Surprise, Exorcise, Vanish, Chapter 3

Ontos came to a stop on the Boulevard sidewalk, having found the place that Lisa had told him about.

Slice of Life. The name was written in a flowing script on a hanging sign. It was presumably a pun, perhaps referring to preparing food or something else entirely. The facade was quaint. Almost Victorian, if the Victorians used exclusively gold and silver in their metalwork. What didn’t gleam gold gleamed a vivid shade of green, save for the door which was painted an immaculate white.

Lisa had said they served shawarma. The mention of such jogged a long forgotten memory, of a food truck parked most days of the week by the American embassy in Seoul. The menu had been a triple fusion of American, Korean and Middle Eastern cuisine that managed to be Michelin star-worthy, a choice of chicken, pork and beef over a bed of tomato, lettuce and scallops, roughly in that order.

Unfortunately, it turned out to be a front for a North Korean spy ring he had helped to dismantle. Sadly, the members of the ring took the food truck recipes to the grave, along with the secret as to how they kept the fried scallops from getting soggy due to the lettuce and grease. He had also found the burger truck that replaced it to be wanting, but that was beside the point.

Ontos looked down at the door and sighed. The top of its frame was level with his chest. By his own estimation, he was nine feet tall at least. Combined with all six of his wings? He wasn’t going to be fitting through that door Not painlessly at least. The revelation that he had turned into some sort of winged, angelic Goliath after dying was something he was handling a lot better than he had any reason to be.

While he was musing, a pair of angels landed by him, both of them in some kind of heated debate. One looked like a fairly normal human male, but the other was some sort of bird-like creature. An angel like the man was, judging from her halo. But she was covered head to toe in feathers, had a beak-like mouth, and her legs and feet resembled those of an avian’s.

How he knew it was a she he didn’t yet want to think about, and by that point he wasn’t at all surprised by the myriad of shapes his fellow angels seemed to come in. Confused, yes, but not surprised.

What did surprise him was when the bird angel, in a flash of light, shrank in a blink of an eye, drastically shrinking mid-conversation with her partner. Still locked in debate, the pair entered the shop, the door chiming a bell as it opened and closed. They hadn’t paid him any mind, but the heated conversation left little room for such.

To Ontos it was a blink and you miss it moment, but the spectacle made him wonder. Could he do the same, shrink at a mere thought? Did it take some form of special discipline, or was it some instinct he needed to fall back upon?

He thought about how. He closed his eyes, focused inward on himself. Felt his body and all ten of his limbs, how at once they were both so familiar and alien to the more rational and human side of his mind. There. Ontos felt it, a part of him, like a muscle partially clenched. A metaphysical hand, relaxed and limp.

He clenched that metaphysical hand into a fist. At once, the sensation of shrinking washed over and through him. The feeling of limbs shifting and reforming, the feeling of air rushing across his skin and feathers as it flowed into the volume his body previously occupied.

Ontos opened his eyes. Before he closed them, he had been almost eye level with the shop’s sign above its glass front. Now, he peered through the glass pane into the establishment proper. He saw the two angels in there talking with who he presumed to be the cashier on the other side of the counter.

He had shrunk dramatically in height, his wings shrinking as well. He was still abnormally tall, perhaps a hair under seven feet or so. But he now was easily able to enter the establishment in a way that didn’t involve contorting himself into an inhuman shape.

Ontos took a further moment to inspect his transparent reflection in the glass. At a glance, he didn’t look different from before. He chose not to think too hard about his clothing shrinking along with himself, as his robe was still perfectly tailored and shoes were still snug despite losing two feet of height and going down multiple shoe sizes.

He still felt the metaphysical fist there inside of him, effortlessly clenched. It was something he would worry about at a later time. Like the question of what would happen when he outstretched it all the way? Would he turn into something inhuman like the bird person? Something else entirely?

Ontos turned away from his glass and walked toward the door to open it. It did so soundlessly, save for the bell that chimed like it did a moment before. Ontos spared a moment of thought about his wings, tucking them into himself as he stepped through.

Ontos took in the ambiance. The vibe overall was quiet, peaceful. Soft music played from somewhere, speakers out of sight. The chatter of the two other customers preceding him, sitting by the window. The sound of a knife on a cutting board coming from the kitchen, the soft sizzle of roasting meat on slow-turning spits.

