“Who are you,” Salem groaned again, shifting about until he came to rest his head upon her shoulder. “You smell good though.” The emphasis on all his words was wrong, not quite slurred but mixed up for the English language.
“I’m planning on going. Do you want me to bring you home?” Iofiel wasn’t sure how that would work— she’d seen his wings before, but flying drunk didn’t seem safe, and it was quite a walk back to the university. Still, she felt somewhat obliged not to leave him here, even if she also knew she had no reason to care. She really was too nice for her own good.
“You a witch?” Salem tried to stand up but nearly toppled down the stairs instead, Iofiel’s grip being the only thing keeping him grounded. He fell back onto the rug instead, laughing.
“Yeah, I’m a witch.”
“Teach you my summoning sigil then. Cause I’m a demon.” He looked at her, evidently finding something funny, his dark brown eyes losing a glimmer of magic, revealing a half-shade of his true purple irises. Iofiel was surprised humanity hadn’t learned of the existence of demons by now, if all young ones were this bad at subtlety. “Demon. Could be an incubus if you want me to...” His voice petered off, thankfully.
“You’re going to have quite the hangover.” Salem was in her year, after all, and she had a feeling he’d be skipping Soul Trade tomorrow. “Come on.” She didn’t make to move, however, as Salem was still being a wet fish, flopping all his weight against her shoulder again.
His hand grabbed for hers and latched onto the wrist instead. For whatever reason, he had revealed his demonic claws— long, purple things that felt like complex fingernails. They didn’t hurt.
“Ouch,” she complained dully.
“Sorry,” he slurred, full of sudden swagger and bearing a white-toothed grin, “I know I have some big, sharp claws.”
He really didn’t, so Iofiel wasn’t sure what he was trying to say. Was that a euphemism? For what, his penis? That sounded uncomfortable.
“You could stand to sharpen them more,” Iofiel decided to say, after a long pause.
“Then they’d rip all my clothes.” Salem frowned miserably. “...I should go home.” He sighed deeply, and rolled his head as to make eye contact with Iofiel. He seemed suddenly full of determination. “I have a big match tomorrow.”
It sounded utterly like nonsense to Iofiel at first, but luckily, she had time. She had heard a few rumors of something called ‘soccer’, a human sport that was played in ‘matches’ on campus. She’d even seen a practice once, from a distance, and recalled that Salem had been wearing a uniform the first time she’d seen him, back when he broke Archie’s nose.
Oh yeah, he’d done that, hadn’t he? Iofiel really needed to remind herself that, if she was going to go around being a nice person to jerks, she could at least pick demons who hadn’t personally victimized her friends. Or herself, actually.
Ugh. “You play soccer?”
“Yeah,” Salem giggled strangely, like something about her wording hadn’t quite captured the majesty of his achievements. He played soccer. He played it. “We’re too small of a school to really go against any of the really good leagues, but we play a couple of the other schools and clubs in the area, and we’re really good. As I’m very good. So that’s tomorrow, ‘gainst Saint U’s, and...” He said a couple more words, but they were impossible to understand.
Iofiel stood up, pulling Salem to his feet as she did so. He wobbled, but gripped her arm. “You’re going to have a pretty bad hangover,” she said with a sigh. Walking down the stairs was an ordeal, and each step only made the music louder.
“Fuck, yeah. I am.” At the front door, Salem decided to stop walking. Iofiel knew this because his sudden dead weight dragged her down, and she landed hard against the stone steps. The demon who had let her in eyed them, but returned to her novel a moment later. The bass still leaked through the door, but was mostly subdued by magic. The crickets took up the call instead of providing a restless background noise.
“Can I tell you something, man?” Salem said, gesturing broadly. “About me. I’m a demon?”
“I know that.”
“Oh, yeah, I told you that. But I’m a demon? So I’m going to go out and be a soul collecting one, right? But that’s just it. That is it. You can’t be anything more than a demon when... you’re a demon. You know?”
“I do,” said Iofiel, softly.
