Good Angel (Good Angel Duology Book 1)

by Blaushild, A. M.

  “Give me two hours,” he said.

  “What’s going on? What’s happening tonight?” Iofiel asked Maalik, once he was gone. They had both been done with their meals for a while now, and Maalik seemed itching to leave as well.

  “Don’t talk about it too loudly,” he said.

  They returned to the dorm room, Maalik seemingly impatient for something, while Iofiel listlessly waited. He had yet to answer any of her questions about what was going on tonight, and why Shamsiel had needed money for it, despite her pointing out several times they were alone, and there wasn’t much point in delaying the inevitable.

  She busied herself by rereading her Rituals homework, but it continued to be tediously hard to follow, and she resorted to napping away the minutes.

  At about five-forty, as the sun was starting to set, Maalik began packing his things. Iofiel half watched him, but her attention was still stuck on the sunset: it was the second time she’d seen it, and still continued to fascinate and frighten. She knew about the night, she knew about the moon and lunar cycles and why the sky was the color it was, and about all the stars in the sky… Still, something in her heart screamed with the sunset. Her life and birth had always been in light, and even if she knew what darkness was, living it was something else.

  Maalik put on a heavy, woolen coat over his reflective silver one, his fingers slipping over the back buttons a few times. Iofiel went over and helped him slide the coat over his wings and seal it shut.

  “It’s going to be pretty chilly out,” Maalik said, eyeing up her outfit. It was one of three nearly identical ones the University provided, besides her more summer-suited clothes from Heaven. The other students tended to dress in a mix of human clothes and odd, likely handmade ones, but she had yet to learn where they’d come across them.

  “This is all I have.”

  He sighed, and began unbuttoning his coat, again trembling a little when it came to picking open the buttons. He slid it off him and handed it to her, and then helped her fit her wings though.

  It was too heavy for her, and not at all her taste, an off charcoal hue she figured was best suited for demons, with lots of golden edging. But of course she appreciated it. “Won’t you be cold?”

  Maalik patted his shiny silver jacket, zipping it up. “I’ve been in worse weather. Come on, we’re meeting them outside.”

  “For...? I don’t know if I’m comfortable going to something this vaguely defined.”

  “It’s... a party,” Maalik admitted with a heavy sigh. “It’ll be fun, but it’s also one of those things that isn’t super ethical. There’ll be alcohol. And some other things. But it’s mostly about relaxing and hanging out.”

  Partying didn’t seem like something an Archangel like Maalik would do, and she had enough faith in him to believe him when he said it wasn’t a particularly bad thing. “Well, there’s nothing unholy about most liquors,” she said, wanting to excuse him a little.

  “Yes!” he exclaimed, with the most energy Iofiel had probably ever heard him use. “We don’t stand for any of the big sins, and someone will cut you off before you can drink an excess. We just need to do it in the woods since, you understand, it’s not perfectly... perfect.”

  “Do you do this often?”

  “Fairly. Look, I know I invited you, but you don’t have to come. I’m a little embarrassed that I’m going, and I don’t want you getting caught up in anything you’ll come to regret. But I promise, we’re very tame. Especially compared to what demons get up to.”

  “No, no, I want to go! It sounds like fun.”

  “You do seem a little morally lose.” Maalik grimaced.

  “What?”

  He pointed to Iofiel’s prized poster of the Archangel Michael, which hung right next to her pillow. “Seriously, where did you get that abomination? Angels don’t tend to own things.”

  “So? I stole it from a wall near Eden. There was more than one! And it’s amazing, take that back.”

  “He is fine, but I will not argue with this any longer. Archangel Raphael does so much for all of us, and gets none of the love.”

  “Raphael is fine,” Iofiel said, “and I love Michael, Maalik. I love him so much.”

  “Better watch yourself before that turns into something burn-worthy.”

  “Nothing relating to Michael could ever be bad,” Iofiel said resolutely.

  Iofiel was nearly tiptoeing when they left their dorm, but Maalik’s relaxed pace eased her. If it was just in the woods, she probably wouldn’t even be breaking any rules. Okay, she didn’t know the rules of the University in the slightest, just that freshman couldn’t leave campus, and drinking wildly probably wasn’t okay with the authorities.

