Good Angel (Good Angel Duology Book 1)

by Blaushild, A. M.

  “Don’t eat it,” one of the angels next to Maalik said with a disapproving look.

  “I… wasn’t going to.” She had been considering it, however.

  Maalik rolled his eyes and handed her a napkin with which to pick up the piece. She put it on the empty side of her plate as Maalik spoke: “I never said they didn’t have a few good ideas. Bunch of idiots bumbling about the Hellscape all day are bound to think up one or two things worth keeping.”

  “Like Blue.”

  “Like Blue,” Maalik said. “Your hair really is blinding.”

  “I thought it’d be cool, you know. Blending with all the other University kids.” At mention of it, Iofiel began to brush her hair with one of her hands.

  “Your hair is literally the same color as some of the demons here.” Maalik scanned the crowd and then pointed, “Like that one!”

  “Should I change it?”

  “If you did, what would I get to call you?” Maalik teased. He’d finished his breakfest and had his head in his hand, his elbow against the redwood of the dining table.

  “Iofiel?”

  “Ouch. ‘Divine beauty’? I’m sorry, but I’m not a sinner.” Some angels were done with their meals already and getting up, but Maalik appeared to be waiting for Iofiel to finish. She was sitting, it seemed, with upperclassmen, but scanning the room she was relieved to see she wasn’t the only newbie angel taking their time.

  “Hey! It’s not like I’m beautiful, I think I’m just supposed to help humans find beauty? In things? I don’t know. I’m not the one who named me.” Iofiel was still slowly working her way through her food. “What does Maalik mean?”

  “Like... king? Possessor? It’s popular with humans. At least it isn’t just a clear copy of Jophiel.”

  “That’s clear disrespect to Archangel Jophiel, and you know it. I love Jophiel.” Iofiel had only seen the Archangel once, from a distance, but would be lying if she said she didn’t feel a profound link to her anyway. “It’s an insult to her to even bring me up.”

  “If she’s your favorite, then why do you have that awful poster of Archangel Michael on the wall? Literally. Only thing you did last night was hang that up and then sob miserably.”

  “Okay, first off, nothing involving Archangel Michael could ever be anything other than awesome, and secondly, that poster is more than awesome, it’s amazing.” Archangel Michael was not the ‘leader’ of Heaven, but respected as if he was, and he was one of the few angels to have never died since the beginning of time.

  “Awesome is a stronger modifier than amazing.”

  “He’s so... dreamy. Not in the sinful way, but like. I could picture seeing him in a dream.” The poster was a bit of propaganda, though she didn’t like to call it that: a simple image of Michael’s unearthly face bordered by white, with no text. She’d found it on a wall near Eden, and taken it home immediately. Amriel, her guardian Ophan, had chided her for thievery but she’d figured they had understood why she’d done it. He was so lovely.

  “It’s important to show some respect for your superiors, Blue. And that’s very different from mooning over them,” Maalik teased. At least, Iofiel was pretty sure he was teasing — he didn’t seem capable of laughter. “Anyways, Archangel Raphael is clearly the most important and beautiful of the Seven Archangels.”

  “You’re just saying that because you’re studying healing.”

  “Yes. And you’re not studying warfare. Shouldn’t you be swooning for Archangel Gabriel or something?”

  “What does he have to do with being a Guardian angel?” Iofiel said. “Hey, how is healing, by the way? I’m only majoring in this because my friend suggested it. Lower angels can study it too, right?”

  “I fear I’ve imprinted on you too quickly.”

  “Have you met Archangel Raphael? What were they like?”

  “I have.” Breakfast was ending, evidenced by the mass exodus from the dining hall, angels around them rising to put their dishes away. “And they are far more swoon-worthy than Michael.” Maalik had timed this perfectly, and at that word he rose with his dishes, quickly lost in the thick of the crowd.

  “Wait! You’ve met Mic— Archangel Michael?” Iofiel quickly grabbed her plate, nearly dropping it on the floor in her rush to chase after Maalik. He seemed gone, and she put her plate in the soapy bins by the exit with something like remorse.

