I, Devil (a love story)

Chapter Four: Azazel

Sometimes talking to your family isn't an option. Sometimes your relatives just suck. My brothers are the literal devil and are no good for advice. So, who do you turn to? Your distant cousins? What if you're not on speaking terms? What if the last time you spoke was when you were kicked out of the house as the black sheep?

Not all of my brothers have the option of speaking to the good-brothers (my distant cousins I guess we could call them.) But I do-- well, I can speak to some of them. I'm sure you've heard of the stories where Saint Michael the Archangel kicked my ass. Needless to say, I avoid speaking to him whenever possible. Very few of us fallen angels even have the ability to speak to a high frequency beings. They literally cannot see or hear us, even if we are beside them.

For the record, he didn't just hurt me. I consider Michael a bully. He's beaten a few of us. The only "good" angel whose advice seemed relevant and was able to hear me was Sandalphon. Sandalphon was good to speak to since he was closest related to Metatron, the direct voice of god. (God only speaks to me when she wishes to-- and never upon my request.) I felt that reaching out to Sandalphon would perhaps give me the best wisdom. No fallen brother was good to turn to turn to in a crisis, and the reachable "good" brothers were limited. According to my watch, I only had a small window where I could connect with him.

My watch found that Sandalphon's signature was lowest in the spring of 1864, Rome. Knowing Sandalphon wasn't expecting me as I set the clockworks, stars, planets and resonance to the correct coordinates, I just decided to drop in. I hate talking to the "good" angels. My cousins. For me, their presence isn't just infuriating. It is something else.

The first thing that came into clarity was the smell. The hotter days of Rome baked sewage into the old aqueducts and masonry. The foul odor wafted through the air and was swiftly curtailed by the winds from the sea. It was not quite yet summertime. There was a lightness and greenness in the air. The second thing that came into view was the skyline. There were white domes and arches, long windows and a pale sky.

I hung in the air, invisible to humans. I have been to Rome so many times and it almost always looks the same, no matter the timeline or dimension. It was a stable place in the universe, there were deep, dark grooves of energy in the streets and countryside. I found Sandalphon and his signature vibration in a small art studio. It seemed easy to guess what he was doing based on the vibrational prints-- which was considered a good deed most of the time among angels. He was inspiring an artist to sculpt.

It seemed rude to just burst in with my needs, so I sent him an invitation to speak to me. Being the literal devil (and some cousins even consider us enemies) I don't feel entitled to an acceptance or even an answer. However, Sandalphon has never, ever denied a request to speak to me in the past. As I expected, he accepted instantly.

"Of course my brother," he said in my mind in a kind, soft voice. "Come and see me."

I used my powers to zoom closer, like pulling plastic sheeting through a narrow tube, I yanked myself closer through the fabric of space and time. Everything looked like it was pulled very taut until it snapped back into place. It could be described as a black hole, but in truth it is simpler than that. I was in a small room covered in broken chips of broken marble.

"I was expecting you," Sandalphon said as I peered around. It was a small artist's studio, and the broken bits of stone was the result of hours of labor. In 1864, there was no modern plumbing or lighting, and the studio was a mix between contemporary for the time and ancient. There was an American rocking chair in the corner and stacks of books in Italian and English. There was a bookcase and a small cot. The artist was in the doorway speaking to someone. Sandalphon sat in the rocking chair, invisible to the humans. Stale yellow afternoon sunlight slid through the slats of the window. He looked regal in the chair, choosing a very human looking avatar. I immediately saw what the artist was doing-- beside the rocking chair and the angel Sandalphon was a marble bust that looked strikingly like his human avatar.