I Know

Elochian

An Archangel of Love and a Witch of Death walk into The Ethereal Magpie, searching for the Archdemon of Anxiety who owns it. It sounds like a bad joke, but no.

It’s just my life.

I am close friends with Arlo, the only Hedge Witch in Levena. I’m acquainted with Tobias Daemarrel, a recently discovered archangel, through Arlo and his friends. There is no logical reason for me to be afraid of either of them. No, it’s the potential trouble they bring with them.

Trapped behind the serving counter, I step backwards as they approach. Tobias leads the way like a man on a mission, and my back meets the wall. All six of his wings are visible. Great rose feathers hug tight to his back, with even the smallest ones the length of my arm. While conversation doesn’t cease, the bar’s collective attention shifts to Tobias.

Those in Tobias and Arlo’s way part without a word. The place is loaded with angels, and I wonder if they intentionally chose to visit on Malakim Monday. The celestials present make themselves visible to Tobias, angel and demon both. Posturing, hoping to be seen, but at a distance.

But the new archmalakim isn’t looking at anyone else. He only has eyes for me. It’s the first time we’ve seen each other since he sang a song of love and intoxicated my entire bar, resulting in what’s sure to be Levena’s biggest baby boom yet. That’s more of a witch thing than an archangel thing, because life has a good sense of humor like that.

I inhale sharply, forcing myself to remain still. Gossip has run thick since his first arrival. The Archangel of Levena, finally revealing himself and intoxicating everyone in a five block radius. I wasn’t immune to his magick, quite the opposite, but it wasn’t his power that disabled me.

It was his proclamation of, ‘Here I am. Your Other Half. I am ready.’

Now, he didn’t actually say these things, but it was spoken on a soul to soul level. In response, mine broke down and cried. In relief, and in fear. The fear of the unknown is always there, but there is so much unknown with Tobias.

Archangels and archdemons are designed to function as one, as bashert. A singular unit for the celestials to anchor their power to. A guiding demon for the angels, and a guiding angel for the demons. Without this universal anchor, celestials cannot function. An ankle weight of a parting gift from our godly parents, to keep us from becoming too much like them.

But I’ve been on my own, bearing the entire bodily weight of all the celestials in the Northern Regions. No archangel has led the Haniel Clan since before my birth, and as such all the celestials look to the Adrastus family, demons and angels alike. Whatever Tobias has done all these years has shielded him from me perfectly, and I would be a hypocrite to call him out on hiding from his duties.

Then again, if I hadn’t been so stretched thin my entire life, would things have turned out differently for me?

For Bartholomew?

And now, months after Tobias revealed himself, he’s showing up out of the blue. Not once has he asked to help, to become involved with our people. My demons are suffering from celestial sickness, and there’s only one reason why. Only one solution. I’ve called him a few times to no avail, and when it became clear that Tobias had no intention to assume his place, I stopped. I’ve wanted to try again this past week, but his silence was crippling.

I haven’t mentioned my frustrations to Arlo, not wanting to put him in the middle, but it appears Tobias has done that already.

When the pair finally sit down on the other side of the bar, my irritation is well on its way to dancing with anxiety. The bartender, Lucas, smoothly avoids the disturbance and efficiently distracts the patrons from our stare down. I ensure all people see is a blank face, not wanting to let on my annoyance. I casually lean against the counter beside the liquor wall, arms crossed.

Arlo’s intense stare cuts right through me, but I ignore it. I ignore the stare of every godsdamned person currently staring at us. I focus on Tobias, who stares down at his fingers tightly knitted on the marble bar counter before him.

I don’t speak first.

Tobias breathes, and when he exhales, his wings loosen from his shoulders. He lifts his head and looks me square in the eyes. His are dull and tired, the once bright pink dulled to something bordering on gray, which confirms my suspicion. He wants something.

He says, “Elochian, it’s good to see you. Is there any chance we could talk? Privately?”

