God's Gone AWOL

[3] Meeting Sneakers

Despite the dreary rain that had enveloped the entirety of France, the weather up in the United Kingdom's countryside was actually reasonably nice for once. Sunlight was interspersed with large, fluffy cumulous clouds on their way to terrorize everywhere south of London. It reflected off the little shiny pearls of dew left in the thick grasses and on the petals of the blooming flowers, causing the entire landscape to sparkle. A breathtaking painting brought to life on earth.

Huddled in a cluster of trees and shrubs, tucked between the marigolds and foxglove, and hidden behind a curtain of wild ivy-vines, was a little stone house. The kind with a hearth that had been providing endless warmth for hundreds of years. The kind that could watch half a dozen generations of one family come and go in and out of life and still stay standing, good as new. The kind that had first been built as a home, and had never once been called anything else. It was a house, plain and simple and beautiful.

The front door was made of a thick, dark wood. It was sturdy and heavy, designed for keeping the cold out and the heat in. Just looking at it, one could tell it was quite old. Fashioned back when things were designed to last, and it fit onto its hinges where it would swing open and closed until it decayed. That door was nearly a hundred years old, but Bentley was older. So she knocked on it loudly without any reservation.

Shortly after the two idiots left the shop, Frances had the delightful little dwelling's address sent to Atticus' phone. And with just the flap of an angel's wings, they were already on the front step.

"I find it a little suspicious that Frances just happened to have this exact person's address. Don't you?" Bentley asked.

"If Micaiah the Prophet is in the Earthly realm, but is still exposed to the supernatural, of course there would be a connection to Frances," Said Atticus.

There were very few people on Earth who were involved with Heaven or Hell or any of the business involving the divine. Sure, there was organized religion; the church, the pope, the Quran, all that fancy stuff. But those followers, prayers, and religious texts only ever directly connected to God. When it came down to the nitty-gritty-less-important affairs of angels and demons, mortals had been left in the dark for obvious reasons. So the rare person, such as Hazel, who had been roped into the mess, was most likely to be on the same neutral grounds as The Cupboard, and in turn possibly Frances or their uncle Rueben.

"I still don't trust this whole situation," said Bentley, "I'm only going along with it cuz' it's the only lead I have."

"There's nothing wrong with being wary. In any case, I'm here if anything goes sideways." Atticus said.

"You're the one I'm most suspicious of, Halo Head," She said blatantly.

Before Atticus could reply, that old, dark door opened.

The face behind it was that same face Atticus had seen on the television the night before. That same beautiful, ageless, elegant face. That impossible face. With an even more impossible appearance that was even more angelic than Atticus, but even more demonic than Bentley. That impossible person.

This was Micaiah the Prophet.

Except there was something significantly different about the Micaiah they were face-to-face with now. While that person on the screen back in the bar was a man, the person standing in front of them was clearly a woman. She was a woman, but she was identical to the man from before.

Neither angels nor demons had the ridiculous black-and-white gender system that humans had desperately tried to hold up for years and years. When appearing in human form, they would take on reasonably straightforward visages, often as a typical "male" or "female", but certainly not always. Because at their cores, angels and demons were actually giant, genderless, horrific balls of light, feathers, and eyes spinning and hovering like a terrifying version of a classic sci-fi UFO, as seen in the Bible's Book of Ezekiel. Atticus himself had presented in a perceived "female" form for the majority of his life, despite aligning his personality more with the "masculine" side of that old black-and-white mentality. There just wasn't that same line for angels or demons.

But Micaiah wasn't an angel or a demon. She hadn't changed her form because, as a human, she physically was incapable of doing so. And yet, it seemed as though she had switched to being a woman since her interview. Perhaps this meant she would switch back to being a man again sometime, or something in-between. No matter what, it seemed pretty clear to Atticus and Bentley that today, that "he" of the past was now a "she". And that was that.

"Atticus." Micaiah nodded politely, "Bentley. Glad you could make it."

So she wasn't the least bit surprised to see them. And she knew their names already. Atticus couldn't decide whether that was a red flag or a green flag. Or if he should even be surprised to begin with —she was a psychic after all. Once he and Bentley had the chance to exchange glances, the two followed Micaiah into her house.

While the exterior of the building was overrun with copious amounts of overgrowing plants, the interior had been overrun by paper. Stacks of books and paper were piled up on top of various surfaces, like the shrubbery outside. Sticky notes and other little sheets of paper were pinned up all over the walls like ivy leaves. Some looked new, some were already yellow with age. Some had little scribbles of writing on them, some had drawings, some were photographs and some were entirely blank. Multiple tall bookshelves stretched up from the floor to the ceiling like a forest of trees. It was a collection of material that even Frances would be proud of. Was it even legal to have this much paper?

