The Demon and The Angel

The heat of the day radiated from the asphalt and cement in waves, a look at the casino-lit horizon of Las Vegas Boulevard was like looking at a mirage. But the sights and sounds of Sin City were what truly drew Belphegor to this place. There was an underlying order to this insanity of human lust and chaos. And it was to order for which Belphegor was chosen. In the annals of religion, his name was not revered, being called an archdemon of evil. But the one thing he never understood is why he was seen as evil… His name meant, ‘Lord of the Gap’, meaning that he was able to show humans the gaps in their knowledge. Where once they commended God for the way things were, they then would realize that there was a principle of order to it that could be quantized and tested. Why was that evil?

Belphegor took in a deep breath, and he sighed in satisfaction at the combined aromas of cigarette smoke, vehicle exhaust, and popcorn. He smiled to himself as he listened to the rhythmic clacking of his wingtip shoes on the pavement. Without raising his eyes from the sidewalk, he made the right onto the driveway of the grand Luxor. Three millennia ago, as Tasciovanus, Belphegor had had no idea of anything Egyptian. It wasn’t even some far off place that one had heard of but never went. It simply wasn’t… So, when Yehwah took him, following that battle upon the banks of the Danube, and the world opened up to him, he became enamored of the Egyptians. And when Belphegor exhausted his travels of the real Egypt, he was saddened. But here, in America, was Egypt with a twist.

Gambling was always a part of the human condition, a result of inherent ambition for more. Indeed, here in the heart of an American desert, that desire was made tangible. Casinos, hotels, pools, hookers, drugs, and all things sinful… At least as far as the human psyche was concerned. For Belphegor, it was both mind-bendingly aggravating, and incredibly liberating. A life whose sole mission was to bring order to chaos, inundated in the depthless chaos of human excess. The demon finally lifted his gaze, and, with its splendor cut through by the traffic signs for valet and taxi services, there stood the pyramid of America.

The structure stood tall and black, rising into the night sky up to its brilliantly lit ‘capstone’. No other light did the Luxor give off, only the reflections of the lit up city surrounding it. As was proper for a swanky Vegas casino, Belphegor had ditched his usual attire for something more upscale. He, too, stood tall and black, standing a head taller than the average 21st century man. Among his brethren, back in the day, Tasciovanus was a literal giant. So, he softened his wardrobe when he struck out among the ‘commoners’. Gone was his wide-brimmed hat and highwayman coat. In place those, he wore his long black trench coat and black fedora.

He rolled his eyes as thoughts of Gabriel and his fedora came to mind. I wear it so much better! The smile breaking for a chuckle, he earned looks of mild fear from the people exiting the Luxor. Belphegor had no need to weave through crowd, as the crowd seemed to instinctively part at his coming. Within moments, he was under the Great Sphinx portico and turning again to his right to enter through the golden doors accented with statues of long-dead pharaohs and their god, Anubis.

The lobby was something to behold. An homage to the temple at Abu Simbel, the twelve-foot tall statues on either side of the entrance onto the gambling floor only whetted the appetite, for looking up to the apex of the pyramid showed just how massive the complex was. The big screen in the center of the entryway played a preview of the Criss Angel show that would take place on the mezzanine level in just half an hour. The financiers of the Luxor spared no expense, and it was the most enjoyable pastime that Belphegor had found in the last several centuries.

He glided his massive form to and through the main entrance and immediately veered to the left. Blackjack was his game, and there was a table that had his name on it… Literally, he had marked a table long ago, during his first visit, to ensure that he always had the same spot. Belphegor sauntered onto the gaming floor, flashing lights and bells of victory coming from the slots that peppered the place. As he approached the table, he saw that there was already a gentleman sitting there.

