Gods of Death

7 : Coffee with Chamuel

"Would you like some tea? Coffee? A glass of water?"

Victor sat at the small, round Ikea table and smiled at his host. "Coffee? God, that'd be great."

"We don't say that around here," admonished Chamuel as he flicked on the kettle. "At least, not in the way you did."

"Say what?"

"God." Chamuel smiled.

"Oh!" Victor laughed. "I suppose not. Sorry."

"You are forgiven." Chamuel said with conviction. Victor felt like he was, like a great burden that had been on his shoulders for almost his entire life was lifted. Not just forgiven that one transgression, but for every swear-word he had ever uttered. He almost, almost, felt like never swearing again.

They remained in comfortable silence while the Archangel filled a cafetiere with freshly ground coffee and hot water. The smell was delicious, cutting through the cold to fill Victor's senses with something warm and uplifting. A couple of minutes later they were sat together, hands clutching mugs of the steaming brown liquid.

"It's good," Victor said after the first sip.

"Thank you."

If he had expected any awkwardness from his being here, he would have been disappointed. Chamuel seemed genuinely pleased to see him, despite his intentions from earlier. Ridiculous really. Victor glanced at the sword placed neatly against the wall. The scabbard was still lying in the snow outside the apartment. He really should go and get it.

"Do you mind if I just pop out for a moment?" Victor asked, "I left something on the ground."

Chamuel nodded gracefully and Victor left him with the coffee while he returned to the street.

The leather sheath was just where he had dumped it. Victor wondered for a moment where Emma had gone; she had been his companion and constant irritation for almost two weeks now and it felt strange to walk without her fwump fwump or regular snidenesses in his ear.

"Emma," he called softly, "are you around?"

There was no answer. Puffing slightly to warm himself from the cold, Victor returned to Chamuel.

"Did you find it?" The beautiful man looked at him with a look of true concern.

"Just where I left it," said Victor. He waved the flopping length of material and metal to show that he had been successful and then walked over to the sword to put it back in the protective skin. As his hands touched the hilt, he felt a shudder; the first truly negative emotion he'd experienced in a while. It almost made him drop the weapon but carefully he composed himself and completed the task, leaning the massive blade back against the wall and sitting back down with the coffee.

"Impressive sword," Chamuel commented.

"Yeah, it's looked after me this far."

"So what brings you to Gothenburg?" The smooth change of subject almost bothered Victor, but he answered honestly.

"You did. We were looking for you."

"We?"

"My umm, friend, Emma. She had to go."

"Did she?" Chamuel smiled again. A knowing smile that told Victor that there was no point in lying but also gave him the respect and grace to allow him to continue doing so anyway.

"I'm sure she'll be back."

"No doubt." Chamuel paused. "What were you looking for me for?"

Victor glanced with guileless innocent to the sword lying against the wall. "I am meant to kill you," he said.

Chamuel nodded. "It's been tried before," he said.

"I'm sorry." Victor didn't know what else to say.

"The important part is that you didn't. Maybe I can help you. I can tell that this isn't exactly your first choice and that someone is forcing you into this situation. We might be able to approach them together, or find a way for you to talk to them to resolve your issue another way."

Victor grinned. "I don't think they are going to go for that?"

"No?"

"No." Victor took another drink of his coffee.

"Talking helps most issues, you know. Communication is key to any relationship; even ones you don't think of as a relationship."

"Maybe I could talk to them," Victor conceded. "I haven't really tried. If I'm honest, I sort of took them at their word and just ran with it. They are very persuasive and convincing."

"Really? See, there might be something there." Chamuel seemed hopeful.

"Are you just humouring me?"

"No, Victor. There is nothing in this world or any other than cannot be solved with open love and trustworthy communication. I have no need to humour you. Whatever forces are at work here, they can be turned and convinced otherwise, just as I convinced you to sit and have coffee with me - until recently your target for assassination."

"And you really believe that?"

"Believe it?" Chamuel laughed, "I embody it."

The Archangel reached forward and put his finger gently on Victor's forehead. Immediately, Victor felt the dropping away of many of his life's concerns. Arguments with family, difficulties with friends; they all were suddenly made simple with a vast influx of understanding, empathy and perspective. Chamuel removed his finger and the feeling diminished like the volume had been turned down, but he could still hear the muted hum in the background of his mind.

"What was that?" he asked.

"Understanding," said the curly-haired man, somehow resplendent in his plum-coloured nightwear.

Victor's eyes focussed on the halo that surrounded the head of the Archangel. It was so intangible and indistinct that it would be easy to argue it didn't exist or that it was a trick of the light. He could have been nothing but a normal man; at no point in the conversation had Victor ever confirmed the other's name or identity.

"Who are you?" he asked.

Before an answer came, there was a sequence of sudden popping noises from the air behind Chamuel. An imp appeared. Not Emma; Victor had come to know her face and markings well, but another cruel-faced devil creature. He glared at Victor with a toothy grimace. A second c***k in the air signalled a second imp. This time it was Emma, a look that could almost be considered sadness on her face.

As the first imp danced and weaved in the air, Emma sped across to Victor. Her tail lashed twice, cutting little stripes down either cheek as Victor cried out.

"Pick up the sword, dumb dumb," she commanded.

Victor reached obediently for the weapon and drew it, feeling its power throb down his forearms. Chamuel was standing now, looking into his eyes with a mixture of determination and forgiveness. There was a bright light and his pyjamas dropped away, replaced with a strong-looking silver armour and enormous white feathered wings that filled the room.

He spoke and his voice boomed:

"Begone, devils, you have no dominion here!"

Victor watched, sword in hand as light streamed from Chamuel's form to engulf both the imps in a halo of their own, only this halo seemed to be strong and imprisoning. The first imp, the one Victor didn't know, grinned as he finished his evocation. A black cloud formed behind the angel and a woman stepped out of it.

She was clad in full-body black leather armour which would have rendered her descriptively genderless without her stunning oval face and long black hair that was tied into a plait descending to her waist. In one hand she held a weapon Victor had little knowledge of: a mace. A long pole that ended in a vicious spiked ball.

Without hesitation, she swung the thing at the back of Chamuel's head where it met angelic bone, hair and halo in one moment. There was the sound of crunching skull, a roar of triumph from her crimson-painted lips and a cackle from the imp.

Chamuel fell face-first to the floor at Victor's feet, blood streaming from the open wound.