He wanted to know why I said no.
I couldnt think of an answer. I couldnt say what I really thought that the angels whole nature was wild and reckless, and that in his flesh they would only be more so; that I did not trust him with that kind of power.
We quarrelled. I think that part was well established after my death. I left there too angry to speak. I felt betrayed. As a child, I had put nothing but faith in Mr Bakker, who had come to my mums front door and saved me from the nuthouse. I guess these childish things were suddenly going away.
I walked. When I am angry, I often walk to calm myself, look at the river and let it flow through my mind, washing away the fury and dirt in my head. I walked along the river, but I dont really remember the route I took and had no clear objective.
When it came, it was so fast, so sudden that I didnt even feel its attack. It came out of the pavement at my feet, arms first, claws that lacerated my ankles on their way up as it grew from the darkness around me. It was thinner then, paler, barely more than a shadow itself. I guess it has learnt as the years go by. I didnt have time to fight: its claws were in my chest, across my back, on my face. It hissed and spat, a breath of rotting teeth, its spit burning my skin where it touched, its movement cloaked in blackness.
I will not describe particularly what happened there. I do not think I know much myself, the pain and fear of it was so great. The mind cant remember pain the flesh wont bear it. But it remembers the fear. It remembers remembering agony.
I knew that I was going to die, that with every pump of my heart, rapidly failing, blood was pouring out of me in regular, surging gouts. I call it the thing that attacked me a he, since, though a creature of magic should not have a gender in the traditional boring human sense of which organ goes where, the face he wore was nonetheless an imitation of warped humanity, recognisable despite its contortions. He walked around me and whispered, So hungry, so hungry, in a wheedling voice like a starved snake might have, and dipped his fingers in my blood and sighed in contentment at the taste, cupping his hand in the pools around me and lapping it up like a cat after milk. I crawled away from him as best I could, crying with the fear and pain of it, utterly helpless. He held my face and stared into my eyes, and said, Give me life! I didnt understand then what he wanted; only later did I realise that he was trying to see what was in me as I died, trying to reach into my mind to follow my senses, see my thoughts and memories.
But death wasnt so cooperative in coming quickly. He let me go with an angry hiss, knowing that I couldnt crawl far and that death was inevitable, and stalked the small concrete perimeter of the killing ground, looking around at it like a confused child in an art gallery, trying to work out what makes the paintings on the wall worth its attention. While he did this I had crawled to a telephone box. I didnt know who I thought Id call strangely, Bakker was the first number that had leapt to mind, although I didnt dial.
I lifted the receiver. He saw, but only smiled with a mouth full of my blood, and didnt even bother to try and stop me.
I heard the dialling tone and, as I lay there, the phone held to my ear, they came.
And we said,
come be me
So easy to die
And we said,
We be fire, we be light, we be life! We dance electric flame, we skim sense, we be the ocean and the burning and the sunrise and the sunset on the edge of the world, we chase moonlight and sunlight and we do not stop, we cannot be tamed, we be free!
And we said,
We be the singing in the wire, the whisper of the friend, the static on the line, our dance never begins and never ends, our voices be always heard, invisible silk in the ear, never feared, never alone, we be in every mind and every soul and every mind and every soul be we! Come be we and be free
And I closed my eyes, held the phone to my lips, and with the angels in my ears, allowed myself to die.
We caught my dying breath as it entered the phone and held on to it with all our strength. From the tip of the breath we pulled the warmth in the lungs, then the electricity in the nerves, the buzzin the muscles, the movement in the blood, the water in the skin, the colour in the hair, the strength in the bones; we pulled the dying embers of my thoughts, the expiring rhythm of my heart and, dragging me in by my last breath, we dissolved the sorcerer, and made me electric, melting away my original form to nothing more than blue sparks wriggling into the earth. We have always loved life.
We have no need for time, in the wire. We were everywhere, everyone, everything; we knew all that we could want to know, and at every instant learnt something new, forgetting nothing. You spray out your ideas and your thoughts and your feelings and your knowledge so fast, every infinity there was something new to explore, an eternally growing world of first-time callers and last-call goodbyes, new papers on new subjects posted on new pages, new feelings towards a new lover whispered down an old line, new links from New York to London, Paris to Berlin, new paths to explore, new sights to see, new worlds to bathe in. There is never an instant in the wire that is not changing, alive; and together we danced in that world, in the richness of the life that others leave behind. You will call it two years that we danced together in the wire, splitting our thoughts to spread out across the face of the earth, pure energy, pure fire. We will not bother with such distinctions. Petty human tongues cannot describe our glory.
When the spell came, we were entirely unprepared. At one moment we were riding a billion dollars through Switzerland, and sweeping through the radios of a NASA shuttle about to launch. The next, we were coming into one place, our thoughts becoming one, our senses becoming one; and I was there too, the scattered, formless substance of my nature dragged, with the angels, back into one collective piece. I realised this wasnt just some nightmare, some horrible reassertion of reality it was a summoning. Someone was summoning us, and I was being dragged along with it.
My presence disrupted the spell. Whoever called us back called only the angels, not me. My influence meant we did not appear where we should have; my mind took us to the place that I regard as home, and piece by piece, as we fell out of the phone like water off a leaf, the blue sparks of our existence formed a shape, a consciousness, a human form, and that form was me. Not how it should have been. We should have been summoned as gods. I should have died. Instead, you see us now as we are. Half-flesh. Human and angel for ever tangled into one soul, inextricable, mortal, eternal, us and I.
