1. The angels I called

Clad in comfortable woolen socks and an oversized nightshirt, I sneak downstairs to the kitchen. At last, I’ve finished studying for finals, and my throat feels as parched as the desiccated plant in our bathroom, which Mom invariably overlooks during watering. I’m desperate for a drink.

Creeping past the living room, a delicate sapphire glow beckons from within. It’s well past 11:00 PM; my parents are typically in bed by this time. Intrigued, I peek inside and can’t help but smile when I find them nestled together on our comfy sofa, soundly asleep.

I glide towards them, but I’m caught off guard by the grave timbre of the news anchor on the television. It seems today is yet another day where the world outside descends into chaos. Narratives of war, death, and despair overshadow everything else, painting a picture of a world saturated in corruption. Inhumanity appears to reign, and kindness seems to have long vacated our lives. My heart twinges as I absorb the bitter truths.

I’ve always put my faith in the warmth of compassion and the belief that the world could be rescued in a single day—if only everyone did their part. But they don’t. Or rather, only a handful do. The vast majority of humanity seems to have lost the ability to live in harmony with our planet. The hunger for power and wealth appears insatiable, continuing unabated in the face of horrific exploitation and destruction.

It feels as though the dark side has triumphed. Lucifer has won.

Heavy-hearted, pondering the state of a world that could be so magnificently beautiful, I exhale a profound sigh and power down the TV. I don’t want to disturb my parents’ peaceful slumber with the lullaby of war and despair. And alas, they aren’t airing Winnie the Pooh at this hour.

Quietly, I drape a cozy blanket over them before venturing to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water. There, I nearly stumble over our cat. She brushes against my shins and then sprawls on the floor, fixing me with that familiar “I implore you, let me out!” expression, favoring the nighttime outdoors. I grant her wish, wandering to the front door and allowing her to vanish into the yard.

A sharp evening gust tousles my light brown hair, carrying the bickering voices of our neighbors. They are once again embroiled in some trivial dispute. Actually, that’s nothing unusual, but after the sad stories on the news before, I feel strangely depleted all of a sudden, as if caught in a torrent of negative energy. It drags me down without respite.

“Damn you, Lucifer! Why are you doing this?” I mutter, frustration simmering as I gaze up at the stars from the doorstep.

“Do you really want an answer to that?” a serene voice reverberates from behind, striking me with the force of a thunderbolt.

A raw fear surges through my veins, wrenching a gasp from my throat. For an instant, I’m petrified, my fingers curled tightly around the doorknob. I struggle to breathe, my eyes stinging, incapable of blinking. A frigid shudder slithers down my spine, goosebumps trailing from my neck to my ankles.

What on Earth have I stirred?

Once the paralysis born of terror ebbs away, I slam the door shut, collapsing to my knees, and clench my eyes tight. Without a second thought, I reach out to Archangel Michael in my mind. It’s an ingrained response—I need not question its impulse. I instantly sense a shift in the atmosphere, as though an alternate reality, soft as a summer breeze, sweeps across the world, merging two realms—the tangible one and one that only I seem to detect.

Throughout my entire life, Michael has been my celestial guide. He emerged early in my childhood and has stayed by my side ever since.

His familiar, radiant energy floods the hallway, enveloping me like a safeguarding cloak. Yet, my bones rattle, and I can’t muster the courage to look up. I’m scared of what I may have inadvertently invoked.

I’m scared of him.

“It’s alright, Katrina.” Michael’s voice is soothing. The sound of my name on his lips wraps me in comforting warmth, reminiscent of the scent of hot chocolate on a wintry day. “You may speak to Lucifer now if you wish.”

Has he lost his mind? The devil has invaded my home, and I’m supposed to have small talk?

God, help me!

I swallow hard and shake my head. My heart thuds against my ribs, causing my body to quiver. Then I sense Michael’s hand beneath my chin, coaxing my gaze upwards.

His touch isn’t human; instead, it feels akin to a warming beam of sunlight on my skin. Over the years, I’ve learned to decipher and trust the angels’ intentions and actions through this sensation. We’ve fostered our unique language of light, so to speak.

In this unseen dimension, I meet his eyes, set in a kind face, framed by disheveled blond hair. As always, he’s clad in a slender silver breastplate, with a lengthy royal blue cape trailing behind him. This image has denoted protection and security to me since childhood, and it’s not solely due to the formidable sword sheathed at his left hip.