The layout was about what he expected. A seating area, a dozen or so tables with chairs around each. The decor was as Victorian as the facade outside, with lots of gilded surfaces that paired neatly with the natural wood furniture. There were paintings on the walls, and shelves filled with wood and stone carvings of animals and other things he couldn’t name.

The floor beneath his feet was genuine stone tile. The walls and ceiling were similarly natural, and made of rich wood paneling. The space was well lit, both by light streaming in from the window and the silver chandelier hanging above. The prep area was separated by a rustic wood counter, above which hung a handwritten sign listing all the items on the menu.

The other side of the counter was also about what he expected. Several of those big rotating spits that all shawarma places had, and all of which were loaded with slow-cooking meats. And a short order cook, busying himself with food prep. All in all, it was typical of a specialty restaurant, transplanted from a metro area directly to Heaven.

“Well hello there, make yourself at home,” the person manning the counter spoke.

Or at least, Ontos thought it was a person.

What of their arms and torso he could see looked human enough, clad in a long sleeve shirt and gloves. The similarities ended above the neck, where instead of a head floated a constellation of rings, feathery white wings, a golden halo and at the center of it all a single, large topaz eye. Said eye was staring into his own two, and perhaps even past them and into his very soul.

A brief moment passed between his entry and its seeming recognition of him. “Oh, a seraphim! Welcome, welcome!” From the voice and the ecstatic body language, Ontos got the impression the creature was a she. And at a second glance he noticed the swelling bust of its chest, confirming it.

Ontos had begun to suspect he was some kind of rare breed of angel, one of these seraphim. He hadn’t been the most studied in regards to that topic, on account of pursuing a career in intelligence and not theology. He also closely resembled a popular angel, both in appearance and stature. Frustrating to someone like him who liked to blend in.

He shelved those musings for later. “Hello. I noticed the shop, and wanted to see what it was like.” He gave a short bow, the words coming effortlessly. It was a line he’d used in situations like this, in times past before he commanded a desk.

“Welcome to Slice of Life! We sell shawarma and shawarma-related foods. Or was it accessories?” The monocular angel turned its eyes toward the man by the grill. “What’s an ‘accessory’ again? Something about propane?”

“You’re watching too many of those weird cartoons from Earth again, Cy,” the man by the grills said. The cook’s accent was hard to place, almost like it had taken a tour of western Europe.

“What? No, it’s not weird at all! That family is an accurate portrayal of humans on Earth!”

“Of Texas, maybe. Comparing that place to the rest of the planet is like comparing-” The man turned to face him, and despite the fact he was manning a grill his outfit and halo were both immaculate. He just started for the day, probably. “Oh, she wasn’t kidding. Not everyday a seraphim wanders down the main drag from the Palace. Well, what can we get you?”

Ontos didn’t correct him. He hadn’t intended to purchase anything either. He didn’t even have any money in the first place, he had checked. He had patted himself down earlier, and all he found was that his robes lacked pockets of any kind.

In truth, his reason for being here was a simple one. Ground level, hole-in-the-wall establishments like this one were some of the best places to gather basic intel on the local community. If there were better places, he hadn’t found them yet. The internet maybe, if ‘social media’ kept growing at the rate it did.

But for now? A bodega in Queens, a food stand in Rafah, a hookah bar in Mosul. In the end, it didn’t matter. Strike up a conversation with an employee or fellow patron, wear a charismatic smile while doing it, and you could learn volumes about a given subject. Whether a high ranking officer or commander lived nearby, whether troops patrolled regularly. Even what country was most likely to win the World Cup that year.

Oh, and you had to keep an eye out for the opposition. And cops, especially cops. Buying a coffee or the like for someone before you chatted them up didn’t hurt either. But he couldn’t afford even that, not yet at least.

“I don’t have money,” he shook his head. “But I did have a couple of questions I was hoping you could answer for me.”

The cook laughed. “This one’s on the house, my treat,” the man said boisterously.

“Ah.” So he was the proprietor too? It was a surprise. Ontos stepped away from the door and up towards the counter. A glance up at the menu and he chose something simple. “A pita wrap, chicken, the works.”

“All right. I’m Bart, by the way,” the man tipped his halo to him. “You?”