“I like soccer. Like, that’s what I’m good at. We played it down in Hell a lot in lieu of having parents or freedom, so that’s what I... I don’t really want to— it’d be my dream to go pro, right? But even beyond that, I guess what I’m trying to say is, I wouldn’t mind being like the humans I play against. They’re always bitchin’ about money and math tests. I want to worry.”
“You want free will.”
Salem stared at her, aghast. “I just really like soccer.” He shook his head and then stopped, staring up at the stars. The nights were getting to be cold. “Guess I want to fail at it though, screw up so bad that I don’t have any alternatives. So there isn’t the temptation of a normal life.”
“There’s no normal for us,” Iofiel said, “It’s just a hobby. You can keep at it when you’re out of school, I bet.”
“Don’t know.” Salem curled up, pulling his knees to his chest and leaning against Iofiel. “Doesn’t feel like that’s the point though.” He wormed his hand into Iofiel’s, who was suddenly feeling heavy-hearted. She held it tight, rubbing the callused backs of his hand with her fingers, staring off at the shadowy forms of the far off mountains.
“Here, I’ll take you home.” She helped him to his feet, towards the backyard of the house as to afford her some privacy. Hopefully Damien wouldn’t mind that she was leaving early, but then, even if she would care Iofiel wasn’t going to head inside and tell her. It’d be good for her to upset Damien, wouldn’t it? Upset a demon, like she was supposed to do. Maybe it’d help balance out what she was doing now.
She spread her wings, drawing them out of the dustwork of reality, and invoked what magic she could into assuring she’d stay hidden. Salem was heavy, and she really did need a good running start to get airborne, but she did it anyway— one leap, one harsh movement, and she was in the air, cradling Salem against her chest.
“You should really come to my game tomorrow,” he said. Part of Iofiel wondered if he was even aware he was in the air at the moment, or if perhaps he was just drunk enough that he thought he had passed out and was in a particularly exciting dream.
Thank the Light for magic. Though her arms were tired, she didn’t have much trouble catching the wind, and soon she was soaring above the city lights, narrowing her eyes to follow the road she had walked down. The autumn air didn’t phase her, but Salem— who was hanging in her arms like a relaxed cat, his legs dangling, shivered.
Iofiel muttered a few holy words, a lithe little tune she’d never learned but only knew. And pretty soon Salem was asleep, warm and safe. And Iofiel was busy rolling her eyes at herself, desperately trying to remind herself how dumb this was, how a demon didn’t need a protection ward on him, and how the pursuit of soccer was not something worthy of crying over.
It was just a game where you kicked balls around in shorts, she reminded herself sternly. And demons who felt bad about being demons were still demons. Who were going to bring about the end of days. Who were going to steal the souls of innocents and encourage evil among humanity. Maybe soccer was evil, actually. Demons sure were.
Anyway, she landed softly, placing Salem on a patch of tall grass that grew on the outskirts of the Hub. She shook him gently, and when he didn’t wake, paused. She started to unravel the spell she’d put on him, pulling it apart with her fingertips, but then paused again. She didn’t quite know what it was, but it was keeping him warm, and letting him rest. It was good.
He didn’t deserve it, but she was good, so she left it, and him, among the grasses. It wouldn’t rain tonight, and tomorrow he’d awake from a particularly kind dr
eam, where the world had gone his way.
Iofiel knew this very well, and she left him there.
13: And The Sun Shines
SALEM WASN’T AT Soul Commerce the next morning, and after class Iofiel trudged out to the field just to double check he had even awoken. The answer to that was yes, at least, but she lacked the resources to find out where he’d gone.
At lunch, she at least knew what she needed to investigate next: “Hey, is soccer like a demon thing, or what?” She’d seen the team practice before, but the idea of it being a co-species type of sport was perplexing.
Nuriel and Tzaphkiel were the only two angels at the table to take notice of her question; though Maalik was presently beside her, he seemed focused on leafing through his medical textbook between bites of his meal.
“It’s mostly a human thing,” Tzaphkiel said politely.