“I’m fine here, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Loch,” Arlo says.

I glare at him. “Why are you here? Not that I’m not happy to see you.”

He smirks, breaking the tension in the air without my consent. “You’re never happy to see me. I’m moral support.”

I sigh, rubbing at my temple. A lock of unbound hair finds its way around my finger, and I gently tug on it as I think. I glance at Michael sitting at the nearest end of the bar, appearing to all the world like a simple human having a drink. They are far more than that, though. Michael takes a sip of his drink, then taps the counter’s surface twice before setting his glass down.

He approves of whatever this is, despite the fact I don’t.

But I have a duty, one that is more important than my frustration. I owe it to my people to listen to what Tobias has to say. Maybe he’s ready to take his place, and I can’t be the person who stands in his way, even if it took him a while to get there.

I straighten, leaving the safety of the counter in one swift movement. “Meet me in my office,” I tell Tobias. I turn away without gaining an answer, escaping through the galley kitchen hidden at the other end of the bar. The narrow, open archway is curtained by ivy hanging from the ceiling. Shedim stop what they’re doing to mark an ‘A’ over their heart when I pass through.

I say nothing, keeping my head held high. I’ve learned by now that telling them to treat me like one of them is futile, and it distresses those ranked lower than me. The gold in my face highlights the would be lie, and all six of my wings frame the deceit like a saccharine masterpiece.

Michael meets me at the door on the other side of the galley. He’s dressed in an all black suit and no tie, golden hair shaved close to his head. Simple diamond studs line their ears, narrowing as the jewelry reaches the sharp points. Their irises are jet black. In no matter what form they take, Michael is sophisticated and practical, and the decorative spirals of silver tattooed on both sides of their pale neck carry over as well. The color denotes ranking, whilst the design itself proclaims his loyalty. To me, and to me only.

It’s a heavy thing, the weight of someone’s life. Especially when I’ve shattered one before, and so easily. Michael has been Bartholomew’s replacement, my shomer, for over a hundred years, dutiful and kind. However, I’m helpless to think of him as anything but that.

A replacement.

Michael bows his head when I join him. “Sir.”

I return the show of respect, then gesture for him to lead the way to my office. When they do, I ask, “When was the last time my office was swept?”

“Annie just finished, Sir. Mr. Rook may have called ahead of time.”

“Oh, so he warns you.” I grumble, tugging on the end of a thin braid.

Michael chuckles, glancing sideways at me. “Sir, may I make a suggestion?”

“No.”

“Of course, Sir.”

I glare at him. “That was a joke, Michael. You know how I feel about your suggestions.”

They smile. “And I maintain my position that you should not heed my counsel more than your own. With that being said, it is my belief that the archangel needs guidance, and it’s not an easy thing to ask for.”

I laugh, but there’s no joy in it. “And I’m the one to provide it? I can barely stand on my own two feet.”

We’re close to my office now, and he looks at the closed door. “If not you, then who?”

I stop walking. “He has people. Doesn’t he?”

“Does he? He’s married to a half-katan, there are no angels in his life now, and we have no evidence to suggest if he had a proper upbringing. Not to mention the only demons around him are his own children.

I rub my temple. “I hate it when you make sense.” I shake my head, then peek at Michael. “It’s … they came alone?”

“Yes?” Michael tilts his head. “Were you expecting someone?”

“No, of course not. Stop looking at me like that.” I wave him off, stepping past him to enter my office.

“Of course, Sir.” Michael follows me in, shutting the door.

When he does, wards hum into place, keeping us safe from things like eavesdroppers, or a nuclear bomb. I take a seat behind a meticulously organized desk, breathing easier as my fingers brush against the old wood. Arlo paces along one side of the room before a lit hearth, while Tobias sits utterly still on the other side of my desk in one of two leather chairs. Michael settles behind me, quiet and focused.