And your world is terrible as well as beautiful. We are grateful to be me, to have my memories and thoughts and heart and mind; it keeps us from madness. How can you live in this place? How can humans endure it? It is so bright and loud; with each moment, every sense is overwhelmed: colours and noise and the feel of the air in our fingers, the smell of people, and the street and cars and vents and fans and animals and water and weather? How does it not overwhelm you, such endless existence all around you, always changing? We thought we understood life, we thought that we had seen everything that could be known, that our dance across the face of the earth had encompassed all of human being. But
sight
,and
sound
; or the simple act of feeling your own heart, knowing that somewhere inside you theres this fat red organ of lumpy muscle going
gu-dunk, gu-dunk, gu-dunk
; or tasting food, feeling it burn in the mouth or tingle on the teeth. This world of yours, a world of flesh, is the most amazing, frightening thing we have ever known. We delight in it! The joy of everything, of sense
had we but time or means, we would eat for ever for the wonder of the taste, play for ever in the childs playground, spend our lives listening to the stories on the stage or screen, devour every book in the library, smell every flower and bin. I have seen this world once before
now we see it again.
How can you bear to understand that you will get old and lose this feeling, will die and wither and encounter nothing but dark? How can you bear it? Since we came here, we have been entirely fearful, snatched from our safe, comforting bliss of scattered feeling. But we would not die and leave this amazing place for any price. It is the closest thing to sacred we have ever seen.
So, here I am. We were resurrected as one individual, brought back into life fused into a single form. Theres no untangling that knot. True, you can shoot me I die. But my consciousness is now tied up with ours; and if you have a phone, or a passing radio wave should happen to be overhead, we will crawl back into the wire, and still be me, and still be the blue electric angels. We would have it no other way.
***
I had finished speaking.
The man scratched at his chin, his nails making a harsh Velcro sound against his skin. He said, Not entirely what I expected to hear.
And youre a man of learning.
I dont know whether it changes my opinion of you. Or, indeed, if it should.
What did you think had happened?
Oh, he waved his hands. You quarrelled with Bakker, doubtless over one of his Satanic schemes, walked away, faked your own death, went travelling, discovered some evil mystic art, bonded your soul to a devil for power, glory, et cetera; returned to wreak havoc and revenge
you get the idea?
You dont have much of an imagination, do you?
He smiled tightly. I dont know that your story is better than anything I imagined.
Doesnt innocence help salve my soul?
Technically, you dont have a soul. Youre a creature of other creatures, a compound of other peoples lives.
And in what way are you more than the flesh you are in and the memories that rule you? we asked sharply. Are you not who you are because experience makes you this way? Are we not the same?
I dont bleed blue blood.
Its all about oxygen bonding, I retorted, glancing at Oda, who tilted her chin defiantly back at me, and we saved Sinclairs life.
You needed him, replied the man. Besides, he is useful but obscene.
Hes long-winded. I dont see why that makes him obscene. We had his documents, his information. So do you really think that
need
is what made us do it? I dont go around killing random people, and Im sure as hell not a fan of letting others die.
He sucked in a breath between his teeth. Tell me, he said, just this, honestly. If you thought a thing looked prettier in flames, would you really not set it alight?
Of course not, I said.
I wasnt asking you.
Oh, get a bloody sense of perspective.
He hit me, again. I thought wed been doing quite well, so the shock and surprise of it, more than the pain, injured me, sent me recoiling back inside my shell. After a moment lying curled around our own unhappiness, we picked ourself up and glared at him.
He said, You
blue electric angels
you are children with the power to kill, destroy and burn. You know nothing about life, its rules, norms, laws and understandings, and probably care less. Why should you not set the field on fire for the prettiness of its burning; why should you not kill wherever you go, simply because you can; why should you understand anything that the rest of humanity can?
Because Im here, I growled.
You are just one man, he retorted. The angels are the sum of millions, billions, more than that; although before you start, I do appreciate that your relationship is complicated.
We do not need to
to change anything. This life of yours is wonder enough without us setting it on fire.
He smiled, shoulders jerking as if a laugh was brewing, hijacked halfway up his throat. You really are just a child, arent you? A poor little bumbling power, crawling out of the nice safe confines of its telephone line. Utterly ignorant and totally confused. You must be going mad inside that good disguise of yours. But perhaps all youll do is drool and gibber, when reality finally takes you down.
He paused and sucked in his breath. Overdramatically, I thought. Enjoying his power, perhaps, a bit too much. I felt the dirt between my fingers, the tiny heat of it. Not enough to do anything spectacular. But enough, maybe, to burn out something vital under his skin, before we died.
Ill have to think about it, he said, with an unsympathetic face, and nodded at one of his henchmen. Good night, angels, good night!
We pinched that fragment of magic between our fingers, ready to slip it into the blood of anyone who dared to touch us. You will be a shadow on the wall, we snarled. A remnant of the night. You will fade, and your darkness will blend into the memories of the city and be forgotten, lost inside all the better things that happen around you.
Oda stepped towards me. Her hand went into a jacket pocket, her eyes meeting ours; and I hesitated. The grey-haired man leant down until his face was almost level with mine and whispered, You have no idea who youre dealing with.
I grinned, and leant forward sharply, banging my head against his. Not hard, but it was contact I needed; just that moment of touching was enough. I let that morsel of power slide into his skin, a maggot of blue, burrowing down in an instant, seen out of the corner of the eye, and gone. Where our heads had banged, blood from my battered skin slid a thin red slide over his own. Some magics never change. Blood is one of them.
He blinked and recoiled, then slapped me, open-palmed. This time I didnt even bother to get up, but lay curled on the ground and said nothing. My blood on his hands; even better.
We are the Order! he snapped. We watch you people all the time, we are everywhere! Can you begin to imagine our power?
