Gods of Death

6 : Archangel in the Snow

Red light, Victor reflected, was far easier on the eye than bright white.

For a moment he staggered. His mind had been racing, wondering where it was he'd appear. Hunting Archangels would require a trip into Heaven, right? Would it all be standing on clouds by pearly gates?

He didn't expect it to be snowing.

"It's so cold," he shivered. "I'm not dressed for the Arctic. Where are we?"

"Gothenburg, Sweden," said Emma. She flapped her wings hard a couple of times and lifted herself into the snowstorm. With a sudden 'pop!' the portal disappeared.

"Real Gothenburg? On Earth?"

"Yup."

Victor laughed happily, scooping up some of the snow and rubbing it onto his face. This was closer to home than he had imagined ever getting to again.

"Are you alright?" Emma asked, staring at him.

"Sorry, yes," Victor dropped his cluster of snow and rubbed his hands together to dispel the stinging cold. "Where to?" he continued.

"He's in there. I can feel him like a tingle in my tail." Emma pointed to a building on Victor's left. He turned to look.

They were standing in a street with tall five- and six-storey buildings on either side. Iron-railed balconies climbed up the walls, showing an array of apartments. In the window of one, Victor could see a middle-aged woman in her pyjamas hanging up some washing.

"What's the time?" he asked.

"Coming up to seven in the morning."

As Victor became more aware of their surroundings, he realised that there were other people on the street going about their early morning business. One man walked past him, vaping energetically as he went. No one seemed to pay the sword-wielding man and his imp companion any notice.

"Who is in there," Victor asked.

"Chamuel."

"Never heard of him."

Emma chuckled. "Your education is lacking. Archangel Chamuel, the angel of peaceful relationships."

"That's pretty wet. I was expecting something more battle-oriented."

"Oh, Chamuel won't be afraid of a fight."

"Great. So what do I do? Storm in there all crashing and violence and attack the first guy with massive wings that I see?"

"You could!" Emma's smile was wide.

"But..?"

"But he probably doesn't look like a classic angel as you are imagining, and you'd make a lot of noise and kill the wrong person. There will be lots of screaming and witnesses and by the time you've staggered out, covered in the blood of the innocent, there will be police surrounding the building. Maybe with guns; I don't know how it is in Sweden."

Victor nodded. "So?" he said eventually.

"You might want to consider luring him out."

"So I can decapitate him in the street?"

"Oooh! Can I watch?"

"Emma." Victor's voice was flat.

"I don't have a better idea."

Victor looked up at the balconies. "For f**k's sake," he muttered.

"Oi! Chamuel!" he shouted, "I need to have a word!"

On the third floor, the balcony door opened and a man stepped out. He was wearing soft purple pyjamas tied around the waste with a thin belt styled to look like a golden rope. At first, Victor simply thought he'd awoken the ire of a random stranger, but something about the glow around the man's head told him that this was the right person. Chamuel smiled beatifically down at him and waved.

"I'll be down in just a moment," he said, his voice the very essence of calm. Victor felt relaxed and dropped the tension in his shoulders he hadn't even realised was there.

"Victor," hissed Emma, "what are you doing?"

"Waiting for Chamuel to come down the stairs," he answered.

There was a sudden sting on the left side of his neck. Victor put his hand to the spot and felt warm blood.

"That hurt," he spat.

"It was meant to hurt. You are being swayed by Chamuel's effortless charm. Don't be a d**k, we can't afford for you to be a dick."

"I'm not being swayed by anything."

"Really? Look at yourself."

Victor blinked. He was sat cross-legged on the snow, his sword unbuckled and laid neatly on the ground beside him. Until reaching up to feel the pain in his neck, his hands had been placed palms down on his knees; his right hand still was.

"I don't remember sitting," he said.

"Like I said; effortless charm. Now get the f**k up and unsheath that thing."

Victor stood, looking around at the milling commuters. "There's no way I can start wielding a five-foot sword in the middle of this crowd and not have someone call the police."

"Then think of something, because Chamuel is going to be coming out in a few seconds."

Victor looked at the grey-painted wooden door that was all that stood between him and his first Archangel. "We should run," he said.

"Run?" Emma was incredulous.

"Yes, get out of here."

"We're the predators here. We're the attacking party. We're not the ones that do the running."

Victor knew she was right. "Oh f**k it!" he said. With his right hand he grabbed the ornate hilt of the sword while pulling the scabbard from it with his left. The soft leather covering fell discarded into the snow as he took his first step forward. Both hands now took the weapon as he held it over his head. There was the sound of a short scream followed by a very masculine shout but he ignored those. He would cut Chamuel down as soon as the angel stepped outside.

As if in slow-motion, Victor watched the movement as the grey door opened a tiny c***k. Light from within the house crept out like tendrils to banish the few shadows that came from the overhanging porch. Snowflakes fell gracefully onto the ground before the entryway, delicate white petals that settled either side of a slushy midsection where others had walked throughout the morning. A slippered foot stepped into that slush, either unknowing or uncaring of the soaking through that the navy slipper was going to endure.

Chamuel walked into the street.

Victor took another step, raised his sword high above his head. He still had some ground to cover between him and the Archangel, but that would be crossed in less time than it would take the sword to fall. He took a breath and suddenly fell crashing to the floor.

The impact of the man's shoulder was enough to completely wind Victor. Pain flared through his back from the attack, while his face was only protected slightly by the soft sludgy snow that carpeted the paved ground. The sword clattered to his side, the metal ringing in his ears.

He looked up into Chamuel's face. The Archangel was reaching down to him, his hand an invitation to stand. The halo that he had witnessed from that moment on the balcony was stronger now and Victor felt suffused by its light. Within it, he could see Chamuel's soft blond curls, his warm and gentle face, his endless compassion.

"Oh f**k!" Emma muttered. There was a cracking sound and she was gone.

Victor reached up to take the proffered hand.