Tobias glances back at Arlo, then to me. With a trembling hand, he tucks damp pink hair behind his ear. He says, “Thank you for seeing me. I—I don’t know what to say, Elochian. How to start.”

“We could start with why you’ve been ignoring my phone calls.”

Tobias sighs, bowing his head. He whispers, “I’m scared. Ever since that night, things have been … more. It’s hard to explain. But it’s physically hurting me. I can feel hundreds—if not thousands, of people now. I’ve never felt that, it’s like my mind was full of cotton before. I think it’s my fault. You see, I’m an Empath. I do nothing but feel.

“All I wanted was to live alone, like I have my entire life, and feel nothing but my own existence. People are so complicated, and hard to take. Physically. Some people hurt to simply be around. But then Cas came along, and everything changed. I have a family now, friends. And I decided maybe I didn’t have to shut everyone out. But I didn’t understand the consequences. I didn’t—don’t—know what it means to be an archangel. I didn’t know people would need me so strongly, and that I could feel them if I just opened my heart. But you do, don’t you? I can feel you, most of all.”

I come around the desk and kneel before Tobias, itching to reach out and cup his wet cheeks. Tentatively, I take his hand instead. My fingers slide against his, and he gasps, eyes slamming shut. “It’s quiet. You made it quiet.”

Something settles in my heart, like a cornerstone of my foundation has found its place. I stare at him, in awe and confusion. “I’m your Other Half,” I whisper. How can he not know?

Tobias shakes his head. Through hot, choking sobs, he manages, “I want to help you, Elochian. But Gods, tell me there’s a way to make it like this again. I feel like I’m going crazy.”

My wings stretch, confident in their movements as they reach around my body to partially hide the both of us.  I whisper, “I will help you, but I won’t lie and say it’ll be easy. Taking your place, that is. You could still run, but it would hurt, for a while. It’s like … you are bonded to your children, yes?”

Tobias nods slowly, and my hand pulls away from his. He’s stopped actively crying, but tears still overflow his bloodshot eyes.

“It’s like that, but on a grander scale. All this time, the demons of the Northern Region have been without a ‘parent.’ An anchor, or a magnet, for their soul. We gain strength and power from them, and they do from us. It’s a give and take, and the bonds are strengthened by time and nurturing, but they form on their own. It’s probably why you aren’t feeling well, you weren’t prepared.

I lower my voice, feeling weighed down by all of this. “Celestials aren’t a species designed to live independently. But, it is possible. Now that bonds have been formed between you and those in Levena, you will have to sever them, if it is your wish to leave.”

Tobias stares at me, and in the time it takes him to answer, I do my best to shield myself from him. I don’t want to influence his answer. Even though I desperately want him to say yes. Yes, I’ll help you. Yes, you won’t be alone.

Tobias says, “If not me, then who?”

“I don’t know,” I whisper. “Tobias … did you truly not know what you are to our people? To me?”

Bitterly, he says, “I’m an anomaly. A witch, and an archangel. My parents didn’t interact with society, or me. I’ve been alone. I don’t know how to handle this, Elochian. I—”

“You don’t have to be. We don’t have to be. I’ll help you. We’re stronger together.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

He shrugs, sniffing. “Okay. I’ll do it. I’ll try, anyway.”

I take his hands, squeezing gently. “That’s all we can do.”

“Thank you, Elochian. Thank you.”

Tobias recomposes himself, and I slowly stand from my kneeling position. I look towards Arlo, who’s finally shifted his attention from the fire and quit his pacing. He nods once, clearly pleased. “Good. Now that that’s settled, it’s my turn.”

“I thought you were moral support,” I ask, crossing my arms.

“Yes, well. I’m needy, what can I say.”

I sigh, gesturing for him to take the empty seat beside Tobias. I retreat to my own seat on the other side, feeling exceptionally drained. Centering Tobias took more out of me than I expected. By the time I plop down, Arlo has finally settled into a chair. He removes his hat and lays it over a gently bouncing knee, then rakes a hand through his knotted hair.

