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Azrael

“I need an adult,” I say out loud, to no one in particular. Other than the puzzled glance I get from a middle-aged woman further down the aisle, none of the customers pay any attention to me.

Why should they?

To them, I’m an every-day, ordinary thirty-something-year-old human man.

I am an adult.

An exhausted adult, with dark bags under my eyes, and undiagnosed social anxiety…

Actually, you know what? That tracks.

Late-night archery practice bled into the wee hours of the morning, but I managed to hit the target twenty-two more times.

Twenty-two .

We won’t mention that’s out of four hundred shots.

Or that I stood much, much closer than the fifty-foot recommended distance.

Or that I openly wept.

Those are just… tiny, itty-bitty details not worth mentioning.

The magical contract went into effect at eight this morning. Micah and Seraphiel both witnessed the transfer, making sure it passed to me with no issues. A wave of power washed over me, a subtle tingling in my limbs that felt less like a physical manifestation and more like an intuitive awakening of my magic.

Micah cursed under his breath while Seraphiel cheered, magicked himself into a Hawaiian shirt, and poofed out of existence. He mumbled something about beaches or bitches . Maybe both.

It was really quite hard to say with the tequila bottle hanging from his lips.

Thirteen minutes after I was given the highest power of Cherub-kind, my first summons beckoned me. What followed was a hysterical series of pterodactyl screeches directed towards the Heavens, a garbled series of pleading ranging from, “I’m not ready!” to “Pick someone else!”

There were also a few panicked tears and a puff of my inhaler.

Cherubs can be asthmatic too, don’t judge.

Eventually, I pulled myself together. And by that, I mean I made it here, inhaler in my pocket and tearstains on my shirt.

Good days look different for everyone, fuck you very much. I’m in my hot mess era, and I am embracing it.

Collecting myself, I glance around and get my bearings. Instinct tells me I’m inside a home repair store on the outskirts of Boston, but even if my powers didn’t give me tracking abilities, I would’ve figured it out.

The number of people who’ve asked where they “paahked the caah” or complained about how “wicked haaht” it is outside is a pretty good clue.

The magic nudges me, pulling me away from my distraction. A matched couple feels like a rope binding my waist, tugging me along with a gentle encouragement. It’s not unpleasant, quite the opposite, but bile rises in the back of my throat anyway. Somehow, the gentle guiding touch feels more like a boa constrictor grip, coiled around my body as it squeezes the life out of me.

My hands tremble so violently I have to shove them into my pockets, and I close my eyes to focus on the sensation, surprised at how easy it is to follow the magic. I walk around the corner to the registers, the air hummingas I spot my targets. A soft glow dances around them, so faint it’s barely noticeable as it waves in its ethereal dance.

It’s only visible to me, and it’s the first time I’ve seen it in action.

My beacon.

It’s strangely familiar—comforting, even—and I take a moment to bask in its warmth before I focus on the couple currently bathed in its light.

Weathered golden skin ages the man leaning against the counter, making him appear years older than he is. No doubt, that tan results from working for Danny’s Roofing, which is printed across his neon yellow shirt.

Still, he’s handsome, with thick sandy blonde hair and a kind smile. Behind the register, a lady smiles back at him, her red braid a shocking contrast to the orange apron she wears.

I step closer, listening as they flirt. “What would I do without you, Mandy?” Her cheeks flush as she shuffles between her feet, nervously tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear.

“Probably use the wrong paint again,” she responds, and he tosses his head back in an exaggerated laugh that’s far too loud. You know the kind—the fake hilarity that people use when they’re trying to get laid.

Okay, they have a history.

Ignoring their surface appearances, I dive deeper into the heart of who they truly are. The familiar buzz of their souls makes the air go staticky as information crashes into my mind in a dizzying blur. Amplified far beyond my normal abilities, it takes a few seconds to make sense of it.

Human souls vary from light to dark, and Leonard’s is a nice pale gray. Not perfect, maybe the occasional cheating at poker night with his buddies, but overall, his moral compass is aligned in the right direction.

He’s forty-two, straight, and has been divorced for several years. There’s a teenage son in the mix, and from what I can tell, he’s a good dad. Most people would describe him as a nice guy.

And he’s got it bad for Mandy.

Her soul is a couple of shades darker than his, but within the range that makes them compatible. Shy and withdrawn, Mandy is the more hesitant of the two. She’s younger than him at thirty-four, bisexual, with no marriages or children.

