A Deafening Silence In Heaven by Thomas E. Sniegoski Read Free Book Online

wiped the blood of an angel on the undertaker’s cheeks.
    The man had simply stood there, stunned beyond movement. “Please . . . ,” he’d managed.
    Simeon looked back to the angel. “You heard the man,” he’d said. “He’s begging you.”
    The angel had tensed, his wings flapping furiously as he’d tried to shrug off the spell that had hold of him.
    “Do it,” Simeon had commanded. “Kill him.”
    And the angel had flown across the room, pouncing upon the defenseless undertaker, tearing him apart in a show of preternatural strength.
    That was the beginning of a beautiful friendship between Simeon and Satquiel.
    A friendship that had continued to this day.
    •   •   •
    “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?” Simeon asked the angel Satquiel, crossing his legs as he reclined comfortably in the wingback leather chair. He held a snifter of brandy, moving his wrist in such a way that the caramel-colored liquid 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.
    “Michael,” Simeon stated, capturing Satquiel’s attention.
    “Yes, what about him?”
    “How is the archangel taking the news?”
    “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