“Azrael, welcome, my old friend,” Zasathael greeted as he kneeled before his superior.

“For Heaven’s sake, Zasa. Rise. Don’t patronize me with this tedious formality.”

“Old habits for an old friend,” Zasa replied. “Rarely do I warrant a visit from one of His holiest. Has something happened?”

“Nothing that might alarm you,” said the dusk-winged colossus. He then extended his hand, revealing a ball of soft white light above his palm. Zasa, the elderly angel, winced at the sight of it. He withheld his first remark.

“Come now, Azrael, you can’t be serious. This again? Of all the worthy Guardians, why scorn them in blessing me? I mean Him no offense, but the chance for holiness has long passed. This… gift… should reside with brighter feathers.”

Azrael chuckled. “I made a similar argument, without all of the self-pity, of course. It was equally futile,” he admitted. “And it is the last time I’ll dare insult His Holiness, for the sake of these wings I’ve worked so hard to keep.”

Azrael’s humor hardly lifted Zasa’s disdain.

“Accept this blessing, Zasathael, for me if no one else.”

“You know the sort of opposition we face here better than anyone, and it is worse these days than it ever has been. This climate will only corrupt a new spirit… as it has so many times already.”

Azrael began to saunter about the room. “You’ve protected this bloodline for countless generations, Zasathael, longer than any Guardian in the history of mankind. So long, in fact, that your wards have forged this rather lavish shrine in your honor—out of their shear suspicion of your existence. They worship you.”

“The Niles always have and always will worship God above all, Azrael,” Zasathael replied.

Azrael hushed him with his palm. “I am merely speaking to the impression your achievements have made both here and throughout the Empyrea. Your feats are legendary as I’m sure you’re well aware. I can only surmise that the Lord would want your talents allocated to a position more widespread than a single human family. Groom yourself an apprentice worthy of your mantle, Zasa. Take all the time you require. And then come join the ranks of God’s holiest.”

“I’ve only ever existed to serve Him and to do my duty as I’ve been ordained. I’ve tried my hand at raising another Guardian and every time since the first has ended in failure.”

“And yet, the Lord still places great faith in your abilities. He has chosen to grace you with the same ordeal yet again because He knows what you will accomplish. It is you who must have faith in yourself,” Azrael said.

“And would you be so eager to do the same, Azrael? If it came to grooming your successor?”

“Without hesitation. I will do as the Lord commands.”

“Yes, but would it be so easy to prepare a new spirit to face what you have faced in so many millennia?”

Azrael became quiet as he pondered the question. “It is a heavy ordeal to be sure. But, I suppose I would not groom a spirit in such a way—in a way so… occupational. It is purpose that has driven me for so long, Zasa. Perhaps, your own efforts should not be hinged on raising a warrior of your own likeness.”

Zasa sneered. “Your humor seems to have adopted the humans’ sarcasm. Their Angel of Death suggests I raise a lamb in the midst of wolves.”

“That is not what I’ve said, now is it? Groom your apprentice to know peace, to know life and its value. And he will become a warrior of his own volition to protect it.”

Zasa reluctantly swept the light from his superior’s grasp. “It is a few too many centuries too late for my salvation, Azrael.”

An invisible ring of white fire appeared in a bright flare above the seraphim’s head. Its wispy filaments writhed. It then dilated, enveloping Azrael with a column of pure, holy light. The seraphim spread his black, silver-striped wings.

“There is always salvation for those worthy of the sacrifice, my dear old friend.”

With a single flap, the angelic lieutenant speared into the luminescent portal above him and vanished.

Zasathael sighed, his melancholy lingering. But he couldn’t deny the warmth of the new spirit cradled in his palm.

Aside from his unsuspected visit, that evening had been the same as many others. The sudden addition of a new spirit disrupted his entire routine. Normally, he’d meditate in his shrine and scour the firmament for the adversaries hunting for his family’s household. But the late summer had ushered in a routine reprieve from the family’s enemies. No one seemed to bother them by the evening, making for a slow and boring patrol.