  The University was a drafty, blocky, and absolutely grey old building. It was perched on the crest of a tall hill, overlooking a winding river and a whole lot of pine-based woodlands. A ways away, to the south, lights from a human settlement shined.

  Besides the Hub there were three similarly shaped stone buildings. Iofiel didn’t know what any of them were used for, and at this time of night, only one had any lights on inside.

  On the very outskirts of the forest were a few sloppily constructed barns and three-walled structures for demon rituals. They had the tendency to burn down, Maalik told her when she remarked upon their drab exteriors, so demons got the extra bonus of learning carpentry when they took that class.

  The night was dark. The woods were darker. Iofiel shivered despite her coat, and clung to Maalik’s side, trying to listen for his movements. Her eyes weren’t used to anything this dark, even after two nights on Earth, and if it wasn’t for the dim glow of her halo, she would’ve been about blind.

  They had been mostly quiet, but they now kept silent as they trekked through the woods. Low hanging branches of spruce trees brushed against her face and clothes, and eventually the darkness got to her and she reached for Maalik’s hand.

  He squeezed it once, his fine, pointed nails hard against her palm.

  4: Those Who Know

  EVENTUALLY A FAINT glow could be made out from deeper in the woods, and Maalik sped up the pace a little. The scene slowly became clear of roughly fifteen angels gathered around a crackling fire, sitting on half-cut logs. They’d obviously used this place plenty of times before, as all were at ease, and a table had been set up off to the side with the aforementioned alcohol.

  It was, as Maalik had promised, very tame. A couple of groups sitting and chatting, warming their hands while working their way through glass bottles. Angels didn’t drink in Heaven, but there was nothing saying they couldn’t. It was only that the angels who lived there tended to be busy with more divine tasks, and those who weren’t were rarely in at all. Plus, Iofiel for the life of her couldn’t guess where alcohol came from, or what it honestly was. Something man-made, surely.

  Shamsiel made his way towards them, waving to Iofiel, and then giving Maalik a half hug, passing off a drink. “Hello, hello,” he said, ushering them into the circle, “First year, where would you like to begin?”

  “What do you mean?” Iofiel asked politely.

  “She’s only nine days old,” Maalik said dismissively. “Blue, he’s asking what you’d like to drink. If you want anything — which you don’t need to — let me handle it, okay?”

  Iofiel was beginning to dislike Maalik’s habit of treating her like she couldn’t speak for herself. Okay. So she was young. But so were the other angels, and she’d been created fully grown. “I don’t really ‘get’ what drinking is all about, Shamsiel,” she said, trying to sound as mature as possible, “But please, grab me a drink of your choice. Something that tastes good.”

  In the half-light, Shamsiel grinned, his golden eyes sparkling like the fire behind him. He dashed off to the back table, and returned to deposit a small glass into Iofiel’s hand.

  “Basically all of it tastes like garbage,” he said, as Iofiel sniffed the drink and then recoiled at the strong scent. He, notably, did not say ‘garbage’
but rather something quite unangel-like. Iofiel supposed a lot of the angels secretly spoke like this, and she ought to not freak out so much at the sound of swearing. However, she did vow never to use such language herself.

  She gingerly sipped at what Shamsiel had handed her, taking in the tiniest amount of drink possible. It was bitter, harsh, and burned every millimeter of her skin as it slid down her throat. When she’d swallowed, her skin seemed to shiver from the insideout. She definitely didn’t see the appeal, but Maalik had already finished his drink and gone for another.

  While he was away, Iofiel decided to wander off and sit with someone else. While she wholeheartedly appreciated Maalik, he did seem a tad overprotective. Plus, wasn’t it a bit sad to have your roommate be your only friend?

  There was some space at the end of one of the fire-circle’s split logs, next to two other angels. Gripping her glass tightly, she sat down and leaned over to take a half-dim glance at whom she had decided to befriend.

