The Angel Side

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The Angel Side

Copyright © 2014 by Heaven Liegh Eldeen

ISBN: 978-1-312-56113-7

Cover art by Conzpiracy Digital Arts

All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

Published by Heaven Liegh Eldeen

Dedication

This novel is dedicated to my wonderful husband, John, and my son, Lil Man. You are the Arch Angels that keep my Demons at bay.

You’re my favorites!

And to my dear cousin Corey Corey-Bird Crawford, you went home before we were ready for you to leave. We love and miss you but we take comfort in knowing you’re guarding us, and we’ll see each other again soon. I’ll bring the shuggie water.

Acknowledgements

I’d like to take this time to thank you, the reader. If it weren’t for you, the voices in my head would have no one with an open enough mind to share their stories with.

Lament of the Devil

By Dan Dillard

Author of ‘What Tangled Webs’

Each evening I sit to relax with my meal,

I first check the contracts, pursuing each deal.

My menu for dining can differ you see,

depending on those who have sold unto me.

I find that the righteous are fatty and bitter,

and much prefer ‘filet of casual sinner’.

The faithful are bland adding naught to the stew,

their skin is much thicker, a challenge to chew.

The youthful are spicy; their flesh is quite tender,

making quite a nice sauce from their kind in my blender.

I don’t like the taste of the squeaky or clean,

but the naughty, till now, were far few and between.

I find as of late more and more my meals sate

as the persons who feed me don’t trust much in fate.

They lie and they cheat which seasons their meat.

A quick char in hell’s flames makes my table complete.

I feel that this warning is needed for most

who don’t want to end up with me as their host.

They laugh at morals and lessons they’re taught,

proceeding to places they’re told they should not.

Do not stray from your path to the church or the store,

your mistake may be small, but will lead you to more.

Then lost and alone you may find out that

you’re, wrapped up quite nicely and brought to my door.

I will not complain, as it would not be right.

To turn down the souls which feed me at night.

Chapter One Lucifer

an·gel noun 1a: a spiritual being superior to humans in power and intelligence; especially: one in the lowest rank in the celestial hierarchy b plural: an order of angels — see celestial hierarchy 2: an attendant spirit or guardian 3: a usually white-robed winged figure of human form in fine art 4: messenger, harbinger 5: a person like an angel (as in looks or behavior) 6: Christian Science: inspiration from God 7: one (as a backer of a theatrical venture) who aids or supports with money or influence. Webster’s Dictionary

The shattered skulls and cracked bones of the disobedient made up the structure of the desk in my office. Beautiful carvings of my greatest achievements in the silicate rock are obstructed by towers of forms, contracts, and requests, all awaiting either my signature or denial. The only reminder that I’m not sitting in some forgotten storage facility is a monolith statue of myself chiseled from the iron and magnesium structure of my palace. A liquid iron waterfall pours from my raging mouth, settling into a stream surrounding my desk, and then flows beneath my world to the Earth’s core below.

Having taken on so many different appearances to appease the superficial masses, the monumental icon serves as the only reminder of my actual appearance after I succeeded from the holy union above.

Once considered the most handsome and eligible bachelor in the Heavens, Father thought stripping me of my flawless skin, strong chin, high cheek bones, straight as an arrow nose, and powder blue eyes, would teach me a lesson and have me crawling back to Him on my wounded ego. But my dry, scaled skin, long charcoal talons, serrated horns, agile spiked tail, and needlelike fangs made eviscerating any troop he sent demanding my servitude back to the Almighty easier.

Once the bond between Father and I had been permanently severed, so were the restrictions on my abilities.

Father’s strict rules on illusions, flashing, morphing, and engagements of battle shattered with my ties to the world above.

God may have taken away my angelic image, but he’d never take away my cunning and my ability to persuade those I saw fit to see things my way, except for one. The only one that mattered. My better half. My soulmate. My twin sister…Abihail.

Growing up around perfection, it hadn’t been hard to tell at a young age I was not the same as those around me. Despite being much shorter, leaner and more physically awkward than my peers, I had not been as carefree and wild as them. While the other children would run and play, I would read the rule books, strategy blue-prints, and war journals. While they went to cotillions and festivals, I stayed home highlighting flaws and loopholes in those rule books, making improvements to the battle strategies, and taking notes from the war journals. As they worried over which color stola or chiton to wear, I toiled about what dangers might be lying in wait beyond and inside the gates and how to prepare our civilization for the unseen enemy’s eventual attack.

