I heard the racket down the street. Whooping and hollering and clapping of hands. The house Regulars were agitated by it. Some were merely annoyed, some were feeling threatened. I was upset. It’s just a peaceful and quiet Sunday morning for once and some damn fool is tripping balls.
“You’re lucky, Keri. You get to tune this out cuz you’re human.” Yea, I would have, except I felt a shaking hand slip around mine. It was the spirit with his head mounted in his chest. And he was afraid, almost terrified by the racket.
I almost told him to snuggle up behind me when I recognized the sounds. Some Christian was going Old School Southern Baptist style outside. To my surprise, I only heard one person. The Regulars laugh at the missionaries when they come by. Doubly so, when they are reminded they were told to stay away and by violating their bible’s words, they placed themselves in my hand. This time the Regulars were manning the walls. This wasn’t just a noisy human.
I remained in bed but listened intently. The clink of gear. The swish of feathers. The scent of burnt blood. Warring angels.
Can’t sit this one out. Just can’t allow myself to let old grudges take over.
I tell the scared spirit to stay in the house. I note not many thing frighten him, so I’m taking this personally. I step through the wall of the house (yes, I knew I was dreaming) and stand on the sidewalk watching the “parade” come down the street.
There are two columns of winged, armored, and sword bearing angels floating over the sides of the road. They all glow with a splendor that outshone the sun. They shake their swords at any that dare to look at them. I note many spirits in nearby houses ducking out of sight. I note many daring the angels to engage them. But the angels remain in formation.
Leading the columns is a single, unadorned, dressed in plain black slacks & white dress shirt, young adult, human male. Very animated in his declarations, he appears drunk as he wobbles from curb to curb. Stopping to speak condemnations against a house, or praises upon them.
“Great. Drunk on the Holy Spirit. Guess that means actual conversation is out the question. And accompanied by warring angels? Fucking colonialism, sanctified greed.” I spit on the ground to tell the land my opinion. I’m not worried about the angels or the prophet’s words. I settled that years ago. Jehovah has no purchase here, no valid claim on the house and its inhabitants. A show of force to answer a show of force. Cold War Parades.
One of these days, I’m going to remember I am weak not against those I have prepared for, but against those I have dismissed. Today is not one of those days.
I turned to enter the house, this time via the front door because of the fortifications. I never saw the punch coming. My head snapped to the side from the sudden blow.
The prophet had raced down the block when I turned around and landed a textbook roundhouse. By all rights, I should have crumpled like tissue.
Did you know Keri is a berserker? Oh, the stories I could tell of people trying to use pain to subdue me.
I was Not All Here for maybe a minute. But in that minute, I had not only returned the gift to the prophet, but had him pinned face down on the road, my knee in his back, my fist cocked back for a skull crushing blow.
Then I remembered the angels. I looked up to see I was surrounded by them. Most were a spectator’s distance away, but five were lined up in front of me. They had their swords in hand but carried them more like props than weapons.
I didn’t recognize any one individual, but I remember their caste. And I remember what happened the last time a warring angel was sent against me. And I remember the fun I had. “If you want him in one piece, speak now. His words, his god, has no purchase with me or mine. That’s why I turned away. Not out of respect. Not out of fear. But because he is insignificant to me. He’s a noisy ankle nipper that should have been leashed. Y’all are getting lazy with your charges.”
They didn’t like my words. One raised a sword and prepared to rush me. Ke looked behind me and thought twice about kir actions. From the shadows behind me, I heard footsteps.
“Don’t mind me, Weaver. Just walking around for a bit. Am I interrupting something?” He reminds me of an Ifrit. All smoke.
“Naw, just finishing up here.” The prophet has been blustering words all this time, but it is clear it is a false front. I can smell his fear. I get off him and pull him to his feet. “You and yours would swallow the world whole if you could. Stop biting off more than you can chew. Save the evangelism for those that want to hear it. And stay the fuck off my street.” I pushed him back into the five angels. As I expected, they let him fall and make no attempt to help him up. Warring angels are beasts of conflict, not nursery maids.
The prophet scrambles to his feet and tries to speak against me and my Ifrit associate. His words turn into spittle that flies back into his face. He commands the warring angels to destroy us. The angels stare us down then turn on the prophet saying, “We are commanded to escort you. You are not in danger. We are done here. Move on, human! There is nothing to be done here!”.
The prophet stares at the angels in surprise. I’m sure this outcome is not what he was taught could happen. Don’t angels serve the prophets? Why were they bossing him around? Why didn’t they save him from humiliation at the hands of a woman? All the questions were written clearly on his face. The warring angels only scowled further. He turned his back to me and started to walk away. He called on the Holy Spirit to fill him again, but his faith was still shaken.
The parade continued down a different street, but without the annoying gusto it arrived with. The Ifrit (I think?) stayed with me until the last angel had floated around the corner.
“I know you can take on one with ease. Two would be fun for you. Three would be a challenge. But all of them?”
I laughed to hide my nervousness. “Yea, touch one, commit to fighting all. That would have hurt. Glad I came to my senses before donkey punching that ass. Even if he did hit first.”
“Next time, watch the parade from inside. As you yourself stated, he has nothing to stick to you.” The Ifrit waved farewell and dissolved into fading smoke. I went in the house and was immediately glomped by Head In Chest. He was crying from fright. The others told me the presence of the angels completely terrified him. They wondered if angels had a part in his death and wanderings as a spirit.
As if I needed more reasons to state angels are dicks.
The house Regulars settled back down. Head In Chest recovered and went back to the living room to rest. I got a couple more hours of deep sleep.
When I woke up, all was quiet. Awesome.