  One, the one closest to her, was one of the few Archangels at the University, and their skin glowed like they were a paper lantern. Everything about them was grey— their eyes, their hair, their clothes— except the gentle brown of their skin. Their friend, an angel like Iofiel who kept her halo in a solid disk above her head, was a lot more colorful in comparison, with fiery red hair.

  The two of them were laughing hysterically about something, and Iofiel felt like a bit of a creep, leaning over and trying to meet the angel on the right’s eyes.

  “Hi,” she said, the moment there was a lull in their conversation. “My name’s Iofiel, and I’m a first year working towards becoming a Guardian angel. My friend Maalik brought me here!”

  “You’re Maalik’s new roomate?” The left angel distracted themself from giggling by brushing a few strands of hair behind their ear. It failed, however, and they still looked absolutely amused by Iofiel’s rushed introduction. “Tzaphkiel.” They nodded to their companion. “Nuriel.”

  “Nuriel? I swear, every time I meet someone new, it’s another bout of bad news.” Iofiel had a rough, approximate knowledge of most of the other angels built into her. Nuriel was a name she knew better than Maalik. They had been an angel who led legions and commanded hailstorms. In comparison, the meek angel before her seemed frail and afraid.

  Iofiel wondered what she was like to those who had known the last Iofiel’s legacy. She didn’t. She supposed she could ask, but maybe there was a fate element to all this, not knowing who you used to be, not planning in advance to outlive yourself. Or themself.

  A sense of self was not fully ingrained in the experience of being an angel.

  “It’d be more concerning, I think, if you didn’t recognize the name,” Tzaphkiel said. “A new angel would be some kind of fucked up omen, don’t you think? Someone without a bloody legacy, but also, you know, a total affront against our kind.”

  There was something: another swear. Even if Iofiel didn’t want to use the words herself, viewing them as crude, she had started to accept that others were. It still shocked her a little to hear an Archangel say such a word, but she was making an effort to act more mature now, wasn’t she?

  “If The Light did it, then it would have to be holy,” Iofiel pointed out.

  “Man. Do we know that? Do we even know The Light is real?” Nuriel said. Her voice was slow, and she took a moment to exhale a cloud of smoke. Iofiel hadn’t even noticed the lit cigarette in her fingers. “I mean, the Fallen can make new life. Who says some higher angel hasn’t been covering for Our Dear Old Holy Companion for the last two thousand years?”

  “And who would that be?” Tzaphkiel said, sounding skeptically amused, as if they were used to this. If Iofiel had tried to speak, she would have been shaking at the other angel’s sheer disregard for proper conduct.

  The Sun was eternal. The Sun was good. Anything else was... well, the whole schtick with Morningstar had been more complicated than not, but one who would think such blasphemy was still in the illegal fields of ‘rebellion’.

  “Metatron probably, working with the seven Archangels and some of the higher spheres. I mean, come on, what do Virtues do, really? Sit all day in prayer? Or perhaps they’re chanting whatever old spell The Light used to do when She created the first of us.”

  “Hey, I was born near the Virtues’ nest. They really are just praying and watching the Earth and shit. But I will give you that it isn’t hard to fake this kind of thing. I just think the Fallen are only able to batch up demons because of, you know, blood sacrifice, which clearly isn’t going on in Eden.”

  “That you know of,” Nuriel said calmly, taking another long drag.

  Iofiel was speechless, trying to ignore their conversations.

  “Say, newbie,” Tzaphkiel said. “What are you drinking?”

  “I have no clue.” Iofiel sniffed at it again. She hadn’t had another sip since she’d first gotten it, and now took a reluctant second. It still burned, and she retched slightly, a wholly new experience. “I think I despise it, though.”

  “You get used to it.”

  “When.” Iofiel downed the rest of her drink in one motion, shaking a little at the bitterness. She gagged again, but it stayed down.

  “So you’re rooming with Maalik, yeah?” Nuriel said, leaning over. Iofiel’s fingers were getting cold, so she shoved them in her coat and huddled her body closer together. Compared to the other angels, she stood out as a desperately bundled mass. Cold endurance was probably another acquired taste.

  “Yes. He doesn’t quite seem the type for this sort of thing.” Iofiel truthfully didn’t know what type of angel she could picture doing ‘this type of thing’ since it was all rightfully condemned.