Yet, beyond his shoulder, the Prince of Darkness nonchalantly sprawls on the lower steps of the staircase, creating a stark contrast of light and shadow that constricts my throat. With elbows propped on bent knees, Lucifer interlaces his fingers, his impressive white wings drooping listlessly on the steps, like a king’s cloak worn in ennui. Amid my intense terror, I barely note that his feathers aren’t as black as his hair—a surprising revelation. His bare upper torso accommodates his wings, I assume.

In a manner of greeting, he offers me a faint smile and lifts his raven-black eyebrows in a singular motion.

An ice-cold shiver streaks through my veins.

For a fleeting eternity, I’m entranced by his unfathomable dark eyes. Even as fear surges within me, an intriguing sensation emerges, steadying my heart’s rhythm and gradually restoring my breath to a strange tranquility. What’s going on? The aura radiating from Lucifer exudes regality, despite his posture indicating that humanity’s destiny warrants nothing more than a weary smile from him. An enticing allure circles this angel, like the rings of Saturn, sparking a longing within me to orbit in their celestial dance for all time.

What was it exactly that I found so terrifying moments ago…?

“Enough, Lucifer!” Michael’s sharp voice echoes through the hallway, seemingly resonating throughout the entire neighborhood. I jerk in surprise, noting his authoritative glare focuses over his shoulder on the angel lounging on the stairs.

Lucifer answers my flinch with a cunning grin, lazily blinking his dark eyes towards Michael. “What? I’m simply observing.”

As Michael pivots to face him, his blue cape brushes against my arm. The warmth radiating from him anchors me, even as I’m clearly descending into madness. I’ve never perceived angels with such clarity, not even in my most vivid dreams. “We’re not here to play games,” Michael rebukes him succinctly.

“Oh?” the angel with the white wings retorts, his smirk momentarily faltering. It’s peculiar how bereft his smile is of emotion—neither friendly nor hostile. It’s as impassive as sunlight at high noon. Accompanying his smirk, Lucifer tilts his head subtly. “Have the endless eons finally tired you of amusement, old friend?”

Michael releases a heavy sigh, eyes shut as he massages the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. Unlike the devil, this angel—who has never manifested with wings during our interactions, nor does he now—emanates a very palpable emotion. The atmosphere brims with an oppressively heavy sense of regret. Yet, Michael chooses not to disclose to me the nature of his remorse.

My miraculous ability to bridge two worlds and perceive beings of light emerged before my fourth birthday, and Michael has been my guide ever since. Nonetheless, he has always maintained certain secrets. So, whatever causes his distress from epochs past is obviously none of my business.

“And you?” Lucifer’s frosty words now unequivocally target me. “Do you intend to linger there indefinitely, avoiding me in your silence?”

I part my lips, oddly compelled, but my throat is too dry to voice a single word. I recall the myriad of questions I wanted to pose just moments ago, yet none surface now. That’s when Michael extends his hand, assisting me to my feet. The physical act of standing isn’t the issue—it’s the emotional burden that weighs me down, for which I’m grateful for his uplifting support.

But I no longer wish to ask the devil anything.

Instead, my mind darts anxiously. How in the world do I banish such evil from my house under these circumstances? Or at the very least, safeguard my family and myself from it?

Releasing Michael’s hand, I totter through the hallway on unsteady legs, although totter might be an overstatement. I feel as if I’m navigating through water, battling against the fear that once again washes over me in powerful waves.

Barely making it to the kitchen, I fumble in a drawer with trembling hands. There should be a box of matches in there. Heck, where is it? Michael’s presence remains a constant assurance around me, yet I only discern Lucifer from the corner of my eye as he strolls into the room. I register no emotions as he saunters past me to lean casually against the refrigerator, exuding a relaxed curiosity as he watches me. “What are you up to?” he inquires.

The matches finally found, I hurry around the kitchen island to seize a thick candle from the shelf. It takes three attempts to scrape a match against the box before the small, round head finally sparks into a hissing yellow flame. Applying the flame to the previously burnt wick of the storm-gray candle, I rasp without risking a glance at Lucifer, “I’m igniting a candle.” To instill a tranquil energy and dispel the darkness—this was a lesson from Michael years ago. The flame quivers violently in the motionless room, but it persists. Thank God! My chest lightens marginally, and I regain my breath. “For you.”

