Angelique

Michael pushed through the crowd of sweaty teenagers in black T-shirts, forcing his way towards the bar. The feminine face on a sign outside had appeared welcoming, but as he rubbed his salt and pepper stubble, he couldn't help but feel out of place amongst the youthful clientele of The Angel Inn. Unfortunately, in the backwater hamlet of Gonerby, there wasn't anywhere else he could seek refreshment on this warm night. Once again he wondered if he should just return home and face the music; he was getting tired of his life on the road.

He claimed a barstool. The blond barman didn't look old enough to drink. 'Tonic water, please.'

The barman frowned, slammed the bottle down as if Michael had pissed on the bar, and snatched the fiver out of his hand without a word of gratitude.

Michael gestured at the crowd. 'Something happening?'

'You haven't heard? Demon Spawn are playing.'

'You don't say?'

'Yeah. It's a real coup for The Angel.'

'I don't mean to sound ignorant, but who are Demon Spawn?'

The barman raised an eyebrow. 'You haven't heard of them?'

'Evidently not.'

'I can see you're at least my dad's age, but I didn't think you were already dead. They're only the biggest deathcore sensation since Suicide Silence.'

Michael sipped his cool, bitter-tasting water and nodded. He hadn't heard of Suicide Silence either. He was more of a Carl Orff fan.

'Normally they wouldn't play anything less than a five thousand seat venue,' enthused the barman. 'Our function room only holds two hundred, but the boss is an old friend of the drummer.'

'How wonderful.'

Someone sat on the neighbouring stool, and the barman smiled. 'Good evening, Miss Belvior. What can I get for you.'

'Diet Coke, please.'

In the corner of Michael's vision, a slender hand with black nails placed a tenner on the faux mahogany counter.

'On the house,' said the barman. 'Sure I can't get you anything stronger?'

'Not before a performance, thank you.'

The barman placed a tall, slim glass on the counter — Diet Coke on the rocks, with a slice of lemon on the side. He hadn't asked about her preferences, so presumably she was regular. From what she'd just said, she must be a member of the band, but her accent sounded like she'd attended a ladies' finishing school. Strange choice of beverage, too. The rock musicians he'd met in the past had preferred cocaine and vodka.

Her chair squeaked against the floor tiles, then she touched Michael's elbow. 'You look a bit out of place.'

He forced his mouth into a polite smile and turned. What he'd been about to say died on his lips. Where he'd expected some slip of a girl in her early twenties he found a lady in her forties with flowing brunette hair, a floral dress, and a face resembling that of the angel on the sign outside. As her rose-scented perfume teased his nostrils, he swallowed.

She smirked. 'Here to catch the band?'

'Er… to be completely honest, I hadn't heard of Demon Spawn until about five minutes ago.'

'Well, thank the Lord. Maybe for once I can grab a decent conversation with someone who doesn't think breakdowns and blast beats are the epitome of musical taste.'

He really shouldn't be talking to her. 'Don't get involved,' he thought to himself, but the inherent contradiction between her appearance and her vocation intrigued him. 'Pardon?'

She laughed. 'Oh, you're wonderful. You haven't got a clue what I just said, have you?'

'Please, forgive my ignorance.'

'Nothing to forgive. You're a breath of fresh air.'

'Thank you.'

There was something endearing about the way she lifted the glass to her lips and took a sip. She held it with three fingers and her thumb, but raised the spare pinky finger in the air as if she were drinking from a fine china cup and taking tea with the Duchess of Devonshire.

'You're in the group?' he asked, failing to keep a tone of amusement from his voice.

'The drummer.'

He looked her up and down.

She flicked his chest with the back of her hand. 'Don't be such a doubting Thomas.'

'Well, you don't look much like a rock star.'

She shrugged. 'I'm not really into that mosher scene. I'll stick a black T-shirt on for the gig, but that's about my limit. The whole Gothic look's a cliché.'

Four women in their twenties pushed through the crowd and halted in front of her. With shaven scalps, facial tattoos and ripped black T-shirts, they did look like a heavy metal group. 'Ready, Mother? Time to prep.'

She smiled at Michael. 'Nice meeting you,…?

'Michael.'

'Call me Angie.'