Not much smaller than himself, the man at his table has mocha skin, darkened only by a five o’clock shadow of a beard. No hair could be found on his head, and his eyes were such a deep brown that they were almost black. He wore a pair of faded blue jeans and a white button-down shirt, unbuttoned enough to show the blue tank top underneath and a poof of chest hair. Belphegor watched as the man checked his down cards and tapped his hand on the table, indicating he wanted the dealer to hit his hand. The dealer did as she was asked and flipped over a five of hearts. The card was a perfect match for his queen and six of spades, and he raised his hands in the air in celebration.

“Nice hand, Michael,” Belphegor said and nodded towards the man.

Without looking up, the man named Michael replied, “Belphegor! How is my favorite demon?”

The dealer raised her eyebrows, her gaze shifting from the man taking his seat and the man already seated. She collected the cards and began to shuffle.

Belphegor chuckled when the girl looked at him a second time and consoled her. “A private joke, madam. You may call me Mr. Bell.” He removed his hat and laid it on the table next to him.

The dealer, whose name was Mackenzie, nodded with a mild grin and exchanged the five hundred dollars Mr. Bell had placed on the table for a stack of fifty-dollar and twenty-dollar chips. She promptly dealt out the next hand, giving Belphegor the king of diamonds and the king of clubs, and Michael was given the two of diamonds and the five of spades. Without speaking a word, Belphegor split his kings and doubled-down on both. The dealer hesitated at the arrogance with which the man began his time at her table, but, with a quick shake of her head, proceeded to deal him the ace of spades and the ace of hearts. She laughed quietly in surprised delight at the man’s luck and dealt a seven of hearts to Michael. Michael turned his head to Belphegor, eyebrow raised, and smiled wryly.

“Give me that seven, Mackenzie,” he said and tapped his hand on the table.

Instead, she dealt him the four of clubs. Then she flipped over the House’s down card and showed thirteen. That was followed by the jack of hearts, giving Michael a victory anyway.

“Why are you invading my space, Michael?” Belphegor’s voice was flat and demanding.

“Your space? I didn’t realize I had restrictions on my travels, Mr. Bell.” Michael’s wry smile never left his face. “Besides, you know exactly why I’m here.”

The sigh of exasperation couldn’t be held back, and Belphegor pushed his new cards back to Mackenzie. “Could you give us a minute, my dear?”

“Of course, Mr. Bell,” she replied. And she gathered the cards without really looking at them and left the table. The power of suggestion can be incredible, and when given an air of ultimate authority, no human was able to stand against it.

“Can you to teach her to fetch and roll over, too?” Michael said with a chuckle.

“Out with it, Michael,” the undertone of building anger as clear as tropical waters. “Did Gabriel send you?”

“Gabriel? You really don’t think that I’m his messenger boy, do you?” Michael turned in his chair to face, his head tilted back slightly to stare down his nose. “You should know me better than that, Mr. Bell.”

“Cut the shit. Why are you snoopin’ around me?” Belphegor’s anger was clear, now.

“Why are you interfering in the Yahweh succession?” Michael dropped his cordial tone to match Belphegor’s ominous tenor.

“How do you know about that? You are working for Gabriel…”

“No, Belphegor. I work for the Yahweh, and that’s all,” his eyes flashed at the larger man. “But your action against the potential prime has sent ripples through all of the realities. How did you find her?”

“Yehwah has his methods, Michael. Who am I to question them? I’m a servant, same as you.”

Michael straightened himself in a show of authority, “What is Yehwah’s endgame? From what I understand, you let her live. Why?”

“I’m just doing my duty, brother,” Belphegor slowly shook his head back and forth as he spoke. “How ‘bout a drink?”

The demon raised his hand towards Mackenzie and made a drinking motion. With his other hand, he held up two fingers. She smiled at him and turned to go get their drinks. Belphegor stood up from his seat and arched his back to ease his muscles.

“Don’t bullshit me… What is Yehwah’s plan?” Michael’s voice was becoming strained in his effort for information.

“Michael, I- ”

“You’ve worked for this Yehwah for nearly a thousand years!” The angel was yelling silently at the demon now. “I know that he has assigned Azrael to the Friedman job, but why does he want you interfering with Hutchins?”