“Ontos,” he nodded, returning the greeting.

“Nice to meet you.” At once he got to work, adding his order to the two already on the prep table. “Cy, tell him about American cartoons, or those Japanese ones you stay up late watching.”

“Oh! Umm…” Ontos could somehow perceive a blush cross the woman’s ‘face.’ “I’m not sure that would be, umm, safe for work.”

Bart just laughed at that, focusing on the prep at hand.

Up close, the woman’s ‘appearance’ was even more surreal. The rings around her eye seemed to gently turn in invisible spindles, like those of a gyroscope. They weren’t attached to anything, not even her neck, which itself seemed to be capped with a circular golden plate. Two folded pairs of wings, cardinally positioned at an angle completed the surreality of it all. At least the eye seemed human enough.

“Your order will be ready in a moment!” she said enthusiastically. The sound of her voice seemingly came from nowhere. “There are a couple of orders ahead of yours, but I can answer your questions in the meantime if you so wish.”

“Fair enough. I’m new here, and I wanted to know about the area. Or the neighborhood, perhaps.”

“Okay,” The woman nodded. “I am Cyra, by the way,” she curtsied. “As for the area? Well, this is the Old City. Or the First City, as it’s sometimes called.”

“First City?”

“It’s one of the oldest parts of Heaven,” Cyra explained. “Legend has it was based on the very first city on Earth. A lot of the architecture is from ancient times on Earth, from its really early days. If I’m remembering my history lesson correctly, that is.”

Cyra gestured towards the window and outside. “The path between the Gates and Throne used to be called Procession, or by some the First Road. They call it the Boulevard now, which I think actually fits better.”

“And the Palace?”

She smiled. “It used to be called The Throne.”

Ontos raised an eyebrow. New names replacing the old. But it made sense to him. After all, the Turks hadn’t called Istanbul Constantinople for a long time. “I saw a lot of skyscrapers while out and about.”

“Well, the areas closest to the Boulevard do tend to change more to reflect the buildings of Earth,” Cyra explained. “Especially this close to the Palace. But if you go down the side streets away from the Boulevard far enough, you’ll find things look much older. Lots of old, old buildings.” As she talked, Cyra’s wings emoted with her speech. It seemed to be helping him understand her better.

“You seem knowledgeable about the subject.”

“I am! I guess you could say I like to learn.”

“Do you live around here?”

“I, well, we do, yes. On the far side of the Gates. There are more commercial things on this side. It’s a short flight to here from there though, so it’s not bad. At least it’s not a commute up to the rings.”

“And the Palace, I presume it’s at the end of the Boulevard?”

“It is! Although… Don’t you know?”

“Like I told another, I have recently arrived.”

“Ooh. But the wings, your… appearance. You’re a seraphim, not a regular angel.” she paused for a moment, confusion evident in her face. “Aren’t you?”

“If you’re asking whether I was human before coming here, the answer would be yes.” Ontos was taking a risk, but he felt it was an acceptable one by playing the truth. Experimentally he stretched out a single wing, the middle left. “I take it multiple wings are uncommon?”

“Only… Only seraphim have six.” Cyrea seemed to be lost for words, confusion evident on her nonexistent face. “I have four,” the wings attached to the outermost ring stretched out and fluttered in emphasis, “But ophs like me are a bit of an exception. Powers, thrones, virtues, most everyone else have just two.”

“You’re not human?”

Cyra shook her head. “Nope! I’m an ophanim, not a human. I was born here in Heaven.” Again, Cyra fell quiet for a moment. “You… You really are new.”

Ontos nodded. He wanted to ask to confirm it, but based on the sheer variety of angels he had encountered, it was a growing suspicion of his. Not all of the people he’d seen were, well, people. Many, like the bird angel sitting behind him and the self-described ophanim were… something else entirely.

Speaking of. From a glance over his shoulder while conversing with Cyra, he saw that the bird angel behind him was holding up a palm-sized rectangle, and seemed to be aiming it in his direction. A cell phone, albeit a model he didn’t recognize. Perhaps it was comparable to the palm-sized devices business class types were fond of?

Either way, he inferred it had a built-in camera, and thus he was being recorded. Not a good place for someone like him to be in.

“Apologies if I’m making you confused. As I said, I just arrived.”