He watched her disappear into the throng, Cinderella with her four ugly sisters, and unexpectedly felt a part of himself vanish with her. How long had it been since someone had made such an impact on him at first meeting? It felt like a thousand years.

The barman grinned. 'You're in there, mate.'

'Excuse me?'

'Miss Belvoir really likes you.'

'You think so?'

'Definitely. She comes here often, but that's the first time I've seen her say more than two words to another punter.'

That wasn't good news. He'd already spent too long in this place and should go before he got any more involved in these peoples' lives. He downed the rest of his tonic water and stood ready to go.

A teenage girl with half her head shaved and a dozen facial piercings appeared beside his stool. 'You Michael?'

'Yes.'

She shoved a card into his hand. 'The Demon sent you this.'

'The Demon?'

She glared at him as if he'd just crawled out from under a rock. 'Angelique Belvoir.'

As the girl melted into the crowd, he checked the card. A VIP pass for this evening's performance.

'On the house.' The barman slid another tonic water over. Apparently knowing Angie unlocked doors in this community.

He sighed and retook his seat. It would be rude to leave without acknowledging the man's generosity. 'You say you know Angie… Miss Belvoir?'

'She's originally from Gonerby — all the band members are — so, yeah.'

'I see. Tell me, why did that girl call her The Demon?'

He gestured to the VIP pass. 'You're about to find out. Until you hear The Demon on the drums, you haven't heard a blast beat.'

Michael wasn't sure he ever wanted to hear a blast beat, whatever one was. 'She seems different to the other ladies in the group.'

'Would you believe the other four were kids in her Sunday school class?'

'Sunday school?'

'Yeah. They might not look much like the church going type, but they're hardcore Bible-bashing babes. Don't let them corner you, or you'll be in for a long sermon.'

Somehow Michael doubted they could teach him anything from the Bible he didn't already know, but he was curious how Angie and her class of young Christians came to form a… what did barman call it, a deathcore band.

'The girls have always called Miss Belvoir Mother,' continued the barman, 'so…'

Michael nodded. 'Hence Demon Spawn.'

A large group of leather clad youths arrived and demanded attention, so the barman left Michael alone with his thoughts. He examined the pass, turning it in his hands. He had no interest in rock music, and he'd intended to grab a quiet drink before going back to the B and B. Perhaps he should slip out now. But Angie and her contradictions intrigued him.

An hour later, he found himself at the door to the pub's function room. Given the mullioned windows, he guessed this part of the structure was Tudor. There was a queue of youths chatting amicably. Though many had facial tattoos, he now realised many depicted fishes or crosses, and crucifixes hung around more than one neck. Given what the barman had said about the size of Demon Spawn's usual audience, Michael guessed this must be a specially selected group — contest winners or long standing members of their faithful fan club. As he joined the back of the queue, he actually felt guilty about getting in so easily.

The girl groupie from earlier appeared and grabbed his elbow. 'Michael, right?'

She dragged him past the queue, but none of the young fans appeared upset. In fact, this was the happiest looking bunch of rock fans he'd ever seen. He expected her to offer him a seat near the stage, but once they got inside it became clear there were no chairs.

'It's all one big mosh pit,' she explained.

Michael nodded as if he understood.

She smiled. 'You don't look the moshing type, so The Demon arranged something special.' She turned and pointed up.

A minstrels' gallery dominated the back wall. Originally, it must have housed the musicians at a dance or during a wedding celebration. The girl led him to a narrow doorway, up the worn limestone steps of a spiral staircase. The broad platform boasted a selection of high-backed chairs and a fantastic view of the stage below. He admired the finely carved balustrade and inhaled the sweet scent of beeswax. This was a most unusual venue for a rock concert.

'Thank you,' he said to the girl.

'Anything for The Demon.'

'Have you worked for Demon Spawn long?'

She nodded and smiled. 'Best five years of my life.'

'You enjoy the lifestyle, then?'

'Well, to be honest, I hate the constant travelling and never sleeping in my own bed, and shifting and setting up the same equipment every night can get monotonous. But with The Demon in charge, it's Heaven.'

'What do you mean?'

