Accidental God -- Section 09b

[Here's the end of the scene. A quick nap, and then we'll start on Section 10.]

    He took the bagel, took a bite, and chewed.
    “This is good. What kind is it?”
    “Rhubarb and sunshine.”
    “Like, sun-dried rhubarb?”
    “No, but that’s a good idea. I’ll have to mention it.” Atty was still stretching, working on his calves.
    Bradley took another bite and talked around it. “Where do you get a rhubarb and sunshine bagel?”
    “The place just up the street.”
    “I didn’t see that on the menu.”
    “You have to know to ask for it.”
    “Right.”
    The singer did a few toe-touches with one hand, the other keeping the guitar case from falling off his back, then stood and took a deep breath. Bradley felt the rush of air around him as a subway train screeched and rattled into the station. The doors opened, a few people stepped off, and even more stepped on. Then they were almost all gone, some into the earth, some back to its crust, and except for a man with his iPad and a woman with her hiking backpack, Bradley and Atty were alone.
    Except for the creatures.
    “I don’t think we’ll get a better time,” said Atty. “Shall we do this?”
    “Yeah, sure. What do I do?”
    “You have enough bagel in you?”
    “Plenty, though it tasted good enough that I’m wanting more.”
    “The sunshine does that. Here’s the plan: You keep about four feet behind me, I descend on the Ipthakorians with the Wrath of Divine Chuck, and then you go home.”
    “That’s it?”
    “Pretty much.”
    “I was expecting something more complicated.”
    Atty shrugged. “It will be complicated, but mostly for me. Don’t worry about it. Any angel gets skills if he lives long enough. And most of us do.”
    “You’re an angel?”
    “Yep. More explanations later, but we’re short on time. People will be coming for the next train soon, and Chuck frowns on people dying in his temple. Shall we?”
    “I just follow behind?”
    “Exactly.”
    “Okay.”
    “Off we go then.”
    Atty turned and started walking with confidence down the platform. Bradley had lost sight of the creatures—Ipthakorians?—but thought that the one hadn’t moved from behind the sign. He had no idea where the other might be, but Atty didn’t seem concerned. In fact, he seemed almost cheerful. Cheerful and shimmery. That was new. Something like glowing feathers was painting itself into the air around Atty’s shoulders and back. Spreading out to either side, the golden glow looked quite a bit like wings, and they smelled of snow-melt. One feather dripped away and floated back, toward Bradley. He reached up to touch it, and it melted around his fingers and away.
    Then the feathers snapped into sharp contrast with the air around them and Atty surged forward, a song coming through his voice that made Bradley think of the dark and cold space between the Sun and the Moon, where starlight is perilous and cuts at the mind like shattered glass. It was a frightening enough image for Bradley, but apparently it was worse for the creature it was aimed at. A wordless scream ripped from behind the sign where the Ipthakorian had hidden, and the creature leaped across the tunnel toward the tracks. Its crooked arms and claws struck the wall in the middle of a perfume ad and the creature clung to the face of a beautiful woman, gripping her with disturbing intimacy. With another screech it scurried down the wall, racing for the darkness of the tunnel.
    “Not likely,” muttered Atty. His wings snapped out, striking rays of sunlight from the tile floor of the station, and he was gone. No, there he was, in the air between the creature and the tunnel. Between his hands, like the opening of a door from some glorious heaven, a crack appeared, dripping liquid gold. The light splashed against some unseen form in the air, filling a glass in the shape of…a sword. That was definitely a sword, and, based on the cowering that the Ipthakorian was doing, the creature had a good idea about what that thing was as well.
    In the middle of gazing in fascination at the blade taking shape in the air, two things occurred to Bradley at roughly the same time. The first was that he was no longer four feet behind Atty. The second was that he had no idea where the other Ipthakorian was.
    Maybe it was a noise, or a subconscious sense of the bizarre that had woken up in Bradley along with whatever else was changing inside him—or maybe it was just the smell (sawdust and vomit)—but suddenly Bradley knew where the other creature was. Behind him.
