

  The lance should protect her from this audience.

  “Michael! Hey, archangel!” I shout. “Parlay requested. Let’s end this. Michael!”

  Callie remains wide-eyed. “We’re flying. Your wings. They’re…”

  “Black like my heart,” I say.

  “Don’t do that,” she says. “They’re beautiful. They’re yours. You know who you are.”

  I am well aware of what this means, but if I think about it right now I’ll be overwhelmed. “I just didn’t want to see you taken out by deus ex guardians.”

  “That’s not what deus ex machina means—it means ‘the god in the machine’ because they used to lower gods onto the stage at the end of Greek and Roman plays.”

  “Callie,” I say, amused, “call Michael.”

  “Right.” She takes in a breath and then, “Michae—”

  But she doesn’t need to shout. We’re flying through another bank of clouds and then up out of the Earthly plane. An elaborate set of pearly gates appears up ahead. Tall, reflecting every color within their pale gleam.

  An angel who radiates light from every pore stands in front of the gates. Michael.

  On sight, every part of me wants to turn around and fly back down, take our chances. He could unmake me in the bat of an eyelash.

  “That’s him,” Callie says, because even mortal, she knows there’s no question when you see an archangel.

  “You’re so close,” I say. “End this.”

  She swallows. “We’re so close.”

  I fly closer to Michael and set her down. Even though there’s not really ground here, my suspicion proves true. She stands fine, the air supporting her.

  “Approach,” Michael orders.

  He is nearly translucent and a little creepy because of it. It’s as if instead of a heart, he has a star inside him, leaking out. His bushy white eyebrows match his milky, perfect wings.

  “Possessor of the Holy Lance,” he says to Callie. To me, “Lucifer spawn.”

  “Don’t forget my mom,” I say. “Lilith spawn too.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “Why have you come?”

  Callie holds up the Holy Lance. “This thing inadvertently kicked off Armageddon. We don’t know how to get rid of it, and your guardians laughed when we suggested it.” She pauses. “So, we thought you could take it. Save the world by putting all that on hold.”

  “Why?” Michael asks. “What if it’s time for it to end?”

  “It’s not,” Callie says with a frown.

  Michael spreads his hands. “How can you be so sure, human?”

  “Because there are good people in it, and they deserve to live their lives.”

  “There are bad people too. Would not the good be rewarded in the afterlife?” he asks.

  I can feel her frustration, or maybe it’s my own.

  “I really don’t know,” she says.

  “Correct,” he says. “You do not.”

  Callie sighs and her shoulders fall. But only for a moment.

  “This weapon never belonged on Earth,” she says. “You should’ve destroyed it ages ago. If you’re actually on the side of good, you’ll take it. You’ll end what’s going on below.”

  I worry she’s gone too far with suggesting he might not be playing for Team Good. But when he responds, he sounds almost amused. “And if I don’t, you’ll turn me into a pygmy goat?”

  “Could I?” she tosses back. She shakes her head, “No, I wouldn’t.”

  The two of them are in a standoff.

  “Hmm,” Michael says. He casts another glance at me. “Is it true, that this was all a prank that got out of hand?”

  Someone’s been back-channeling. I can’t help but wonder if it’s Father.

  “I wouldn’t call it a prank,” I say. “But yes, a giant misunderstanding. It’s my fault.”

  “Or the fault of bad parenting,” Callie says.

  Can’t argue there. “Look,” I say, “I can confirm this world-ending business was entirely the desire of a human cult. Father had no role in it.”

  Michael continues to examine both of us like we’re under Heaven’s microscope. Then, at last, “Very well,” he says.

  He reaches out his hands and Callie, after only a breath, gives him the lance.

  “To Earth,” he says.

  Callie tucks herself into my side again and we follow his flight path, off the Heavenly plane and back to Earth.

  “What’s going to happen?” Callie murmurs. “I don’t know if I trust him.”

  “I heard that,” Michael says without turning around.

  Callie snorts, and I sense she’s struggling to keep from laughin
g. She must be as nervous as I am.

  Then the battlefield appears below us, the Great Escape dead center and just off the highway. Callie holds on tight.

  Mag and Jared and Porsoth emerge and gape up at what must seem like a hallucination. Porsoth flaps with joy when he takes in that it’s me—flying—using my newly grown wings.

  Rofocale approaches us from the demonic side, dismounting his beast and walking the rest of the way on foot. Saraya and her guardians dash toward us from the other direction.

  After they’ve stopped on the ground on either side of us, Michael hefts the spear high. He’s allowing the humans to witness him, toning down the full glory of his form.

  “This human and demon have gifted the Holy Lance to Heaven,” he says. “We have no quarrel at this time, save the usual age-old grudges. Disperse.”

  “It’s over so quickly?” Rofocale asks, crestfallen.

  “She was telling the truth,” Saraya says.

  “Yes, Saraya the Rude,” Michael pauses, hearing what he called her, and then goes on, “she was. Should she desire to be a guardian, our order would be lucky to have her.”

  He waits for Callie to respond.

  “No thanks,” she says, clinging to me as if she’ll never let go. “I’m good right here.”

  Yes, that’s definitely relief on Saraya’s face.

  “Disperse,” Michael repeats and then he travels upward in a beam of blazing light.

  Callie and I don’t move, and I believe both of us are slightly in shock.

  “We did it,” she says.

  She’s right. We did it. We stopped the world from ending. And …

  My father’s clock is almost out. I held up my end of the bargain, for once in my life. The day is saved. We have to go. Why do I feel like I’m dying?

  “Set us down,” Callie says. “I just need to say good-bye. For now. I get to come back for a while?”

  I answer awkwardly, “We can probably arrange for until your natural life span is over.”

  “Okay.”

  We float gently to the ground. My bones feel hollow.

  Hell’s legion is already leaving, and the angels fly away as one shiny pack. The road is clearing, and we finally get a glimpse of the TV crews that were filming in the distance. I wonder what story they’ll weave to make sense of all this.