“Fear not.” You had everything right. The circle, the offering… How in heaven did you summon an angel?!
My eyes flicked from Beneath-side to Loft-side, awkwardly staring up at the rift glowing, quite angrily, far above my head. Slowly, I drifted back, step by step, so that it didn’t quite hurt my neck to stare at the floating pinprick in contemporary space time.
Then long strands of tan light dripped from the rift, dropping onto the floor, obscuring the lines I’d painstaking sketched from the book that had decided to catch itself on fire while screaming a few minutes ago, and I felt behind me for the door knob.
Fumbling desperately, I watched the first long white feather drift down from the hole, and then the entire thing tore open with the point of a holy weapon.
The door knob burnt like Lucifer’s forges and melted before my touch as the rest of the wet mass of the angel fell from the Loft. It hit the ground with a wet sploshing sound, splattering the hems of my rose, and then, in defiance of chronometry and a dozen other laws, spooled into long threads of sticky skin.
Inch by inch they wove themselves into a pair of legs, shapely, androgynous, muscles, and then up into a torso. Feathers fell rapidly from the rip in the loft above, and squinting, I could see the presence of thousands of micro angels critiquing my presentation.
Then an arm, barely just crafted from the sewing flesh, pointed the heft of the heavenly weapon at me. Eyes spooled out of the muck as the angel lost context even in my own brain and eyes, indistinct except for the blade whose tip was almost piercing through my skin.
It was about this time that I’d decided that I’d fucked up.
“Who dares summon Oaths-Must-Last?”
Actually, I decided, I might be able to work with this one.