Dani snarled, smashing a fist against the wall. The stone cracked under the force, stunning Nicola into silence.

  “What are you, priest?” Nicola spoke, but it was not only his voice. Something darker, raspier, unused to speaking in human tongue. “You are no man.”

  Dani shouted, “Elia, close your eyes!”

  Elia didn’t hesitate, a flash of white light blazing that penetrated even through his lids. He hissed through his teeth, turning his head away from the glare. His wrists burned, aching as he was yanked off the wall. He heard the crumbling of the stones, felt heated hands on his skin, cool metal like plate armor on his body. There was a beating of wings, a soft touch like feathers that brushed his shoulders.

  Dani whispered to him as he set Elia on the floor, “Open.”

  Elia blinked, gazing up at Dani. Was it him? He was similar, but so much was different. The black hair that flowed like midnight water was scarlet like the first light of dawn, his freckles glittered like the sparks of a fire, his eyes pupiless golden wells of light. Dani’s armor gleamed, golden plates carved with intricate filigree.

  “Daniele…”

  Dani scowled and clucked his tongue. “I told you not to call me that. Anyway, be not afraid or whatever. I’m going to go kill that fucking demon now. Would you mind exorcizing him for me?”

  “My voice–”

  Two fingers brushed along his neck, warmth coating his raw throat like honey. Dani helped Elia to his feet, both glimpsing Nicola clutching his eyes and screaming. Smoke rose from under the bishop’s hands, the scent of burning flesh filling the chamber. Dani dropped a gold cross into Elia’s palm and sunk down into a sprinter’s start.

  “Elia, now!”

  Dani moved with unnatural speed, wings flapping just once to launch himself at Nicola. His sword flashed into existence in his hand, swinging it at the bishop. Elia held up the cross, pouring all his focus into Nicola. Now his voice came in clear.

  “Crux sacra sit mihi lux, non nunquam draco sit mihi dux.”

  The bishop grabbed hold of the sword, black blood spurting across the wall. Andras’ strength kept it in place, but Dani’s overcame, blade cutting through the bishop’s palm.

  “Vade retro satana, nunquam suade mihi vana.”

  Nicola’s scream was like the screech of an owl. Elia’s heart pounded in fear. Andras raged at the angel in front of him, long black claws of his uninjured hand raking across the armor.

  “Sunt mala quae libas, ipse venena bibas!”

  Dani pulled his blade back, swinging across Nicola’s midsection. The two halves went flying apart, a shadow bursting from inside the bishop and filling the room, snuffing out all light. More unearthly screams filled the catacombs, so loud the Earth shook around them. Elia dropped the cross, pressing his hands over his ears and collapsing to his knees. A chill wind raked across his body, and the last he heard before the cold overtook him again was Dani shouting his name.

  ***

  This time, Elia was warm. It had been years since he’d been to the ocean, but he recognized the gentle lapping of the waves. A breeze blew over him, tousling his curls over his face. He wrinkled his nose and peeled his eyes open, sitting up with a groan. He didn’t know where exactly he was, but knew this was a very grand coastal villa. It was made of light colored stone, red carpets and curtains on every surface. He threw the covers off the bed, the linens soft and cool, and stepped onto the floor. His clothes were loose and white, but they were not his vestments. Those seemed to be lost forever.

  Elia found Dani on the terrace. He was leaning against the parapet, golden wings folded behind his back and glittering in the midday sun. Elia couldn’t help but reach out to touch them, earning a quiet giggle from the angel. An entire angel of God before him, though one of the Watchers… He wasn’t sure what to make of it.

  Dani turned to him, his clothes equally breezy as Elia’s. Not the gleaming armor he’d seen in the catacombs. He still looked so much like a man, but he supposed humans were made in the image of both angels and the Lord. The breeze threw Dani’s scarlet strands of hair this way and that, gorgeous no matter where they landed on his face.

  “I’ve watched you a long time, Elia. I have seen your heart, how you carry yourself, how you act on what you believe. I have grown to love that about you…” Dani’s bronze, gold-freckled hand reached out to touch Elia’s cheek. It was warm like the sun; Elia wanted Dani’s hands all over him. “I… have grown to love you, Elia. And I wonder if you could do the same in return.”