“But is it a ‘demon’ thing here?” Iofiel asked again, hurrying through her waffle. “I’m planning on going to a game today, but I don’t want to run into any trouble.”
“I think you’ve done worse things to earn the angelic community’s wrath, Io,” Nuriel said, “The intercollegiate team is all demon, but I know we have a intramural team of angels. And it’s not particularly a bad thing to go to a sports match, though I don’t understand what there is to get out of it.”
“I wouldn’t mind attending such a spectacle. Are the demons playing, then?” Tzaphkiel asked, holding their hands together on the table, and gauging the reactions of those around them. “I’m to be a Guardian, after all. Though I’m acquainted with many things, I’ll admit I’ve never carved out the time to learn about their sports. Might come in handy one day.”
“You’re going to be a Guardian?” Iofiel said, “Me too! Or, er, me formally too. Isn’t it a tad funny for an Archangel to go anywhere but the battleground?”
“I wasn’t called there, so I don’t feel the need to attend,” they said coolly. “Soldiers do what soldiers do, but humanity needs Guardians more than they need invisible agents clashing on an unknown plane. Of course, you’re now bound to toil off peddling souls or whatever, which I’m sure is going to be profoundly helpful.”
Iofiel fell forward, propping her head up in her hands. Tzaphkiel surely didn’t mean to come off as mean— she’d known them for a while now, and they were usually quite nice. But they were also an Archangel, and Archangels were meant to be leaders. And truth sayers. And they were only being honest. “What if I stole them from humans but... just put them in Heaven.”
“You are planning on quitting after a year, correct?” Maalik hadn’t moved, and was still seemingly enthralled by his book, but his voice was sad and flat. It was the first thing he’d said to her this morning.
“C-Course.”
“Might not have another three years.” Tzaphkiel ticked their tongue and said no more.
“The match is going to be in town. I’ll come with you.” Maalik finished eating and stood up, closing his textbook loudly and gathering his dishes. Iofiel wasn’t sure if she ought to do the same. “I’ll find you when I know what time.”
He left, leaving Iofiel speechless.
“He’s in a mood.” Nuriel leaned forward, “So are we cordially uninvited then?”
“You can... do whatever you’d like,” Iofiel got up, watching Maalik leave the eating area in a hurry. She glanced behind her, and realized how odd she looked to the other angels, standing there dramatically like some forlorn lover, so she immediately grabbed her stuff and rushed out the door.
“You too,” Nuriel called after her, and faintly, she heard Tzaphkiel huff something about responsibilities.
She caught with Maalik partway down the hall, keeping pace behind him for a few steps before she worked up the gall to appear by his side. He exhaled sharply, but they walked in near silence for a minute, the only sounds coming from the hush chatter of other students and the tapping of their shoes against the stonework.
“Are you mad at me?” she asked in a quick whisper.
Maalik’s face twitched slightly, while his wings twitched more. “Let’s talk later.”
“I mean, okay, but—”
“Later,” he said, and with a few quick steps glided to the end of the hall. A demon, forced to duck, swore loudly and sent a glare Iofiel’s way.
She watched Maalik slam open the outside door and take flight, and stood there, feeling defeated. Things has been awkward between them, but never dramatic. She turned on her heel and stormed... She stormed for a few steps, and then slumped against the wall. Should she go back to the lunchroom? Run out and try to find Maalik? See if she could track down Santiago?
Eventually she found herself at Archie’s door, and moments later, on Archie’s floor.
“I don’t get it,” Archie said, after Iofiel had explained the events of the party last night in rough detail. “I think you’re just too nice.”
“You can’t be too nice!” Iofiel said automatically, but then she leaned back and groaned loudly. “I’m very, very nice. And impulsive. I just wish I could... say no? Or think of a more appropriate negative thing to say than ‘no’.”
Archie was leaning back on his bed, staring at the ceiling and pulling at a loose thread on the bright green sweater he was wearing. It was an odd thing, with the pattern of cat heads sewn on, and Iofiel couldn’t imagine where he’d gotten it. She’d been making do with the same four outfits since arriving at the University.
