A Deafening Silence In Heaven - Thomas E. Sniegoski Page 0,13
swirled about, coating the inside of the glass.
The angel stood before the large window that looked out onto one of the Vatican’s many gardens, this particular one devoted to roses of every imaginable color.
Simeon’s associates in the Vatican had given him this office study to think and to collect his thoughts. If only they realized how hard he was trying to destroy everything that they believed in, but for now what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.
“The Lord God has spoken,” Satquiel said, arms crossed behind his back as he looked rigidly out upon the rose garden.
“Has He now?” Simeon said, taking a sip of his brandy. “And, pray tell, what did the supreme being have to say?”
Satquiel appeared to grow even more uncomfortable, his body twitching uneasily.
“Michael has received a special message from the Lord God,” Satquiel said, turning his head from the garden view. He appeared to be concentrating on a patch of deep shadow in the corner of the room, near the floor-to-ceiling bookcases.
“Go on, Satquiel,” Simeon urged as he turned the ring of Solomon on his right finger, wanting to distract the angel from the pool of darkness.
The angel turned, visibly shaken by what he was about to relate. Simeon leaned forward in his chair, ready to hear.
“Lucifer Morningstar,” Satquiel said, his voice trembling.
“Yes?”
“The Morningstar is to be forgiven his indiscretions,” Satquiel at last said, the words spilling from his mouth like vomit.
“The deuce you say,” Simeon reacted, slowly bringing his drink to his mouth and draining the remainder of its contents in one gulp.
“Rather than involve the forces of Heaven and Hell in another war that would most assuredly spill over to Earth and humanity, the Almighty has decreed that the Son of the Morning be exonerated from his crimes against Heaven.”
Simeon reclined farther into the chair, the gears inside his brain already beginning to turn, the repercussions of this decree immense.
“My, my, my,” Simeon said, the scenarios that he was imagining too numerous to count.
“The Creator has spoken. The Archangel Michael, as well as us all, will bathe in the glory that has been bestowed upon us with His holy words and prepare to carry out that which has been—”
“How is Michael doing?” Simeon asked.
Satquiel’s posture sagged. “Not well at all,” he said.
“Wouldn’t think so. Can’t even imagine God’s number one commander against the forces of evil kissing and making up with the adversary. Ouch.” Simeon paused, continuing to let the information wash over him. “Poor bastard. Must be so hard for him . . . hard for you all, really.”
“You have no idea,” Satquiel said. “But God has spoken. We have no choice . . .”
“I get it, and there’s that whole working-in-mysterious-ways thing He’s known for.”
The angel stood before him, the troubles that he’d just related appearing to have taken their physical toll upon the divine creature.
“It is for the good of us all.”
Simeon smiled. “Of course it is,” he said. “That’s what a loving God is all about.”
Tired of the angel, and wanting to think further about the situation, Simeon ordered Satquiel away.
Needing another brandy, he rose from his chair, approaching the bar in one of the room’s other corners to help himself.
“Did you hear?” Simeon asked as he poured.
He looked toward the patch of darkness where the angel’s attention had been drawn earlier. The black moved like liquid, and a shape, followed by three others, emerged to join him in the study.
Constantin Malatesta stood just outside the shadow, while Simeon’s three demon lackeys moved to the opposite side of the room.
“The sound was a bit distorted within the shadow,” the Keeper agent of the Vatican said. “Did he actually say that God is ready to forgive Lucifer?”
Simeon could not help himself and began to giggle. No matter how long he lived this wretched existence, the unexpected happenings of the day never ceased to amaze him.
“He did,” the forever man answered, taking a sip from his fresh glass of brandy.
“Perhaps there’s hope for us all, then,” Malatesta said, suddenly doubling over in pain as the thing that lived inside of him—the Larva—again tested the constraints of his body.
“Hope isn’t something that the infernal really care to hear about,” Simeon told him.
Beleeze, Dorian, and Robert watched in amusement as the Vatican sorcerer struggled with the diabolical entity that had possessed him since childhood. Simeon’s demonic helpers didn’t really care for the newest addition to their dysfunctional family and