  Elia couldn’t help a bashful smile, glancing down. “I think so, Dani. How could I deny my angelic savior, and one so handsome?” He looked up again, eyes lidded. “I would like to continue what we started in the alleyway. Would you mind?”

  Dani needed no further instruction, hauling Elia into a searing kiss. Their lips crashed together, arms tangled up in the other. Elia had one hand carding through Dani’s silken hair, the other grabbing at the base of a wing for support. Dani moaned in his ear from the touch, shudder wracking his body. He hauled Elia back to the bed, tossing him down on the sheets. Immediately there were teeth and tongue on his pale throat, licking and biting at the skin to bring red marks to the surface. Elia let his head fall, spine arching as Dani ground their hips together.

  “You’re so easy to mark as mine… Mio caro–”

  Dani’s mouth began to trail lower and Elia moaned louder. They stripped each other of their clothes with swift hands, bare bodies colliding together. Dani was lithe but well built, broad shoulders to support his great wings, equally broad chest his pale hands could roam across. Elia glanced down to admire the rest of Dani’s body, sucking in a breath as he glimpsed his cock. Of course the Lord would bless his angels handsomely. He’d felt it in the alley, he’d had faith, but sometimes seeing was believing.

  Dani chuckled, reaching over for a jug of olive oil to slick up his fingers. He reached down to press two against Elia’s hole, prompting Elia to spread his thighs. His head fell back, breaths coming in rapid as he adjusted. Dani worked him quickly and he adjusted just as fast. He watched Dani stroke himself to coat the length of his cock in oil, mouth watering in his want. The head pressed to his entrance, and with just a few shallow thrusts, Dani was inside of him.

  Elia gasped, reaching up to claw at his own curls. He was full up, Dani’s throbbing heat pressed against a spot inside of him that sent sparks through his veins. Every snap of Dani’s hips sent more pleasure through his body, had his head in a cloud of fog. Every movement forced another whiny, breathy sound out of his lungs. His own cock leaked and twitched, threatening to spill over at any moment.

  Dani kissed him hard, tasting every corner of Elia’s mouth, and Elia was happy to let him. This was all he’d ever wanted; all he could ever want again. Was it sin, to be with an angel this way? He hoped the Lord could forgive him for this, and for every other moment they sinned together in the future. He couldn’t make an accurate prediction, but certainly it would be hundreds.

  Teeth sunk hard into his neck, and Elia shouted as he came suddenly. His eyes shot open, shudder running up his burning spine, muscles tensing around Dani. Dani groaned, pounding into him once, twice more before liquid heat filled Elia.

  Dani collapsed onto the bed next to him, the two gazing at each other. Dani leaned over to kiss him once more, and Elia smiled.

  “I doubt I’ll have a problem learning to love this, my dear angel, Dani.”

  “You won’t regret it, mio caro.”

  Seraphim

  Ian Haramaki

  With Wings Like Madeleines

  Dorian Yosef Weber

  Content Warnings: references to eating disorders, sexual assault/abuse

  During Kedushah, you’re supposed to stand with your feet together. A scholar once said that the angels stand on a single, rigid leg, and we hop up on toes pressed tightly together to imitate them. I have knock knees. I can’t stand like that. My legs hurt at the end of the day.

  On Yom Kippur, we fast to be like the angels who do not need to eat or drink. If I don’t eat or drink, I may never be able to start again. It wouldn’t be the first time. I don’t consume anything during the day while I’m around my community. I’m allowed to feed myself for the sake of my health, but I can’t help but feel shame that they are able to be like white-clad angels while I can’t. I guzzle water straight from the tap and choke down crackers at home in the dark of the night. I can’t turn the lights on because of the holiness of the day, but I wouldn’t even if I could.

