Blasphemy: A Like Story

Chapter One

"I envy the fallen. I do," I said.

The angels surrounding me fidgeted nervously, upsetting their red solo cups.

"And who are you again?" asked a timid ball of light to my left.

"Kokabiel. Not the Kokabiel, obviously. I am a guardian." The last bit was said with less enthusiasm than intended. But I did hate my job. I hadn't always. In fact, up until the death of my last charge, I'd been rather fond of it. My current one, however, did not quite instill within me that same sort of pride.

Most the angels around me were strangers, all of them but my friend Laurel, also a guardian, who had heard my spiel before. He stretched lazily in the summer sun which trickled in from between the trees, his multitude of eyes gleaming.

"You'd better be careful Hashut doesn't hear you. God knows, he will rat you out to the higher-ups," Laural said.

Stealing a glance across the park crowded with both celestial and mortal bodies alike, I spotted Hashut staring moodily at a pair of ducks scooping soggy wheat bread out of a rocky stream. A child in pink stretch pants played nearby, and, as I watched, ran directly through him. I shuddered. Hashut didn't seem to notice the interruption. As the district's Spirit Walker, he apparently had enough grit to deal with the occasional unpleasantness of sharing space with humans.

"Not worried," I said, checking my watch. Unlike many, I had opted for a more casual look: Head, torso, Fleshy appendages. "This has been fun but I gotta go. Who knows what that idiot has done since I've been gone? Next year?"

Laurel, knowing my charge, laughed while the others made various noises of shock and disgust. I finished my punch, tossed the cup, gave Hashut a nod and drifted into the Waning. It took me less than a second to travel through its murky depths from the annual angel meet-and-greet to the single wide trailer I shared with Bishop Oral several hundred miles away. As usual it was in complete disarray. Boxers strewn about the floor. Dirty coffee cups covering every surface. Pens and markers glued to the table with hardened candle wax from whichever séance of the month Bishop had favored. The living room was small, wood paneled, with the back wall behind the television covered in flower printed paper. There was little room for the vast number of cats. Cats everywhere. Black cats. Tiger cats. Calico cats. Fourteen by last count.

It was already a quarter after eight, and I'd been out longer than I had meant to be. I saw no sign of Bishop, but thought I heard a faint whispering coming from the back bedroom. The door was closed and there were no lights on in the house. It was suspicious.

I floated down the hall lined with picture frames, through the door, into the bedroom and found myself staring at down at a messy bed with a lumpy comforter covered in clothes. Behind it, yellow lace curtains were draped over mangled blinds. The rickety closet door was closed and the whispering was coming from behind it. The scent of dragon's blood incense would have choked any sensible breathing creature.

Preparing myself for the worst, I poked my head through the door.

Bishop sat cross-legged atop a velvety blue couch cushion. Wedged in the back corner of the small space, a canvas mat stretched was out before him. On it, drawn in ashes mixed with his blood, was crude summoning circle. His sweaty face was lit up by candlelight, as he read from a yellowed scrap of paper I recognized as having been purchased off Ebay earlier that week, for just under fifty dollars. A scrap of paper which the seller said held the secrets to luring the demon Asmodeus.

"Stop summoning things!" I yelled.

Of course, I didn't do it in a voice audible to his ears.