“Just…” Cyra giggled. “I should be the one apologizing, this is the first time I’ve met a seraphim, and he might be younger than me.”

You are the first ophanim that I've met, for what it’s worth.”

“Thank you.” Cyra nodded and smiled, despite having no mouth. All in the eye and the fluttering wings, he reasoned.

“And I would like to say you’ve been very helpful so far.” he spared a brief moment to note the spits of roasting meats behind Cyra. “I am curious though, where do you get the meat from?”

The eye pivoted in place, following Ontos’s gaze over to the spits. “Oh?”

“Well, when I imagine Heaven, in my mind I don’t exactly envision a slaughterhouse.”

“Oh, Funnily enough, I’ve been asked that before. Here, I’ll show you.” Cyra brought her hands together before her, the air between them glowing with a golden light. Abruptly, a whole tomato popped into existence. “Creation,” she explained. “It’s a skill that lets you, well, create raw material out of the firmament?” She offered the tomato to him, and he took it. “I learned it for my job here.”

“Fascinating.” It wasn’t hyperbole, it genuinely was to him. What he wouldn’t have given to be able to summon something like a knife or a spare magazine of ammunition out of the air in his past life. The tomato in his hand was perfectly ripe, like it had been freshly plucked from a garden. “Most fascinating.”

“What my little ophie’s trying to say here is that she can make food appear out of thin air.” While he’d been conversing, Bart had wrapped up the first two orders, and a pair of baskets plopped down at the counter beside him for the two other customers. The human of the pair got up to get them, doing their level best to not draw his attention.

“I can too,” Bart continued. He reached over to ruffle one of Cyra’s wings. “Beats having to deal with butcher shops. Here, lemme take that off your hands.”

Ontos nodded, handing the vegetable off to the man who returned to cooking. He proceeded to slice and dice the tomato with lightning speed and efficiency, adding it to the other veggies in his order. He got the impression the two of them were more than friends. Lovers, or perhaps they were husband and wife?

“Bart can perform it better than me,” Cyra said. “I haven’t practiced quite as much as he has.”

“And anyone can learn this?”

“Yes, though some are a bit better at creation than others.”

“You get better with practice,” Bart explained, trimming one of the spits. “My old man taught me, and then I taught Cy.”

“But still, a new seraphim? That is…” Cyra trailed off. “Lady Sera’s going to love you, I just know it. You even look a little like her and Emily.”

Oh, they’re going to love you, I know that for absolute certainty. He remembered what they said to him. Now he knew who ‘they’ were. One of those names he’d already heard, but the other he hadn’t. “Emily?”

“She’s the youngest of the seraphim. Smallest too. She and Lady Sera, they look like sisters almost. Speaking of Emily, she’s actually been here a few times!”

“She likes the appetizer baskets,” Bart said as he was finishing up his order.

Ontos nodded, his pool of knowledge growing. Before leaving, he thought about how to ask Cyra about Emily or this ‘Lady’ Sera.

He didn’t have to. His thoughts, the conversation, all of it came to a screeching halt as an overwhelming presence enveloped him from above and behind.

With words, it was impossible to describe. Eclectic, esoteric. Those were the only terms that articulated language could even come close to describing such. What he was experiencing… It simply transcended the mortal tongue.

From somewhere, the sound of a cell phone clattering to the tile floor rang out. The bird angel’s phone, slipping out of her grasp. Before him, Cyra’s pupil had shrunk to a pinpoint as she stared wordlessly past Ontos at the entrance. She was feeling it too. As was Bart, frozen mid-step with his food in hand in a similar state of shock.

He turned to face the doorway, toward the person now entering the diner.

No, woman. She was angelic in every sense of the word. Wings of brilliant white, eyes and a face that resembled his own. Light seemed to shine from behind her and from within. She wore an elegant dress, in contrast to the robes he wore. The other noteworthy difference was her halo, resembling a regal crown floating above her brow.

There were two others, following after her as she led the way into the diner. But he didn’t focus on them, nor did he focus on how the threshold seemed to distort and stretch open for her, as she towered well above him. He couldn’t, as she had his full, undivided attention.

He didn’t need to ask who she was.

Her reputation quite literally preceded her.

Lady Sera, in the flesh.