Now I'm Just Somebody That I Used To Know
In this world there are only two tragedies. One is not getting what one wants, and the other is getting it. -Oscar Wilde
The first time it occurred to me was at my mother's funeral, when the priest talked about heaven and angels. How she could watch over us, and something about calling God's goodness inside. It was all a mess of words - I couldn't really concentrate, and Grandma was the religious one, not us. Maybe it was the grief talking, but somehow it stuck.
I asked the priest after, if there was something I should have done. If it was my fault, since I was the last one she talked to.
"It's not just about you," he said. "She in His hands now. Let it go."
But I couldn't let it go.
The research was surprisingly easy - I'd already picked up Latin in junior high. The grimoires weren't exactly hard to track down, though some of them required some creative effort to access. I found most of them in university libraries. "Special collections," they called it. They had no idea, did they?
Actually getting it to work, well, that was something else. There was only so much I could do with the books, compare and contrast, pick up what seemed to repeat. Eventually I had to try something, and fail, and try again. This invocation, those symbols, that Enochian, the Hebrew, the Latin... It all blurred together after a while.
I started to think... I started to think I was going crazy. That kind of thing is genetic, after all, and I was the right age...
When I dreamed the patterns, I knew for certain I was.
The beings I dreamed weren't angels you'd recognize from Renaissance art. I couldn't have painted them even if I were and artist. But they explained what I needed to do. Things they said mirrored what I'd heard from my mother, the last time I talked to her, and I wondered what that meant.
I woke up feeling hungover, exhausted and sore. Getting up was hard; it felt like there was a weight holding me down on the bed. But I was hungry, too, so I rolled over to get out of bed.
It's amazing how fast you reach full wakefulness when you realize there's something attached to you that's not supposed to be there.
I spent the better part of the morning just staring at myself in the mirror, turning, stretching. Checking that they responded to my thoughts, which they did, and getting a feel for how they moved. They were big enough to be awkward, but I figured too small to fly; I would be much too heavy, without a bird's hollow bones. They were brown and white, with hints of red, more like a songbird than the white-winged angels people pictured. At least they complimented my hair. I don't know what I would have done if they clashed.
I thought about getting dressed, looked at one of my t-shirts and then at the wings. Fuck, now what?
I cut away the backs of most of my shirts, one at a time. I could hide the wings under a long coat with a little trouble, so I did that. It was cold enough that I could get away with coats virtually everywhere when I needed to leave the house. I stopped going to school, but that hardly seemed like it mattered much. What was the point, when there were bigger concerns?
One of my professors called, leaving the number for a grief hotline. Grief? No. I missed my mother, but this was... I had to laugh. I had done it for her, maybe. But it wasn't grief. More like desperation.
The first man that came... well, he wasn't a man. But I noticed his eyes first, dark and deep as the sky at night, and he had black hair that hung long, with a sheen like the milky way on a clear winter night. Only then did I see his wings, iridescent like the starlings that gathered on the sidewalks. It was his eyes that held me, though.
"Hello. I thought there was something interesting going on up here."
He moved like a cat, not a bird: silent and too graceful to be real.
The second one who came was sharper, her voice a little more melodic, and I knew this one was not a woman any more than the first was a man.
She greeted me with "He was here first, wasn't he?" She had red hair, gold eyes, and brown wings like a falcon.
"He?" I had a pretty good idea who she meant, though.
"The Satan. Look, I'm sorry it took me so long to get here. You have to understand, what happened to you... it's not supposed to happen. I've been authorized to offer you a miracle, remove them, and let you get back to your life."
"Remove them?" I sputtered. "Do you know how much work I put into this?"
"Shockingly little, all things considered. Some people spend their whole lives trying and never succeed." She huffed at me. "Should I take that as a no?"
"I don't even understand what they mean!"
"No," she agreed, "you don't understand."
"I can't just pretend it never happened."
She nodded. "I suppose I'll tell Him you said that. I'll be back. And don't make any deals in the meantime."
"She said you're the Satan."
He nodded, his eyes sparkling. "I am the light in the darkness, and I am the one who asks uncomfortable questions. Satan is one of my titles. Samael is another. There are quite a few."
"Are you trying to corrupt me or something?"
He snickered. "I'm just keeping an eye on you because you're interesting. I don't get a lot of opportunity for new these days."