Occasionally, the mischievous specters of someone’s ill wishes would manifest in the attics or the basement; somewhere hidden. Given the chance to pester one Niles or another, they instigated bad dreams, or nudged furniture ever-so-slightly into the path of someone’s toe. Zasa rarely had to do more than shoo them away, but it kept him busy. That night, he could only surmise that Azrael had purged the estate to better facilitate his delivery.

Zasa alighted upon the balustrade of the second-floor guest room balcony, overlooking the mansion’s pool. There sat Vincent Niles, patriarch of the Niles household and estate. Amid his leisurely evening swim, like most nights, he received his regular phone call from someone with obnoxious business. That particular call didn’t make him pace about the poolside as most of them did. Instead he sat on the edge, his calves submerged. It was likely no less of a troubling conversation, but it indicated that he must’ve been on the phone with family.

“I’m cancelling my meeting with Corbus then. That bastard can rot… 

“What do you mean, ‘why’? Senators have no sway in my court, Kevin, including you. You play by the rules, or you don’t play.

“No—you can tell your colleague that, if his plan is to broker a deal by dangling our assets over their heads, then he can rot.We don’t do business that way…

“Yeah… Yeah, okay. Okay, Kevin… Okay. ‘Rot’, that’s right. You can tell him I repeated the term deliberately.”

Vincent Niles VI was the CEO of Niles Aegis Logistics, Inc., a deeply wealthy enterprise built upon his family’s ancient legacy only two centuries ago. Zasa had protected the first of Vincent’s ancestors since the collapse of Ancient Egypt, through their enslavement in the American south, and every day thereafter. Every generation of their bloodline maintained at least one virtue, and that was their unyielding faith in God.

Their bloodline had fluctuated in and out of the Lord’s favor throughout the generations, but they were of the few that were resilient in their faith. Traditions maintained incredible longevity in their family.

“Your first lesson: they’re far from perfect, but no less worthy of our protection,” Zasathael said to the light in his palm. “They’re a fierce people. Their lineage has endured since ancient times. This one, Vincent, is exceptionally virtuous. He engages his adversaries headfirst and without remorse. Because of it, his family has not once suffered the terrors he faces. It is perhaps the greatest luxury they enjoy.”

But as Zasa continued to watch his ward the more anxious he became. For hundreds of years, it was customary for his new protégé to observe the eldest of the family.  It was important to understand the family from the head of their hierarchy to the tail. Still, if nothing else that Azrael said—without actually saying—was clear, it was that Zasa was too set in his ways. Vincent was a paragon of the Niles bloodline, much like many of his forefathers. But to bind yet another spirit to the turbulent lifestyle of Vincent Niles would prove Azrael’s point. As much as the notion unsettled him, Zasathael spread his coal-toned wings and departed the balcony over Mr. Niles.

They entered a dark bedroom. The ceiling was scattered with fluorescent stars that still glowed vibrantly. The gentle snore of a sweet three-year-old boy floated on the silence. He lay asleep under thick cashmere linens, his head submerged in double-wide downy pillows. The bed was comfortable even to his mother who lie curled around him above the comforter. The warmth of the sight inspired a rare smile upon Zasa’s face. It was the sort of tenderness the new spirit might’ve relished. If not for the incessant whispering that came from the corner of the room, it would’ve been a cozy experience altogether. But, the little girl standing there was upset, as she often was. Zasa swallowed his angst, careful not to alarm his infant apprentice, and ignored her.

He looked upon the mother, making certain she was as fast asleep as her peaceful mien indicated. He then stretched his wing slightly toward her toes and fanned them softly. She soon began to stir, attempting to warm one frigid foot with the other. Not long after, she woke, startled that she’d dozed off. She looked upon her son with a smile and then placed a kiss on his forehead.

“Good night, Amaia,” Zasa said.

“Sweet dreams, my love,” she said softly, almost as if to Zasa. She stood up and lifted the covers over her son’s shoulder and ran her hands over his curly copper head. Zasa knelt down and warmed her feet with his hand. Amaia Niles then made for the doorway, yawning as she went.