There was always a certain satisfaction to be had by making a much larger individual become sheepish, and that feeling was no less now, for Michael, than it ever had been. He watched as Belphegor lowered his chin, his eyebrows following as his eyes fell to the floor. In the uncomfortable silence, Mackenzie brought their drinks, bourbon on the rocks. The dealer received a nod and close-mouthed smile for her delivery, and she promptly walked away with her own teeth-bearing smile and a twenty-dollar chip in hand. Both men lifted their glasses and took a deep pull on their drinks. Another silent moment passed before Michael spoke again, his voice a bit raspy from the liquor.

“Why didn’t you kill her?”

“That was not the order. I was simply to scare her… to force her to jump.” Belphegor drained the rest of his glass and signaled for another.

“Force her?” Michael was all confusion. “Why would Yehwah want to do that? He’s been tipping the balance since his succession. Is he finally weakening?”

Another few moments of silence followed as Belphegor swapped his empty glass for a full one, and watched as another full one was placed in front of his guest. He nodded to Michael once they were alone again.

“Yehwah is weakening, same as Yahweh. Perhaps, he’s burning bridges before he departs,” he answered with a shrug of his shoulders.

“It doesn’t make sense…”, said Michael as he raised his glass and tipped it randomly, watching the ice cubes shift from one side to the other.

Belphegor took his seat again and sighed, “Perhaps, he’s tired of waiting on Gabriel.”

“Waiting on Gabriel? What do you mean by that?”

“Oh, c’mon, Michael, you know Gabriel likes to take his time with these successions. That’s why your side has never been able to find a Yahweh to last more than two centuries.” Another deep pull of bourbon was necessary before continuing, “The succession takes too much out of them and they have no will left to actually do the job.”

Michael pulled on his own drink as he listened, and with a nod, he said, “I really can’t argue with that logic. But it still doesn’t make any sense to me. You had a chance to ruin the succession. You found her and could’ve killed her. And why Friedman? Does Yehwah really think that this psycho can handle being his successor?”

This time, it was Belphegor’s turn to look down his nose. “And you think Hutchins is a worthwhile successor? Since the time of Christ, the Yahweh and the Yehwah have been men and women of stature, of providence. Who are these two to be in those lines?”

“Something strange is going on here, Belphegor. When was the last time you saw Azrael?” Michael raised the glass to his lips and drained it.

“It’s been years. I wasn’t even aware that there was a succession in progress until Yehwah summoned me.”

Michael raised his eyebrows and set down his glass. “Indeed, brother, I’m in the same boat. Why are we being blocked out of this succession?”

“You haven’t seen Gabriel, then?” Belphegor’s brow furrowed as their combined confusion increased.

“I haven’t seen him in a century and a half, since the last succession. You think he’s up to something?”

He shrugged his shoulders at the angel. “You know Gabriel. Why do you think I came down on you for being here? I thought you were a part of his play.”

Michael replied to that with a growl, “Nobody plays me.”

“We’re all being played, Michael!” Belphegor sighed and raised his empty glass high, the ice cubes clanking as he shook it. “Look at the chaos in the realities. I’ve not seen this since the old days! Since before the stewardships…”

Turning his gaze onto the demon, Michael spoke in quiet rage. “You’re Yehwah has been in power for a millennium… He’s been shifting the balance. We all know it, Belphegor. It’s your boss that’s causing all of this.”

“What’re you getting pissed off at me for? You think I like Yehwah?!” He quieted as the new round of bourbon was delivered. After another long pull, he continued, “I do what is in our nature to do, serve… Don’t go projecting your frustration on me, angel! I didn’t do this.”

“Gentlemen… gentlemen,” said Gabriel. “Why so hostile?”

Gabriel stood in Mackenzie’s spot, he was shuffling a deck of cards. He had not removed his fedora, so his face was covered in shadow as he began dealing.

“Place your bets, boys.”