'Well, I roadied for Death to Jehovah for two years before I joined Demon Spawn's crew, but that was a living Hell. Nothing was ever good enough for that bunch of prima donnas, and they treated their roadies like animals. The band slept in a five star hotel while we dossed on the coach.'

'That sounds terrible.'

She wrinkled up her face. 'You have no idea. But with Demon Spawn, we all stay together in the same places, eat together and pray together. It's like we're one big family. Nowadays, when a tour ends, I find myself missing work.' She glanced over at the stage. 'I'd better go. There's no rest for a demon's assistant.'

He settled back in a chair, fidgeting to find a comfortable position that didn't aggravate the old wounds on his upper back. The lights went out, and spotlights came on. The band bounced on stage to massive applause. As they took their places, Michael only had eyes for Angie. She sat behind her drums at the rear of the stage, hidden as if she wanted the audience to forget her. As promised, she now wore a black T-shirt over denim jeans. She glanced up at the minstrels' gallery and raised her drumsticks in salute. He waved back.

The audience hushed in anticipation. The lead vocalist, bassist, rhythm guitarist and lead guitarist stood on the edge of the stage, looming over their fans like the mythical gods of Mount Olympus. The audience's anticipation was palpable.

From the back, Angie shouted, 'Good evening, Gonerby! We're Demon Spawn, and we're here to make you scream,' then pounded the drums with an impossibly loud and fast rhythm.

The other band members sprang into action, and the crowd responded with screams of ecstasy. Michael leaned forward in his chair, shocked by the impact of the violent melody on the teenage audience, and himself rapt in the quality of their harmonies as all five band members sang like an angelic choir. They were good. Much better than he'd expected. In fact, he felt as energised and engaged as the first time he heard Carmina Burana performed in Frankfurt many years ago.

He searched in the shadows at the rear and found Angie. Her drumsticks spun in a blur, and her face was a mask of fierce determination. The barman had been right; Michael now understood why they called her The Demon even though there was nothing evil about her. He was captivated by the confidence and precision of her movements. How could she play so vigorously and yet still sing so melodiously? After watching ten minutes, he decided she was actually the most graceful woman he'd ever seen — somehow more graceful than any ballerina or ballroom dancer. He shook his head in wonder.

The lead vocalist growled her words over the voices of the more melodious backers, yet even those groans matched the drumbeat and strums of the guitars. Through song after song, she sang about tolerance, forgiveness, charity, love. Michael gaped in astonishment at the poetry of the lyrics, recognising lines from the Scriptures and references to parables in their songs. If he hadn't already known the truth of God's existence, the passion in their sung argument would have convinced him today.

Eventually, after fourteen songs and two encores, the singing came to an end. The fans continued to chant for more, and Michael surprised himself by adding his loud voice to their chorus.

Angie glanced up towards him. 'Time for just one more, girls,' she said into her mike.

After a whispered conference, the group again took their positions, and the lead vocalist said, 'You're in for a treat. A special preview of a song The Demon wrote for our next album — The Prodigal Daughter.'

The audience squirmed with pleasure. Once the clamour died down, the band began with gentler rhythms than before, and the lead vocalist sang rather than growled. Michael recognised the tune as a rapid rock version of Amazing Grace.

'I didn't mean to make mistakes;
I aimed to make You proud.
But every step I took led me
beneath a stormy cloud.'

Michael frowned. Why were all the band members looking his way?

'You gave me wealth and happiness;
I gave You naught but pain.
I lived for only pleasure then;
I must have been insane.

'But now I see the truth: in life
we make our own mistakes.
I don't expect a welcome back
with chocolates and cake.'

Michael rubbed his chin. Their words matched his own experiences and feelings so closely. Was God speaking to him through these girls?

'Yet here You are, right at the door,
a welcome in Your eyes.
You hug me like I'd never gone
and don't think to chastise.

'I'm Your unworthy daughter, who
forgot her Father's love.
And yet You've shown You've never changed:
still watch me from above.

'Now show me, please, how I must live
to show my love for You.
I'll give my all to pay You back;
to You I shall be true…'

As the vocalist held the final note, the crowd screamed their admiration and begged to hear it again. The band shook their heads, smiled and waved. Angie gazed up at the minstrels' gallery and blew a kiss. They walked from the stage.

