8
Amanda awoke with a gasp, her head heavier than lead. She blinked a few times. The sun cut in through the window, punching her in the eyes. The argument with Sarah had left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth. Sleeping usually dispelled her headaches, but this one only seemed to have gotten worse overnight.
“Lucy?” Head pounding, Amanda crawled off the sofa.
The girl was nowhere to be seen, and her shoes were gone. Amanda wobbled into the bathroom. The reflection in the mirror stared back at her – tousled hair and eye bags. Streaks of smeared mascara ran down her cheeks. Only, she hadn’t worn any yesterday.
The smudges were thick and chunky, like dried tar to the touch.
“What the hell…”
She turned the tap and splashed her face. As the streaks washed off her face, the water first turned pink, then red, then dark crimson. In horror and disgust, she scrubbed her face. One dark spot, just above her left eyebrow, refused to go away. Dark like motor oil, the tiny blemish ignored the soap and the water.
Finally, after minutes of intense but futile rubbing, Amanda let out a scream and threw the pack of makeup wipes into the bathtub.
She downed a couple of aspirin and hurried outside, grabbing the mail on the way. Each step down the staircase sent a sharp spike of pain into her head. The sun had disappeared behind a thick gray blanket, but at least the cold outside was refreshing.
The virgin snow lay thick over the lawn, now covering most of the blackened mark left by the obelisk. She threw the mail on the ground, kneeling in the snow next to the pile. In anger and despair, she tore away at the letters.
There it was – an unmarked envelope.
Dear Amanda,
Meet me in your usual café. We have things to discuss.
Sincerely,
M
Amanda stared at the letter, even flipping it over to see if she missed something on the backside. She’d hoped for an apology or at the very least an explanation. She crushed the letter in her hand, debating whether she should go back inside or not.
Don exited the building, cigarette in hand. He took a drag, sending strands of thin smoke her way. Amanda shook her head and stomped toward the café, kicking at the snow. It didn’t matter if Marc was an ancient demon and the King of Hell. She’d teach him a thing or two about communication.
This early in the day, the café was almost empty. A few sleep-drunk guests munched absently on egg and bacon, their noses buried in newspapers. She glanced around the room.
And of course, Marc isn’t here, she thought and crumpled the letter harder in her pocket.
“I’m glad you could come,” a smooth voice said.
Near the window, a man with a flowing haircut of gold sat with an untouched plate of food. Somehow, the sunlight managed to pierce the clouds, basking his marble-chiseled face in soft radiance.
“Please, sit down, Amanda.” He gestured at the empty seat opposite to him.
Even though his voice was soft and pleasant, his tone was commanding. It sounded a bit like molten steel in her ears.
“Who the hell are you?” she said but sat down nonetheless.
His lips forged a stiff smile, but his eyes remained gray and hard like shields.
“My name is Michael,” he said. “I was in charge of the angel that you killed.”
“Wow, okay, listen – I did no such thing. Besides, he came at me.”
“The truth lies obscured, but the unholy mark remains.” He pointed at her forehead. “The death of an angel is the worst of crimes.”
Amanda’s head felt heavier, nausea touching her throat. The aspirin seemed to have an opposite effect on her, or perhaps it was the sharp light reflecting in the man’s hair. Either way, she just wanted to lie down in her bed and go to sleep again.
“So… what? You’re going to smite me now?”
“Your soul needs cleansing,” he said solemnly and nodded out the window. “But as long as your guard dog remains, there would be too much collateral damage.”
Amanda glanced out the window. Don leaned against a lamppost, looking intently at Michael, his hands deep in his pockets. She was surprised that her neighbor had followed her here and even more so by the way Michael was talking.
“Hell’s own angel of death.” Michael’s voice was even and seemed to lack any type of emotion. “The dark powers seem to have taken a great deal of interest in you. I wonder why that is?”
“I’m Marc's....” She wanted to say ‘girlfriend,’ but that would’ve been untrue. It felt like she’d been with Marc for years, but in reality, they’d barely started dating. “... I’m dating the King of Hell.”
“Do you know that he’s marked you?” Michael said. “He’s messing with your thoughts and emotions. That mark on your forehead is what’s causing you the pain.”
“You’re lying!” Amanda cried, causing the other guests to look up.
“I’m an angel of the Lord – I cannot lie.”
“What about that letter, then? You pretended to be Marc to lure me here.”
“If I did that, then it must be just. I am the embodiment of justice.”
“So you could lie if it’s for a just cause?”
“Truth and justice go hand in hand, Amanda.”
Amanda narrowed her eyes. So far she’d seen murderous and lying angels, what was next?
“You need to be cleansed,” Michael said.
“You keep calling it cleansing but what does it actually mean?”
“Your soul would be stripped from your mortal form and purified in the fires of Purgatory.”
“That means I die, right?”
Michael nodded.
“What happens if I don’t submit myself for cleansing?” Amanda said.
“Tainting a human soul breaks the First Pact between Heaven and Hell – the one sealed by Lucifer and Christ in the Judean Desert. Interference with mortals always comes at a price. One infected soul will eventually lead to another. Corruption is like a virus, if not treated, we’ll have a new a Sodom and Gomorrah at our hands. You will be cleansed.”
“No, she won’t.” The door to the café flew open, and in strode Marc.
Michael stood up, one eyebrow hovering slightly higher than the other, but it didn’t take long for him to regain his composure.
“Well, well, look who it is. You have some nerve showing up here,” he spat. “I am the Sword of God, the Archangel of Retribution – I could send you straight into oblivion with a single sweep of my blade!”
“And yet you won’t,” Marc said calmly and took Amanda by the hand. “Come on, honey, let’s go.”
Amanda blinked. Her mouth parted but no words came out. She couldn’t decide which was more surprising, Marc’s incredible calm or the fact that he’d just called her ‘honey.’ Somehow, his firm yet loving grip on her hand seemed to drain her head of the pain. She followed him toward the door.
“You know what will happen,” Michael said ominously.
“She’s not tainted,” Marc muttered.
“Only an angel can see that. You know this, demon! If the taint spreads, there will be dire consequences.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“You’re a fool, Marcellixis!”
The doors slammed shut behind them. Marc was breathing heavily when Amanda stopped him and looked up into his eyes. She smiled at him and hugged him tightly, feeling his chest heaving against her cheek. As he returned the embrace and gently patted her head, the last of the pain lifted.
She couldn’t find it in her heart to be mad at him. “Can we go home now?”
“Of course, my dear,” Marc said, but didn’t let go. “Promise me you’ll never talk to an archangel again.”
She laughed into his chest. “I promise.”