Chapter 6 pp 51-54

Fire. Fire for blood, fire for skin, fire for thoughts. Fire that burned without consuming. Fire without light, fire without pain, fire without fear. Fire that felt like a—

Lucia opened her eyes. Finsternis’ eyes weren’t really violet, nor did they actually have pupils, irises or corneas. His eyes were a starbust of every shade of purple from almost black at the center to a nearly white lilac at the edges. They were beautiful and she wasn’t sure why she’d never noticed it before.

They both pulled back at once. Lucia looked around, confused. They were still at Famine’s house. Four dead angels decorated the floors amongst shattered glass, burned wood and broken knickknacks. The one closest to her still smoldered. Apparently, very little time had passed, though Lucia felt as though she had overslept, leaving her groggy, even though fire still sparked through every nerve ending. She was pressed up against Finsternis, one of his hands wrapped in her hair, the other on the small of her back while he studied her intently.

“What . . . what was that?” she asked.

Finsternis removed his hands and stepped back, one arm out as if to catch her. “We need to go. This is not a safe place to be.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? One second I’m saving your ass from getting chopped in half by a light sword, the next you’re kissing me and we have to go? What the fuck is going on? Is that a shofar? A real one?” Her thoughts couldn’t seem to come together, but the shofar held her attention. Christianity, or at least the churches that tended to hire speakers like Tanny Harris, had gone from hating Jews as the killers of Christ to appropriating their culture. Lucia had spent many a Sunday listening to people refer to God as “Yahweh”, or the informal “Yah”, and attempting to produce notes on rams’s horns made of plastic. It was worse when they succeeded. Those same people would often serve challa bread with bacon and pray in Jesus’ name during Rosh Hoshanna dinners, a joke that never got old with the Jewish partners at the law firm.

“Yes, that is a real shofar. And I am sorry for . . .” Finsternis ran a hand through his hair, smoothed down his shirt. “We really need to go.” Sirens sounded in the distance.

Lucia realized that if the police did see the corpses as angels, it would provoke questions she couldn’t possibly answer, and if they didn’t, she was in a house with four dead bodies. “Fine, let’s go.”

As they walked out the door, Finsternis set the house ablaze without looking back. “How would the average human see dead angels?” Lucia asked as she got into the car.

“Dead, both angels and demons lose our ability to hide in plain sight.” He whipped the car back and took off, tires screeching and smoking.

“Where did you learn to drive, the Indy 500?” Lucia asked, pressed against her seat by the speed.

A grin crinkled Finsternis’ eyes. “Back when cars weighed ten times as much, steered like boulders and did not even have seat belts, there were no speed limits. Now that cars are actually controllable, filled with safety precautions and capable of real speed, you are forced to plod along barely faster than a horse. Humans are perverse.”

“True that, but—“ Lucia gasped as Finsternis threaded through traffic at 80 mph, missing the other cars by inches or less. “Am I capable of having a heart attack?”

“No. Why does every nephalim ask me that?”

“Because you are a crazy person, that’s why,” said Lucia. “So, kissing, what was that all about?” Lucia asked casually. She still felt somewhat . . . warm.

“Simply blasting you with Hell’s Inferno would not have worked. You are nearly immune to it,” Finsternis explained.

He said it so matter of factly, Lucia’s first reaction was to nod and accept his explanation. “Wait a minute, you need to back up. Why was it necessary to ‘blast’ me at all?”

Finsternis frowned. “The angels, their use of Heaven’s Light, triggered the archangel within you. It was consuming your human half. Allowed to continue, it would have killed you,” he finally said quietly.

“So I’m a walking time bomb and any time the angels that are hunting us right now find me, I could explode?” She didn’t remember any of this. From her point of view, she’d hit an angel with a poker and then, with no transition at all, Finsternis was kissing her. Lucia believed him, if only because also didn’t remember the fourth angel or his shofar. Obviously something had happened and for some reason, she hadn’t been aware of it. Right in front of her.

"It should not have happened. Only an archangel should be able to trigger the archangel within you," said Finsternis.

"How is that relevant? It did happen, it could happen again. At any moment. Like right now." Lucia stopped, concentrated on breathing for a few moments. "Is there any way to prevent it from happening again?"

"I hope so. There was a thing that could possibly help you, assuming it does not kill you. I hope that we can find it Manhattan."

"In a club?"

"No, in a store."

For moment, Lucia felt marginally better. "Possibly help, assuming it does not kill you" wasn't the most positive description she'd ever heard, but it was better than nothing. Besides, this was Finsternis. He was fearless, could defeat four angels with very little help and was thousands of years old. Finsternis wouldn't let her die a horrible death.

 Then she considered why Finsternis would keep her alive. To prevent the Apocalypse, to stop War, Pestilence, Death and the Messiah, her nephalim cousin. Rats in a cage, all of them, just like her.  And when the Messiah was dealt with, Finsternis would, quite literally, go to Hell, leaving Lucia on Earth to explode. She didn't imagine that the forces of Heaven would just let her go after all the trouble she already had caused them, and the trouble she intended to cause them in the near future.