At that, Lucifer’s laughter permeates the atmosphere, and if I weren’t certain that his voice merely resonates so powerfully within my head, I would fear he could be waking my parents in the living room across the hallway. “This one is not for me,” he comments, sounding on the brink of condescension. But just on the brink.

“How would you know?” I venture, emboldened to meet his gaze.

Lucifer silently, yet intently studies me for a moment before pushing off the refrigerator and advancing. His wingtips nonchalantly wipe the floor with his movement. “If it genuinely is intended for me, then snuff it out!” he demands, his tone alarmingly serious.

What? “Why?” I would rather turn to Michael for guidance, who appears to be right behind me, but I can’t break away from the captivating gaze of the devil, who halts opposite me on the other side of the kitchen island.

“Because I command it.”

The firmness in his voice incites a peculiar conflict within me. I feel the compulsion to obey. And at the same time, I yearn to flee the house, crying out in terror.

With Michael’s luminous hand steadying my shoulder, I muster the courage to comply. Leaning forward, I pray there’s sufficient air in my lungs to snuff out the small, flickering flame. I pucker my lips, shut my eyes, and blow gently. When I reopen my lids, the candle is extinguished, and Lucifer’s potent gaze locks onto mine from mere inches away. The fierce throb of my heart followed by an abrupt cessation of any beat surely can’t bode well for my health.

“And now,” he whispers, “kindle it once more.”

I fumble for the matchbox and, with luck more than precision, extract a match. My shaking fingers wrestle with the task. Despite snapping the first match in my attempt, I succeed in igniting another. As I carefully draw it towards the wick, Lucifer encloses his hand around the storm-gray candle, and the flame springs to life. The fire rises unusually high, yet remains utterly still. No dance, no tremor. It manifests the fiery tranquility of the universe, and within it, a myriad of stars twinkle.

“See?” Lucifer drawls, slowly retracting his hand. His expression remains unaltered, but a slight smile seems to kindle warmth in his dark eyes. “Now it really is for me.”

That oddly serene sensation floods over me again, reminiscent of what I experienced earlier in the hallway when I first saw his face. Once more, I perceive the Saturn rings surrounding him, beckoning me, imploring me to fuse my light with those circles for all eternity.

What is this sensation?

Just then, Michael positions himself on the right side of the kitchen island, and an unseen protective barrier emerges between Lucifer and me, disrupting the overwhelming allure. A part of me is relieved, another part not so much.

Although Michael remains silent, Lucifer appears to perceive that he’s been kept in check. He leans back with a self-satisfied grin and states coolly, “Very well.”

I’m unsure whether he’s addressing me or Michael. Yet, as he leans with one shoulder against the fridge, arms folded, and his gaze riveted on me, it’s clear that I remain the focal point of his interest, just as he is mine. “You had a question. This is your chance, Katrina. Michael ensures your safety.”

My uncertain gaze flicks to the side, meeting Michael’s solemn yet comforting expression. He nods, and I become aware that the Angel of Darkness hasn’t misled me.

Is this an exception? I’d always envisioned the devil as a duplicitous, revolting creature. But now, I discover that the truth can pose an alarmingly tantalizing danger as well.

I clear my throat, kick-starting my vocal cords, even though it’s not necessary. Michael had clarified long ago that I never need to vocalize with him or any other angel. Evidently, a soul emits a distinct vibration with every thought, which can be intercepted and understood by another entity. It operates in reverse, too. Michael’s thoughts directed towards me are a special kind of vibration that my human mind decodes into words or often, visuals.

Lucifer’s vibration is captivating, extending a potent invitation that I hesitantly accept.

“Why are you so evil?” I inquire meekly, inciting another bout of laughter from him. It reverberates robustly and profoundly, seemingly arising from the depths of his soul—if he indeed possesses one.

For a moment, he dismisses me entirely and swivels his head towards Michael. “Is that what you educated her with?”

No idea what he means by that. Truthfully, Michael has never broached the subject of Lucifer with me. He generally only responds to the questions sparked by my curiosity, and the devil was never a discussion I would have initiated in our dialogues.

