Excerpt: The Tempt Worker

The angel was named Abdiel, and he wore one such hoodie emblazoned with the image of the wolf-like Huskie – the famed mascot of Northern Illinois University. He was starring at his image in the mirror. The hoodie seemed to match his gray slacks well enough, and like his gray slacks, it was baggy and comfortable, but not suspiciously so. He raised the hood and let it fall over his eyes, casting a shadow from his temple down past his cheeks.

It wasn’t that Abdiel was given to vanity. He was an angel of the Lord in good standing, unlike his fallen counterparts which swarmed this world. But quite the opposite, sometimes angels forget to the look in the mirror. Their forms are fluid and energetic, always shifting and always changing. Every century or so, Abdiel had found himself given a new look, one to pleasantly merge with his environment so as not to arouse suspicion. The less effective angels failed to notice this transformation, and sometimes found themselves in unpleasant altercations ranging from – but not limited to – walking into the wrong bathroom, getting kicked out of a bar and being denied entrance into a high-rated movie.

Abdiel had to be effective. Abdiel had to be methodical. It was the only thing going for him. He hadn’t had a job in years. Abdiel had to be effective, because he was effectively unemployed.

Not that that precluded him from freelancing, which he was doing right now. He was an angel of the Lord, after all, and that wouldn’t change no matter what he put on his tax returns. He had a larger job to do, even if it was not as clearly known to him as others. For now, he was on the hunt; an assignment which could range from easy enough to pointedly dangerous.

Abdiel took careful inventory of himself in the store mirror. He had messy brown hair – just curly enough to be unruly but neither strong enough to produce rings of curls or a long curves of hair. His face was normal enough – green eyes, a wide nose and a small mouth. He ran his hands down his arms, counting every hair as he made his way down to his finger tips. He felt his stomach. There was a slight uncharacteristic bulge there, differing from the rest of his sinewy form. It could be mistaken for a beer belly, especially in this town, leaving him no problems with blending in. Plus, it gave him advantage – if he appeared not to be athletic, people wouldn’t expect him to move fast.

All angels can traverse distance in the span of a wing flap, and as a seraphim, he was among the fastest.

Seraphim. The highest rank of angel. That’s what Abdiel had came into this world as and that’s what he thought himself as. It meant literally “the burning ones”, and the description was an apt one even today. For deep within his pants pocket, a small humming sound could be heard from time to time, no louder than a very persistent cell phone set to vibrate.

But what lied in the angel’s pants pocket was no cell phone. It was, you could say, his heavenly flaming sword, like the kind Michael used to beat down Satan in the final book of the Scriptures. It was only as big as normal billfold, yet it was the only thing stopping rAbdiel from reducing the entire store to a smoldering swath of cinders.

It couldn’t be rightly called a “sword” per se, but in lay man’s terms (and especially man’s terms), it had to be thought of as a sword. It was entirely at Abdiel’s disposal. He could use as easily produce a pillar of flame and sheathe with a second’s thought. It was at his discretion. It was at his control.

But then again, his right arm was all of these things as well. There is good reason why the seraphim means “burning ones” instead “burning swords.” They were beings of fire, all flickering and all unique. Abdiel was no different. The humming fire within his pants pocket was a part of him – separate in manifestation but joined in purpose and union.

And to make matters worst, it was hungry.

The constant humming sound had moved from annoyance to distraction. It was the part of him that instinctively knew the enemy was near and wanted payback. It wanted to experience the rush of the Fall all over again, from the indignant rebuttal of Lucifer to the triumphant swing against the rebel angels and their wings. Some angels were consumed by this feeling. To Abdiel, it was merely a frustration – distant yet ever-present. But it served a valuable point – you didn’t have to be a fallen angel to know pain from the Fall. The Fall hurt everyone – human or angel, fallen or not.