Michael slumped back in the chair, ignoring the jarring pain in his shoulder blades, mentally and emotionally exhausted. Those lyrics had cut straight to his heart. Though he knew the truth of the scriptures better than anyone in this hall, yet he'd still turned his back on God. A warm trickle ran down his cheeks. 'Abba, why have I forsaken thee?'

The crowd took a while to disperse. Once the room cleared, Angie appeared beside him, sweat running down her forehead. 'So, what did you think?'

'It was surprisingly cathartic.'

'Have we converted you to deathcore?'

'I wouldn't go that far, but I'd certainly like to hear more of Demon Spawn's music.'

She grinned, and her green eyes sparkled. 'I'll take that as a yes.'

'Thanks for the invitation.'

'You're welcome.'

He examined her kindly face and again wondered at her ability to transform from this pretty lady to a demonic rock star at the flick of a switch. 'Tell me, what inspired you to first begin writing and singing… deathcore?'

'Oh, it's kinda strange.' She perched on the balustrade like a slender dryad come to reclaim the oak for her forest. 'Would you believe my original inspiration was Cliff Richard?'

'Summer Holidays Cliff Richard?'

'The very same. Back in the seventies he wrote a song called Why Should The Devil Have All The Good Music? When I first heard it, almost forty years ago, I thought, “Why indeed?” His lyrics changed my whole philosophy on music and life.'

'You've been singing deathcore for forty years?'

'Goodness, no. I began by copying Cliff, then Larry Norman. After that I went through a Steve Taylor phase before stepping sideways and becoming more radical by imitating the Altar Boys.'

'You've lost me.'

Angie reached over and touched his forearm. 'That's so cute. They're a selection of Christian musicians who've inspired me, each more controversial than the one before. When many faux Satanic groups formed around the Millennium and adopted a hardcore heavy metal style, it only seemed natural to me to take the Good Fight to them in the same arena.' Her eyes hardened. 'I'd never let Satan beat God in any sphere.'

'You're brave.'

'Enough about me.' She brushed a lock of hair away from her forehead. 'Will you be staying in Gonerby long?'

'One night. I'm just passing through.'

'Me too, but sometimes you've got to seize the moment.'

'Pardon?'

She bit her lip and examined her fingernails. 'I'm staying at Gonerby Hall Farm — a B and B down the road.'

'That's a coincidence. Me too. I'd have expected you to stay here. I didn't get the impression the B and B had enough rooms for five rock stars and all their groupies.'

'Actually, we call them roadies, and there's not enough room at The Angel for everyone either. I decided to give the younger girls some space.'

He nodded.

'Anyway,' she continued, 'I wondered if you'd like to walk me back.'

Michael was stunned by her suggestion. Though this lady intrigued him, it was grossly unfair of him to wriggle his way into her life. She knew nothing of his past and what he'd done. Plus, a relationship between himself and Angie was unlikely to gain acceptance back home, should he ever return, and it wouldn't be fair to put such a good person through that. 'Er… I'm not sure.'

Her cheeks flushed. 'Please, don't get the wrong idea. I'm not the one-night-stand kinda girl.'

Guilt rushed through his mind. She'd misinterpreted his hesitation, which was understandable. 'Your views are crystal clear in your lyrics.'

She jumped down and steadied herself by placing her hands on his shoulders, near his wounds. He grit his teeth, but the expected pain didn't come. She had a gentle touch. Thankfully, she couldn't see the ugly scars hidden under his shirt and jacket, one of the reasons he and she could never be.

She flinched and glanced away. 'Sometimes I'm too tactile.'

'No, it's okay. You touched a sore spot. An old injury that never properly healed.'

'Sorry.' She stepped back and stood with her hands behind her back. 'Perhaps someday you'll be able to tell me about it.'

He had no intention to hang around for that conversation, but perhaps walking her home wouldn't be too disruptive. He stood and offered his arm.

Her eyes narrowed. 'You sure?'

He reached over to take her hand instead. The callouses from years of drum practice and hard labour meant her hands were not as soft as some he'd held over the years, yet there was a gentle welcome in her firm grip. 'We're only walking, he said. 'I'm sure you can control yourself for ten minutes.'

'I'll try,' she whispered so quietly that he suspected she hadn't meant him to hear, but he had extraordinarily good hearing.