  In Sodom, the men of the town attempted to lay bitter hands on angels disguised as men. Fire and sulfur were sent down to raze their city. The image was so holy that Lot’s wife turned to salt, an offering to the angels whose warning she ignored, when instinct drew her eyes to destruction the way a tongue is drawn to the gum where a tooth used to be. There was no fire and sulfur for me. Maybe there would have been if I was able to be more like an angel.

  In the smoke-filled hall of the L-rd, an angel pressed a hot coal to a prophet’s lips to purify his mouth, made filthy by the despair of watching the splendor of the angels’ worship. I often lay my own hands on my lips, rubbing and pressing and laying my thumb down the middle like the angels did when they silenced the Torah knowledge that I have been scrambling to regain for my entire life before I was born. I either got this habit from the spectrum I’m on or, if you ask Freud, a result of neglect that has driven me to masturbate with the wrong pair of lips. I don’t feel purified by my fingertips on my mouth, though. I am no angel. My fingers are not the blunt tip of a coal taken from an altar by a pair of tongs. It is said that G-d made the first pair of tongs on the eve of the first Sabbath. It is unthinkable that a lowly human would burn their hands beside a fire in pursuit of the divinity of creation.

  I have a friend who is an angel, but only sometimes. He believes that the antichrist has come at other times. He says that we are in the final days. I say yes we are, and how wonderful it is, until he goes to sleep and wakes back up and forgets. I am no angel. I am not bringing about the end times with trumpets and a body made of fire. I’m a man who sleeps alone, a member of a tribe who is waiting for a messiah. No one voices the fear that he may never come. That would be heresy, but there is only so far a person can run from doubt. Time is running out, son of David.

  The angels climb up and down a ladder that our father Jacob was blessed enough to see. I have to climb a ladder in the storage room at work every so often. I don’t like it. I don’t trust the metal not to snap under me. I don’t like flying on planes, either. Maybe I would trust the wings if they were my own. It’s probably a good thing that I will never see the ladder leading into the sky. It would probably make me sick. I could see demons, though, if I wanted. I would just have to rub the ashes of a cat’s placenta into my eyes.

  Our demons are not evil. They are mischievous and wicked, but so is one of the four beloved Seder children. The king of the demons flies up to heaven to learn Torah with the angels. I wonder if he feels like as much of an intruder as I do in the temple. A gnarled creature in the middle of a perfect crowd. To my right Michael and to my left Gabriel, in front of me Uriel and behind me Raphael, and over my head G-d’s Shechinah. And in the middle of it all, me, dirty and human with slick thighs and a wicked tongue, so unlike an angel.

  And The Mountains Melt Like Wax

  Tyler Battaglia

  Content Warnings: fire, death, panic attacks, body horror

  Some people were born with the mark of the Devil. At least, Abel’s mother always said as much. She would not profess to know what this looked like, just like she wouldn’t profess to know anything else about God’s love or the Devil’s machinations. But she said she knew it most of her life: that many people were unlucky enough to be touched not by God or an angel, but by the Devil.

  Her children—Abel and his two sisters—would often argue when they were young about which one of them was touched by God, which one by the Devil, and which one was simply boring. Since there were three of them, a holy trinity in their mother’s eyes, it made sense that their mother would have collected one of each. As children, being the normal and boring one had seemed like the worst lot they could draw, even despite their mother’s God-fearing warnings to not stray too far from the path of light on either side. The Devil and God both had punishments fit for children, after all.

  Abel still thought about it all sometimes. Whether he was born lucky, unlucky, or a normal bastard like the rest of them. Lately, he thought that his mother would certainly say that his life was touched by the Devil. Lately, he thought they had been wrong as children, and that he would give anything for a life a little less touched by anything at all.

  Maybe that was why Abel was recklessly climbing up a mountain in just-above-freezing temperatures, Cain following on his heels. It was foolhardy. It was absurd. It was pointless. It made Abel feel a little more alive again.

  And Cain was off-duty, so he would probably have nothing to say if Abel fell and died.

  Abel climbed over yet another fallen log that indicated he was off the beaten path. He was out of breath in a way he never would have been six months ago, panting at the simple physical exertion that once was commonplace, routine, easy, nothing at all. He asked, “If I trip and fall off the mountain, will you at least go get help?”