"There's no winning against God, is there?" she whispered.

"Certainly not if you give up now," replied Finsternis.

“Fine. Is there anything else I should know about?”

Finsternis’ jaw clenched. His eyes flashed fire and he seemed to crackle for a moment. Lucia realized she could now see him holding Hell’s Fire even when he wasn’t using it. “The Messiah is Gabriel’s son.”

“What?” Lucia knew she could not have heard that right.

“The Messiah is the nephalim son of the archangel Gabriel, General of Heaven’s Host,” Finsternis repeated through clenched fangs.

“I thought angels didn’t do that. At least not the ones serving Yhwh, anyway.”

Finsternis snorted. “I’m sure Gabriel is very careful to hate every second of it.”

“Well, that certainly explains the first chapter of Luke. Do you suppose he actually said ‘Hail thou art highly favored, the Lord is with thee, blessed art though among women’?” Lucia had heard some bad come on lines in her life, but that had to be the worst ever recorded.

“I have no doubt that is a direct quote.” Finsternis laughed. “This would be funnier to you if you had ever met Gabriel.”

“I’m sure,” said Lucia.

“He is just such an uptight, self righteous, arrogant—“ the last was in demonspeak, a collection of hisses and growls that Lucia interpreted as “bastard”. “Serves him right, what Yhwh makes him do sometimes.”

“I’d find that funnier except that I can’t help but think of Mary. No matter how right it served Gabriel, what did she ever do to anyone?” Lucia asked.

“I am not without a heart, Little Light. You forget I spent two years in the company of Jesus. I actually met Miryam once. I doubt she liked the sex itself, but she was very proud of having been chosen to bear the Messiah,” Finsternis said gently.

“I hope you’re right. What was she like?” Lucia just couldn’t quite grasp the idea that Finsternis had personally known Jesus, Judas, Mary and the rest. It wasn’t reasonable.

Finsternis shrugged. “She was a proper married Jewish women of her time.”

“What does that mean?”

“Married Jewish women did not spend any great deal of time with men other than their husbands, certainly not without their husbands present.” He paused. “She seemed nice enough.”

Lucia laughed. “Of course I meet someone who actually met Mary and all I get is that she ‘seemed nice enough.’ Where are we going?”

“Manhattan.”

“Is that where War is?”

“I have no idea where War is. Finding him is up to you. I just like Manhattan,” Finsternis replied.

“Of course you do.” Lucia pulled out her iPad. “Let’s see what’s happening in the land of lolcats and lulz lizards.”

“Where?” For the first time, Finsternis looked honestly confused. Lucia rolled her eyes.

“The internet, Finsternis. Welcome to 1999.” She scrolled through her twitter feed. “Holy shit!”

“What is it? Cats or lizards?”

“It looks like Anonymous got hold of Famine’s data. It’s everywhere. And,” she pressed a link, “It looks like they hacked Santalmo but good.” She held up the iPad so Finsternis could see it. It displayed a picture of a man’s torso, in a suit and tie, surrounded by laurel leaves. Where the head should have been was a question mark.

“What is that supposed to be?” Finsternis asked.

“That is one of the symbols for a group of hacktivists called Anonymous. That picture is where Santalmo’s website used to be,” Lucia explained.

“What is a ‘hacktivist’?”

“An activist who attempts to change the world through hacking. You know, computer hacking?” Lucia explained.

“Does that work?” Finsternis sounded doubtful.

Lucia paused, then said quietly, “I sure hope so. The world needs changing. So, anyway, why are we going to Manhattan again? You just decided you’d like to enjoy the nightlife halfway through the Apocalypse?”

“Well, I do enjoy the nightlife.” He looked at Lucia, alarmingly while merging at 95 mph. “What? I cannot enjoy dancing?”

“You cannot use contractions, which makes it a bit difficult to picture you—we’re not talking about ballroom dancing, are we?” Lucia just could not picture Finsternis getting down at a club. Maybe lurking in the shadows, brusquely rejecting every woman who thought dangerous was another word for sexy, but actually on the dance floor? No.

Finsternis scowled at her. “I learned English several hundred years ago. Excuse me for not keeping up with every change in slang. I did ‘ballroom dance’—back when it called dancing. I do not—don’t—do so anymore.”

Lucia studied him for a moment. He was strong, quick and coordinated, so maybe he wasn’t joking about dancing. She just couldn’t picture it. “Well, okay, we’ll dance. Or, you’ll dance and I’ll watch.”

Finsternis raised an eyebrow. “You do not—don’t—dance?”

“I was raised full on fundy, you know, they don’t allow sex because it might lead to dancing,” Lucia said. She’d love to go dancing, she just had no idea how and no desire to look stupid in public.

“I could teach you how to dance,” offered Finsternis.

Lucia shrugged. “Sure, you can try.”

 “If I say I will—I’ll-- do a thing, I do it.”

“Okay, forget the contractions. You’re not good at them.” Lucia was almost certain he was being deliberately annoying about it.

Finsternis winked at her.  “I know I’m not.”