“What did you find this time?” I ask, already having guessed what Arlo needs my help with. What he always needs my help with, these days. It’s a distinct feeling, being needed. He can function without me. I know this. But friends help each other. I know this, as well. I’m just not used to being on the giving side.

I’m the one always needing it.

Arlo says, “The gravestone.” The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Bartholomew’s headstone flashes through my mind. Gently, Arlo adds, “The gravestone we found during the game. The neighbor to the one in your painting.”

“Oh. What about it?”

“It’s changed.”

“How?” I lean ahead in my seat, elbows resting on the desk between us.

Arlo focuses on his hat, fiddling with a loose string on the brim. He says, “It’s not chipped away anymore. The … name. It’s all there.” He reaches into his jeans pocket, pulling out a phone. He taps the screen a few times, then places it between us. A projection cuts into life, depicting the headstone in question.

It reads, ‘In Remembrance of Thatcher Levena Gaillot, founder of what is formerly known as Min Isle and will henceforth be known as Levena in honor of the man who endlessly put others first.

Savior of over 300 Min residents during the Fire of 38’ which burned Min Isle to the ground.

While others fell in the flames, he perpetually put himself in danger time and time again, not stopping until he brought everyone to the river, to safety, until he succumbed to his injuries and was taken by the flames.

He was a friend to all those he met, endlessly loyal and an instrumental figure in what Levena has become today.

Thank you for watching over us from wherever you are now, for your continued protection from beyond the grave. We will strive to live like you did and never forget your kindness.

Rest in Peace, Thatch.’

“Oh,” I say, numbed by too many emotions to name.

Arlo swallows, then dims the screen. He leaves the phone on my desk, looking at it like it might bite him. Shakily, he says, “There’s nothing in the libraries, or the bookstores, or the museum, on Min Isle. Still. But I thought maybe you … that someone here could be old enough. ‘38, I don’t know what the millennia is, but—”

“Arlo …” I begin softly, and he rears back as if I’d slapped him. I soldier on, strengthening my tone. “Malakim and shedim weren’t around here before Levena was anything else but Levena. Besides, the oldest person I know besides my aunt is Dusan, I’ve told you this.”

Arlo exhales heavily, snatching his hat from his knee. He slides it back on and goes to stand, but freezes when I ask, “What’s going on with Leon?”

Tobias grips his armrests, attention locking onto Arlo. Like he wants to know the answer, too.

Like a child caught lying about their chores, Arlo says, “He hasn’t materialized yet. I’ve exorcized a few ghosts in his employ, but that’s it. I’m keeping an eye on things, Elochian. He’s just quiet right now.”

“I’m not implying you’re doing otherwise, Arlo. I know that you want to do right by Thatch, we all do. But right now, I think we have other things to worry about. I know you don’t think the AWO and NOJ are connected with his rise, but the AWO at the very least was a big supporter of—”

Arlo stands in a rush. “I know, Elochian. I was there. There’s nothing I can do about Leon until he shows his face, until then I’m going to focus on what matters. Bringing Thatch home. If we can just figure out who he was, we can—”

“We can what? Know how old he was exactly? Know who his first boyfriend was? You’re not going to find out his secrets and how he was cursed in books, Arlo. We’ve done nothing but scour the earth for evidence of the past, and I’m not saying we shouldn’t, but when the future is trying to kill us it may be time to put the past away, for now.”

To my surprise, Arlo doesn’t hit me. He doesn’t take off. He simply drops his head in his hands, and cries. I glance back at Michael, who stares back at me with a flat expression. I look at Tobias, who barely seems to be holding on to the fragile newfound peace I gave him. I stand, and slowly come ‘round the desk.

I reach for him, but stop when he says, “It’s only been two months. I thought it would take longer for everyone to give up.”

I whisper, “No one is giving up, Arlo.”

