Chapter Two

The Archangels

Transubstantiation always left Michael feeling drained.

He couldn’t really understand it. He was one of God’s first creations; he had the power to empower his body with a few simple incantations; he had helped mankind survive millennia of war, pestilence, and disease.

So why couldn’t he come down to Earth without getting an enormous headache?

Michael rubbed the bridge of his nose and checked to make sure that he was entirely intact. His human form on earth was very similar to his body in Heaven: curly blond hair, sharply-defined features, and the sinewy muscles of a hardened warrior; though he felt oddly light without the weight of wings on his back. He could easily conjure them with a simple spell, but God had told him to keep them sheathed while he was groundside.

“Just find her and bring her back,” He told the archangels. “Don’t cause a scene.”

Michael surveyed his surroundings. He was in an alley decorated with puddles of muck and urban tumbleweed. It was the middle of the night, but on the street he could see a glowing neon sight that said “Saint Francis Wine & Beer,” so he had at least shown up in the right place.

“Woah,” he heard a voice behind him say.

Michael looked over his shoulder to find a teenage boy, covered in a trenchcoat and chains, staring at him. It was then that he realized, quite suddenly and embarrassingly, that he was completely naked. Coupled with the fact that he had just appeared out of thin air, it surprised him that the boy could find the words to say anything at all.

“Dude,” the boy continued, “it’s just like Terminator 2.” He gulped. “Are you from the future?”

“No,” said Michael. “May I have your coat?”

The teenager looked around self-consciously and stepped into the alley, pulling his arms out of his sleeves. Trembling, he held the coat out to Michael like he was holding a piece of bacon out to a lion. Michael sighed and took it.

“You know,” he said, putting the coat on, “no one was supposed to see me do that.”

“Are you a magician?” the boy asked.

“I know a few basic incantations, if that’s what you’re asking,” he said. “My brother Gabriel a little more talented in that area.”

“Who?”

“Me,” said a baritone voice from Michael’s side. Michael and the boy both looked at the short, naked, dark-haired man who had just appeared. “Michael may be good with his sword, but I’ve got the gift of tongues.” Gabriel grinned. “At least, that’s what the ladies tell me.”

The boy started to back away, his eyes twice as wide as they had been a moment before. “Woa... buh... wah...” he stammered.

“Don’t be scared,” said Gabriel. “We’re here on behalf of the Almighty Lord God.”

“That’s supposed to be a secret,” murmured Michael.

“Don’t worry,” said Gabriel. “He’s not going to tell anyone.”

The boy, now scared witless and possibly threatened by a naked man who had appeared in an alley from thin air, opened his mouth to scream. Before he could make a noise, Gabriel whispered a few poetic syllables in Hebrew. The boy froze in place – literally. Not a breath, a shiver, or a batted lash. He looked like a mannequin ready to terrify children on Halloween.

Michael looked at Gabriel. “What did you do to him?”

Gabriel flicked a piece of dust off Michael’s new coat. “Seizure Spell. Don’t worry, he’ll be fine when I bring him out of it. Won’t remember anything that just happened, either.”

“Think you could be a little more subtle?”

“Hey,” said Gabriel, bringing up a hand defensively, “I’m a pro. How do you think Mary reacted when I appeared and told her she was going to bear the son of the Lord? She didn’t invite me in for cookies, that’s for sure. She almost woke up the entire village. Now help me get this guy’s pants off.”

Michael shook his head as Gabriel started tugging at the boys jeans. “And what will he think when he comes to and finds out the Great Archangel Gabriel stole his pants?”

“He’s a teenager. I’m sure it won’t be the first time he’s woken up missing some clothes.”

Gabriel was pulling on the last of his purloined outfit when the third archangel, Raphael, appeared. “Great,” said, running a hand through his short red hair. “What am I supposed to wear?”

“Gotta be quick on the uptake, brother,” said Gabriel.

“Great,” repeated Raphael. He pushed open the top of a dumpster and peered carefully inside, squinting. “Maybe I can find a fig leaf...”