  A few feet out the door and Maalik was leaning against the wall. “He’s decisively unromantic.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Harsh words from a little fledgling like you. Who taught you that?”

  “I was born with knowledge of many bad words, I’ll have you know.”

  “The Great Divine is delivering that to newbies these days? I had to learn all the things I’m not allowed to say myself, you know. Mostly from the trash we share this Uni with.”

  The halls were emptying out, everyone but a couple worried looking angels and demons off to class. “...Can you help me find my first class?”

  “That’s why I’m waiting here, Blue. It’s kind of my job for a few days. And.” He clicked his tongue at a few of the stragglers, ushering them over. There were more demons than angels, but they knew not to come. “My first class is at ten. So come, I’ll make sure you get where you need to go. Which is, let me guess— introduction to standard angelic ritual magic? Maybe one or two of you have personal magic first instead?”

  Iofiel, as well as the three other angels, followed Maalik through the crisscross of hallways, briefly explaining the layout of the University. It still didn’t make sense to Iofiel, but she figured it would with time — the first night had been the hardest, absolutely. The first day, she thought, as Maalik left her at her class with friendly jerk of his head, was clearly easy. Hopefully the rest were going to be as well.

  2: Less Than Nothing

  IOFIEL HAD BEEN too busy buzzing with excitement outside her classroom to notice her first class, Rituals, had already begun; she’d been happily chatting to another freshman angel, eager to brag a little about how that Archangel was her roommate. Her roommate! So far, Iofiel had spotted only two other Archangel students. As they were expected to be natural leaders over lower angels, it was presumed they’d immediately rush into their duties— extra study was by no means a bad thing, but it likely made Maalik a little unpopular among other Archangels.

  Her professor for the class seemed used to late arrivals, and didn’t look up, just swung by her desk and ticked something down. The class itself seemed to go mostly over Iofiel’s head— she knew the principles of magic, of course, as she was born to. She just wished The Sun, in all their holy glory, would’ve embedded the advanced stuff into all angels’ heads. Why even make training a requirement at all?

  Angelic rituals were centered on paper, words, and bones. It was all about carving certain things, speaking the right sentences, and drawing out the grace from within, compared to the more simplistic blood rituals demons partook in. Rituals didn’t have many uses for a Gaurdian-trainee like Iofiel, but a foundation in them was a requirement for all freshman angels.

  The class had ended with a load of homework due, a large section of a dusty textbook Iofiel now had to carry around for the rest of the day. She was just thankful she didn’t have to practice any spells yet.

  Her next class was nearby. The University was not founded with any illusions of peace, just begrudging tolerance. It was the will of Him that this building was used. Who knew who sent word to Hell, who planned the classes? This was how it was now.

  The angels and demons had classes in different parts of the main building, and a lot of the more advanced demon classes, which required elaborate blood circles and the use of nature, took place outside or in separate buildings. This was as close to separation as the two parties were going to get: Heaven and Hell had long ago run low on space as the billions of souls piled up, and on some odd compromise from the Heavens, the University had been created as one space to contain trainees from either side. It c
ould be argued there was one benefit from the uncomfortable truce: a chance to observe either side up close.

  After Rituals was Practical Magic, which was fairly similar. This was stuff Iofiel desperately did need to know, such as how to hide her halo, wings, and eventually her corporal form. Much to Iofiel’s joy, the class was a lot easier to follow, and the professor— a Dominion with five eyes and violet hair that refused to obey gravity— was surprisingly funny.

  Homework was more reading, and it dawned on Iofiel that probably every class was going to give her homework. She only had four classes, which had seemed like so little on her schedule but now seemed quite alarming, and so far her entire night was going to be spent reading.

  Her next class was at two, giving her an hour break. She considered tracking down Maalik, but despite the pleasantries of this morning, he was probably just as swamped with work as she was. Also, he didn’t seem the type who would enjoy a surprise visit.

