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The night his already screwed-up world took a turn for the bizarre.
He’d been working for a man he’d known as Mr. March, only that night, he’d—literally, not figuratively—witnessed Hell on Earth. His boss had transformed into a giant winged-wolfdemon, who went by the name of Marchosias. Not only had he learned demons were real, but—Praise to God—angels, too. With his own two eyes, he saw a host of white-robed, white-winged angels wielding swords, slicing and dicing the demon and its minions down to size. Then a fiery-red Pit of Hell opened in the floor and swallowed them whole.
Frozen in fear and awe, Daniel had hidden in the shadow of the alley as one by one the angels, dressed in street clothes, exited the martial arts academy. Most of them turned to the right, hopped into cars and SUVs, and drove away, but one stayed behind.
The angel-in-disguise leaned against the wall, looking upward. Daniel followed his gaze but saw only the light-polluted sky and rows upon rows of windows, many outlined with a flickering array of Christmas lights. A pang of longing hit his heart. He missed being able to just stop and look up at the stars. Daniel regretted he was always too busy to take an evening for himself to head out of town. He wouldn’t have even had to go very far.
Returning his gaze to the remaining angel, he studied him, taking in the broad shoulders pushing the boundaries of the tight, white T-shirt, unbothered by the cold, December air. Shoulder-length blond hair hung in a shaggy style around the Nordic face set in profile. Picturing what the angel might look like with wings, Daniel realized that this angel-man had been the one to deliver the killing blow to the demon, a move that had stolen the breath from Daniel’s lungs as he watched. The angel had flown through the air and drove his sword deep into the top of the demon’s head.
Why wasn’t he leaving?
After another minute or so, the angel bowed his head, whispered something that might have been “Amen” and turned to walk in the direction Daniel hid. He shrunk farther into the alley, into the deepest shadows, but it hadn’t mattered. The angel didn’t even glance his way when he walked by.
Daniel crept from the alley, following a block behind, unsure why, but compelled nonetheless. He slunk from darkened doorway to inky shadow, trailing after the angel. Daniel halted when the angel reached for a casino door, expecting him to glance back the way they’d come, but again, the angel seemed focused on his destination as he slipped inside.
It was easier to remain out of sight inside the casino since any sounds he made were covered by the noise of the brightly lit slot machines and he could weave between late-night gamblers and blurry-eyed drunken revelers. The taller-than-your-average-human angel was ridiculously easy to keep track of, his blond hair glowing in the artificial light. When the angel stopped in front of a black door with a sign that said, Employees Only, Daniel cursed under his breath. He glanced around and finally registered the heavy beat of techno music pouring from a nearby club. He didn’t even bother to withhold his out-loud laugh when he read the name glowing in neon over the arched entryway.
“Haven, of course,” he murmured, rubbing his mouth before glancing down at his clothes. They weren’t club gear, but they’d do. He stood in a long line, paid the twenty-dollar cover charge, and nearly recoiled as the bass slammed into his chest. With other Saturday night holiday revelers behind him, he shoved over toward a bare space of wall, giving himself a chance to look around. There was a DJ set up on a raised dais at the far end. The lighted dancefloor was crowded with writhing bodies, voices joined in song, adding another layer of decibels to the cacophony.
The bar was off to the right of the entranceway. A long countertop had stools on one side. The rest of the space was taken up by men and women standing, crowding in and shouting orders, thrusting an arm past others to hand off cash and credit cards, and receiving their libations in return. Spotting a couple signing off on a receipt and looking like they were about to depart, Daniel quickly made his way across the floor. The young lady still seated saw him coming and winked at him, allowing him to drop onto the stool as soon as she slid off. He offered his thanks, and she wished him a good night and happy holidays. He almost scoffed, feeling decidedly not joyful, but bit his tongue and replied in kind.
The location afforded him a decent view of the club. He spotted the angel, now sporting a black tee with the Haven logo on his chest, mixing a drink at the far end of the bar as he spoke with another bartender. Daniel groaned when the bartender directed the angel to stay where he was and work that end of the bar. He ordered a rum and Coke and sipped it as he watched the angel mix a variety of drinks, flirt with the men and women who ordered, and stuff all his cash tips into the jar labeled “college fund.” At some point, the angel went into the back room of the bar and never returned. Daniel waited and waited, eventually packing it in at last call, determined to come back and try again another night.