Was that a mistake?

“There are no mistakes,” Michael retorts gently to my unspoken concern, laying his hand over mine. “Only experiences, destinies, and journeys. You walk your path at a pace that suits you.”

Yes, he often utters such enigmatic insights. Typically, it requires a few days for the essence of his words to fully seep in.

Lucifer saunters across the kitchen to the window above the sink. He plants his hands on the edge of the counter, his gaze ascending towards the dark, star-studded sky outside. His grand wings drape heavily over his back, almost mirroring extinguished sources of light themselves.

After a while, he throws a glance over his shoulder in my direction. His gaze is thoughtful and longing, fixed on a far-off horizon that seems to stretch right beyond me. A moment later, his focus returns to my face, and he demands, “Define evil.”

Wow. That harder than I expected. “You lead people astray, compelling them to enact dreadful deeds,” I tentatively proffer my first answer.

His eyes sparkle in the candlelight for an extended beat. Then, he cocks his head. “Is that so?”

Time appears to dilate in this moment, with lengthy intervals between each exchange, even though the dialogue maintains a fluid rhythm.

“And what else could it be?” I retort.

Lucifer gazes out the window again, absorbed in contemplation. “When an owl stalks its prey in the cloak of night, using darkness as its ally, and finally seizes a mouse after an exhaustive chase… Who truly devoured the mouse?” He swivels towards me, lifting a dark eyebrow in challenge. “The night? Or the owl?”

I mull over the image for a moment, feeling the chill prickling my exposed legs. My toes curl within my socks. Michael edges closer, and I instantly feel the ambient temperature rise. I silently acknowledge his tacit gesture, and I sense he perceives my gratitude. Words remain unnecessary, so I shift my attention back to Lucifer, who has turned his back on me once more.

“Does that mean you are the night?” I query, trying to decipher his metaphor.

“I am the alternate sphere that facilitates possibilities,” he responds mystically. “What humans decide to do with it is not of my doing. You all possess free will.”

His choice of words feels like a sugarcoating of his true essence and actions. Or is it not? Good heavens, I can’t tell! As the night progresses, this encounter grows increasingly bewildering. His words can’t simply upend my entire understanding of good and evil. It must be a charade, and I’d be a fool to succumb to it.

Resolute not to be manipulated further, I defiantly fold my arms. “If you had a heart, you wouldn’t afford such a space! You wouldn’t permit people to be engulfed by darkness and execute such inhumane acts.”

He smirks, turning to face me as he leans against the sink’s edge. His hands disappear into the pockets of his black leather pants. “You think I have no heart?”

“I don’t know. Do you?”

His gentle expression puzzles me. A flicker of surprise and curiosity charges the air that was previously devoid. But he remains silent, and Michael, too, withholds a response. “Why aren’t you answering me?” I press. “Don’t you know yourself?”

Lucifer blinks, and I’m left wondering what thoughts of his are now making the air thrum with intrigue. “One day you’ll find out,” he finally pledges, sending a chill down my spine.

“When?”

“When you’re ready.”

A mirthless chuckle escapes me. “Ready for disappointment?”

Lucifer steps closer, and my arms lower involuntarily. My knees wobble slightly as he halts merely inches away, his penetrating gaze locked onto mine as we share the same breath. “Ready for the truth,” he whispers.

My heartbeat thrums in my ears, and I swallow hard. Am I not ready for the truth now? My lips remain sealed, but I can feel the unvoiced question pulsating within me.

Lucifer shakes his head.

He briefly closes his eyes, then reopens them, his attention shifting towards Michael, who has positioned himself protectively at my side. The warmth evaporates from Lucifer’s gaze, replaced by glacial detachment and somber resolve. “Not for a long time.”

With that, he turns and strides into the night, fading like a ghost through the sink and the closed window. His ethereal wings are the last to dissolve into the darkness.

“Honey?”

The sudden voice behind me makes me leap and collide with the ajar drawer. Ouch!

Catching my breath, I stare at my mother’s drowsy face as she swaddles herself in a blanket. “What are you doing up so late?” she asks tenderly, her warm hand cradling my cheek.

I cast a glance at the clock mounted above the door.

Midnight.

My gaze sweeps the room, but no angels remain. Only a solitary candle flickers in the enveloping silence.