Zasathael took another deep breath and sighed, but couldn’t settle his vexation as well as he had with the first aggravated sigh.

“You’re still here, Emily,” he warned. But the little girl in the corner did not cease her whispery chant. She was dressed in a dingy, white gown and her eyes were pits of darkness. Instead, she glided closer to the bedside, her whisper growing louder, causing Calvin to stir with discomfort. “I’ve told you about bothering the children before. I hoped you might’ve learned your lesson with Edrea.”

Her head snapped toward him, then to the spirit in his grasp, then back up at him. She began to tremble and tears of darkness began to streak her bone white cheeks.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. But… but why has father gone and… left me to stepmother? Why hasn’t he come back? She is cruel and… why hasn’t he come back?”

“Your father’s failings have nothing to do with young Calvin. Leave him be.”

“But, his father has not gone. Why has my father gone? Stepmother is cruel.”

“You have my sympathy, Emily, but you may earn my wrath should you trespass upon my godchild again,” he warned her patiently.

Emily’s jaw stretched wide, revealing a gullet turned black with viscous darkness. “My father is gone! It’s your fault!” she shrieked. The Mickey Mouse night lamp began to flicker upon Calvin’s nightstand, angering Zasathael. The ravenous girl viciously sprang across Calvin’s bed.

Zasathael caught her firmly by the throat and drew her empty eyes close to his bristling glare. “You’d dare threaten a child of Amaia Niles; the woman whose very existence has stayed my hand in removing you?” With a violent shove, she soared across the room and fell behind Calvin’s bedside. The sudden silence indicated she had vanished, until Zasa felt fingers sliding toward the front of his head. He could feel her on his shoulders, her mouth hovering over his head, wide enough to engorge it completely. Angrily, Zasa beat his wings and leapt into the ceiling, crushing her. She fell to the floor beside his foot. But before she could escape again, Zasa knelt down and placed his hand upon her chest, pinning her.

“Rest, Emily,” he insisted, his cool breath lulling her eyes closed. “Search for your father on the farther plains of the world.” The instant she fell asleep, her body dissolved into a cloud of evanescing black worms and wisps.

Zasa sighed with satisfaction. He returned his gaze upon Calvin. Though he was uncertain what might come of it, he’d seen enough horror to tame his apprehension. And so, he turned up the light spirit on his palm and extended it to the young child. Never before had he given a new spirit to anyone other than the Niles patriarch, but he considered that there might be something to learn from the adjustment. His only reassurance was the blood flowing in Calvin’s veins. Raising a spirit from infancy was a more difficult and sophisticated undertaking and a risk. But it intrigued him, the idea of a natural upbringing yielding him a prodigy at last.

The infant spirit, like a chick trying to imitate its mother’s flight, floated unsteadily and uncertainly toward Calvin. It hovered above his heart for a moment, filled with an infant’s hesitation. But curiosity prevailed and it plunged into the boy’s torso. The light filled Calvin with warmth, setting his body aglow like the stars on his ceiling. Calvin’s pleasant smile settled Zasa’s uncertain heart. He then spread his wings and launched through his gaping halo into the starry night sky above the estate manor. His patrol wasn’t through.

He returned at morning’s first light. Calvin’s room was as still as it was the night before. Too still. The angel’s sensors began to activate. He approached the bed until the faintest creak stopped him in his tracks. He listened to the silence for a long moment before he heard the slight sound again. He knelt down and lifted the bed skirt, finding a pair of large green eyes staring back at him, shimmering with rings of white light. Zasa sighed with relief and smiled.

“Come here, child,” he ordered, extending his hand.

Obediently, the young spirit clambered out from under the bed and floated into the air, not yet heavy enough to weigh himself down to the floor. His stature was less than half of Zasathael’s. He resembled Calvin, however vaguely. His skin was the color of slate and instead of hair, he was crowned with a head of small quills.

“Can you speak?” Zasathael asked.

“…Yes,” he answered as meekly as a three-year-old.

“What is your name?”

“…Calvin?”

Zasa nearly chuckled. “That is the boy’s name. What is your name?”