  There were a lot of little chairs and couches scattered throughout the halls, all of them quickly occupied by angels waiting for their next class, poring through books and worksheets, eating like it was still an afterthought.

  Oh. It was an afterthought for Iofiel too, who suddenly realized she was quite hungry. She tread carefully down the steps slowly to the ground floor, back to the cafeteria. Heaven didn’t have stairs, and it was only with a worn wooden handrail that she could navigate the spiral staircase down.

  Lunch meant another colorful array of new scents and tastes for Iofiel to spend too long pondering, but this time she quickly chose something at random and hurried out of the food room.

  Without Maalik guiding her along, she didn’t feel at all confident sitting where she had before. Maalik’s table had mostly ignored them, but it was still filled with upperclassmen, mostly grim types who all looked like they knew something she didn’t.

  The other tables were no better, as cliques of ten or so angels seemed to dominate each one, often chatty and spread out. She surveyed the room. Of course, she couldn’t sit with the demons, but she didn’t feel like she could join the angels either. Right near the door, half hidden behind a pillar, was a small circular table where a demon was sitting. Though she obviously had no desire to sit with him, it was the only place that wasn’t overrun with a friend group. And he was sitting on one side, reading a book.

  No one was going to notice.

  She walked briskly to the far end of the room, moving a broken wooden chair out with one foot and sat precisely at the other end of the table. It wasn’t much distance, maybe three feet, but it made her feel a bit better.

  Her meal was excellent, as expected. Very different from pancakes. While she ate, she tried to think about her classes, but instead all she could do was stare at the demon at the other end of the table. He was small, sort of mousey with large red eyes. Er. Eye. One eye was a watery shade of red, and the other was covered with an eyepatch. He had small, brittle looking dark brown horns, which nearly blended with his brown hair and brown skin.

  He didn’t look like he’d survive a day on the Battlefield, so maybe he’d lost an eye... what? In a ritual? Iofiel knew only a little about demon magic, but in theory it was just a corrupted version of angelic, and...

  Iofiel felt a sincere pang for this demon. He could have only lost an eye if someone had done it to him. And demons were bad, et cetera, but no one deserved that sort of pain.

  She’d finished her meal, and pretty soon she’d have to hurry off to her next class, but she was still watching the demon. He was reading a book, but it didn’t seem to be a textbook — rather, the title text was written in the infernal language of Hell, and she couldn’t quite discern what it was about.

  The boy noticed her staring, and was soon staring back.

  Iofiel tried not to blush. “What are you reading?”

  “Nothing,” the demon said, quickly putting the book down, cover down and spine facing him. His eye was wide at her attention.

  “Well, we’re all learning things in English here, since I guess it’s the big human language these days, so you must have brought it from Hell.”

  “It’s... an encyclopedia.” The demon spoke oddly, like he had an accent. Iofiel had been created with a perfect understanding of several languages as well as the celestial one of Heaven, and he was the first creature she’d heard who didn’t enunciate perfectly.

  “About what?”

  “Just things.” The demon seemed utterly uncomfortable with this conversation, and in fact had lifted his backpack onto the table, apparently getting ready to leave.

  “Angels aren’t allowed to bring books from Heaven,” Iofiel said, as the demon quickly jammed his book into his bag. “I’m nearly jealous.” Of course, what would she have taken? She had only been alive for eight days. She’d never read a book in her life. She couldn’t even name a single book beyond her new textbooks. Wait, does Heaven even have books? She’d never seen one, on second thought.

  The demon had gone without a word while she hadn’t been paying attention, and Iofiel followed suit. She had a folded piece of paper in her skirt pocket with all her classes, but got lost anyway. Next was ‘Human History’, up on the fourth floor. It was one of few classes where angels and demons mixed, and though she had seen them several times already, walking by one was still jarring. Their eyes were all harsh and hot, bright red, yellow, and green. Of course, her own eyes were an equally unnatural shade of blue, but everything unusual seemed like an ill omen when it came to demons.

