Another Victim of Celestial Chess

He promptly fell into hysterics.

"She promised me she would return! She never did. All this time, Raff, she must have been trapped. Not remembering anything." His body shook. "Here or somewhere far worse, where even I could not reach her. And now? She loathes me."

Raphael looked at him somberly, somehow able to take a talking K.F.C. bucket seriously.

"Look, maybe you scared her, but she didn't run away. You're Death, and you're a pill. Everything runs from you. Clearly, she's an anomaly, and if that doesn't give you hope, I don't know what will."

Sam was silent. Cautiously, Raphael tipped the bucket up.

"Hey," he said gently. "You may be rough on the outside, but deep down, you're good. Even if you can be a devil."

The bucket incinerated as Sam's hair burst into flames.

"Leave," he grated.

Raphael looked at him with sympathy. He clasped his hands together and bowed his head in prayer. "Blessings, brother. Go fix yourself a fire and drink the 'nog. You'll be a new seraph in the morning."

Sam did not respond. Just handed him the bottle of Jack. Raphael smiled softly, then departed into the night.

The angel whose lap I sat on began to wail.

"Holy crow!" I muttered, jumping off of her. The noseless cherub shook me off. She cried out like a banshee, tearing at her mossy hair. The whole statuary of graves burst into mourning: skulls clattered their teeth, crosses moaned. A hollow-eyed angel beat his cracked breast. The music upstairs fell into a dirge.

"Shut it, you blasted trash," Samael sighed.

The wailing was replaced by quiet sobbing. The house reacted to its master, bending over like a sorrowed willow.

"The living walks amongst us," shrieked the nose-less angel. The grave-watchers echoed her cry.

"Thanks for ratting me out, uni-brow," I spat.

Samael winced. "Shannon?" he called, uncertain.

I looked down at the machete in my hands. I tossed it to the ground, disgusted with myself. I walked slowly to the porch. He stood at the railing, wings limp on his shoulders. I met his expressionless gaze with my own stony one. My breath rose to meet his. I stood like a deer in the headlights.

"You're freezing," he said softly.

I looked down at my snow-buried boots. My eyelashes were lined with frost, and my lips were probably blue. "No kidding," I said flatly. "There's a blizzard."

His arm tensed as if to reach out to me. He reached into Raphael's bag instead and got out a bottle of spiked eggnog from the Williamsburg Wawa. He tossed it to me without asking. I took out my holy water and put it at his feet. It was my version of a peace offering.

With a raw face he picked it up. "Exactly what I need." His hands trembled. He brought the rim to his lips and drank. "So how was the walk of shame?" he choked. Unable to stand, he sunk to his knees.

I squared my hands on my hips. "I'm not taking crap from a hormonal fast food bucket."

"Eat filth, maggot," he whispered. The insult rang hollow. His eyes pleaded with me.

I stood there staring at him.

"You didn't answer my calls to the motel or your cell." He toyed with a thread at his waist band. "You barely ate the goddamn food I left at the door. And all Michael, Yeshua, and Arietta do is go to art museums, Goth clubs, and are getting fat off Belgian waffles."

Samael's sweatpants looked like they'd been pulled from the floor. "I tried writing you. I even sent flowers." He mussed his hair, frantically searching for words. "Tell me where I went wrong. Where this mess began. I can make things perfect for you. Help you forget everything. I can disappear!-"

"No."

"Don't you want a happy life?" he said quietly. "That's all I've ever wanted for you."

I sat at the edge of the porch, separated from him by the rail. I pulled my scarf from my lips. "No one can give you happiness. Even gods can't do that. I'm not that stupid, Sam."

He reached for me through the fence. A sick sound came from his lips, halfway between mirth and sobs.

"I thought you were dead," he rasped. I flinched at his tears. "Please. Let me just hold you."

"You're not supposed to cry!" I yelled. "Stop it! Get a hold of yourself. You're Death. You eat misery for breakfast."

He gave me a withering look.

"Where's your self-respect?"

He stumbled over the banister and fell to the ground in front of me. Snot ran from his nose. Sam looked away in shame, sniffling.

"Oh my god," I groaned. I offered him tissues from my bag. He looked at them cluelessly. Gritting my teeth, I wiped his tears and running nose. He caught my hand and cradled it against his cheek.

"Don't go."

"You are pathetic."

He started rocking, murmuring an angelic tongue that sounded like bells. He buried his face in his knees and moaned.

"Havah," he rasped.

"Have a what? What do you have, Sam?"

"Your name, it's your name!" he roared. "Hayah Havah."

I screamed at his sudden fury.

He flinched. "I'm sorry-"

"I hate you!"

"Tell me something I don't know." He stared at the cross at my neck. "You've found God. Have you come here to damn me?" That mad laugh came again. "You hate me. Hate me. Hah." He clasped my hands. I grimaced. Shuddering, he put his head in my lap. "You are Yeshua in the depths of hell," he whispered. "Comely and ill-anointed." His running nose stained my pants. He pried my gloves off and pressed my hands to his cheek. "You're freezing," he wept. "You idiot. After all this time, you have learned nothing."