Outside, she shivered in the cool evening breeze. He slipped off his jacket and laid it across her shoulders; he didn't feel cold.

'Well, aren't you the gentleman,' she said and smiled.

They strolled along the main street passing thatched cottages that graced calendars and jigsaw puzzles around the world. Within minutes, they were walking past fields. A thousand stars shone in the clear sky above, a reminder of the vast scale of God's creation.

'I've embarrassed myself tonight,' said Angie. 'I've never been so forward before.'

'Don't let it worry you.'

She stopped beside a stile and stepped onto the bottom rung to gaze out across a paddock where two horses frolicked beneath the moonlight. 'Do you believe in God, Michael?'

He chuckled and leaned against the fence. 'For me it's not belief, it's knowledge. I know God is real.'

'Good. I suspected as much but needed to ask because I'm going to ask you to take a leap of faith.'

'In what way?'

'Have you ever met anybody who claimed that God spoke to them?'

'Outside of an asylum, you mean?'

She grinned. 'The girls have always said that's where I belong.'

'So, you're claiming He does speak to you?'

'Not all the time, but at key moments, yes.'

Michael gazed into her eyes, hoping for an insight into the inner workings of her soul. 'And what does He say? “Kill all the infidels?”'

She chuckled. 'It's not like that. More a series of promises.'

'For example?'

'Well, if I gave up my nine 'til five teaching job to pursue a musical ministry, He said He'd provide.'

'That seems to have worked out well.'

'Better than I ever dreamed. We're truly blessed.'

The horses came over to examine the strangers on the edge of their field, and Michael scratched the nose of the nearest then offered it some lush leaves from a nearby shrub. It snorted, tickling his wrist with its warm breath, and happily accepted his gift.

'They say horses can sense whether a person is good or evil,' said Angie.

'Well, I strive not to be evil, but I wouldn't go so far as to say I'm good.'

She stepped back onto the pavement and resumed walking towards the B and B.

Michael followed. 'What other promises has God made you?'

She slowed her pace until he came alongside. 'When I was a teenager, a boy at school really wanted to go out with me. To be honest, I think he wanted to do more than just “go out”, if you catch my drift.'

Michael nodded.

'But God entered my head and said no. That was the first time He spoke to me. He promised if I waited then one day the right man would come along — the one destined to be my lifelong partner.'

Michael scratched his head and mulled over that for a minute. It was unbelievable to him that such a beautiful creature with such a charismatic personality had never been claimed by a man who adored her as she deserved. 'But that's years ago. How does that make you feel?'

She flicked her hair and smiled. 'You think I should be bitter because my years of youth are behind me and God hasn't delivered on His promise?'

'The thought crosses my mind.'

She reached over and claimed his hand. 'Thirty years have gone by, and I was sorely tested many times by clever men, rich men, handsome men, godly men… but the Lord told me to wait, to be patient.'

'You must have great faith.'

'One only needs faith as small as a mustard seed.'

'Think I've heard that somewhere before.'

She squeezed his hand. 'When I walked into The Angel and saw you alone at the bar, I thought to myself, “Sweet Lord, he's kinda cute for an old guy. Wish I could ask him out.” But I never expected what happened next.'

'What was that?'

'God spoke to me, louder than ever before. Said, “He's the one.”'

Michael pulled his hand away and watched the tarmac path pass beneath his feet. Perhaps she was insane. 'You must be mistaken.'

She squared her shoulders and shook her head. 'No. Throughout my life I've received signs and visions of this moment. I've always known that one day an older man who was a complete gentleman and a warrior for God would appear from nowhere and end my solitude.'

They reached the five-bar gate of Gonerby Hall Farm. She leaned against it, blocking his passage.

His shoulders slumped. 'You don't understand. I'm not what I seem.'

'God warned me you were once close to Him but had fallen away. He spoke to me tonight and told me to perform The Prodigal Daughter.'

'Then you should understand I'm lost. I'm not the kind of good Christian soul you'd want for your husband.'

She stepped closer and placed her hands on his chest, pushing him backwards. 'I'm an obedient daughter, and my Heavenly Father has made it clear to me that you're the one.'