Michael pulled the belt of his trenchcoat tight and leaned out of the alley, trying to get his bearings. He had never been to Saint Francis, but the narrow streets and menacing buildings told him that he was somewhere downtown – and not the “good” part of downtown, either. There were very few people out and about, though, which made it an ideal place for a trio of angels to descend from heaven without too much of a fuss.

“Well, we’re in the right city,” he said. “And we’re in the bad part of town.”

“Exactly where she’d be,” said Gabriel.

Michael nodded. “Exactly.”

“But how are we going to find her?”

The elder archangel scratched his chin. “Well, she’s never been much for keeping a low profile. With your skills at ‘communication,’ I’m sure we can find someone who has at least seen her.”

“And then what?” Gabriel asked.

“We bring her back,” said Michael. “Just like the Big Man ordered.”

Raphael pulled a mangy blanket from the dumpster and sniffed it tentatively. “There’s no way we can find her tonight,” he said, “not this late. We should find a hotel or someplace.”

Michael shook his head. “We should start looking for her now,” he said. “She’s not safe down here. She’s never even been to Earth.”

Raphael draped the blanket over his shoulders and pulled it tight under his chin. He suppressed a gag. “Lucky her.”

Michael frowned. Raphael had always seemed to hold a strong but subtle dislike for Earth. Michael could hardly blame him – it was no Heaven, after all – but it was still one of God’s creations. Despite what man had chosen to do with it.

“Listen,” said Gabriel, “Raphael’s right. Even if we find someone who saw her tonight, I doubt we’ll find out exactly where she is now. God saw her around here before he sent us down, but that was hours ago. Since there’s no way for him to tell us what to do, with him up there and us down here, we only have these humans to go by, and most of them have gone to bed for the night. Besides, I have a splitting headache.”

Michael looked at his brothers. They were right, of course. There was just something about being in a human body that made him feel weak and fragile. He didn’t feel safe, and he wanted to get things over with and get back home as soon as possible.

He shook the throbbing out of his ears and nodded curtly. “Fine. We can find a hotel. But first thing in the morning, we have to look for Abigail.”

Your Very Own Earth in One Week or Less

God created the Earth in six days. On the first day, He molded it from clay and stone. On the second day, He separated the land from the sea, and on the third day He separated the light from the dark, and called them Day and Night. On the fourth day God created the seasons and the weather. On the fifth and sixth days, He populated the Earth with plants and food.

On the seventh day, God created dinosaurs.

The dinosaurs were an experiment to see whether or not the Earth could sustain life. God created them far weaker and less intelligent than his angels, but afforded them free will and let them roam free. They could only live for a manner of decades before dying naturally, but to God’s great satisfaction, they spread and populated the Earth for millions of years. His experiment was a success, and the angels took much pleasure in watching them.

One day, Michael and Lucifer were watching the dinosaurs from On High, marveling at the majesty of God’s latest creation.

“Look at that one,” said Michael, “he’s chasing his own tail!”

“You would too, if you had a brain the size of a walnut,” said Lucifer.

God approached his them and said, “My archangels, I am sad.”

Lucifer and Michael kneeled before God and said, “What’s wrong, my Lord?”

“I have grown bored with these dinosaurs,” he said. “They are not intelligent enough to be entertaining. They cannot understand or appreciate the world that I have given them.”

“Why don’t you create something new?” asked Lucifer. “Something wise like the angels?”

“Or like yourself?” suggested Michael.

God thought for a moment. “That is a good idea indeed,” he said.

Huxley

Sam slept like a baby. After making love with Abbie for what felt like hours, he had lain in bed, exhausted, and watched her sleep, tracing the gentle contours of her naked back with his fingertips. When he finally did fall asleep, he dreamt of her, and he wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around her again in the morning.

When he woke up, he yawned and stretched his arms luxuriously, squinting in the light sneaking around his curtains. He pulled the sheets up around his shoulders and rolled to his side, reaching an arm out to pull Abbie near to him.

Instead of finding Abbie, Sam rolled onto the floor, pulling most of the bedding with him and getting jolted awake with a thump. He sat upright bolt upright and looked around. There were his books; there were his paints, easel, and canvas; there was his Vincent Van Gogh action figurine; but there was no Abbie anywhere to be found.