“They want to. And I can’t blame them. Everyone is … they have their own lives.” He scrubs at his face before lifting his magick infused gaze to me. “I can’t stop thinking about him. It feels like life has gone on like nothing happened, and that it’s also stopped entirely. I miss him so much it hurts, Loch. Do you—” He grimaces, abruptly cutting off.

With great caution, I take his hand, because that’s the only thing I can do. I can’t bring Thatch back, and what can I say? Arlo doesn’t want a positive or cheerful sentiment, he just wants his person, and he hasn’t had time to grieve the sudden loss of him. The world won’t allow it.

I whisper, “I know, Arlo. I know what that feels like.”

I stare out the window, wallowing in the numbness spreading throughout my forehead. I breathe, chest heavy, and do my best to think of nothing else but the car window against my skin. The town car is dimly lit, and for a rare moment, it’s only us and the night sky somewhat visible through the lightly frosted window. We pass by The Cromaeris, which is beautiful yet eerie. The temple’s vibrant stained glass windows are always illuminated, and the depictions of the Creator Gods seem to loom over this side of Levena.

Michael waits until we’re a few minutes away from the manor before disrupting the quiet. “You made many promises tonight, Sir.”

I shift my attention to my bodyguard in the driver’s seat. “If I remember correctly, you are the one who suggested the angel needs guidance. I offered it, and now you’re questioning me?”

“I do not disagree at all, but I’m merely curious how you’ll go about it. Your days are thin as it is.”

“I’ll extend my office hours, and … I’ll work on Mondays. Lucas has been asking for more hours anyways. On Fridays, I’ll make time for Tobias until I can get in touch with Andromeda. She’s been filling his role for some time now, and I’m sure she’ll be happy to help. The Elders will have to deal with not having twenty-four seven access to me for a little while.”

Michael says nothing.

I glance at them. He stares at me, a tiny smile on his face. There’s a betraying crease between their brows, though. Michael says, “I think what you’re doing is admirable. For both Tobias and Arlo. But don’t hurt yourself, Elochian. Your rest days are in place for a reason.”

“Then I give you full permission to baby me and say ‘I told you so’ on the day I inevitably crack. I don’t do anything on rest days anyway.”

Michael sighs, fondly exasperated. “As long as I have your permission.”

I chuckle. The town car comes to a stop before the electrified gates to Adrastus Manor, and after a moment they swing inwards and allow us to pass through. You would think the place is a prison by the way it’s fortified and protected, kept under constant surveillance and staffed at all times. Michael eases down the drive, passing by fallow fields and dark greenhouses. The evergreen hedges are sculpted into perfect depictions of my parents and other legacies, their green leaves steadfast against the winter. Everything else is veiled by the night.

The vehicle comes to a stop directly before the front doors of Adrastus House, which are protected by a stone overhang. Michael gets out of the car first, then comes around and opens my door for me. I step out, inhaling fresh, crisp air. When I exhale, it’s like the estate and all those present exhale as one. I’m not at ease until I’m home, and that restlessness spreads throughout the clan if I’m not careful. The hearts of all those present in the manor reach towards mine. In the space of one more breath, my spirit briefly greets theirs and says goodnight, then I close my heart off from those around me.

I lift my face to the sky, memorizing the stars again for a quick moment.  When was the last time I simply stared up at the sky, without glass separating it from me?

Michael follows my upwards stare, brow quirked. “Looking for something?”

I sigh, giving them a tight smile. “No. Just looking.”

He escorts me inside, through wide halls decorated with crimson wallpaper that’s older than I am. Old school iron candelabras and grand masterpieces encased in golden frames take place every eight feet or so, but the corridors always feel so empty to me. Quiet classical music plays on a distant record player, accompanied by the soft murmur of the night dwelling shedim of the house. Thankfully, my aunt is a day dweller like myself, which means I get to continue avoiding her for the rest of the night.