I snatched my hands back. "I'd rather freeze to death than listen to you."

"And join my reliquary?" He motioned to the gravestones. "You are my Galatea. My bright dream given life. I will not let you turn to stone, even if your heart has hardened against me."

"You gave me nothing Sam. I am not yours. You're completely mad, and you're ruining my jeans." I wiped his tears away with my thumb. "Whoever Eve was, she's gone."

"No," he choked. "In the end there's a dragon and maiden. The fairy tales? They're lies." He caught my hand and held it at his cheek. Closing his eyes, he began to calm down. My heart thudded and I knelt in the snow. I held him quietly, unable to be apart. I cursed myself inwardly.

He bowed his head over my shoulder.

"The humans bind her with their sins as a sacrifice. The girl has many names. Iphigenia. Psyche. Eve. It's always the maiden they blame, never the prince or king. Mankind is so eager to martyr their women. As if a spindle prick would damn her."

"The dragon pities her. He undoes Andromeda's chains and steals her away to his lair. The dragon has no need for her beauty. She is meat, so she must make herself useful. Otherwise, he will eat her. She has a quick mind ignored by the men, so the dragon teaches her to read. He begins to dote upon her. She keeps ledgers of his pillage and plunders. At night they fly through his gardens, and she picks a single rose."

"It's the thorniest one but the most beautiful, and the girl cannot resist. It pricks her milk-white fingers and draws a drop of blood. The dragon thinks it the most beautiful sight in the world and that inside, she is made of roses. Because she is. His eyesight is horrible, but he can smell her goodness, and she smells like spring and longing. He decides he will never eat her, and vows to be her dearest friend."

"The moon turns, and they're thick as thieves. One day, she asks why he saved her. He says that once, he was a prince. Haughty and full of pride, he thought that beauty was goodness. Riding through a dark wood one night, the prince saw a lonely tower. At its top was a beautiful maiden, and he thought she would make a good wife. A dragon was chained to its entrance, and the prince set out to slay it. The dragon pleaded for mercy and asked the prince to break his bonds. But the prince knew nothing of kindness, so he slew the creature without a thought."

"When the sword pierced the dragon, the dragon became a king. He said the witch in the tower had cursed him. Like the prince he had slayed a dragon, a dragon who was also a king, and that the king was just one in a line of generations."

"The king died, passed the curse to the prince, and a hideous change overtook him. The prince turned into a monster, and the young witch came from above. Her beauty in the moonlight overthrew him, and she cried as the change took hold. Mesmerized by her light, the dragon felt no pain. She held his hand as they turned into claws."

"She said she was a tester of men, and that the prince did not deserve to walk as one, for he was incapable of love. She cursed him to crawl on his belly and made him a crown of thorns. When he asked why, she told him to not be afraid, for in his suffering, he would find beauty. When the sun rose, the girl flew into the sky and she became the Morning Star."

"Driven mad with longing, the dragon chased her heel. He flew until the sun burned him and broken, he fell into a pit. In the darkness of his tomb, he realized his scales were not the curse. For inside him he felt something new, a heart that burned with yearning. He loved the Morning Star, he loved her but could not have her. She had given him humanity. And humanity brings pain."

"The girl cries when she hears the story. The dragon hushes her, and wipes the tears from her eyes. She has the face of the Morning Star, and the dragon tells her so. He says he saved her to give thanks for when she saved him, long ago. The maiden says that's impossible, but so are talking dragons."

His soft laugh broke the spell of his story. I felt something hot on my cheeks and realized they were tears.

"Does he turn back into the prince and find her?" I asked. "Because I think the dragon's cooler. You can't fly on a king's back or roast s'mores with his breath."

Sam's hot breath warmed my waist, driving away the damning cold and the point home. "It's always about food with you," he sighed. "Always hungry and never satisfied, whether it's knowledge or blood red fruits. Your appetite inspires me."

"Are you going to eat me, great dragon?"

"Shall I pluck you, oh Shana?" He smiled a shit-eating grin.

I blushed apple-red. "You know what I mean," I fumed.

He rested his head on my thigh, arms threaded around my back.

"Do I?" he taunted. He looked at me under lidded eyes, serpent tongue flicking past his lips. His breath smelled like woodsmoke, as if he'd been smoking wildfires.

I frowned. "I don't approve of you or your substance abuse. I think the witch was right to run away. Dragons are bad company." I absently played with his hair. "And I'm sure I taste like BLTs. They've replaced water for me. Without them, I'd shrivel up and die."

"We can't have that, now can we," he said drily.

"Dumah might."

"But how would I take tea with Tutankhamen? It's almost time for my midnight chamomile..."

"I came here to wage war against you, Corpseboy, not eat worm-filled scones. You do have scones though... right? Those little chocolate ones?"

"You'll have to beat me to them. I don't have much faith in your agility, considering the speed of your wit-"

"I beat you at chess that one time!"

"You were drunk."