More often than not my odd interests and anxieties caused me to be at the butt end of teasing and bullying. But always there by my side, no matter how much she would rather go and play with the others, had been my sister, defending and standing up for me. She encouraged my awkwardness; never letting on that it bothered her, though I knew different. Not once did she complain about hearing the music and laughter coming from the Great Hall while she sat at home tending to my anti-social paranoia. Instead of fussing over what to wear to the next social event, when I grew too tired to read my books, she would read them to me. If my anxiety grew too large, she would hold me, promising should the gates fall she would lay down her life to protect me. Cradling my head in her bosom, she would caress my hair and send my worries away.

Though I grew into my lanky frame and filled out to be quite an attractive and eligible suitor, none of the females held my attention for long. Our mother would try to play matchmaker, inviting the mating cream of the crop in hopes one would woo me into marital submission. But each one failed worse than the previous. As I tried to explain matters of the state, they dribbled on about pointless gossip and fashions, taking no stance on the issues that plagued our world. No, the women of Heaven would rather spend their time pretending nothing would ever shake their world. All the women, that is, except for Abihail.

Strong in her beliefs, though naive at times, she’d argue politics and celestial events with the best of politicians and advocates. I had always counted on her for intelligent conversation and support. Abihail was mine, and mine alone. That is until Rahovart took her from me.

Failing at finding a suitable match for me, mother turned her attention to Abihail. When the ‘noble’ Rahovart came calling for Abihail that day, I had no idea his brutish charm would rip away everything I held so dear.

Instead of staying home coddling my fears and worries, or reading the newest law book to me, Abihail allowed herself to be whisked under Rahovart’s arm to the next opulent dance or celebration. She traded in our afternoon sprawls in the grass, talking about ways to make our world a better place, for pining over Rahovart when he would be sent away on a mission. In his presence, Abihail went from strong, intelligent, and poised to a puddle of utterly useless ramblings of love, weddings, and children. A flash of his flirtatious smirk would whirl Abihail into a fantasy world where nothing existed except fluffy white clouds, rainbows, stars, and her and Rahovart.

So when Father gave me the task of being a prosecutor at the mighty Tribunals, only her name came to mind for my assistant. I hoped working with me in our legal system would bring her back from Rahovart’s spell to reality.

In the beginning it seemed to work. Abihail would cancel a picnic to stay with me and prepare the next day’s cases. Again, I found my head in her lap, as she read transcripts of the previous day’s proceedings. If a case seemed to particularly bother me, she would once again caress my hair and tell me all the things I needed to hear in order to strut into the courtroom the next day and demolish the opposition. My life had been perfect but only for a short time. Again, Rahovart took it away when the Neanderthal proposed to Abihail.

Desperate to prevent her from making a mistake, I went to Father and demanded he not allow the union. When asked who a better mate for her would be, Father laughed when I named myself. Saying I had confused brotherly love with true love, he would not listen to another word about an incestuous union.

No matter my protests, or the obstacles I threw before them, Abihail married the dullard. That’s when I knew, the only way to change her mind would be to create our own world, one where Abihail sat by my side as my wife where she belonged. Once I had my plan, I ran to Abihail. I told her of the perfect world we’d create and rule together. I would be able to give her everything she’d ever need and want, including the children she and Rahovart seemed to have trouble conceiving. In my mind I saw her throwing herself around me with grateful glee. However, she simply stared at me in horror, appalled I would ever suggest such things. Feeling a fool for thinking my words would break past Rahovart’s brainwashing, I knew then I would have to take her against her will.

With her growing more distant by the minute, I had to implement my coup sooner than I had anticipated. With numbers on my side, the plan had been going off without a hitch. I had Rahovart in my crosshair and Abihail within reach, until a fool servant wounded her, causing the injury to manifest itself upon me. I left that day without my trophy but with a promise that I would not rest until Abihail was mine for all time and eternity.