  History was in a broad classroom, the largest so far, with a wooden domed roof. The seats were spread in a semi-circle around a raised platform, and a screen had been pulled down against the rock wall.

  Naturally the demons and angels had spread to either side, even in the middle rows where they couldn’t help but sit with some proximity. There, in the middle area, at the very back, was the demon from before — and again, he seemed utterly ignored by his own kind. Iofiel sidled in beside him in the bench-like seats, keeping a good five feet but still making her presence known with a brief look. He glared, but even that came off as weak.

  Demons clearly weren’t all burly monsters, but there was something decisively pathetic about him, Iofiel decided, like he was adrift on a melting ice float.

  There were two professors for this class, an angel and a demon, and after however many years they’d been doing this, they seemed to actually get along. At least, they weren’t glaring at each other and shared the podium.

  The angelic professor was an Archangel with four arms and a strict refusal to let their feet touch the ground. “Human History is a short, short thing, but it’s the root of everything. For angels, it is the history of who we serve, of our purpose. The same can be said about demons — though your purpose is to undermine the good in humanity, you still rely on them for your own gain.”

  “In a way, Heaven and Hell are eternally playing the same game,” The demonic professor seemed like some sort of higher demon, though Iofiel wasn’t too sure about classifications beyond demon and imp. His head was that of a jaguar. “If we were to forget morals, reason, and context, we could simplify all our lives —all these thousands of years — to a mere game of tug of war. One team pulls, the other is moved. We both want souls, and our endgame is the same: to have the most when the end comes.”

  “We both came from the same Creator, after all. In a way, while angels are His children, the demons are His grandchildren,” the Archangel floated over to their chair, sitting down with their legs crossed roughly a foot in the air.

  “No matter what you’re majoring in, it’s important to know what you’re fighting for. And for those of you whose aspirations involve humans, it’s vital you understand their history in addition to their culture.” That was the other class Iofiel had this semester: Human Culture. A required course for anyone who was going to be dealing directly with humans, and another course she’d be sharing with demons.

  “We are all made in response to humans,” th
e Archangel said slowly, like they were being careful. “They are why we exist.”

  The jaguar-headed professor laughed, catching Iofiel by surprise. His laughter was three solid ‘ha’s’, each one punctuating the air and seeming to echo in the large wooden room. “And there’s nuance to be gained in this room, too. Eternal enemies, young proponents of the holiest of wars — and here you are, united in having homework. It’s vital for you to understand humans, yes, but it is good to understand yourself, too.”

  His cohort, the Archangel, laughed an odd laugh too, but Iofiel didn’t think they looked all that happy. It was hard to tell if the jaguar was amused either: Iofiel surprised herself by being born fairly adapt at big cat body language, but him being a human-shape demon likely screwed with the rules — was that a laughing smile, or a baring of teeth? And either ways, she wasn’t sure what was so funny.

  “Now,” with a gentle, dance-like sweep, the Archangel rose from their seat and floated to the podium in the center of the stage and held an electronic remote. With a few clicks, the lights faded and shades descended over the windows. A dark, black wall turned on: a television, yes. Sometimes Iofiel knew things, sometimes she had to shake her head and hope something clicked. With a gentle smile, the Archangel asked: “Who here knows what a film is?”

  The demon half of the room unanimously raised their hands. Some angels knew, but Iofiel took a second to realize with frustration she didn’t really know. Next to her, she noticed the demon with the eyepatch hadn’t raised his hand initially, but after a moment’s pause, did.

  The angelic professor — they did have names, but Iofiel hadn’t been keeping track so far — then carefully explained film and cinema to the angels (and that one demon, Iofiel suspected). Iofiel was rather upset to find demons already knew all this, and were rolling their eyes as she took notes on a few basic technologies the humans had developed. It wasn’t particularly fair, she reckoned, that they came into the University with more than eighteen years of experience being alive. But then, her ability to be both new and an adult was a boon of its own in that she hadn’t had to spend any time mucking about as a baby or anything. It was nice to get a head start to the more exciting part of life.