Oh, and her heart is a desolate wasteland of ruin, her past riddled with pain.

My attention shifts back to Leonard, pushing into the magic and pleading for guidance, but it doesn’t give me anything more. “It’s not a crystal ball,” Micah warned me, his perfectly sculpted nose up in the air. “You have to trust yourself to make the matches you believe will be harmonious. ”

Giant middle finger to that guy, because I don’t even trust myself to cook dinner most nights.

Tools and supplies are dropped into crinkly plastic bags as the transaction wraps up. My window of opportunity is closing, and a panicked noise leaves my throat. It’s like someone gave an elephant helium before it trumpeted, and should never, ever be repeated. Another rush of magic surrounds me as my glamour activates, making me less noticeable to passersby and hiding my bow as I summon it. Nocking an arrow, I take a deep breath and aim.

“You can do this, Az,” I mutter to myself. “You can. ”

You don’t have a fucking choice.

A quiet twang is followed by the near-silent whoosh of wind as the arrow flies… er, wobbles through the air, and I pump my fist when it strikes him in the kidney. That wasn’t exactly what I was aiming for, but I’ll take it.

Newfound confidence building, my next arrow points at Mandy’s chest. Another ping, another wobbly path, and it…

Clatters to the ground beside her.

“Fuck!” I groan, grabbing another arrow. This one slams into the edge of the countertop and thunks to the floor.

“Well,” Leonard slaps the counter with his open palm, “will I, uh… see you next time?” A dreamy, love-sick expression makes his face turn soft, but without the pull of magic from her, he might not make the move.

And she might not accept if he does.

Stalker territory approaching in three… two…

“Fuckfuckfuck,” I mutter, rapid-firing three more arrows that travel in increasingly worrisome directions.

“Yeah, okay,” Mandy says with a small smile. “Sounds good.”

In a last-ditch effort, I grab a new arrow, taking a few long strides closer as I yeet that motherfucker, watching in horror as the wooden shaft bounces off her forehead. She doesn’t even blink as the arrow rebounds, and it’s like slow motion as it falls, tip-down, and pierces her right in the thumb.

She freezes.

He freezes.

I might’ve already passed out, I can’t be sure.

“Hey, Mandy… would you be interested in grabbing dinner one night this week?” Leonard retraces his steps back to the counter.

“OHTHANKFUCK,” I breathe, loudly , and both of them whip to me with wide eyes. I grab the closest thing I can find, which happens to be a fifty-pack of AA batteries. “Thaaaaank fuck I found these,” I ramble, both of them growing increasingly concerned as I pat the plastic-sealed cylinders. “Because… batteries are pre-tty important. Go through a lot of them, y’know? A lot. ” My cheeks flush as I realize what I’m saying. “In like, remotes and stuff, not… dildos or vibrating butt plugs.”

My eyes drop to Leonard’s ass.

Why do I look at his ass when I’m talking about butt plugs? Panic is the thief of logic at the best of times, and this is far from the best.

This is the worst.

His brows are lifted as my gaze sweeps from his butt to his face, and I clear my throat. “In case you, uh, needed to know.”

“We didn’t,” Leonard drones, voice flat.

“Are you… okay? Do you need help?” Mandy’s eyebrows are knitted just as tight as his.

“No, nope, nuh-uh,” I stutter, taking a step back. “Got everything I need right here.” Waving the batteries like a white flag of surrender, I duck behind the display. Harsh chemicals burn my nose from the recent mopping, and too-bright fluorescent lights reflect off the polished concrete floor as I wait, crouching low. My heart lurches in my throat, and I grow increasingly concerned that a heart attack is looming in my near future.

“That was fucking weird,” Leonard mutters, and Mandy responds in a voice so low, I can’t interpret what she says. They both laugh, and I hold my breath as I wait. The longer I interact with someone, the more likely they are to remember me. Just as I worry I overstayed my welcome with my awkward sex toy talk, the magic triggers. It’s nothing physical, just a faint awareness that they’ve forgotten I was ever there.

“So… dinner?” Leonard asks, and a relieved breath blows from my nose as they exchange numbers and make plans. Once Leonard exits through the automatic doors, I teleport myself back home, sagging into my favorite reading chair.

One match and I’m fucking exhausted.

I glance down, finding the batteries still in my hand.

And a thief, apparently.

It has to get better from here.