school tomorrow,
I decided finally. OK, her first future wasn’t great, but it was a lot better than that coldness relating to the Church of Angels. If I just tried harder, maybe I could make her see it.
And then, somehow, I’d figure out what to do about this being that had latched on to her.
RAZIEL STOOD BESIDE the sweeping white railing with his hands behind his back, gazing down at the expanse below. The main cathedral of the Church of Angels, on the outskirts of Denver, Colorado, used to be the largest sports complex in the Rockies. Bought and transformed by thousands of human devotees, it was now a soaring space of worship, with long, gleaming white pews and a graceful domed ceiling. People sitting at the back were mere flyspecks to those in front. Unobtrusive white speakers sat nestled on each of the pink-and-white marble pillars throughout the cathedral, so that the sermons in praise of the angels could be boomed out to everyone, and ornate stained-glass windows lined the walls, displaying angel images almost two stories tall. Raziel’s gaze lingered on one of these. It was in the Pre-Raphaelite style: a radiant burst of white and gold showing a trio of angels, wings touching, reaching their arms out toward the viewer as if to say,
Come to us.
Yes, indeed,
thought Raziel with a satisfied smile.
Please do.
And the humans did, of course, by the millions.
He flexed his fingers. Like all angels, Raziel’s human form was unusually attractive, though difficult to pin down as to age. In appearance he might have been anywhere from twenty-five to forty-five, and he was tall and slender, with jet-black hair and arresting dark eyes. He knew that his features — in particular, his high forehead with its sharp widow’s peak — were seen by humans as being
artistic and sensitive,
which amused him no small amount.
It was between services at the cathedral now; far below, tourists and devotees walked slowly through its vast space, drinking it in and taking pictures, or sitting hunched on pews praying. Raziel scanned the small moving human figures, wondering idly if he was in the mood to feed. It had only been a few hours, so it would be somewhat gluttonous of him, but with such a variety of human energies on display, it became difficult to resist. And the things were always so
grateful
to one afterward. It was rather sweet.
Deciding, he focused his attention onto his body, feeling its molecules begin to tremble as he rearranged his energy, shifting it upward into the ethereal plane. With a smooth, practiced shudder, Raziel’s human body vanished as he took on the alternate form of his dual nature: a radiant angel of shimmering bluish-white light, seven feet tall.
Dazzling in his beauty, he stood where he was for a moment, stretching his wings. In this elevated state of existence, he could see the humans’ auras: glowing outlines of light that surrounded each person, wavering like colored soap bubbles as they moved. With a slow shifting of wings, Raziel took off from the balustrade, gliding lazily under the domed ceiling, scanning them. Mentally, he discarded the humans whose auras looked somewhat gray and stunted — they’d been fed on many times already, and their energy wouldn’t have the same strong, powerful rush as those who were uninitiated to an angel’s pleasure. Besides, the stunted ones whom he hadn’t fed on himself would have a flavor of other angels to them. At times this held an almost forbidden thrill, but he was in the mood for something pure. Pristine.
He smiled to himself as he spotted the perfect one: a young boy of twenty or so, whose energy glowed a vibrant blue-green. Circling above him, Raziel reached out with his mind, locking energies. He felt the immediate jolt and capitulation; the boy’s expression became a puzzled frown, like someone hearing a tune he couldn’t quite place. Turning, he caught sight of Raziel for the first time, hovering above him. His eyes widened as he stood rooted
I decided finally. OK, her first future wasn’t great, but it was a lot better than that coldness relating to the Church of Angels. If I just tried harder, maybe I could make her see it.
And then, somehow, I’d figure out what to do about this being that had latched on to her.
RAZIEL STOOD BESIDE the sweeping white railing with his hands behind his back, gazing down at the expanse below. The main cathedral of the Church of Angels, on the outskirts of Denver, Colorado, used to be the largest sports complex in the Rockies. Bought and transformed by thousands of human devotees, it was now a soaring space of worship, with long, gleaming white pews and a graceful domed ceiling. People sitting at the back were mere flyspecks to those in front. Unobtrusive white speakers sat nestled on each of the pink-and-white marble pillars throughout the cathedral, so that the sermons in praise of the angels could be boomed out to everyone, and ornate stained-glass windows lined the walls, displaying angel images almost two stories tall. Raziel’s gaze lingered on one of these. It was in the Pre-Raphaelite style: a radiant burst of white and gold showing a trio of angels, wings touching, reaching their arms out toward the viewer as if to say,
Come to us.
Yes, indeed,
thought Raziel with a satisfied smile.
Please do.
And the humans did, of course, by the millions.
He flexed his fingers. Like all angels, Raziel’s human form was unusually attractive, though difficult to pin down as to age. In appearance he might have been anywhere from twenty-five to forty-five, and he was tall and slender, with jet-black hair and arresting dark eyes. He knew that his features — in particular, his high forehead with its sharp widow’s peak — were seen by humans as being
artistic and sensitive,
which amused him no small amount.
It was between services at the cathedral now; far below, tourists and devotees walked slowly through its vast space, drinking it in and taking pictures, or sitting hunched on pews praying. Raziel scanned the small moving human figures, wondering idly if he was in the mood to feed. It had only been a few hours, so it would be somewhat gluttonous of him, but with such a variety of human energies on display, it became difficult to resist. And the things were always so
grateful
to one afterward. It was rather sweet.
Deciding, he focused his attention onto his body, feeling its molecules begin to tremble as he rearranged his energy, shifting it upward into the ethereal plane. With a smooth, practiced shudder, Raziel’s human body vanished as he took on the alternate form of his dual nature: a radiant angel of shimmering bluish-white light, seven feet tall.
Dazzling in his beauty, he stood where he was for a moment, stretching his wings. In this elevated state of existence, he could see the humans’ auras: glowing outlines of light that surrounded each person, wavering like colored soap bubbles as they moved. With a slow shifting of wings, Raziel took off from the balustrade, gliding lazily under the domed ceiling, scanning them. Mentally, he discarded the humans whose auras looked somewhat gray and stunted — they’d been fed on many times already, and their energy wouldn’t have the same strong, powerful rush as those who were uninitiated to an angel’s pleasure. Besides, the stunted ones whom he hadn’t fed on himself would have a flavor of other angels to them. At times this held an almost forbidden thrill, but he was in the mood for something pure. Pristine.
He smiled to himself as he spotted the perfect one: a young boy of twenty or so, whose energy glowed a vibrant blue-green. Circling above him, Raziel reached out with his mind, locking energies. He felt the immediate jolt and capitulation; the boy’s expression became a puzzled frown, like someone hearing a tune he couldn’t quite place. Turning, he caught sight of Raziel for the first time, hovering above him. His eyes widened as he stood rooted
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