  Cain woofed. Abel paused on top of the log, looking back at the big black lab that was dutifully following him down mountain trails, and sighed.

  It wasn’t fair to Cain, maybe. But not much about life was fair to anyone, was it?

  Abel thought of being blasted with heat, of choking on life-ending smoke, of being so out of breath he couldn’t think, and of knowing that meant worse for all the people around him. He thought of a dozen crucifixes hanging askew on the wall, shimmering in and out of existence like heat mirages, next to boarded-up windows through which no one would escape alive.

  Abel closed his eyes and braced himself against the log. His mouth went dry and his throat constricted. His head spun, like he was being dragged backwards with vertigo, even as he held himself as still as humanly possible. His skin prickled with phantom sweat from an imaginary heat. He was in an impenetrable furnace. When he could no longer bear it, he scrambled for his backpack, trying to find his bottle of water, but started to sway, started to lose his balance, started to tip—

  Something snagged the leg of his shorts and pulled. Abel used the momentum to resettle himself on the fallen tree. He opened his eyes and looked down at Cain, the beautiful, big, dumb dog with his teeth latched firmly into the denim of Abel’s pants.

  Off-duty or not, maybe Cain would not be the death of Abel after all. “Thank you, Cain.” There was a pause where Cain stared up at him, wide brown doe-eyes in the face of a dog, refusing to give up on Abel. “I’m okay,” he promised. “Who’s a good boy?”

  The dog let go and Abel slid off the log to the other side of the path. He tested his footing on ground that seemed to shift impossibly under the soles of his shoes. It was still hot. Unseasonably hot, even though the air was cold. Hot enough for Abel to think that something was wrong, as if he had inexplicably developed a fever. He’d deliberately chosen to come up to the wooded mountaintop when the risk of forest fire was next to non-existent, and it was a cool day at best, so whatever was causing the heat couldn’t be good.

  Whatever had started the fire that day in the boarded-up apartment hadn’t been good, either.

  The heat and the cold and the dizziness of it all made Abel shake for a moment, staring at a fixed point among the trees, at nothing in particular, until Cain nudged the back of his knees, urging him to keep moving. Always to keep moving.

  Abel turned slightly, back toward the dog, and leaned over to pet his ears. “I’m only petting you because you’re off duty,” he reminded Cain. “And you’re not supposed to be working. Even though clearly your work ethic is better than mine.”

  Abel hadn’t been back to work in months. They hadn’t fired him only because it would be grounds for a discrimination suit. He could tell. Because who wanted a firefighter who had panic attacks at the sight of a lit match?

  At least one of the two of them was earning his keep, he supposed.

  But the heat was still there. The terrible, oppressive heat. It wasn’t fire—God, he hoped it wasn’t fire—because there was no smoke. If where there was smoke, there was fire, then where there was no smoke, there was no fire. He couldn’t accept anything less.

  Abel was still afraid. He couldn’t confirm it wasn’t fire. Instinct told him to look despite his heart seizing up in his chest. Instinct told him he was supposed to do the saving. If he didn’t look, he’d never know.

  The words came unbidden to him, but someone else had spoken them recently. Local papers had plastered his face across various pages—the front, at first, before he was relegated to footnotes buried on pages seven through ten. His photo and the photos of the dead. The story, too. At least the official one.

  Eventually, someone found it online. A stranger. She had called him.

  “Don’t you ever wonder,” she had asked, “what’s out there?”

  Abel had said, “No.”

  “It wasn’t a normal fire.” As if Abel hadn’t already known that. “People get hurt all the time by things like this. If you share your story—the real story—you could help people. And maybe you could find a new purpose. Don’t you want that?”

  Fucking chills had run down Abel’s spine. He didn’t know who the hell she was, how she knew anything about him, why she gave a damn. It was true that he had spent months aimless, wandering, afraid of too many things, barely able to breathe or get out of bed some days, even with Cain’s help. He had known he’d never fight fires again and had wondered what in God’s name came next. If anything came next.