Still, millenniums later, she fights what is meant to be. In mere moments, however, my wait will be over. Though my last attempt to claim her had been thwarted by none other than Rahovart and his posse of feeble-minded goons, failure would not be an option this time around. I simply had to wait.

In order to kill time, I shuffled through another stack of paperwork required to obtain a fallen soul, but I was distracted by the macabre trophies I had worked so hard to build and obtain. Each one representing an unanswered, forsaken prayer intended for my Father yet granted by me.

I paid my spies well to ensure every prayer passed up by the Big Man made its way to my attention. Every one giving me an opportunity to build my forces, lengthen my reach, and weaken my enemies. But after centuries of wheeling and dealing, I found myself growing tired of reading the same wishes and empty promises over and over, day in and day out. Please don’t let me be pregnant. I swear I’ll go to church every day, Dear God, please let the Oakland Raiders make it to the play-offs, If I win the lottery, I’ll donate half to charity. My personal favorites are the empty requests and swears made on the toilet during a difficult bowel movement.

Mankind bombards celestial ears with menial, trivial wants, and then curses the Heavens when no reply is given. But it is my job, no matter how ridiculous the request, to see to the unanswered and ensure they make good on their shallow promises. And to those who refuse…well, they make it to my trophy room.

Glancing down at the stack of papers teetering on my desk, I released a disinterested sigh when I heard the call I had been waiting all night for; Vetis had Abihail.

I had spent months consulting with my generals, my top spies, and my special group of mathematicians to calculate the outcome of my next venture to obtain Abihail. With only a two percent chance of failure, I had been excited to know all the hard work, wheeling and dealing, and strategizing would finally pay off in my favor.

Putting on the illusion of an average white male, as to not frighten Abihail with my natural form, I took off in the direction of Quantico. Though the flight takes a fraction of a second to a human, the anticipation boiling inside of me at the thought of finally having her made the trip feel particularly long. So, you can imagine my shock when I materialized in the Divad’s hovel to find Abihail’s soul in Etta’s body holding Vetis hostage.

Splintered wood scattered across the flooded floor as water poured from a hole in the ceiling. A mutilated Rahovart lay writhing, surrounded by the Arch Gabriel, High Knight John, and a blonde, curly haired female I didn’t recognize. Encircling the angelic motley crew were my men, my tired soldiers, glancing at me for their orders. They had fumbled their mission, and my only solace had been seeing my dear servant, Pyro, clutching one of Rahovart’s wings.

I wanted Rahovart to pay for meddling with my fate. Yes, I had the power to order his death, but that would have been too easy. I wanted him to suffer as I had over the past millenniums. Having previously given up his wings and serving under me, I knew it’d only be a matter of time before he’d be grounded, unable to flash, which meant unable to ‘protect’ my sister from our destiny. At least that had seemed to go according to plan.

With the situation as it were, I knew Etta had Vetis call to me. The furrow of her brow, the clenching of her jaw, and the tense grip of the poisonous blade she pressed into Vetis’s chest were solid clues she had no intention of surrendering to me.

However, she had no alternative but to try and make a deal with me. Calculating the scene, everyone’s position, numbers, and a few other details, the only logical deal to be made would be to spare Rahovart’s soul and her friends’ souls for hers, or to spare them all for Vetis. Either way, with her indebted to me and bound by contract, I would win. If anyone had the capability to make a deal that had only one benefactor, it had been I, Lucifer.

What can I do for you? I blithely asked.

I want to make a deal, Etta snarled.

A soaking wet clump of hair fell into her large, almond shaped eyes. Memories of days out in the grassy knolls and getting caught in a rain storm fluttered in my mind. A moment of euphoria swept over me as I imagined the way Abihail’s drenched yellow stola clung to her thin waist and round hips, revealing the transparency of the fabric and everything it tried so desperately to hide as she ran for shelter. Though her human form as Etta barely resembled the sister I knew, she had still been quite appealing and left me wanting. As much as I enjoyed sexual fantasies, I had to keep my head clear of any distractions.

Etta, don’t! Rahovart cried out.

A bubble of anger burst inside of me as Rahovart once again tried to meddle with my sister and me. As I prepared to reprimand him for his interference, Etta had called to him to shut up. A flicker of hope that maybe she had finally realized what an idiot