When we reach the northern staircase which leads to my personal wing of the manor, Michael bows their head. He says, “I will see you in the morning. Still on with Kavelli?”

I give him a grim smile. “Oh yes, bright and early.”

Michael commits the mark of Adrastus over his heart, and my smile fades as the moment is overlaid with a distant memory that never blurs. Bartholomew committing that same action for the first time.

And the last.

“Good night, Michael.” I dip my head, then turn away from my shomer.

I climb the stairs, palm floating over the old cherry banister that needs to be refinished. All the intricate wood trim in the estate’s construction is cherry, from the baseboards to the cornices. I’m told it was my mother’s favorite, something about the warmth in the color. I find comfort in the grain as well, but I don’t know if it has anything to do with the color.

By the time I make it to the landing of the fourth level, my legs are shaky and my heart is pissed. On the levels beneath me are the apartments of my family and inner circle which are all family friends that I inherited, all of whom are old enough to be my parents. The servant’s quarters are on the first and top floors, while everyone else in the Adrastus Clan lives in one of the ten annexes.

I follow the east corridor, passing by closed doors which lack knobs. Every step towards my bedroom is exhausting, but inch by inch, I manage to make it to the last door. I place my palm upon the wood, and within a moment the knots and grain alights a soft orange before the door groans inwards.

I step inside in a hurry, haunted by memories of Bartholomew nipping at my heels. The door shuts behind me, and the moment it does I begin to strip. Every light in the place is out, but moonlight creeps in through the tall, narrow windows which line the western wall. My wool overcoat lands over the back of a couch, my shirts litter the floor like bread crumbs, and my pants fall into a puddle at the end of my bed.

I brace myself using the cherry footboard, back cracking while I arch my spine and stretch my wings out to their full potential. Muscles and bones cry out in protest, unhappy with today’s treatment. Every day’s treatment, I should say. Some people clench their jaw or grit their teeth, but my tension lies in my wings. Constantly prepared for a fight and rigid for seemingly no reason at all. Often, the more I try to relax them, the more they tense.

I spend ten minutes stretching out my body, moving on from my wings to my arms, then my back and legs. I roll my neck out, then reach down and snag my phone and the rest of my paraphernalia out of my pants. I set my canvas satchel on the end table which keeps my side of the bed company, then my cumbersome key ring and phone. I hold my wallet in both hands, thumb running over the worn leather. With a heavy exhalation, I open it up and take a quick look at the picture tucked inside.

I promptly shut it, then gently set it down beside the rest of my things.

I collapse on the bed, pristinely made bedding and all, and groan into the mattress. I close my eyes, unwilling to move a single muscle. I’ll fall asleep just like this. I don’t care.

Except, hours pass, and I don’t sleep.

I end up under the covers. Back on top of the covers. Lying on my right side. Lying on my left. Tucking my knees into my chest. Resting in a partially kneeling position. Now that I’m ready for bed, clearly exhausted, my mind won’t shut the fuck up. I’m mentally planning out every aspect of tomorrow, preparing for every angle of every meeting and every escape plan. Plans Bs and Cs are a constant must.

Eventually, I wave the white flag and reach for my phone. Usually I try not to use it before bed, but at this point I need something to distract myself from the growing irritation skewering my tired brain. The latest comic is probably out, I’ll—

Quentin wrote to me an hour ago.

Dot (2:35 AM): but what if it’s not true love what if he’s a stepping stone there are people who need that not everyone’s first is their last

Dot (2:36 AM): oh no. sorry I didn’t mean to send that to you! don’t worry, I’ll still be up with bells on and coffee waiting.

I laugh quietly, and leave him a message to wake up to.

Me (3:27 AM): It’s alright, I don’t mind. I hope you were able to work through this latest tangle. I won’t be able to come by in the morning, but eat a muffin for me.

I pause, considering. Should I tell him I’ll miss him?

I close my eyes, enduring the sudden gut punch.

I miss him.

Now.