At first he visited every few days, but within two weeks I could mark sunset by his arrival. We played question and answer, and each time he circled closer. Finally, he reached out and touched one, brushing fingertips over the short, soft feathers near the top. I shuddered; I had no idea they could feel that good.
Finally, I thought. I didn't even realize I'd been waiting for it.
I let him in. I wanted to feel something again, and he gave me that. I felt a lot of things: his hands on spine, his wings around my hips, his heat. I saw galaxies.
"Do you regret falling?" I asked him, later, and felt him tense against me. Why did I say that? "You don't have to answer," I said quickly.
He turned to face me. "I only regret that I thought He deserved my love so much."
"What happened between Him and Satan?"
She laughed, her red hair bouncing. "Oh, what is that demon telling you now?"
"It sounded... almost like a bad breakup."
"Are you sure you aren't a fallen angel?" She shook her head, still snickering.
"I think I'd know if I was an angel. No, I'm just... in over my head. But I went into this looking for God. I'm not going to give up now."
"You should be careful, Robin. Such boldness may get you in trouble." Her mouth quirked into a smile. "I'll tell Him you're looking for Him."
She didn't come back. Neither did he.
It was so quiet, and so boring. If the wings weren't still there, I'd have thought I made it all up.
And then one night I dreamed of red hair and brown wings and screaming, and when I woke up, it was as if they'd never been there.
I woke up on my stomach, the way I'd gotten used to sleeping, but I rolled over half-asleep and couldn't immediately remember why that felt wrong. When I woke the rest of the way, my heart sank into my stomach, drowning in fear. Was that- was everything-
Was I following in my mother's footsteps after all?
I felt crazier now than I had when I was (imagining?) walking around with wings and talking to angels. I went to see the university, started the paperwork to get back into classes next semester. I called the grief support line, and talked about my mother. I even decided it was time to unfuck the apartment and began cleaning one tiny room after another, top to bottom.
Dust first, then vacuum, just like my mother had taught me. I even pulled my bed away from the wall to get the dirt back behind it. I slid the vacuum in and almost immediately heard it choke on something. I turned it off and pulled it out, fishing into the brushes for whatever had gotten stuck.
It was a feather, bent almost beyond recognition. Black, with an iridescent sheen like a starling's.
I left the apartment angrier than I could ever remember being. The building was only three stories, not high enough to feel like I was going to be heard. I went back onto campus. My student ID still worked to get into the library and I climbed up past the seventh floor. I fought the door at the top of the stairs, breaking the lock to make it onto the roof.
An alarm started going off. When I went over to the edge of the roof, I watch the library evacuating, little lines of students pouring out. Then I saw a hand raised, pointing, and then another. Soon the evacuation turned into a crowd gathering, watching me the same way I was watching them. They didn't know who I was, or what I was doing. They just saw a guy on a ledge.
I can't really have heard what they were yelling down there, but I thought it anyway. Jump. Jump!
I believed. More than that, I knew.
I wasn't going to jump. I was going to fly. I figured I'd meet God one way or the other.
Everything went white, and I found my feet back under me, though I couldn't have said I was standing on something.
"I hear you've been looking for me, boy."
I jumped at his voice and felt my wings spread involuntarily. They were back? I turned, slowly.
It hurt my eyes to look at him. I saw humanity superimposed over him like an ill-fitting cloak, shivering and sliding out of place.
"The only reason you can look at all is because you aren't all human anymore."
I didn't want to hear that, not really. But I'd started this, and now I had to finish it, didn't I?
"You took them."
"Technically, one of my angels did. But you're correct that she did it on my order."
"Why?"
He looked sad. "You can't be in-between. It makes everything else weak, and it effects other people. It's not just about you."
I stared at him.
"Since you made it this far, you can choose. Would you be human, with your free will? Or would you serve me?"
But in my mind, I had already made my choice and we both knew it.
Back on top of the library, the alarm was silent and the evening sky was clear.
The crowd was gone like it had never been there. Maybe it hadn't. I didn't really understand how miracles worked.
I stretched my wings and pushed myself into the sky, unsure if I was using physics or force of will. It didn't really matter as long as I was aloft, did it?
That was fine. I had time to figure it out, and with luck, I'd have someone to help me figure it out. I couldn't make him appear but I would wait.
It's not in his nature to come when called. But I was sure word would get around to Samael, and in the meantime, there was plenty of world to keep a fallen angel busy.