So that’s what he’d done for most of the last year. Three to four nights a week, he paid the cover, sat at the bar, and nursed a drink or two until his eyelids drooped, his head pounded from the too-loud music, or Mr. Troy called him in for some errand. In the early spring, Troy found out about his frequent visits to the club and forced Daniel to use the location to collect payments and occasionally swap product for cash, though he loathed doing it. He hated selling drugs, hated the extortion, hated how his life had become this. He never thought he’d end up on the wrong side of the law, but debt and looming homelessness had forced his hand.
“Welcome to Haven,” the female cashier greeted him with a broad smile.
“Welcome back, you mean,” the bouncer beside her said. He jerked his chin at Daniel and extended a fist to bump. “Happy holidays, man.”
Bumped, Daniel offered Joe—so his nametag said—a rare smile. “Thanks. You, too.” He slid the gal a twenty and shuffled through the entryway, saluting the other bouncers who recognized him. Heading to his regular stool, Daniel glanced along the bar, disappointment once again filling him. He’d barely gotten himself seated when Con, the lead bartender, set an opened bottle of Yuengling on a coaster on the bar top.
“Hey, Dan. Happy Chanukah.”
Daniel returned the greeting, not bothering to correct Con regarding his name. The guy had read Daniel on his credit card and just assumed. Anyway, they’d gotten to sort of know each other over the last year. He was the one who told Daniel the angel’s name was Theo. Daniel assumed it was a nickname because no angel would have such a basic name. After a little research, he thought he hit the nail on the head with the name Thelial, but he never quite convinced himself since all the computer websites listed Thelial as an Angel of Love.
Periodically, Daniel would ask after Theo. Occasionally, he’d even catch a glimpse of him, but by the time he hustled over to where he saw him, the angel had disappeared again. When asked about Theo, the staff just smiled and shook their heads. Sometimes they didn’t know who he was talking about. Others, like Con, said Theo was in management. “He comes and goes as he pleases.”
Another long-time bartender laughed one night after one of Daniel’s inquiries. “It’s crazy. He never stays for more than an hour or two, sometimes it’s just a couple of minutes. Long enough to pop in, check in with the staff, and talk to a couple of patrons who always seem to end up together afterward… That’s weird, right? He’s like Cupid or something.” They snickered as they turned away to help the next guest.
DanieI hadn’t thought it funny at all, though the guy’s comment had reinforced what all those websites had said. So he had to wonder: how had an angel of love ended up fighting a demon? Fighting for love? Daniel had laughed at the ridiculous thought. Although, if Theo could help him get rid of Troy, maybe he could also find someone for Daniel to love. It was a long shot on both accounts, especially with the black stain on his record, but he still wanted the chance to ask.
“Evening, Con. Happy holidays, though you know me well enough by now to know there’s not a whole lot of happy for me this month.”
Con grimaced, and Daniel could see the pity written across the guy’s face. Why had he ever let himself get drunk enough to lament about losing his parents during the holiday season and how he kept his sister—his only remaining relative—and her family at arm’s length? Daniel sighed. Some things would just forever remain unanswered.
“Still…” Con knocked his knuckles against the bar top. “Maybe you’ll get lucky and he’ll show tonight.”
Daniel managed a half-smile for the bartender. “Thanks, but I won’t hold my breath.”
“I’d rather you didn’t, anyway. I don’t want to have to call EMS because you passed out, fell off the stool, and knocked yourself out.”
Daniel gasped, then laughed at the absurdity of Con’s bald-faced lie. “Fuck, really? You are a sick man.”
Con’s broad smile warmed Daniel’s soul a degree or two. “My job here is done. Don’t go without saying goodbye, okay?” He pointed at Daniel as he stepped away.
“Will do.” Daniel saluted Con with his bottle, then leaned against the uncomfortable back of the stool, nursed his beer, and wished on the neon lights zipping across the ceiling that looked like shooting stars.
Thelial