Michael and Belphegor stared at one another in disbelief, then looked at Gabriel. Not nearly the size of the other two, Gabriel, nonetheless, evinced an aura of old authority. He wasn’t intimidating to the other two, but they hesitated in his presence. He was Yahweh’s first, and his importance to the realities was well known to all of the angels and demons. To question Gabriel was nearly akin to questioning the now abjured Creator. But after so many millennia, the pretense was all but informal, and the emotion was more able to take control.

“What the hell are you doing here?” asked Michael, his contempt for Gabriel unmasked. “Don’t you have more important business?”

Belphegor laughed and raised his glass to his lips. “I had no idea the wingéd party boy was about?”

“Are you still quoting bad movies, Mr. Bell?” Gabriel finished the deal and stood still, waiting. “It was a fascinating concept, but it was poorly pulled off. Christopher Walken, however, was fabulous in the role.” He gave a wink at the reference. “Speaking of Lucifer, has anybody seen the genocidal maniac, recently?”

“What game are you playing, Gabriel?”

“Brother Michael, I’m playing chess,” he said cryptically. “All is under control.”

Belphegor laughed again, “This is your idea of control?”

“Bets on the table, gentlemen. Seventeen and eighteen versus an ace of clubs. Who’s in?”

The demon continued, “Have you seen the realities? And you want us to play games?”

“Bets, gentlemen?” Gabriel’s tone turned commanding.

“Gabriel?!” Michael’s irritation was giving way to ire.

The authority of his voice became overwhelming, and his eyes flashed blue. “Bets…”

The two seated men gave each other a sideways glance, then each placed a fifty-dollar chip in front of them. Believing that giving Gabriel the win would move the conversation along, Belphegor tapped the table for a hit. Gabriel’s expression was unchanged as he dealt the demon the nine of hearts. Following suit, Michael, too, tapped the table in front of him. His card was the five of diamonds. Gabriel grabbed is ace and flipped the down card deftly; it was the jack of spades.

Without looking at the players, he collected the bets and began to reshuffle the deck. When finished, he stood there quietly and unmoving, waiting for the bets to be placed on the table again. Quiet frustration made the players slam down their bets on the table.

“Give me a little sport, gentlemen,” Gabriel said calmly. “Fourteen, sixteen, and a deuce showing. What say you, Mr. Bell?”

“I’ll take one, dealer,” Belphegor answered with a sneer.

“Thicken the pot, thicken the plot?” he said with an insistent expression.

“Give me the damn card, Gabriel.”

Gabriel flipped down a three of clubs and looked to Michael.

“Hit me,” he said, his voice monotone.

“Ace of diamonds for the player… Care to make it more fun?”

Michael grabbed another chip and set it on top of the first. He leveled his glare at Gabriel and gave a half-smile.

“Four of hearts! Twenty-one for the player!” said Gabriel with a tooth-bearing grin. He flipped his own down card and found the five of clubs. He laid down the first hit and it was the nine of hearts, giving him sixteen. Hitting again, the nine of spades busted the House. “Two big winners!”

Gabriel leaned forward, placing his elbows on the table. “What about our payout?” asked Belphegor, leaning forward to close the distance between himself and Gabriel.

“Information is your payout, Mr. Bell? What would you like to know?”

“What’s Yehwah up to?” asked the demon almost before Gabriel finished speaking.

“I have no bloody idea,” he answered with a blinding smile and a chuckle. “I have no access to your boss, but I can only imagine what dastardly plan he has come up with after a thousand years.”

Michael cleared his throat before he spoke, “Then what’s our boss up to, Gabriel?”

“That’s classified…”, the wink he gave infuriated Michael.

His movements were lightning quick, and he had Gabriel by the scruff of the shirt. Gabriel didn’t flinch, nor blink; his look hardened, and, even quicker than Michael, he grabbed the hand on his shirt and squeezed and twisted. The pain washed over Michael like a tsunami, and he crouched to take the stress off of his wrist.

