Becoming Chaos

III - Rising Moon

I could not believe my eyes.

A moment ago I wanted to run away from crazy. Now, I knelt on the floor looking at something more insane. There’s a freaking angel in front of me. A freaking angel.

He hovered a few feet from the tiled floor and his head nearly touched the ceiling. His white, glowing wings moved gently, gracefully, like a melody suspended in the air. Each individual feather fluttered as he floated in the middle of the apartment. Michael’s eyes were incandescently golden, and were regarding me in an expression I could not decipher. He landed silently to the floor on his feet. He tucked his wings behind him, and in a split second they were gone. I half-expected feathers to fall all around him, but there was none. His gold-streaked hair was back to its usual black, and his eyes returned to normal. “I told you,” he said, “I can prove it to you.”

I stared at him with my mouth open like an i***t. Pinpricks raced all over my body as my blood ran cold. My bones were stuck frozen. I tried hard but all I could do was swallow the taste of shock and awe pooling at the back of my mouth. After several attempts of lifting any of my muscles, my lips were able to move. “W-what are you?” I asked, unsure if I was scared or amazed. Could be both, I did not know.

He walked toward me. “K, you disappoint me. You’re not paying attention,” he said as he stopped in front of my slumped form on the floor. He reached out his right arm, palm up. He nodded as though urging me to take his hand.

I took a lungful of air. My heart pumped rapidly as if my blood was as thin as water. The shortness of my breathing made me think that I would faint. I didn’t. Taking his offered hand with great hesitation, he lifted me up to my feet. My survival instincts told me it was best to obey his bidding. For all I knew, his wings could have bladed feathers like in the movies. He could cut me out if he wanted to. No. I’d rather not die at the hands of Big Bird, thank you very much.

“I told you over and over again,” he said. His smile was back on his face as though my puzzled and terrified expression gave him contentment. “I am a Soul Dealer.”

Closing my eyes, I took another deep breath. I put a hand to my chest in a bid to calm my thundering heart. “But, WHAT are you, exactly?” I asked as I opened my eyes. My voice quivered even as I tried to downplay my fright.

“Do you want some water?” he asked, inspecting my face.“You look… dead. Tell me you’re not dying, K. If you die under my watch, I will be in big trouble with The Ministry. I don’t want that.”

How could an angel be so annoying? I nodded to his offer of a drink as he led me back to the bed. I sat down on the cushion slowly as he walked to the kitchen. My flesh still shook from the mixed feelings of annoyance, unbelief, shock and everything in between. Clinking noises and the sloshing of water came from the pantry. Michael cursed fluently as the water probably spilled on his jeans. I pinched myself hard on the cheeks. A subtle throbbing flared on my face as I drew my fingers away. “It is real,” I muttered under my breath.

“What is real?” Michael said, walking back to the side of the bed. He handed me the glass of water. “Here. Drink.”

A small gasp escaped me as he reappeared. The left leg of his ripped jeans was soaking wet just as I thought. I took the glass of water from him with my trembling hands. I downed all the contents in one go, hoping that the water would calm me down. An audible exhale left my mouth as I finished drinking.

“So, back to my question. Do you believe me now?” he asked, his hazel eyes staring. “I’m sorry if I didn’t fly around as you asked. Small apartment. Space is kinda cramped,” he said.

“Are you an angel?” I asked after finding my voice. “Or am I turning crazy? Did you drug me?”

“You are turning into a werewolf, not turning crazy. There’s like a huge difference. Though, some wolves eventually turn crazy because they cannot control their rage. Not that I am--”

“Will you please, for the love of--”

“Oops,” he placed his finger in front of my face. The tip of his index slightly touched my bottom lip. I felt a buzz of electricity run through my veins as his skin made contact with mine. “No cursing in front of a Soul Dealer. It’s blasphemous.”

I swatted his hand away. “Really? I just heard you swear like a professional. How dare you forbid me?”

“I am the Soul Dealer. I cannot curse in front of myself. That is physically impossible. Unless, of course I do it in front of a mirror.”

Uugghh, I yelled internally, wishing for the briefest of moments that I was the werewolf he said I was so that I could rip his smart-ass mouth out of his face. Closing my eyes, I breathed hard to contain myself. If I was going crazy, it wouldn’t be on the account of this Riverwoods guy. I kept my mouth shut and stayed silent. Sounds of subtle movements and something gently hitting the floor reached my ears. My curiosity got the better of me and I peeled my eyelids back. Michael was sitting down at the foot of the bed before me.

“I am technically not an Angel,” he said as he saw me open my eyes. His black hair was tousled as if he ruffled it with his fingers. His head was angled to the side as he spoke. “Just as I told you, we are humans, too, but with just a bit more,” he explained. “Soul dealers have Angel blessing called Ashrei, passed down to our bloodlines from the Chosen One -Samuel Strongheart.”

