Kyle the Apprentice Warlock

“Haaahh-ah-ah-le-lu-jaaaaaaah!”  A familiar heavenly chorus sounded behind Camina.  It was accompanied by the oh so very familiar sounding whoosh of air from a physical body essentially teleporting into existence, and a rustling like the flapping of very large wings.  There were gasps and murmurs from the passengers who had seen him arrive.

Camina’s brow furrowed and she closed her eyes with a happy wince.  Happy because she loved her patron like a brother.  Wincing because he was…a lot.  Over the top?  And there wasn’t much he was allowed to do right now beside freak the heck out.  Divine beings were not permitted to take direct action with their full divine powers on the mortal plane anymore. 

No.  Michael hadn’t told her why.  Just that ‘there were rules’ and if he didn’t follow them, ‘there would be problems’.  Gods were extremely limited in what they could do per The Treaty.  Demi Gods, angels, and other semi-immortals had more leeway.  Miracles were another matter.  All divine beings were permitted to influence events through miracles when granting prayers.  But there had to be a lot of damned prayer energy going any one way for that to happen.

“Oh, thank goodness.” His familiar voice called out, and the tall brunette turned slowly around to take a look at her patron.  He was rolling his eyes with the most put upon expression on his face.  “It’s about damned time someone said a prayer to me.” 

“Hi, Michael.”  She smiled with genuine, but restrained, delight.  There he was in his human form.  A young ethnically ambiguous man.  Possibly Asian-mixed, possibly Hispanic, maybe there was some middle eastern in there?  No one could tell and he wasn’t saying.  But he clearly wasn’t only Caucasian.

He had thick dark curls that sometimes came down to his shoulders, and sometimes were kept short around his ears, or anywhere in-between.  Right now?  They came down to just about around his square jaw.  Below the large ridiculously lustrous curls of his bangs – which dangled over his high forehead almost to his eyes like some schleppy-in-a-cool-way skater boy or surfer dude – were wide-spaced heavy brows, also black.  Enviously prolific lashes framed brown, almond-shaped eyes.

The immortal patron, who had looked a decade older than her when they’d formed their pact, now looked younger than her by several decades.  It didn’t bother Camina at all anymore.  Nope.  Just like she hadn’t been jealous of the freckles on his broad cheeks when she was a teenager.  Michael’s age seemed to fluctuate slightly with his whim and Camina suspected that he could look older than her if he wanted to.

Her patron looked somewhere between his mid-teens to mid-twenties.  Michael liked dark colors.  Blues, greys, and blacks, colors and shades that went well with everything.  Dressed in a pair of designer athletic joggers, tennis shoes, a T-shirt, and a zip front sweater jacket, the angel looked like an average high school or college athlete who was out for a morning run and planning to stop for latte after.  Or he would have, if he hadn’t also been noticeably soft around his edges.  A stark contrast to Camina’s own svelte physique.  So, he looked athletic, but not exceptionally so.

“I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Rushing the twenty feet or so between himself and Camina, Michael took her up in a quick desperate hug.  Though taller than his chosen form, the woman felt herself lifted off the floor momentarily before she was placed ever so gently down again.  Concern suffused the angel’s face and his pearly white wings, politely folded and contained by his sweater jacket, were quivering over his shoulders.

“Are you okay?”  His large hands grasped her shoulders and gave her a tiny shake as if to test that she was really there.  “I’ve been waiting for the kids to call me, but they haven’t.  Not one phone call, not one prayer.”  Though he might have been known as the unyielding general of God’s armies, Michael was incredibly passionate and caring in his relationships with mortals.  And he took his job as God father and honorary ‘uncle’ of Camina’s children quite seriously. 

“If they haven’t called for help, they are probably fine.”  Assurances fell from Camina’s lips despite fearing that her words were false.  But she was trying to project calm.

“Are you sure?  I can’t see anything in New York.  The arcanes are way too high.  Us angels can’t even hear anything out of there but a muddled muted mess and even though we want to go down and get up close so we can hear any prayers just in case, the boss is all like ‘Naw dawg. Dems da rules.’”  When excited. Her patron tended to get a little hyperfixated and somewhat motormouthed.  Words were coming at her fast and she was pretty sure those sentences would have been without punctuation if they were written.  Then he hurried onward.

“And I was all like ‘I don’t care about no rules, if my gurl Anna calls I’mma gonna go and get her because she’s my godbaby and I…I…’” his tirade devolved into a sob of disconsolate worry.  “I can’t hear her, Camina.  I was supposed to –   It was so sudden.”

Giving an empathetic sigh, the warlock patted her patron on the shoulder in a there-there kind of way. Then, because the mom in her just would not sleep ever, she picked some lint off his jacket and flicked it away.  It was tough being an angel.  Being able to hear all the world’s woes but unable to act on most of them.  Having to wait until the power of prayer was strong enough to act but that strength was not necessarily dictated by the number of people praying for something nor the passion behind their faith.

“Hey.  I don’t know if it’s going to be okay.  But I’m going to go down there and clear out the worst of the monsters.”  Cupping his face in her hands, she smiled her bravest, most encouraging smile at her patron.  “Why don’t you stay with these people and give them some faith.  Answer their prayers and keep them safe until they get to a safe landing somewhere.”  Gently, the warlock guided her patron to her vacated seat and Jim Thafesh, pockets bulging with gear and cameras strapped to his limbs and head, scooched out of the way around them.

Michael almost didn’t notice the young man at all until something caught his attention.  Camina was trying to push the angel into her seat when he stopped and resisted.  Putting a hand on the back of both Camina’s seat and the one in front of hers, he pushed back against her guiding hands.  Head jerking up in sudden alarm, the dark-haired angel sniffed the air.  Once.

“Wait a minute.”  Eyebrows lowering in consternation, the words were growled out deeply with just the slightest hint of a chorus behind them.  Divine power escaped in wisps and curls from his lips.  He sniffed twice in succession.  “What.  Is.  That.”