“Careful, Michael, or I’ll have to have security escort you out.” He leaned in so close that their noses nearly touched. Gabriel’s eyes flared again, but this time the danger behind the flash was clear to Michael. “Sit down and listen. I will give you as much information as I’m at liberty to give. Nothing more…”

Gabriel released Michael’s wrist, and the latter rubbed his injury and sat. The thought that Michael was ready to kill him, if that was possible, was clear as day. All Gabriel could do was smile politely in return.

“Now, the plan of action from our side,” he began, pointing his hands towards himself, “was not entirely Yahweh’s plan. It’s my plan, and he just signed off on it.”

“Have Yahweh and Yehwah been colluding?” Belphegor’s expression remained relatively blank, suggesting that he already knew the answer to his question.

Gabriel gave a small sigh, “Again, I have no bloody clue. Obviously, both of them have initiated succession, and are weakening. But there are even conversations I’m not privy to.”

The demon followed, quickly, with another question, “Why Friedman and Hutchins? Neither have any worldly experience, and the man is psychotic.”

“As I said, I can only guess why Yehwah made the choice he did. But I believe I have an inkling.” Gabriel widened his eyes and held up a wagging finger. “No… I will not tell you what I think that is.”

“Why are you being so damned tight-lipped? I am tired of your games, Gabriel!” Michael stood up, arms crossed, his expression of indignance the most he could offer. There was no out-muscling his brother. “You’ve done this since the beginning… It’s no wonder that we’ve not had a Yahweh survive for any amount of time! If you would just do your job…”

Michael shifted his glance to Belphegor as he spoke. The demon looked none too happy to be implicated in the idea that Gabriel wasn’t doing ‘his job’, even if he was the one that said it. Indeed, Gabriel picked up on it, and he, too, shifted his gaze to the demon.

“Filling his head with trash, eh, Mr. Bell?” Gabriel’s expression returned to the hardened look.

“C’mon, Gabriel,” Belphegor pleaded. “You know that there is truth to what I say. The Yahweh succession is exhausting, no soul can withstand that journey for long.”

This time it was Gabriel’s turn to be indignant. “You were not meant to take part in the successions, Celt.” The angel was not prone to derogatory retorts, but Gabriel took pride in his charge and was not happy to have his actions questioned. “I don’t give a rat’s ass if your Yehwah commanded you to interfere, he has no right to cause interference. Nor do you. I do not have to explain myself to you, nor to anyone else.”

“So, we have to suffer through the repercussions of your fiddling without having any say or input? You are not Yahweh, Gabriel,” Michael’s words dripped with venom. “I don’t appreciate my own work put at risk over two nobodies being put into the succession!”

Gabriel closed his eyes and lowered his chin with a silent sigh, “You must have faith, brother.”

“Faith?!” Michael was clearly exasperated. He still held his wrist as his eyes flashed to the other angel. “YOU ARE NOT IN CONTOL HERE! YOU ARE NOT GOD!”

“Of course, I’m not. But I am His consul, and since His departure I am the keeper of the stewardship. That is my charge, that is my power.” Gabriel raised his head and gave Michael a dangerous glare. He continued in a hushed voice, “Nobody was ever in control, not even Him. That’s why He left. That’s why He handed governance of the realities to His creations. Only they can manage themselves.”

“So that gives you the right to scheme?! To put it all at risk?!” Michael was furious now, his sore wrist forgotten.

Gabriel shifted his glare to Belphegor as he spoke, “I’m simply shifting the balance back to where it should be.” And back to Michael, “Perhaps, a little more…”

Belphegor raised his eyebrows at the statement. “What do you have up your sleeve, angel?”

Gabriel stood up straight, gathered the cards off the table, and began to shuffle them. He stayed silent as he shuffled, something that drove the other two quietly insane. When the cards were dealt, the angel tapped the table in front of both players, calling for the bets. Neither one was having it.

“Enough games, Gabriel!” said Michael, his seething anger not curtailed by the cards.

