Chapter 18 – September 2026

Esther

This is crazy. Biblically, epically and galactically nuts.

The guy I like is an angel. Was an angel. An actual lived-in-Heaven, had-wings, one-of-the-angelic-host—that kind of angel.

Or someone spiked the punch with much with more than the local moonshine.

And the bitch-face archetypal mean girl is a spawned-in-Hell demon who, for some reason, we seem to be helping.

After the school dance.

By researching in a library.

What is wrong with this picture?

And yet, it makes a kind of weird and fractured sense. I knew from the first moment I saw him that Nuriel was different. He didn’t speak like anyone I knew and he seemed so lost. But at the same time, he is so strong, so utterly sure of what is right and what is wrong. He is black and white in a fifty-shades-of-grey world.

He is kind and brave and beautiful and still so lost.

And If I’ve understood correctly, Lamia-the-demon struck a deal with the Chrysolite warrior angelic host to rid the world of humans because they think we’re a plague on the Earth.

Which, let’s face it, we are. On our watch we have more than 120 armed conflicts somewhere in the world at any one time; we have climate change, obesity, starvation and over-population; a world where we put more in print and on the screen than ever before, but listen less and hear almost nothing; a world of power-hungry, greedy, over-sharers; a world where we protest climate change and turn up the AC, take more foreign vacations than ever before, and watch as the polar caps melt and polar bears become extinct.

Maybe the Chrysolites are right; maybe humans are a plague on the Earth.

But there are good people here too—more good than bad, I truly believe that. And I want my friends to experience all that life can offer, my parents to live for many more years (because 50 is the new 30), and I want a world where my 7-year-old nephew will live to a happy and healthy old age.

So, I’ll do what I can to stop the Apocalypse (God, that sounds so completely nuts), but I’ll still keep my eye on Lamia.

As soon as I have that thought, the sky cracks open and jagged lightning forks across the sky. Lamia’s eyes glitter with a fierce joy as she stares at the heavy clouds which hide the moon.

Rain beats against the window as if it wants to break in and devour us.

For all I know, it does, and I shiver.

“So, like, what do we do now?” Peggy asks, glancing between Nuriel and Lamia, then wrapping her hand more tightly around Forrester’s.

She’s having a much easier time believing all the biblical, apocalyptic stuff, but that might be because of the bottle of JB she has hidden in her purse.

“I will pray,” says Nuriel. “I shall ask God for help.”

He sits at a table in the corner and lowers his head.

“To be honest,” says Forrester, lowering his voice, “I’m thinking we might need to do something more…”

“…more useful,” says Lamia, crossing her arms.

We all stare at her warily. She’s looking more demonic by the minuted.

I can’t believe I didn’t see it before: the extra-long canines, the slightly red-rimmed eyes (which I’d put down to an over-use of coke or weed), along with her totally unholy vibe.

“Um, I’m going to Google, ‘How to stop an Apocalypse’,” I say weakly, “and I think someone else should look up ‘How to fight warrior angels’.”

Lamia’s eyes roll up to the ceiling.

“The Earth is doomed, and instead of throwing a party like it’s 1999, I’m stuck in a library with a herd of nerds.”

“Isn’t that your idea of Hell?” I ask, my tone full of snark.

She brightens immediately.

“Now that you mention it, pretty much, yeah. It’s like Hell’s Call Center without the bad coffee.”

I have no idea what she’s talking about and I don’t much care.

Peggy and Forrester sit at one monitor, and I sit at another. Lamia goes into the stacks and a minute later I smell the scent of cigarette smoke. I really hope it’s not enough to set off the library’s sprinkler system.

I stare at the screen, then type in: HOW TO STOP AN APOCALYPSE.

There are a gazillion answers. But first, apparently, I have to prevent climate disaster.

Oh, yay.

I’ll start right away.

(I’m being sarcastic.)

And then I can align AI with human survival by maintaining data, and I can avoid a pandemic by using AI to track the outbreaks and thereby plan rapid quarantine. I can go to Walmart and empty everything from their shelves and move it to a secure underground bunker.

This isn’t working.

The search engine thinks that an apocalypse is a human-initiated climate/disease or political disaster.

I type in a new search term: HOW TO STOP A DEMONIC APOCALYPSE.

The answers aren’t any more helpful, and I have to start with daily prayer and fasting: way too slow. But then there’s meditating on scripture and reading it out loud to combat lies and fear: also, too slow. Or how about confession and repentance: I’ll probably do both before I’m skewered by an angelic sword.

