Yawning, I stretched and sharply hopped off the bed, striking some kind of combat stance – from kung fu, I think, or something else from childhood. My body felt absolutely perfect. Every time in moments like these, I felt omnipotent: no pain, no fatigue, perfect control over every muscle contraction, and the complete sensation that I could twist myself into a pretzel if I wanted. Each time, I thanked fate more and more for such a... gift? Curse? Still not sure.
Yesterday, I was pretty stressed out after another psycho-emotional gift from Adam. After that, I got sucked into some dumb horror movie, and then crashed out dreamlessly. Slept like a baby, as they say.
The information I'd received explained a lot, but it also raised even more concerns. The way the Seraphim behaved just didn't compute. On the internet, they were described as embodiments of wisdom, righteousness, and other ostentatious bullshit, but in reality, they were like children – infantile, passive, and with an astonishing ability to rely on "maybe it'll sort itself out." Am I the only one who notices this? I'm no genius in these matters, but to me, their infantilism was blatantly obvious; it can't be that only I see it, right? It wasn't just infuriating. It was frightening.
Especially against the backdrop of me still not knowing jack shit about my abilities. It was clear that Adam did something to the recruits that took away their animalistic features and turned them into twin-like angel warriors. But how exactly it worked was a mystery. And I would definitely have to replenish the army of Exorcists.
And also – my contract with Lilith. The most, motherfucking, terrifying element of this whole plot. Canon barely said anything about it. One could assume it was related to the annual purges. There was some mention that Lilith was up to some shady business before they began, but it was all vague. And I need specifics. Specifics, fuck, are vitally necessary.
At the moment, I had two paths: give up and go with the flow, hoping it would somehow sort itself out. Or figure it out. I think my character makes it clear: I'd be glad to tell it all to fuck off, but my self-preservation instinct is still in order, and I'm not going to risk it.
But how do I find out what exactly I signed with the demonic queen?
Yeah, I have a couple of ideas. For example:
"Hey, Lilith, mind reminding me what the fuck you're doing in Heaven, 'cause I'm having some memory trouble..."
Brilliant, right? Well, yeah, it's pure suicide. Such questions need to be asked subtly. Very subtly. But how?
In frustration, I threw the mask on the bed and started getting dressed. Why did that bastard leave me only shreds of feelings but not a single complete memory? How am I supposed to act if I don't even understand what I'm supposed to achieve or who the hell I'm supposed to be?
Just fucking fantastic.
One last option remained. The most effective one. Lute. I'm not blind – I can see she has feelings for me. Through her, perhaps, I could find out more. Perhaps even about the transformation of Exorcists.
But to manipulate a girl in love… I don't want to become who I was before…
...Although, damn it, this is about survival. And Lute is my only real chance to get access to information. Maybe she'll even help. Not a fact, but...
After all, I'm not going to just sit around moping in my apartment until the next purge, right?
But how do I present her with the information about my "amnesia"?
Just come out and say: "Hey, Lute, I accidentally caught amnesia, and now you're my main hope, tell me everything you know, preferably with illustrations and in chronological order"?
Brilliant.
Just like in some cheap TV show where the hero with amnesia coincidentally meets an old friend who happily spills all the beans, including his favorite brand of noodles and his bank account number.
The problem is, I don't have a scriptwriter who would ensure a lack of logic in all the actors. And Lute is not a cardboard character, but a very much self-aware young woman. And, worst of all, a smart young woman. And I, judging by these idiotic monologues, seem more like a philosophizing moron than a cool demigod angel.
I do have ideas – in rough draft, but their effectiveness… Somewhere between "might work" and "write your will." But without concrete data, putting together a normal plan from this is like assembling an IKEA wardrobe without instructions, tools, and with a missing door. And, as is clear, no one will just give me information. Which automatically brings me back to the beginning of this hopeless monologue, only now with a slight touch of despair.
To hell with it. I need to take risks. Without Lute, I won't get far – that's for sure. I won't even budge. Only towards the grave. Or the loony bin.
I grab the mask, pull it over my face, slightly hoping it will help me hide my insecurity (spoiler: it doesn't), and call Lute's number.
Dial tone.
One. Two. On the third, the line clicked, and a sleepy, slightly hoarse voice answered:
"Yes, Sir, what happened?"
And that was… cute. Indecently cute. Her voice was sleepy, warm, like she was a kitten that hadn't fully woken up and was still trying to remember who she was and why she was being woken. Strange I hadn't noticed it before. Probably because I was busy with questions like "Why am I in fucking Adam's body?" and "How do I not die in the next hour?".