Even Belphegor was bolstered by the courage of Michael. “Give it up, ya wanker!” His attempt at the British accent was terrible, and it made Gabriel laugh loudly.

Wiping away a tear, Gabriel was able to take a breath through his laughter. “That, Mr. Bell, has got to be the worst attempt at a British accent I have ever heard. Place your bets, gentlemen.”

“NO,” replied the two of them in unison.

Gabriel looked down his nose at both men, he wasn’t even angry at their defiance. Quietly, he gathered the cards into the deck and, with sleight-of-hand, made them disappear. Then he nodded slowly. “Very well, gentlemen. It appears that we have reached our blue pill moment.”

“We’d take the red pill, Gabriel, if you’d offer it,” said Belphegor, understanding the reference.

“Don’t bother, Belphegor, he’d burn it all down before allowing us to get involved,” the venom continued to drip from Michael’s words. His disdain burned into Gabriel with no effect.

“This succession is mine, gentlemen. Do not interfere,” he commanded, the malevolence behind his eyes serving as a warning. And with a flash, Gabriel was gone.

As if Gabriel’s departure was the signal she was looking for, Mackenzie returned to the table with fresh drinks for the demon and the angel. With hardly a glance, she asked the two men to place their bets and dealt out each a fresh hand. Michael and Belphegor both shrugged and played the hand, neither of them won. Michael raised his hand before she could deal again. He pushed his stack towards her and signaled Belphegor to follow him to a few paces from the table.

“What do you wanna do about Gabriel?” he asked the demon quietly.

“I have my orders… The Yehwah commands it. I’m sure I’ll run into Gabriel again,” Belphegor stared off into the distance, looking at nothing. “I’ll deal with him then.”

Michael shook his head, “He’ll tear you to shreds.”

Then Michael disappeared, leaving Belphegor standing alone. He took a deep breath and turned back to the table. Mackenzie was busy on her phone, waiting for them to return. She hadn’t seen Michael disappear. He took his seat and allowed her to deal him another hand. It was another loser, and he realized that his money was all but spent. Copying Michael, Belphegor pushed his remaining chips towards Mackenzie and bid her a farewell.

He walked away from the table and made his way slowly to the mezzanine level of the Luxor. There was no gambling to be found there, but he felt like taking in the chaos of the crowd before leaving. He needed some time to think about the conversation was just had. Yehwah wanted him to scare the Hutchins girl into achieving the succession. What would that accomplish? There must be a weakness in her that he wanted to expose. Michael was right, Yehwah had tipped the scales in his favor over the last thousand years. Only an exploitable weakness would ensure the balance was permanently tipped. Yet, Gabriel, too, wanted the Hutchins girl to succeed. He had an ace up his sleeve that he was unwilling to divulge, and Belphegor knew that he didn’t have the strength to force him into telling him. Gabriel was the mightiest of the angels and demons, and he never shied away from pointing that fact out. Belphegor had to find out what was going on, but he also had to continue the mission given to him by Yehwah.

He made his way over to the Starbucks and ordered a large café mocha. As he sipped the hot drink, Belphegor danced through the crowded floor and down the escalator. It was time to leave and get back to work, which also meant going back to that lazy hole-in-the-earth town. He may be an agent for order but reveled in the chaos. There were times that he missed his mortal life, even if it was in Earth’s ancient past. He was not that man anymore. Back then, he was a warrior, respected, feared, and adored. Now he was an enigma of the universe, something nobody would understand, but not esoteric enough to want to be understood. The mythology of modern religions would be preferable to the reality of nature’s truth. Belphegor took a large gulp of the hot coffee, allowing it to burn all the way down to his stomach. The truth of the burn settled his mind and refocused his will.

It was then that he realized he was already on Mandalay Bay Road, the traffic speeding by noisily. Belphegor turned to stare at the traffic. He smiled to himself and disappeared from the view of any that may have been staring at him in that moment.

Continue with Claire on her wild journey in Chapter 12:

Halloween