And there was plenty of other types of clutter around as well. As Micaiah led them into the living room, Atticus noticed all sorts of things buried in the mess. Mugs, bottles, candles, articles of clothing, mysterious objects without identification that could belong in the Cupboard. The list was endless. Atticus had considered himself to be a collector of sorts in his retirement. But his own collection was nothing compared to the mayhem that was Micaiah's house. In fact, "collecting" didn't seem like the proper verb for it at all. "hoarding" would be far more accurate.

The contrast was remarkable. At first glance, Micaiah was flawless, elegant, and clean in every way imaginable. But this house of hers was the complete opposite. It was in such a state of disarray that Atticus actually found it impressive.

After some shuffling and moving stuff around, she cleared a spot for Atticus and Bentley to sit on the big, squishy couch. Then she vanished into the kitchen for a moment or two before returning with a plate of cookies. She set it carelessly on top of a small pile of books stacked on the coffee table. To be fair, it was the only flat surface left in the sea of clutter. But still, the angel felt a little bad for those books.

"So you knew we were coming?" Bentley tilted her head.

"Of course!" Micaiah sat down in a fluffy looking chair opposite the other two, "I was the one who asked you here in the first place!"

"You mean to say that your message on the television last night was for us?" Atticus asked.

"Who else would it be for?"

"Do you know who we are, then?"

"Angels," Micaiah merely shrugged.

She wasn't completely wrong. Technically Bentley was a demon, but Atticus had already decided that Micaiah didn't exactly see the world in the same way as he did. It was true that Bentley had, once upon a time, been an angel like himself. But she had long since left that world behind. So perhaps that was what Micaiah's divine ability was cluing into.

"You aren't phased by that?" Bentley asked,

"Do you think you're the first of your kind I've run into over the years?" Micaiah waved her hand lazily, "Try a biscuit. They're gluten free,"

Bentley obediently took a cookie from the plate.

"Do you know who we're looking for?" Atticus asked, not even sparing the plate a glance.

"Ah," Said Micaiah, "That, I don't actually know,"

Atticus and Bentley exchanged glances again. Micaiah must have noticed the look in both of their eyes because she quickly waved her arms about and backpedaled on her own words, as though afraid that she had lost their already-apprehensive faith in her.

"But!" She said quickly "I can still help you find them, I know where they are!"

Bentley tilted her head expectantly.

"How do you know where they are, but not who they are?" Atticus leaned forward on the couch.

Micaiah just shrugged and snatched a piece of paper and pen from off a random surface.

"God works in mysterious ways,"

As she started writing something down, a bushy tail emerged from within the sea of clutter, followed by the body of a fluffy cat. It made a B-line for Atticus and immediately rubbed it's head against against his hand. Without even thinking too much about it, Atticus gave the cat a scratch behind the ears.

"In that case, is it alright if I ask how, exactly, your abilities work?" He asked.

The cat was grey and white, with long, fluffy hair that shed like rain wherever it went, piling up beneath the furniture and in various corners of the house. But the fluffiness couldn't disguise that this cat was a little on the small side. Atticus could usually tell how old a cat was based on its physicality. This one was at least five years old, well into adulthood, but it was barely any larger than an adolescent. Then he took a look at the cat's face and instantly understood why.

The cat had a regular, adorable nose, mouth and head shape. But there was still something that really piqued Atticus' interest. While eye on the right of the cat's face was a healthy gleaming yellow, the eye on the left was dull and silver, as though it had been replaced by a large, grey pearl. This cat was partially blind!

Micaiah finished writing and handed the paper to Bentley. Atticus leaned over to read what it said, only to discover that all Micaiah had written were a bunch of numbers interspersed with letters and symbols. To somebody else, especially Bentley, it might just look like gibberish. But Atticus knew better.

"These are GPS Coordinates," He said, "Will these take us to the person we're looking for?"

"That's the first step. Although if that person doesn't wanna be found, things may become difficult. I'm not sure,"

Bentley swallowed the last bite of her cookie and leaned forward.

"Okay, and what do you want in exchange for it?"

"Pardon?"

"You can't just be offering up exactly what we need without wanting anything in return,"

"Why not? The info's already in my head. I don't need it, I might as well give it to the ones who do. I have nothing to lose or gain in this situation,"

"She has a point," Atticus said.

"In my thousands of years of experience, I've come to learn that nearly nothing comes without a catch. So what is it?"

Was this statement pointed at Micaiah or Atticus? Ever since he'd started following her around, she'd been suspicious of him. There wasn't anything wrong with being apprehensive, but these little rude remarks she kept dropping were becoming more and more annoying. It was like she couldn't stand the thought of anybody helping her just because she needed it.

"Why can't you trust anybody?" He asked her, "Is the simple act of kindness a foreign concept to you?"

"No, it's fine," Said Micaiah, sensing an oncoming conflict. "Bentley has a reason to be cautious because she's actually right. There is a catch,"

"I told you-"

"But it's not my own catch. It's set by someone else,"

"What's that mean?"

"It means that although these coordinates will get you what you need eventually, there will be some obstacles in the way. I can't clear them for you, only warn you,"

Atticus turned to Bentley before she could make anything worse.