Oh, wait, this looks more promising: ‘Engaging in worshipful music can change the atmosphere of a home, as praise is believed to make the enemy flee.’ Um, so I should sing hymns while I’m being skewered by a Chrysolite sword? I can try, but I strongly suspect that my throat will be dry.

And suddenly, the only two hymns that come to mind are Fight the Good Fight with all Thy Might and Battle Hymn of the Republic, and I can’t help thinking that those might be what the Chrysolites would sing, which could get confusing.

Also, the lyrics for Mad About the Boy come to mind.

But then Lamia saunters towards me with a calculating smile, so I close that screen and go back to work.

Reddit says that I should prepare for a demonic apocalypse by cleansing my home, then utilizing holy water, blessed salt and anointing oil as weapons against evil.

But there is a fatal flaw in this research which Peggy voices for all us.

“So, um, are these Crystal-guys evil or what?”

“Chrysolites,” I say, instinctively correcting her.

She rolls her eyes, and I don’t blame her.

“Yeah, whatever. So, are they? Evil?”

We all look at Lamia who smiles and pulls a massive nailfile out of her purse. Honestly, it could be a small sword, I’m not entirely sure.

“Because it says here,” Peggy continues, “that if angels reject God, that choice became irrevocable due to their nature, because they can’t repent and are permanently fixed in their evil state.” She holds up a finger. “Or … they can’t fight against faithful angels to hinder God’s purposes,” and she glances up at Nuriel who is still praying, “Or they can appear as ‘angels of light’ to trick us and they afflict believers by acting as messengers of Satan.”

She glances at Lamia then looks up expectantly.

“So, are the Chrysolites evil?”

“Lamia, do you want to jump in here?” I ask, my sarcasm dialled up to eleven.

“Not really,” she says without much interest.

“Hey!” I say sharply, slamming my palm on the table and making the pencils jump. “You’re supposed to be helping us, but you’re just sitting there acting like the world isn’t about to end.” I shake a finger at her. “And your … boss … told you to help stop it.”

She sighs and puts the nailfile back in her purse. Honestly, I’m happier now that she isn’t brandishing a weapon.

“Fine,” she says. “I don’t know how to stop this now but I’ll pretend to help.”

She sits in front of a computer monitor, her hands hovering above the keyboard, and without touching anything, data starts flowing down the screen too fast for mortal eyes to read.

“Thanks,” I mutter.

The minutes tick by and I grow more and more anxious.

I haven’t found anything that we can use. I don’t even know the right questions to ask, although I know a lot more about surviving a zombie apocalypse than I ever wanted to know.

I start researching the properties of chrysolite gems in case this can help.

One article catches my attention as it quotes from the Bible, the Book of Revelation, about the New Jerusalem that happens after the world has ended: The foundations of the wall of the city were adorned with every jewel; the first was jasper, the second sapphire, the third agate, the fourth emerald, the fifth onyx, the sixth carnelian, the seventh chrysolite, the eighth beryl, the ninth topaz, the tenth chrysoprase, the eleventh jacinth, the twelfth amethyst.

What does this mean? Can we use this information in any way?

My eyes are drawn to the last jewel on the list: amethyst, with its peace-bringing properties. But then again, chrysolite gems are supposed to promote healing and wisdom.

I’m so confused.

But before I can say anything, Forrester speaks.

“I think I’ve got something.”

We all turn to look at him, hope springing eternal.

“So, angels are immortal but they’re not invulnerable: magical weapons can hurt them—

demonic weapons and magic can hurt them as badly as if they were humans.” He glances at Lamia who seems thoughtful. “But, listen to this: ‘angelic weapons also pierce their resilience, but no angel would turn his or her weapon against a fellow angel’.”

“Yeah, sure,” Lamia yawns. “I’ll just pop back to Hell, get a handful of diabolic swords and what, just give them to you? You’d have to at least promise me your souls in payment.”

“No!” Nuriel says firmly, finally sitting up and opening his eyes. “That I shall not allow.”

“You’re not the boss of me,” Lamia smirks. “Or them.”

“No, but we’re not giving you our souls, Lamia,” I reply.

“Fine by me,” she snarls, “but it’s firm sale only on demonic weapons—no returns—and your soul is the price.”

“I thought you were supposed to be helping us!”

“Hey, don’t blame me. I don’t make the rules.”

Lamia sounds indignant but I can tell that she’s enjoying herself.

I notice that Peggy is staring at Nuriel with a small frown on her face.

