The angel cleared his throat, and then he lifted an eyebrow, obviously waiting for a reaction.
Cass was not impressed. “That’s it? That isn’t very much to go on, you know. Never mind that if a stray angel or demon comes looking for help, of course I’ll help.”
Gabriel deflated a bit. “Mortals. You guys are never happy. No respect for the old ways. Look, a gray angel is going to end up crossing paths with you, and you’ll need to help him. I don’t have any more information than that, and I don’t even know if he knows you’ll be assisting him. I am, unfortunately, just the messenger,” he sighed.
“Ok. Thanks, Gabe,” Cass said, smiling. He could respect that the guy was just doing his job.
“It’s Gabriel,” the angel harrumphed, and with that, he was gone, and Cass was finally, blessedly alone.
A meddling ghost aunt, an ex-police officer of angelic ancestry paired up with a demon, and now a heavenly message about helping out another angel who was apparently gray—Cass thought of that saying about living in interesting times. It really was more of a curse than a blessing.
As he mused on that, he noticed that more people were walking down the sidewalks, and he figured they were about to get hit with the start of the afterwork rush. Ah well, gray angels and afterlife mysteries would need to wait until everyone got their afternoon lattes. With that, Cass headed back into the warmth of the coffee shop.
Mortals might not be impressed with heavenly messages, but they were quite enamored of their peppermint mochaccinos.
Chapter 2
Kushiel
Kushiel felt the burning through his skin, down into his very bones, like they were made of molten metal. The further he went into hell, the deeper the burning. He remembered, vaguely, the first time he had ventured below at the behest of the Almighty. He had thought the skin would be flayed from his body and had been shocked to see that he looked completely fine. Even then, the price had seemed small for his task.
He tried not to think about how much less it hurt now. The burning was a dull ache, but a familiar one. He didn’t know if part of it was that he had gotten used to it, but he did know he was irrevocably changed by his job.
Sometimes it saddened him. He belonged nowhere now. His work was singular, and it was a lonely existence.
So lonely.
Once he had known the brotherhood of angels. But visit after visit to the underworld had taken its toll, and he wasn’t sure where the pain was greater, in hell or in heaven.
The burning saturated his core in hell, but in heaven… the coldness was almost unbearable. It sunk through him and made his gait stiff, his teeth grit to avoid shivering. It felt likeeverything in him was made of ice and he would crack at any moment and shatter into a thousand pieces. Perhaps it would not hurt so much if other angels would share their warmth, would embrace him and offer comfort, but there was no comfort from his angel brethren.
He didn’t even remember when it had started. Small, of course—a chill that he hadn’t even thought about, a strange look in passing from another angel, as he glowed a little less brightly than they did. Eventually, his glow was gone, and no angel brethren touched him or spoke to him. He became what he was now.
The gray angel.
The outcast.
The fallen one.
The only comfort was in his demon brethren, and he did consider them brothers, more so than anyone upstairs. They accepted him for what he was, at least. He put on a cheery face, like nothing bothered him, like he felt no pain, and he reveled in the nonchalance and casualness with which they all treated him. When their hands touched his overheated and pained skin in the underworld, he tried not to flinch, because any touch was a blessing, even if it was painful.
Sometimes, Kushiel thought they were the only thing keeping him tethered to existence. His loyalty had probably switched, as had been proven when he had gone to the demon Arioch and Michael to warn them about an angel, but he knew that he was doing what was right.
Doing right was all he ever strove for, even if the cost often seemed too high.
Kushiel scoffed at himself. His musings were melancholy today. Despite the cost, he had faith still. He was not the pure being he had once been, but the price he paid was worth saving souls.
With that thought he shook his mood off and looked ahead at the mountain of Erebus. It was a black stone mountain that seemed to absorb all light, with jagged outcroppings and caves spread throughout it. The sky above it was bathed in red, like a beautiful sunset that had gone wrong. There were dark clouds always floating on the horizon, like at any moment a torrent of needle-like, acid rain might come pouring down. Sometimes it did, and sometimes Kushiel was inside a cave doing his work. If it prolonged his stay rehabilitating a wayward soul, perhaps that was not a bad thing.
The trek was long and hard to reach the top, and he knew he could use his wings, but a price had to be paid, and his toils would help to pay it. Yes, the souls needed to pay much of the price, but Kushiel helped where he could. He took pride in helping souls in Limbo find peace and move on, whether their choice was heaven or not, but this work—this was the work that truly made the universe better.
He tried to hold within himself the hope he had for today. He had been working with one particular soul for decades, and each time, he felt that spark of light within it get a little brighter. The soul did not even remember its name or anything about its existence, and often that was for the best. He had hope that whatever it had done, it was ready, finally, for redemption. Perhaps today was the day he would see another soul transition from hell.
Not all souls lost to hell had to stay lost, and Kushiel was the only one who could help them find their light once again. When he succeeded, it made all his pain, all his suffering, all his loneliness, worthy beyond measure. Perhaps it was prideful to think that he was the only one who could do such work, but Kushiel had to have some comfort.
He reached the top eventually, his fingers bloody, his nails broken, but it was no matter—he would heal. He traversed thethin ledge to the cave where his charge was kept, noticing for the first time how quiet the mountain was. Often he would hear the sounds of the damned inside their caves, but a silence that was eerie pervaded the mountain. As he climbed into the small cave barely large enough for his wings, he called out the traditional greeting.
“Kushiel, the Rigid One of God, Angel of Punishment, has come to seek a soul who would find redemption.”