"Are you satisfied now?" He asked,

"Satisfied, yes. But not at all at ease," She said, "I'll take your word for it. But if you're misleading us for any reason, I'll come right back her and smite you off the face of the earth,"

An elegant little smile spread across Micaiah's lips.

"In that case, I'll be waiting eagerly for your return,"

Bentley stood up, her fingers circling Atticus' wrist in preparation to yank him off the couch. He was still preoccupied petting the cat, so her sudden grip took him by surprise. As soon as Atticus was pulled to his feet, the cat jumped back onto the floor and scurried away, startled by the abrupt change in atmosphere.

"Thank you, Micaiah the very real prophet." Bentley tugged Atticus towards the door, "We'll be on our way."

Atticus tried to offer a proper angelic salute, but the demon still clinging to his arm made it somewhat difficult. In the end he was just dragged back out the front door.

"If this was a police investigation, I'd be kicked off the squadron for going off the most holistic leads possible," Bentley muttered as they walked back down the stone garden path.

A voice called out behind them:

"Bentley!"

"AH! What now??"

"There's something I need to tell you before you go." Micaiah was standing in the doorway, "Atticus, you can just stay where you are."

Atticus simply nodded. It finally seemed to dawn on Bentley that she had been clinging to him this whole time and she quickly let go. While she was returning to the front steps of the house, that same fluffy cat slipped out past Micaiah's legs and once again bounded straight to Atticus. He knelt down, pretending not to be able to hear what the other two were saying, focusing mostly on the cat.

"It's okay to trust Atticus," Micaiah said, her voice lowered.

"Oh yeah?" Bentley tilted her head.

"Please believe me. This matter is even more important than the one you came for. I can promise he will do nothing against you and you'll be better off when he's around,"

"Are you aware that he literally murdered me?"

Atticus was pretending to be very deep in conversation with his new fluffy companion. Otherwise he would have already beaten her with a witty retort.

"Oh, did he now?" Said Micaiah.

"You don't believe me? I've still got the scar, you wanna see." She immediately started lifting her shirt.

"No. That's alright. Everybody's heard the story of how he killed you, don't worry." Micaiah pulled Bentley's shirt back down. "As strange as it sounds, he's probably the safest person there is for you to be around. So I'm asking you now to trust him and forget about your rocky past."

Out of the corner of his eye, Atticus saw Bentley give a silent nod. Without saying anything further, she turned back around and started to leave, grabbing her angel on the way. The cat, who was in the middle of sniffing his nose, looked rather miffed at having it's new friend pulled away so quickly. Both of them wanted to stay just a moment longer, but Bentley wasn't having any of it.

"We're leaving," She said.

"What did Micaiah want to talk to you about?"

"She was just telling me something I already know,"

Atticus couldn't suppress his smile. So he spun around in order to hide it from Bentley.

"Before we go, I'd like to ask the name of your cat," He called.

"My cat? She's the one who owns me!" Micaiah called back, "Her name is Sneakers!"

~~~

RJ's Note: Sorry to interrupt, but the importance of gender and sexuality is really important in this novel, and because this poor author tends to forget not everyone has the same abstract views, something may go over readers' heads. We're just gonna say it clearly right now.

In case it isn't clear enough: none of the angels or demons in this story follow current human constructs of gender. Yes, they use pronouns like she/her, he/him, they/them and whatnot, but that's only because most human languages require pronouns. So because this Jester is currently writing in English, all the occult characters have selected their pronouns based on whatever they feel suits their personality. Now, obviously gender doesn't have to shape gender at all, but in cases such as the character of Bentley, she's just the sort of person who would never willingly identify as a man. That's just who she is.

Additionally, there are some character's who physically present in a body that the human mind might register as being a different gender. This has been explained already, but in case it isn't clear: Atticus, despite having always used "he/him" pronouns, always wore the human form of what most people in this day and age would consider a "woman". The same goes for Atticus' dad, Ophaniel, although we haven't introduced him yet. Micaiah is the only canonical gender-fluid character, although any of the angels/demons are also able to change the presentation of their human forms at any given time. This is the case with a few characters, where the perceived body has no effect on pronouns.

And for this reason, among angels and demons and whatever, there is no homosexuality, heterosexality, or even bisexuality. These are sexualities that are influenced by gender identity and presentation, which is --as stated before-- just not a thing when you're a literal hovering sphere of magical eyeballs and wings (Try looking up biblically accurate angels. They're wonderful!). Now of course the other, non-occult characters can be straight, gay, bi, whatever. But in the case of angels and demons, they're typically pansexual, asexual, aromantic, or demisexual. That's that.

Hopefully all this makes sense. This poor Jester is quite tired of the rigid human pink-and-blue-man-and-woman gender system. The Bible often talks about how that really shouldn't be a thing, so it fits quite well into the context of the story. Please let Jester know if this is just too confusing to anyone.

Thanks for reading, means a lot :)

-Red Jester