"Mornin', Lute, how're you doing? Care to drop by for a visit today?" I chirped out brightly, trying to imitate that energetic, pompously self-assured manner in which, judging by the remnants of memories, Adam usually communicated.
It came out… well, let's say – shitty. But it'll pass. At least I didn't call her "my sweet" or "sunshine," though such phrases could also have been in Adam's arsenal. Hell knows what crap he used to spout, that heavenly fucker-terrorist.
"A visit?.." Her voice was surprised. Then a pause. Too long. Apparently, Lute was considering all possible reasons why an archangel, who usually busied himself with partying hard with groupies and raising some hell, would suddenly invite her for tea.
"Of course, Sir, when should I come over?"
And in her voice – a slight panic. That kind of "oh-what-have-I-done" panic, mixed with "oh-god-oh-god-I'm-not-ready." And this from a woman who's over three hundred years old; I "looked her up" yesterday too, even found her page on some local Twitter.
"How about twelve? If you're not busy, of course," I mumbled with that same "casual pomposity." It's 8:31 AM now. I'm not a complete psycho – gotta give the lady time. To wash up, put on makeup, and choose an outfit appropriate for the occasion of "the head psycho archangel invited me over."
"Alright, Adam, I'll be there at twelve," she answered, a little crestfallen, and hung up.
I silently stare at the screen, listening to the dull "beep-beep-beep." Excellent. So, she noticed the atypical behavior. Perfect. That's what I was aiming for. Let her get lost in thought, weighing the options. Suspicion is the best catalyst for candor. Maybe she'll reveal something valuable herself. Or maybe she'll suspect I'm sick. Or replaced. Or have gone mad.
Then again, all of that is true. So I see no problem here.
Although, to be honest… I was a bit out of character yesterday too. To put it mildly. Very mildly.
Now, let's move on to the question of what I'm actually going to tell her.
The truth? Oh no. I wouldn't want to risk my athletic ass over something like that. Too valuable an exhibit to put on the line. I could, of course, play "guessing games" with Lute and gently lead her to the necessary conclusions. But knowing my luck, she'd most likely decide I've lost my marbles and call the Exorcists. And I, let me remind you, am an Exorcist. Not a priest-exorcist, but an angel-Exorcist. An Archangel, even, there!
So, the good old path remains – bullshitting her. I'll have to do it carefully, though, with love, like an expensive tie before an interview. First Charlie, now Lute… Who's next? Sera, with her icy pomposity and holiness? Or, Light forbid, God turns out to be a woman, and we have another drama of the millennium? Or maybe Eve will come back altogether, smack me in the face, and demand alimony for eleven thousand years of romantic disarray. Life is certainly a fairy tale… Just not a Disney one, more like something out of Lovecraft, only with fewer tentacles (so far… Thank God I'm not a magical girl).
To avoid thinking about the impending comedy on which my life depends, I went to the kitchen. You know how people relieve stress, apart from the usual "sex, sleep, entertainment"? Some meditate. Some binge on sweets. And I brew tea, because at least the teapot doesn't demand moral responsibility from me, and those tea bags turned out to be quite alright; I was wrong to diss them, it seems.
I opened a YouTube video; it's high time I learned to strum a guitar. Maybe with songs, I'll not only charm young ladies but also take down demons. What, am I worse than Lilith?
But alas – the guy in the video was pontificating with such passion, as if he were paid for every brain cell the viewer lost. He explained guitar theory as if he were giving a lecture on accounting in a cemetery. I listened, drank tea, slowly losing hope for the best.
And it would have been fine, but every word from this guitar genius sounded like a mockery: "And now we will examine the Dm chord…" Brother, I'm already examining my life, and it's also minor, and the guitar is clearly out of tune/upset.
That's how I passed the time, filling the pause before Lute's arrival. And it's not like I expected her to solve all my problems – I just want someone in this galaxy to explain at least something to me, and Adam felt very similar feelings in the past.
All that's left is to finish my tea, drag on for another hour and twenty minutes, then put on the mask and convince Lute that I don't need to be put down and that, generally, I'm a good boy. Heh.
Went to finish my tea.
So, the time has come, I'm ready (well, trying to convince myself I'm ready), and Lute is outside my door, having arrived exactly at twelve. Punctuality is the politeness of kings, and also a sign that someone takes where they're rushing to seriously. Or is simply afraid of being late and getting an earful. Who knows.
Inhale-exhale.
I open the door, and there stands an incredible beauty who, apparently for the occasion, decided to wear not the standard angel-Exorcist uniform, but shorts and a t-shirt. Only the t-shirt had no bottom half. Resounding tackiness, officially approved by Heaven... And now by me personally, the Head Dick and Archangel, Adam.
