Still, I hesitate on the outskirts of the river of women. There’s a female-free zone around the albino. Once I step into it, it will be hard not to be noticed.
The angels seem more interested in socializing with one another than with the women. Despite their best efforts, the women are being treated like fashion accessories to the angels’ costumes.
When the albino turns my way, I catch a glimpse of what keeps the women at bay. It’s not his utter lack of pigment, although I’m sure that would put off some people. These women, after all, aren’t put off by men with feathers growing out of their backs, and who knows where else. What’s a little lack of pigment to them? But his eyes. One glimpse of those peepers and I understand why the humans stay away.
They are blood red. I’ve never seen anything like it. His pupils aren’t like any pupil I’ve ever seen either. They are so large they take up most of his eyes. A solid ball of crimson surrounded by a pink ring of irises shot through with white like miniature lightning bolts sizzling over blood. Long ivory lashes frame the eyes, as if they aren’t noticeable enough already.
I can’t help but stare. I look away, embarrassed, and notice other humans snatching nervous glimpses of him as well. The other angels, despite all their terrible aggression, look like they were made in Heaven. This one, on the other hand, looks like he walked right out of my mother’s nightmares.
I’ve had more than my fair share of being around people whose physical appearance is unnerving. Paige was a very popular kid in the disabled community. Her friend Judith was born with stumpy arms and tiny, malformed hands; Alex wobbled when he walked and had to contort his face painfully to form coherent words which often let out an embarrassing amount of drool; Will was a quadriplegic who needed a pump to keep him breathing.
People stared and skirted around these kids the way humans behave around this albino. Whenever a particularly bad incident happened to any member of her flock, Paige gathered them together for a theme party. A pirate party, a zombie party, a come-as-you-are party where one kid showed up in pajamas with a toothbrush in his mouth.
They’d joke and giggle and know in their bones that they were strong together. Paige was their cheerleader, counselor, and best friend all rolled into one.
It’s clear that the albino needs someone like Paige in his life. He shows the familiar subtle signs of someone who is supremely conscious of being stared at and judged by his appearance. His arms and shoulders stay close to his body, his head is angled slightly down, his eyes rarely look up. He stands to the side of the group in a spot where the light is dimmer, where it’s more likely the curious stares might mistake his eyes for dark brown rather than blood red.
I’m guessing that if there’s one thing that might pique an angel’s prejudice, it’s someone who looks like he should be surrounded by hellfire.
Despite his posture and subtle vulnerability, he is unmistakably a warrior. Everything about him is imposing, from his broad shoulders to his exceptional height to his bulging muscles and enormous wings. Just like the angels in the booth. Just like Raffe.
Every member of this group looks like he was made for fighting and conquering. They enhance this impression with every confident motion, every commanding sentence, every inch of space they take. I never would have noticed the albino being just a tad uncomfortable if I wasn’t already in tune with that kind of discomfort.
As soon as I step into the human-free zone around the albino, he looks my way. I look at him straight in the eyes like I would anyone else. Once I get past the shock of looking into a pair of alien eyes, I see assessment and subdued curiosity. I weave a little as I smile brightly up at him.
“What lovely lashes you have,” I say, slurring my words a little. I try not to overdo it.
He blinks his surprise with those ivory lashes. I walk over, tripping just enough to slop some of my drink on his pristine white suit.
“Ohmygod! I am so, so sorry! I can’t believe I just did that!” I grab a napkin off the table and smear the stain around a little. “Here, let me help you clean.”
I’m glad to see my hands are not trembling. I’m not oblivious to the dangerous vibe. These angels have killed more humans than any war in history. And here I am, splashing one of them with a drink. Not the most original ploy, but it’s the best I can do on the spur of the moment.
“I’m sure it’ll come right out.” I’m babbling like the tipsy girl I’m supposed to be. The area around the booth has gone quiet and everyone watches us.
I hadn’t planned on that. If he was uncomfortable being watched surreptitiously, he probably hates being the center of attention in a stupid scenario like this.
He grabs my wrist and pulls it away from his suit. His grip is firm but not enough to cause pain. There’s no doubt that he could snap my wrist at the slightest whim.
“I’ll just go and deal with this.” Irritation edges his voice. Irritation is okay. That, I can handle. I decide he must be an okay guy, if you can ignore that he’s part of the team that brought fire and brimstone to earth.
He walks smoothly toward the bathroom, ignoring the stares from angel and human alike. I follow him quietly. I consider keeping up the drunken chick act but think better of it unless someone distracts him from going to the bathroom.