“So you are half-Angel?”

Michael scoffed. “For someone with enhanced hearing, Summers, you are deaf. You aren’t listening.” There was a slight crease in his forehead as though I was stressing him out. “The half-Angels are giants. They go by many names: Anakim, Rephaim, Gibborim, and Nephilim among others. They are monstrosities born out of the affairs of men and Angels. The Ministry told us that The Great Flood wiped them out the face of the Earth. Soul Dealers are not like them, for we don’t have Angel blood.”

“But you have huge bird wings!” I protested. “How can you not be an Angel?”

“Would it shock you if I told you that I'm just a big chicken?”

“Can you be serious for a moment? You are freaking me out!” I shouted. A cracking noise echoed as the glass I was holding shattered in my grip. I looked down at my palm and saw streams of scarlet flow from my wounds. Standing up, I looked at Michael.

He rose to his feet. As he did, I realized that he towered at least a foot over me. “What?” he asked, his face unconcerned. “That will heal, don’t worry. I am more anxious about the blood you spilled on my blanket.”

I did not look at the bed as I was literally going insane with his stories. A stained blanket was last on my list of problems. I threw the broken glass to the floor, making a loud shattering noise. He didn’t flinch. I was about to retort, but he spoke.

“Those wings you saw are not mine. Technically,” he turned around so that his back was unto me. “Can you see?”

Michael has nice cakes. I shook my head and refrained from staring at his butt.

“What am I supposed to see?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“There are no holes on my shirt for the wings to go through,” he pointed out. He turned to face me again. “It is because Soul Dealers only draw power from the Angels. We can do what the Angels can to some extent. We can access their strengths, powers and wings at will. So, the wings that you saw, they are not mine.”

I sighed as it was all that I can do to keep my mind from exploding. The confusion, terror, awe and rage that boiled in me combined and turned to resignation. Raising my hands in the air, I drew my palms up. I was no longer surprised that my hand wasn’t bleeding anymore. The blood was still there, staining my fingers down to my wrist, but the wounds were entirely closed. “Okay. I believe you now,” I said, trying to muster all the genuineness that I had. “What about that bit with Vladimir? Why did he attack me? Why did he want to kill me?”

“I am the one that is supposed to ask you that.”

“So, you mean you do not know?”

“Nope. Not a clue,” he said, shaking his head. He combed his hair once with his manly fingers. “Are you really telling me the truth when you say you don’t know him?”

“I am a hundred and one percent sure.” Nodding, I sat down again on the bed. All these talks were exhausting me. “I really don’t know. I just met him at the bar. I thought he was cute. Do you have any ideas as to why he would attack me? He knew my name.”

“It is strange," he breathed."Vladimir Randall is a sought-after criminal. He is cunning, elusive and has many connections. The Ministry has been after him for years. His attack on you is too random. Most of his victims are mages because he has a taste for mage blood. It furthers his power. But you are clearly not a mage.”

“Mage? Like a magician?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, they pull bunnies out of hats,” he answered with seething sarcasm that made me decide that Michael was a diva. “Of course, not. Mages are powerful beings with the capability to harness elemental magic. They have flaming eyes of different colors depending on their power. In popular culture and literature, regulars call them wizards or witches.”

“I see,” I replied. I noticed that since I decided to not openly rebuke his stories, I found that they are quite entertaining and informative. “What about the vampires and fairies?”

“Elves,” he corrected. “Fairies are elves, so are mermaids, pixies and other earthly spirits. Vampires on the other hand, are undead. Much like lycanthropy, vampirism is a disease. The difference is that in vampirism, the victim has to die. After death, the victim is resurrected as a vampire. They are undead, which means they need to draw life from others. That is why they suck blood.”

Life is in the blood, I thought in mild fascination. “Is it true that vampires can transform into bats? Or that’s a load of crap?”

“It’s bull,” he declared. “Vampires are not shifters. There are all sorts of shifters: foxes, firebirds, snakes, and even alpacas. I have never seen one, though. I bet it’s funny seeing a full-grown man turn into an alpaca in a fit of rage,” he snorted. It took him a good two minutes before he calmed down. “Goodness. As I was saying, vampires are not like werewolves. They are not like you.”

My muscles tensed as the discussion circled back to me. “Am I really becoming a werewolf?” I asked. Speaking about it, a nameless anxiety crept through me. I swallowed the saliva in my mouth to quench the dryness of my throat. “Will I really turn into an animal?”

“More like a beast about this big,” he said and waved his arms in a circle in an attempt to demonstrate the size. “Don’t worry, K. You still have time to mentally prepare yourself until the next full moon.”

“How much time?”

He looked up to the ceiling as though thinking. “Roughly thirty-two hours,” he said. “The next full moon rises tomorrow night.”