It felt like the breath was knocked out of my chest, prepared words froze in my throat, and I couldn't tear my eyes away from my lieutenant… Without context, that sounds a bit strange. But I can't call her "lieutenantess" or, Light forbid, "lady lieutenant," can I?
"Adam?" Lute looked at me surprised; I looked at her. Spark, storm, madness.
"Hey, Lute, you look absolutely stunning, my heart just skipped a beat!" I exclaim admiringly. Ladies love compliments, especially if they're said from the heart.
"Thanks, going beardless suits you too..." She glanced down for a second. A three-hundred-year-old supersoldier who slaughters sinners by the hundreds every year… I'm in fucking shock with this universe. What kind of fucked-up demiurge churned out the locals?
I step aside, letting Lute pass, then close the door behind her.
By the way, a peculiarity of Heaven: there's no dirt here, like, at all. You can safely walk in shoes on the street, then enter a house and even jump on the bed in them – everything will remain clean. Heck, you could even lick the cobblestones, no problem. Apart from the attention from citizens, of course, yes.
"Come in, beautiful," I gesture towards the kitchen, following her. "Tea? Coffee? Something stronger?" I ask, looking at Lute.
"Coffee. Black, no sugar or milk," and she looks at me expectantly. A test, is it? Why so simple though? Heck, she's literally doing it point-blank. Or is there some hidden catch?
"Lute, don't kid like that. You noticed I've changed? Great, but why stage tests? If you'd asked, I would have told you," I sigh languidly like that and shake my head. This is going to be a cute scene.
Lute's eyes turned into saucers. Did she really think I wouldn't notice such a clumsy test? Was the previous Adam such an idiot, or did Lute suddenly become stupid? I don't get it. Though, maybe she's just flustered. Or, what's much worse, that much in love.
Alright, let's continue the show. Curtains, lights, actor in the role of "who-the-hell-knows." The main thing is not to overact. And not to ruin the coffee; I'm not going to poison a beautiful girl with some nasty sludge, am I?
"So," I say, turning on the kettle. "How's life? How's Hell? They didn't start Armageddon after yesterday, did they?" – Exorcists monitor the Pride Ring, and quite well at that, facilitated by the sinners' inability to harm heavenly drones.
"Quiet for now," Lute answers and frowns, irritation appearing in her voice. "But it's not the kind of quiet that brings peace. More like the kind that makes you check if your weapon is in place. You... you've really changed. I don't understand what's happening," she looks at me expectantly.
"You think I understand?" Smiling sadly, I spread my hands. "I wake up yesterday – and it's like someone hit 'reset to factory settings.' Brain's in place, but my memory... well, it, alas, has partially gone on vacation. Without warning."
I wave my hand in the air, theatrically.
Lute frowned.
"You've lost your memory, Adam?" she asks, glancing around as if a camera is hidden somewhere in the cookie jar.
Well yeah, Adam's quite the joker. He could pull a prank, hire a film crew, and give autographs at the end. He's capable of it.
"Looks like it," I sigh. "If this is a prank, the script was written by someone with low self-esteem and an unhealthy love for psychological trauma. Though, if it suddenly turns out to be a prank – I'll be the first to applaud the genius who thought of making me forget how to brew normal coffee. And I'll be smacking them upside the head."
I place a mug in front of her.
Lute looks at the mug. Then at me. Then back at the mug. In her eyes – a cocktail of disbelief, suspicion, and a slight hope that I'm just acting out a bad play.
"And what do you remember?" she finally asks. Her voice is soft but taut, like a string on an old harp.
This is it. The climax.
"The main points. Some people. Some important events – but not completely, not thoroughly," I finally become serious and, frowning, look her in the eyes. "I don't remember how to consecrate Exorcists. Some of my powers are forgotten, though I'm quickly recovering them. And most importantly – I don't remember why the hell I allowed Lilith to chill out in Heaven. Do you understand how serious this is?"
Oh, she understood. It was clear from my face – this wasn't another one of Adam's jokes. And from Lute's, that she was in shock. I need to act; I can already feel she wants to talk about the fucking Seraphim.
"Lute, I need your help," I approach and take her hands in mine. "Will you help me?"
Blushing, Lute nods, whispers something, barely moving her lips. Let me remind you: she's three hundred years old. I'm not seducing a schoolgirl here, but a grown warrior woman. The main thing is to convince myself of this.
"Thank you. I really needed your support," I smile and kiss her hand. Yes, yes, I'm a despicable manipulator. But if I don't use everything I've got – the stakes are too high...
"Then let's start from the beginning. Tell me how you became an Exorcist. And… what exactly do I do to turn angels into Exorcists?"
Finally, I'll be able to get answers…