“Can I ask you a question, Rell?” she asks.

“You may,” he nods regally.

“So, you were, like, an angel, yeah?”

He nods again.

“So, a Chrysolite sword couldn’t hurt you back then.”

“No, it could not.”

She thinks about this, her lips twisting to one side.

“Do you know for sure if it could hurt you now? Because the article that Forrester found says that no angel will turn his weapon against a fellow angel.” She lifts a shoulder. “Maybe you’re safe. I mean, maybe you can fight them without getting hurt.”

We’re all silent, our eyes on Nuriel.

“I don’t know,” he says at last. “But I have been praying on this point and I am certain that God will protect me.”

He nods once, slowly, then gives a small smile.

“I will face the Chrysolite warriors.”

“But … but you’re human,” I point out quietly.

“I am,” he says, his voice soft, almost hesitant. “But … right will prevail.”

“You can’t know that.”

“This is about Faith, Esther. This is something I cannot touch or taste or show to you except through my belief that God will protect us.”

“Then why did God call Anahita back to Heaven?” I ask, my voice trembling.

“That I cannot tell you, but I feel his love.”

Lamia snorts loudly.

“Good luck with that, dude.”

She stands up and stretches out her spine with a series of loud creaks.

“I gotta go and get some shut-eye. This demon needs her beauty sleep.”

“Wait!” I call after her as she struts from the library. “Lamia, wait!”

“What now, Velma?”

“Well, Shaggy,” I snark back at her Scooby Doo reference, “when is this showdown supposed to happen? I mean will it be next week, next month or next year? How long do we have to get ready to face the Chrysolites?”

She glances at the clock on the wall.

“Until sunrise, Ugly Betty: about four hours.”

Then she stalks from the room.

I stare after her as the double-doors swing closed behind her.

“Four hours?”

It’s Forrester who speaks first.

“Oh, no way, man! I don’t want to die!”

“I will not let you die, my friend,” says Nuriel, his voice calm and confident.

But Forrester seems not to hear him.

“And I definitely don’t want to die a virgin!”

Peggy stares at him, surprise written all over her face.

“But you said…”

“I know what I said!” Forrester squeaks, “But I was lying! I didn’t want you to think that I … that I was … or that I couldn’t … um … you know … um…”

His words trail off incoherently, and I have to look away, his obvious embarrassment making it uncomfortable for all of us.

But then Peggy grabs his hand.

“Don’t worry, Forrester, I’ll take care of you.” She gives him a sly smile. “Seeing as it’s your dying wish and all.”

She drags him behind the stacks and the sounds of ecstatic moaning become louder and more vehement.

“Well, awkward much!” I laugh uneasily. “Let’s get out of here.”

Nuriel nods, his eyes wide as the sounds become pornographically loud.

“A good idea,” he says, opening the door for me, and guiding me through it.

Outside, the moon is full and the breeze has dropped away. The parking lot is empty and the night has a stillness, a quality of watchfulness that makes me shiver.

Nuriel slips his jacket off and places it over my shoulders.

It’s warm and smells of the ocean and the whispering grasses in summer; it smells like him.

“Are we going to survive this?” I ask him quietly.

“The human soul is immortal, Esther,” he says gently. “You have nothing to fear.”

“My soul might be immortal but by body is completely mortal. Am I going to die?”

He’s thoughtful, considering my words, and my heart sinks.

“All humans die,” he says at last. “But I do not think it will be this day.”

“But you’re not sure?”

I don’t know why I’m pressing him, because I’m not entirely sure I want to know the answer.

“I do not know,” he says. “God has not revealed his purpose to me, but do not be scared.”

“I can’t help it,” I say, half-laughing, half-crying.

But then he presses his lips against mine, and all doubt flies away.

We stand there, bathed in moonlight, and it feels like we’re alone in the world.

And it feels like enough.

“I have no right to ask this of you, Esther,” he whispers. “But I love you and I wish to know you. I wish to learn the secrets of your body. I wish to understand the nature of love, the power of love between a man and a woman. Will you … combine with me?”

“It sounded pretty romantic up until you used the word ‘combine’,” I say, my heart racing.

He looks deeply into my eyes.

“I have offended you,” he says, his voice almost lost in the darkness. “I am truly sorry.”

“I’m not offended,” I admit. “And the answer is yes: yes, I will combine with you.”

He rests his forehead against mine and I realize that the rain has stopped.

“I love you, Esther. Meeting you, loving you, it is the greatest gift that God has given me.”

And I don’t have the words, so I kiss him again.