Chapter Ten Azrael
Chapter Ten
Azrael
I fucked up. I fucked up hard.
I fucked up so hard I might not ever be able to fix it.
So hard I’m not even certain Charlotte will be able to forgive me.
Especially now that I’m . . . at risk of losing both of them.
I appear outside the church she likes to visit down on Seventh Street, somewhere in the Garment District close to Times Square, while the other me waits inside her townhouse, torturously listening to the sound of her pleasured screams.
I’ve watched as she’s visited here a few times, and I don’t know why it is she keeps returning, but something about this place . . . calls to me.
And it suits my purpose just as well as any.
I climb the stone steps, my thoughts turning to the way she looked at me last night, how I worshipped her. It’s almost as if what she’s starting to feel for me might be . . .
I shake my head.
I can’t even allow myself to think it.
I glance toward the church’s sign as I near the entrance, the name like an unspoken prophecy. Our Lady of Perpetual Sorrows.
I huff.
God always did have a fucked-up sense of humor.
I step inside, the heavy doors sealing shut as the dust motes that move through the early light dance around the sanctuary.
The church is mostly dark, especially at this hour, the dim light of a few altar candles flickering.
The first service is likely a few hours off, though human time makes little difference to me. I approach the altar.
A stained glass image of Christ stares down at me.
It looks nothing like him.
Too white, too . . . celebratory.
He wasn’t eager for me to take him. Just like the rest of them.
To sacrifice himself for his Father’s plans.
I drop down into the first-row pew, alone, uncertain what exactly it is I’m doing.
I haven’t spoken to God in over a century, and definitely not in the last ten years since Lucifer and his siblings came topside.
Nor do I understand why Charlotte and I feel drawn here, considering her frequent visits over the last few weeks.
But I’m here all the same, and actually corporeal for once.
I drop my head, leaning forward onto my knees. I don’t mean to speak my desperate prayer to Him aloud, for my words to summon Him, but something in me . . .
“He knows,” I say into silence. “He knows, and I can hardly fucking stand it.”
“Of course he knows.”
I stiffen at the calm voice that answers me.
I turn to find the church’s priest drawing near, the one Charlotte keeps meeting with. Father Brown, I think. After all these eons, human faces sometimes blend together for me.
But for some reason, this one stands out.
I lift my scarred brow, surprised he’s bold enough to face me, let alone talk to me like this. I can count the number of meaningful conversations I’ve had with humans on one hand.
Few have ever spoken to me directly, save for the rare occasions I’ve allowed them to get a glimpse of me.
Ever since God and then Lucifer used me as a threat to keep them in line in that damn Garden, it’s been like their fear of me was coded into their DNA.
“You mean Lucifer, don’t you?” he says, drawing closer. “Nothing gets past that devil.”
I lift a brow. How did he—
“You say that like you know him.”
The priest nods. “I do.”
I lift the other brow.
Father Brown grins. “Though perhaps not as well as you do.”
I shake my head, dismissing his words for the religious bullshit it clearly is. “Nobody knows him as well as I do. Not even his fiancée.”
“Is that so?” The priest tilts his head before he sits down beside me. “I’d like to think I know him pretty well too.” His gaze flicks toward the stained glass overhead. “And him.”
I shift my attention back to the image of Christ. “Forgive me if I don’t take your word for it.”
I’ve been closer to God than this priest will ever be, even when he eventually dies.
Close enough to remember the exact words He whispered to me.
Keep thy faith, and I shall unbind their fates . . .
I scoff.
Even if at the moment it all feels like a fucking joke.
Lucifer did always take his Father for a liar, but I don’t know why that particular promise made me think . . .
I don’t allow myself to finish the thought.
The priest leans forward as I rake both my hands through my hair, brushing aside the stray strands that’ve fallen into my face.
“You were there at the beginning, and you’ll be the last to leave when it ends. Won’t you, Azrael?”
My spine stiffens. “How do you know my—”
There’s a flicker in his eyes for a moment—too ancient to belong to any human.
There and gone in a flash.
“I think He may be paying a lot closer attention than you think.” The priest pointedly glances up toward the ceiling.
But I’m not buying it.
God has plenty of prophets, but it couldn’t possibly be that easy.
Could it?
I shake my head again. I watch as the man’s eyes narrow. I take in his warm face, his knowing grin. He must have put two and two together and recognized me from one of Charlotte’s confessions, that’s all. That’s all it could possibly—
“She prays for you a lot, you know,” he says, and now I know he’s seriously fucking with me.
“Aren’t you supposed to keep that private or something?”
He chuckles a little. “I don’t think she’d mind if I told you she doesn’t want to lose you.” He pauses. “Or him.”
I know the feeling.
I let out a long sigh, leaning back in the pew as I drag a rough hand down my face. “Look, a human like you couldn’t possibly understand what I’ve done.”
“Are you certain?” he asks like he can see right through me.
Other than Charlotte, I’ve never met one of them who could understand the sacrifices I’ve made. The hurt. The longing.
All for a promise He made me.
No wonder she keeps returning here.
“None of that matters now.” I look away as I lean forward onto my knees again. “He’s never going to be mine, and neither is she.”
“And why not?”
I tip my chin toward the stained glass window overhead. “Because He’s abandoned us all, you all, remember?”
Along with the promise He made me.
“In what way?”
I sigh. This conversation is getting old, and fast. “He made a promise to me once, but it was only if I . . .”
“Had enough faith in Him?”
I press my lips together and give a curt nod.
When he says it like that, it sounds just as foolish as Lucifer accused me of being when he found out. Reckless. Hopeful. Not worth all the pain it’s caused us both.
Father Brown nods, as if he’s beginning to understand me. “Did He abandon you, or is He simply testing your faith?”
I grumble something unintelligible, before I grunt, “Why not both?” once it’s clear he isn’t going to leave me be.
I must be losing my touch.
I’m the Grim Reaper, and I can’t scare off one fucking annoying priest anymore.
The priest chuckles like he can tell what I’m thinking. “Have faith, Azrael, and remember what’s at stake if you choose a different ending.”
I roll my eyes. “And what’s that? My eternal soul?”
I turn back to face him, only to find he’s gone.
Leaving me alone in that strange human sanctuary, wondering if God really did tell me the truth of how this would all end, or if maybe He left out a few of the key details.