Sam laid back and rubbed his eyes, trying to clear away both his sleepiness and his confusion. He ran the previous night’s events through his head. They had definitely seemed like a dream that was too good to be true at the time. Girls that attractive never showed any interest in him, and he had never picked up a girl and brought her home before – from the Click or anywhere else. Was it all a dream?

Fearing that he had just woken up from the best thing that ever happened to him, Sam fumbled through his sheets, looking for any sign that a woman had been there recently. He found his pants under the bed and sighed when he found that grimy road-sludge that still coated the cuffs. Last night had actually happened.

So where the hell was Abbie?

Sam pulled on a shirt and some boxers and stumbled into his common room. After a year of living there, he had turned it into something of a work of art. Paintings and avant-guard sculptures hung all over the walls, surrounding a somewhat eclectic collection of furniture: a coffee table made from a lobster pot; a chair from a thrift store, covered by a blanket from another thrift store; a dining table that his parents had given him that was probably more expensive than most everything else he owned; and a couch that served as both the primary television seating and Huxley’s bed.

The most dramatic part of the kit-liv-din-ing room was the plate glass window opposite the entrance, which offered a view of the street below and, if you tilted your head just right, a glance at Concord Bay. It was really what sold Sam on the meager living space. Making it even more dramatic this morning was Huxley, shirtless and fat, standing in front of it, gazing out and eating an omelette off of a paper plate.

“Yo,” Huxley said simply, without turning around.

“Hey, Huxley,” said Sam. “This is going to sound like a weird question, but please don’t laugh.”

“Okay.”

“Did I come home with a girl last night?”

Huxley turned to Sam, a big goofy grin stretching his omelette-filled cheeks. “Man,” he said, “I’ve heard of guys forgetting a girl’s name before, but I’ve never heard of them forgetting the entire girl.”

“Huxley,” said Sam, “I’ve been single for half a year. I’m in no mood.”

“Yeah,” said Huxley. He sat down on the couch and wiped his mouth with a pillow. “You weren’t quiet about it, either. You two kept me up half the night.”

“Sorry,” said Sam.

“Hey, man,” said Huxley, grinning, “no need to apologize. Congratulations. You didn’t just get back on the horse, you rode it off into the sunset. At least five times.”

Sam felt his face get red, but he smiled and sat next to Huxley. “Her name is Abbie,” he said, taking a bite of his roommate’s breakfast. “She’s amazing.”

“So where is she?”

Sam looked straight at Huxley, furrowed his brow, and said almost painfully, “I have no idea. You didn’t see her leave?”

Huxley shook his head.

Sam sighed. “Maybe she just wanted a one-night stand.”

“That’s cold, man,” said Huxley. “I mean, I know we haven’t known each other that long, but you’re no one-night stand guy. You fall for a woman like a pig falls for truffles.”

Sam laughed. “That’s a very flattering analogy.”

“I just work with what the good Lord gives me. Bacon?”

“Sure,” said Sam.

“You can have the rest of my omelette. Eggs and ham for Sam. I thought you’d dig the reference.”

Sam chuckled. He didn’t really know what to make of Huxley. On the one hand, the portly fellow was almost oppressively weird. He spent entire weekends on psychedelic benders and entire days in bed recuperating. He was an avid conspiracy theorist, a sort-of new age hippie who liked the drugs and hated the man, didn’t have the exercise regimen for sandals and flowing clothing. On the other hand, he and Sam had found common ground somewhere, and over their six months as roommates they had become very close friends.

Sam gobbled down the rest of the omelette and walked to the fridge, reveling in the smell of bacon as he passed the stove. “So,” he said, grabbing a bottle of juice, “what do you think I should do about Abbie?”

“Find her just like anything else you lost,” said Huxley, looking up from the frying pan. “Retrace your steps.”

“Good idea,” said Sam, pouring himself a glass of OJ.

“Woah,” said Huxley. “Don’t drink that.”

Sam held out his glass, regarding it awkwardly. “Why? Has it gone bad?”

“No,” said Huxley, “there’s LSD in it. You’ll never find her on that.” He gingerly took the glass from Sam and took a sip. “Luckily, I don’t have anyone to find today.”