'You have freewill. You don't have to choose me just because God says that's what He wants.'

Angie stood with her hands on her hips. 'Oh, I know exactly what I want. I've always thought older men were sexy. What're you anyway? A hundred and five?'

'More like five thousand and five.'

'Ha! You look it, but I didn't want to sound rude.'

'But surely you want to get to know me first.'

She shook her head. 'God wouldn't have chosen you for me if you weren't my perfect match. I don't care if it makes me look like the biggest slut in Christendom, I'm not letting you get away.'

'B-but I'm a sinner.'

'“I have not come to call righteous people, but sinners to repentance.”'

'You don't understand how lost I am.'

'“If a man has a hundred sheep and one gets lost, won't he leave the ninety-nine and go to search for the lost one until finds it?”' She smirked. 'Don't you understand, Michael. If He sent me to you, clearly He must want you back. Forgiveness is yours for the taking, by His grace not your acts.'

The truth of her words astounded him. Nothing she said was new, yet he'd never thought of those Scriptures applying to him. He missed his Heavenly Father and longed to return to the fold. Maybe he should take that leap of faith Angie spoke of earlier.

He knelt and gazed at the starry vault above. 'Father, forgive me, for I knew not what I did.'

From nowhere, a blinding light appeared. A thunderous voice rocked the ground. 'STAND, CHILD OF LIGHT, FOR THERE IS MUCH WORK TO BE DONE ON EARTH. JOIN YOURSELF WITH THIS HUMAN CHILD, FOR SHE IS THE PARTNER I HAVE CHOSEN FOR YOU. GO FORTH TOGETHER AND DO MY BIDDING.'

'On Earth as it is in Heaven,' responded Michael, returning to his feet and bowing.

A warmth spread out from his heart to fill his chest and from there radiated into the rest of his body. The skin across his face tighten, chasing away the wrinkles, and he perceived his body growing taller and stronger than any mortal. His shoulders burned with impossible heat, and new wings sprouted from his shoulders to replace the old that had withered and died after he fell from grace. A light, a weak reflection of God's glory and yet still brighter than the sun, shone all around. He turned to Angie.

Her jeans darkened at the crotch and down the inside of her thighs, then she fell to her knees and trembled.

'Be not afraid,' said Michael.

'W-what are you?'

'You know what I am.'

'B-but…'

He sighed. 'It's okay. I understand. No matter how many times people read the Scriptures, they still expect us to look like Michelangelo's David with wings. Luke wrote, “The angel of the Lord came upon them…and they were terrified.” Did you think that Zacharias, Mary and the shepherds were afraid because they all had a bird phobia? There's a good reason the first words out of every angel's mouth are “Fear not”.'

He waved his hand across his torso. His wings became invisible, and he shrunk in size to that of a tall human. As his ethereal glow faded, he offered his hand.

She edged back and shook her head.

He smiled. 'It might make me look like the biggest slut in Heaven, but I won't take no for an answer.'

Hesitantly, she straightened in her crouched position and allowed him to hoist her upright. 'I don't understand.'

'Blessed art thou amongst women… Look, you know the score. God calls — we do. The Big Man upstairs wants you to do a job, and me to stand side by side with you.'

'B-but I'm just a human.'

'So was Mary. So was John. Even Paul had his human days. God has a plan for all his sentient creations, and you have a big part to play.'

Tears rolling down her cheeks, she raised her fingers to the laughter lines beside her eyes.

'Don't worry about a few wrinkles.' Michael laughed and winked. 'I really am five thousand and five, you know.' He took both her hands in his. 'We'd better get you inside.' He sniffed; urine and sweat wasn't an attractive combination. 'And cleaned up. We have arrangements to make if we're to be married within the month.'

Her mouth opened and closed like a fish's.

'Buck up. You're about to make history. This is the first time an angel ever married a demon.'


Word Count: 4900

Written for:

FORUM

Paranormal Romance Contest  (18+) Now, Open Exclusively to HSP students & members - a 2016 & 2020 Quill Award winner #2089860 by It's the Great Pumakin!

Plugged in "Action/Adventure Newsletter (January 18, 2017)"  "Spiritual Newsletter (January 2, 2019)"  "Romance/Love Newsletter (October 11, 2017)"