“…I don’t know.”

That was the first response of its kind for Zasa. Those who imprinted upon the adult assimilated more of an intellect. But, the three-year-old child was as uncertain of his identity as he was the world around him. The unnamed spirit had little to adopt, and was thusly as wondrous and blank as an empty canvas.

“Your name will be Enoch,” Zasa said. “You, Enoch, will be my apprentice.”

“Apprentice?”

“Yes. My student,” he clarified. “My… child. I am going to teach you.”

Enoch looked down at his fluorescent palms. He then looked toward Calvin. “He’s your child, too?”

“In a way. He is like you and you are like him. You will help him and keep him safe.”

“How?”

“I will teach you.”

“Can we play when he wakes up?”

It was an odd question. Zasa had a strict centuries-old regiment for all his trainees. And suddenly he felt inclined to abandon it completely.

“Calvin!” Enoch whispered loudly. “Calvin!”

“He cannot hear you,” Zasa said.

Enoch became quietly befuddled. “Then how will we play?”

The angel thought of a tactful explanation. “Think of it as a game. Do you like games?”

Enoch pondered what few thoughts he had assimilated. “…Yes,” he answered sprightly.

“Good, Enoch. Think of it as a game. Humans, like Calvin, are our friends, but they cannot see us or hear us. They cannot smell or taste us. They cannot touch us but… they can feel us when we are gentle. If you wish for young Calvin to play with you, you must be gentle. Do you understand?”

“…Yes,” his apprentice replied. “If Calvin is human, what am I?”

“You are Noxel, one of God’s many glorious creations, made to help humankind be as beautiful as it can be.”

“And they help us be beautiful, too?”

Zasathael winced. “…In a way, yes, actually. By helping them you become stronger.”

Enoch curled his arms, levitating closer to the ceiling. “I want to be big like you and stroooong!” he exclaimed, making his little voice gruff. It was a caricature Zasa had seen Calvin do while watching TV. Watching Enoch made him smile.

“Not too loud, child. You may wake him.”

Enoch winced with shock. “You said they can’t hear,” he whispered.

“He cannot but he may feel you if you aren’t careful, Enoch.”

Calvin stirred for a moment before his eyes opened.

Zasa was delighted. “He is awake.”

Enoch floated toward the young boy, their identical noses just an inch apart as though he was facing a mirror. But Calvin couldn’t see him.

Footsteps thumped in the hallway and against the wall of Calvin’s room. Edrea, his older sister by a few years, stopped in his doorway. Her hair was still disheveled by her pillow, but she was spry with a kid’s energy. “Get up, stink! Mom made honey biscuits!”

“I’m gonna’ eat all of them!” Calvin exclaimed, jumping to his feet, curling his arms like a hungry giant with enormous girth. Enoch marveled at his splendor. Calvin then jumped out of bed, making a heavy thump, and charged out the door after his sister.

“You see?” Zasa asked. “They can feel us in a special way. And there are ways that we can help without them knowing.”

“So, they know we’re here without knowing?”

“Correct.”

“Do some of them know we’re here?”

“Very few of them do, yes. Some of them have a special gift, or… a less-than-special gift, what some of them believe to be a curse. There are others who know, but only because there are some of us who have lost this game.”

“They lost?”

“Yes, Enoch. You and I, we must not lose this game. If we do then we lose the game for ourselves and for them. They cannot know we are here, no matter what.”

“But the ones who know, what about them?”

“We help them, and they help us—some of them. They are the Illuminated to us. To them we are the Dark Ones.”

“Dark Ones? Are you one, too?”

“I am an angel.”

“Angel.”

“I was once like them—human—a very long time ago. Now I am here with you.”

“Will I be human?”

“You will be as human as you help Calvin to be. You have a gift even greater than that of angels. You can feel their life as though it were your own. For angels, the feeling of life is but a distant memory and we are only reminded when we help others.”

Enoch contemplated Zasathael’s lesson and then smiled. “I want to help Calvin.”

“You will learn, Enoch. And you will be very good at it one day.”