Angel or Not?
by
If he succeeds, he gets angel wings. If he fails, he gets unspeakable pain. What if Charlie wants neither?
Urban fantasy light short story with a touch of gay romance in a slightly noir short story with a very happy ending.
In another Los Angeles, two Nephilim take hell-horses into battle against Angels, risking everything in an effort to give Hell’s lowliest slaves a chance at freedom.
Eventually, every Nephilim must face Choosing Day, and for Charlie Chrysalis, the day has arrived. At Angel Headquarters in Los Angeles, the Angel Sidriel—Charlie’s guardian and also his worst enemy—asks the key question: “Spirit or Flesh?” If he chooses Spirit, Sid will certainly do everything he can to make sure Charlie fails, but he’s made up his mind. His test: solve Region Six Immigration Crimes Case D665. It looks like a piece of cake. But can Charlie bring down Sidriel's brand of justice upon innocent, unfortunate souls, even if it means he must silence his heart and sacrifice the respect—and possibly love—of the one man he doesn't want to disappoint?
Publisher: Rainbow Gate Books
Editors:
Cover Artists:
Genres:
Pairings: M-M
Heat Level: 1
Romantic Content: 3
Ending: Click here to reveal
Character Identities: Gay
Protagonist 1 Age: 26-35
Protagonist 2 Age: 26-35
Tropes: Badass Hero, Reunited and it Feels So Good, Star-Crossed Lovers
Word Count: 7900
Setting: Another Los Angeles
Languages Available: English
The reason Sidriel had sent me here, to this particular place on this particular mission, was striding toward me. Dressed in Big Smith overalls and a ribbed tank shirt stretched across his chest, he held a cat-o’-nine-tails in his left hand and a cattle prod in his right.
“Damn you, Sid,” I whispered, and didn’t even think about the consequences of blasphemy.
“Charlie Chrysalis! What the Hell brings you to Blossom Lane, dude?” Geuse’s big voice boomed and his grin puckered the long scar across his cheek into a row of tiny navels.
“Hey,” I said, and I had to laugh. That funny-looking cut on his face had always made me smile, no matter how glum the circumstance. Geuse was a Halfie like me. That alone would have united us in a world where not many of our kind could still walk the streets, unchosen, unchanged, and unfettered, but between him and me, history made a stronger link.
READ MOREWe’d been friends, growing up with little help from our earthly parents and mostly hindrance from the heavenly side. That time I skateboarded in the Lincoln Elementary School hallways? Geuse had cajoled the principal out of suspending me. We’d quizzed each other on spelling lists. We’d drooled together over yearbook pictures of our dream dates, and then gone to prom together, pretending we were going stag. We’d traded hands and kisses in the dark under the stadium bleachers. We’d got drunk together on Geuse’s twenty-first birthday and spent a boundary-shattering night together in the back of his van.
I helped him bury his dog. He helped me bury my mom—not literally of course.
When I pissed off one of Hell’s Angels who proved to truly own the name, it was Geuse who distracted him long enough for me to run away. And it was my hand that had twisted the meat fork from a thug’s grip the day Geuse’s temper had earned him that sometimes-funny scar.
History. Over and gone and every future possibility signed away just hours earlier in indelible ink.
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