Prologue
Remember to welcome strangers into your homes.
There were some who did that and welcomed angels without knowing it.
Hebrews 13:2
A breeze from the Pacific Ocean gusted intermittently, cooling him as he finished a business proposal on his laptop. Phil sat at the patio table just outside his efficiency apartment. The table was round, faded blue, with a hole in its middle for an umbrella that was long gone. Three aluminum chairs, each sporting faded plastic straps and blue cushions, surrounded the table, and Phil sat in one with his back to the midday sun.
His housekeeper, Sheila, a demon of the Gwyllion race, poked her frail old woman’s face out the door. She avoided direct sunlight because it gave her a rash.
“Your angel is coming,” she called. “He’s got Azazel with him. They’re up to no good, I’m sure.”
Sheila withdrew, and Phil wondered at the extent of the arch-demon’s knowledge. As a demon, she was somehow part of a group mind linking demons to their dark lords. She came to be with Phil after an adventure where he traded his protection for her true name.
In the ensuing months as his housekeeper, Sheila had warned him of numerous traps other demons and dark angels set for him. On the other hand, her nightly excursions to lure the unwary to their fate, which Phil demanded were non-lethal, led to strange reports in the local Huntington Beach weekly paper.
The two angels walked up from the alley. Azazel wore a black T-shirt and jeans. The Archangel Manuel wore tan shorts and a tie-dyed tank top. Azazel moved his lean body with seductive grace; Manuel walked with a sturdy unconscious poise. Both were boyishly handsome.
“What brings you out?” Phil asked in a wary voice as he closed his laptop.
Azazel smirked, and he tossed his shoulder-length black curls with a seductive flourish.
Manuel answered, “Armageddon.”
Phil focused on the blond-tressed angel and frowned, “Can’t be. The Jews haven’t rebuilt the Temple.”
“I thought I cured you of a literalist interpretation of the Bible,” Manuel rejoined. “Besides, we’re back to the old ‘so above, so below’ routine.”
Phil’s frown deepened, “You’re having Armageddon in the seven heavens?”
“Looks like.”
Phil glanced at Azazel, “What are you doing here?”
“Gloating.”
Phil looked to Manuel for an answer. The archangel said, “Ever since En Sof locked our brain waves together, there’s been a controversy about it. Not only in the Sarim but throughout the entire corporation of angels. Most are convinced it’s through our connection, you became a catalyst for change. It’s about evenly split on whether the change should be supported or not.”
“Or not?” Phil laughed at the euphemism. “Or kill me, you mean.”
“Stupid, Phil,” Manuel chastised. “Death is an illusion. Don’t be such a drama queen.”
Phil shook his head in resignation and asked, “Okay. What’s the story this time?”
“You have a task. Azazel has the details.”
The former desert devil continued to sneer as he spoke, “Christians got rid of Yahweh and replaced him with an ineffectual Father God, Jesus-as-God, the Paraclete-as-God, and the Blessed Virgin Mary. These four deities exist as the apocalyptic answer to Yahweh’s absence. You must correct this situation in the seven heavens.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s because of you it’s become a problem,” the dark angel’s sneer deepened. “In creating the precondition for Yahweh’s return, you ruined the status quo. We were doing fine playing Jews and Christians and Muslims against one another. We’ve been doing it for 2000 years. You upset the balance. So you either reset the balance the way it was, or bring about a new balance.”
“Or die trying,” Phil muttered.
“That’s our hope,” Azazel’s face brightened; then he disappeared.
Manuel remained, standing quietly on the concrete slab that made up Phil’s front yard.
“Why him?” Phil asked.
“He volunteered to bring you the news. I don’t think he likes you.”
“What are they really plotting for me?”
“The same. Set you up to fail,” Manuel shrugged. “This time, though, you’ve got about half the Sarim against you.”
The Sarim was the ruling council of heaven. In the past he enjoyed their support. During his last adventure, though, the cracks in their solidarity began to show.
Phil fought against the absurdity of the situation and won a momentary victory. He asked, “What do I need to know?”
Manuel smiled, apparently relieved Phil was focusing on the task at hand. “Yahweh bailed on the Jews at the end of the Book of Job. The Hebrews went Messiah hunting and assumed Armageddon would be the needed sacrifice to get Yahweh’s attention. Along the way, they forgot why they were doing it. About a kazillion religious wars later, they still don’t remember.”
“And I’m supposed to figure it out.”
“Yep.”
“How?”
“Reading up on it might help.”
“Anything in particular?”
“How is Yahweh different than the Neo-platonist God the Father?”