  “You’re young,” Nuriel emphasized harshly, bringing out a raspy tone to her voice. “Everyone around here is up to something shameful. You’ll find something sin-worthy one day too.”

  “Nuri is being a bit mean, but she has a point. Don’t be afraid of things you’ve only ever been told about. We all have our vices, and that sort of means those sins aren’t all that bad.” Tzaphkiel was playing with their hair, wrapping it around their fingers. “I have the habit of taking things that don’t belong to me. Without knowing it, I walk out of rooms with heavier pockets. Nuriel, of course, has her toxic doubts. Shamsiel’s moods are wilder than his lies. And Maalik deviates towards the fringes of poisonous sexuality.”

  “He also shakes inside like a nest of wasps,” Nuriel said in a low voice.

  “What?” Iofiel asked.

  “He’s not alone, but you should see him hungover. His thoughts are rattled with anxiety,” Nuriel laughed a little, “He doesn’t like to show it, but I’ve never known someone with as much frantic doubt as Maal.”

  “No,” Iofiel said, “You mentioned sexuality.”

  Anxiety— that was a mental illness of some sort. Yes, she knew what it was, knew humans had it, and now she was learning angels could as well. But the mention of sexuality is what had really piqued her interest.

  “He has one.” Tzaphkiel tapped Nuriel lightly, and the latter handed them her cigarette. They took a deep breath and inhaled. “None of us are perfect. That’s apparent enough by the lack of triple A angels; I’m one and even I’m full of sloppy mistakes. Nuriel may be right. Perhaps our Creator is gone, or maybe just getting weaker. In the olden days, back during creation, were we not all perfect?”

  “Oh, you sap,” Nuriel interjected.

  “I’d think only Metatron would know that,” Iofiel said. She felt like shivering suddenly, like her coat was no longer enough to keep the winds from piercing her skin. “Sexuality isn’t a bad thing. Nothing is. Most humans have it, and for us, it’s all... trials. Things we’re meant to overcome. Like, Uriel is willing to admit to admit she has sexual desires. She’s just very good at not following them.”

  Nuriel snorted, and it seemed quite wrong for the mood in the air. “Maalik’s not.”

  “He...?”

  “He’s not very subtle,
believe me.”

  Nuriel cackled, while Tzaphkiel merely looked amused. Iofiel glanced around the clearing for where her roommate had gone, and found him leaning against a tree with another angel, full drink in hand. So little about him suggested anything deviant, Iofiel simply couldn’t believe that... well, wait. What were these two trying to imply again?

  “Wait, he’s like, had sex?”

  “Oh, no way he’s gotten that far. He’s just very, very pathetic. What do you think happened to the last angel he bunked with?”

  “Uh…”

  “No need to phrase it like a horror story, Nuri,” Tzaphkiel interjected, “But he did leave because of him. It wasn’t like he tried anything, but again... Listen, I doubt he ever will, but if he ever gives you shit just call for me or Nuri and we’ll get you the hell away from him, okay?”

  “I’m just going to talk to him about it,” Iofiel decided. “If everyone else knows, it can’t be much of a big deal, right? I think we’re getting to be friends, and I don’t think I care about much else.”

  “It’s going to be a big deal, but I think he ought to be drunk by now. So you’re in the clear,” Nuriel said, as Iofiel stood up.

  “One quick question, Tza—”

  “Are you wondering what a triple A angel is?” They laughed slightly. “Asexual, aromantic, agender. That heavenly ideal. Unfortunately, we do tend to be a little more than a collection of labels and a species name, don’t we?”

  Iofiel left them with a wave, and about halfway across the field realized she had left her empty cup there too. She shrugged it off and continued her approach towards Maalik. Nuriel had called him drunk, and Iofiel would’ve guessed so too, his halo was lazily bright, and his green wings were folded unevenly. When she was about a foot away, he met her gaze with weary, unfocused eyes.

  “So, I was just gossiping about you with Tzaphkiel and Nuriel, and—”

  “That’s not a very nice thing to do.” His speech was like he’d realized enunciating wasn’t quite worth the effort.