No one stops him, not even to say hello. I do a quick check for Raffe but don’t see him anywhere. I hope he isn’t counting on me keeping the albino in there until he feels like making an appearance.
As soon as the albino pushes his way into the bathroom, Raffe appears out of the shadows with a red cone and a fold-out maintenance sign that says “Temporarily out of order.” He drops the cone and sign in front of the bathroom door and slips in after the albino.
I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do. Should I stay out here and be a lookout? If I completely trusted Raffe, that’s exactly what I’d do.
I push my way into the men’s bathroom. I pass three guys who are rushing out. One of them is hastily zipping his pants. They’re human and probably won’t be questioning why an angel is kicking them out of the bathroom.
Raffe stands by the door, staring at the albino who stares back through the mirror above the sink. The albino looks cautious and wary.
“Hello, Josiah,” says Raffe.
Josiah’s bloody eyes narrow, staring hard at Raffe.
Then, the eyes widen in shock and recognition.
He spins to face Raffe. Disbelief wars with confusion, joy and alarm. I had no idea a person could feel all those things simultaneously, much less show them on his face.
He marshals his expression back to cool and in control. It looks like it takes some effort.
“Do I know you?” asks Josiah.
“It’s me, Josiah,” says Raffe, taking a step closer to him.
Josiah backs away along the marble counter. “No.” He shakes his head, his red eyes large and full of recognition. “I don’t think I know you.”
Raffe looks puzzled. “What’s going on, Josiah? I know it’s been a long time—.”
“A long time?” Josiah breathes an uncomfortable laugh, still inching back as though Raffe had the plague. “Yeah, you could say that.” He stretches his lips in a strained smile, white on white. “A long time, that’s funny. Yeah.”
Raffe stares at him, his head cocked to one side.
“Look,” says Josiah. “I gotta go. Don’t…don’t follow me out, okay? Please. Please. I can’t afford to be seen with…strangers.” He takes a shaky breath and takes a determined step toward the door.
Raffe stops him with a palm on his chest. “We haven’t been strangers since I pulled you out of the slave quarters to train you as a soldier.”
The albino cringes from Raffe’s touch like he’s been burned. “That was another life, another world.” He takes a shaky breath. He lowers his voice to a barely-audible whisper. “You shouldn’t be here. It’s too dangerous for you now.”
“Really?” Raffe sounds bored.
Josiah turns and paces back to the counter. “A lot of things have changed. Things have gotten complicated.” Although his voice is losing its edge, I can’t help but notice that Josiah paces as far away from Raffe as he can get.
“So complicated that my own men have forgotten me?”
Josiah goes into a stall and flushes the toilet. “Oh, no one’s forgotten you.” I can barely catch his words over the roaring water so I’m pretty sure no one outside the bathroom can hear anything. “Just the opposite. You’ve become the talk of the aerie.” He walks into another stall and flushes. “There’s practically an anti-Raphael campaign.”
Raphael? Does he mean Raffe?
“Why? Who would bother?”
The albino shrugs. “I’m just a soldier. The machinations of archangels are beyond me. But if I was forced to guess…now that Gabriel has been shot down....”
“There’s a power vacuum. Who’s the Messenger now?”
Josiah flushes another toilet. “Nobody. There’s a standoff. We’d all agree on Michael, but he doesn’t want it. He likes being the general and won’t give up the military. Uriel, on the other hand, wants it so badly he’s practically combing our feathers with his own hands to get the supermajority support he needs.”
“That explains the non-stop party and the women. That’s a dangerous road he’s walking.”
“In the meantime, none of us know what in God’s name is going on or why the hell we’re here. As usual, Gabriel told us nothing. You know how he liked being dramatic. Everything was need-to-know only, and even then you were lucky if you got anything out of him that wasn’t all cryptic.”
Raffe nods. “So what’s keeping Uri from getting the support he needs?”
The albino flushes another toilet. And even with the thunderous sound of the water, he only points to Raffe and mouths the word “You.”
Raffe arches an eyebrow.
“Sure,” says Josiah. “There are those who don’t like the idea of Uriel becoming Messenger because he has too close of a tie to Hell. He keeps telling us that visiting the Pit is part of his job, but who knows what goes on down there? You know what I mean?”
Josiah paces back to the first stall to fill the bathroom with another thunderous flush. “But the bigger problem for Uriel is your men. Blockheaded, stubborn lot, every one of them. They’re so pissed off at your abandonment of them, they’d tear you to pieces themselves, but they’re not going to let an outsider do it. They’re saying all the surviving archangels should be in the running for Messenger, including you. Uriel hasn’t managed to win them over. Yet.”