“You need to stop doing demon stuff. Before something bad happens.”
Iofiel just wanted to vent, and Archie was listening— but he seemed to be taking her light complaints of an overly friendly bully quite grimly.
“I’m worried.”
“I guess? I mean, The Good One Who Is Like— er, Archangel Michael said things were okay, and I was a bit curious about what demons get up to. It’s not like it’s a sin to help others— I just should have... left.”
“It might be a sin to help the enemy.” Archie turned his head and looked at her. “You can drop out, you know. See if you can go back to being normal before it’s too late.”
“Too late for what?”
“Look, you’ve helped me. You shouldn’t have, but you did. Just— if you keep...” Archie trailed off, looking at the ceiling again. Iofiel looked too; there wasn’t much to see beyond dirt and a few weeds near the window, poking through the stonework.
“I’m not in any danger. I’m not going to get hurt.” She sat up a bit straighter, and leaned over, shaking Archie slightly. “Hey, you hear me? I like what I’m doing, so... everything’s going to be fine.”
“Well, at least you’re saying no to something.” Archie said. “You do realize I’m probably not the person to talk to for advice on anything?”
“Yeah you are,” Iofiel said with a hmph, hands on her hips. “You’re my friend, and you’re not Maalik, so you’re plenty qualified to talk to me about Maal.”
“I don’t know what kind of advice to give then.”
Iofiel stood up suddenly, a thought coming to mind. “I think I need to go yell at Maalik.”
“Huh?”
“You know, talk loudly?” Iofiel’s wings bristled. It’s not like anger was illegal for angels, but you’d be hard pressed to find one advocating for it. But Iofiel was angry, kinda. Upset. Displeased. A lot of other synonyms.
Things were awkward between them, but why did they have to stay that way? He was being curt with her, but...
Oh! Screw it. Seriously.
She slammed open Archie’s heavy wooden door and ran to the nearest window, throwing herself out and taking flight instantly. She soared upwards and glided in wide circles, watching for a hint of green— twice she swooped close to the ground only to realize her target was some other green-winged angel. Once it was a scarf.
After about thirty circles, her rash of irrationality faded. Plus, Maalik didn’t seem to be wandering the grounds. She landed in a field by the woods and lay there for a while, violet wings outstretched. A f
ew angels came to check in on her— broad shapes in the sky that grew larger for a few seconds before swerving off.
The days were getting cold fast, and even with the dark coat she’d about taken from Maalik, she shivered a little in the breeze. Hopefully the University would be providing the students with winter clothes before it got any colder, because Iofiel’s long skirt wasn’t cutting it. At least the autumn breeze brought the sweet scent of decay and rot, a crisp and new smell she was surprised to find she enjoyed. She lit a small ball of magic and toyed with it with one hand, letting the warmth spread from her fingertips to her entire body, waiting.
Iofiel awoke when Maalik landed near her, the gusts from his wings tossing her hair over her face. She sat up slowly, only for Maalik to immediately pull her by the wrist to her feet.
She did her best to recapture her previous feelings towards him: “We need to talk.”
“Yeah, obviously. Can you do something about your hair? I’m not sure human hair dye comes in that shade, and we need to lie low.”
“...About us.” Iofiel combed through her hair with her best show of irritation, doing her best to alter the shade. It’d been augmented by Amriel, an Ophan, and while she was getting better at feeling magic, she didn’t know quite how to change it.
Eventually Maalik sighed and did it himself in three strokes, changing her hair to a simple shade of light brown. “We’ll handle it there. They don’t listen too hard around humans.” That ‘they’ could have been anyone, really— Iofiel got the gist, and was frustrated the thought hadn’t occurred to her. Of course if you’re going to sort out icky relationship questions you do it out of school bounds! Of course Maalik had known this!
Did this make her wrong? Well, it certainly made her feel pointless, but he’d been rude either ways, so she decided she’d still tell him this later.
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