    Fear and reflex combined, and Bradley’s knees went rubbery. He dropped straight down, landing on his bottom with a thump, and a gray mass of limbs and hair shot over his head and down at an angle, crashing into the ground and ripping grooves in the tile with its claws. Bradley had always laughed as a teenager when their dog had tried to make the turn in the kitchen as it raced from the living room toward the front door. Once, when Yoshi—the dog—and thudded sideways into the open fridge, Bradley had snorted milk all over his sister. It was a good memory.
    The Ipthakorian had better traction than Yoshi. It was a heartbeat before the thing was lunging back along the platform. With a leap, the creature hit Bradley in the chest with its front paws, slamming his head back into the tile and sliding them several feet over the ground. Up close, the smell was overpowering, and going eyeball-to-eyeball with something that didn’t have any was causing all sorts of cognitive dissonance.
    Bradley had decided long ago that, if he was ever attacked by a wild animal—or even a dog—he would go down fighting. Not only that, if the thing was smaller than he was, he was going to win. He wasn’t a violent person, and though he’d never been out marching for pigs’ rights, he had no desire to hurt animals personally. Even so, push-comes-to-shove, he was going to give as good as he got.
    So Bradley implemented his Angry Dog Defense Plan, rocked his body sideways for leverage, and punched the Ipthakorian where its nose should have been.
    It was more effective than he had planned on. Another one of those odd sparks leaped out from the area of his stomach, up through his chest, down his arm, and straight into the salivating creature. The Ipthakorian froze, its tongue hanging out part way, and slowly started to topple sideways.
    It didn’t make it to the ground. There was a flash of summer, and the creature burst into rainbow-colored ash.
    “Sorry about that,” said Atty. “I got caught up in the moment. You okay?” The wings and sword were gone, and all that was left was a thirty-something man with a guitar case strapped to his back.
    “Well enough,” said Bradley. “I cracked my tailbone pretty solidly, and I think adrenaline is the only thing keeping me from finding out exactly how much the back of my head hurts.”
    Atty crouched down close to Bradley’s head and looked in his eyes. “Doesn’t seem to be any unusual dilation. Might not have been as bad a thump as you thought.”
    Bradley remembered the jolt, the way he felt it all through his head and into his jaw. “It was pretty bad.”
    “Let me see what I can do,” said the singer. He started humming, and Bradley could smell something sweet and herbal.
    “How do you do that?”
    Atty stopped humming and gently touched the sides of Bradley’s head. “Do what?”
    “The smells and the wings and the sword and everything.”
    “ I’m and angel.”
    “An angel angel?”
    “Well, I don’t work for Him, if that’s what you mean.” Atty illustrated by pointing up to someplace past the ceiling. “Most angels don’t work for the Big Guy, and I’m not sure that’s such a bad thing. Can you imagine the pressure? The Fate of the World is a big deal.”
    “I can imagine,” murmured Bradley, suddenly mellow. His head was feeling better. So was his tail-bone.
    “The fate of a subway station is about right for me,” said the angel. “Help people out on the way through, make their lives better, gather up their offerings of faith for Chuck, keep the whole thing running. Did you know that, as far as we can tell, no one commuting through this station has had a sick day in seven months? As a team, we’re rather proud of that.”
    “Even through flu season?”
    “Especially through flu season. It was tiring, but we pulled it off. Chuck threw us a party after. The Standing Appointment let us use his corner, and you won’t find better hot dogs anywhere.”
    “Hot dogs,” said Bradley, skeptical but still mellow.
    “I figured you’d say that. Not your usual hot dogs. These are hot dogs the way they were meant to be. These are the ideal hot dog that Plato imagined must be out there, the perfect form of a hot dog that teaches you what a hot dog should be.”
    “But…they’re hot dogs.”
    “Okay, Mr. Skeptical, I’ll take you there. Just as soon as—” Atty stiffened, and Bradley suddenly felt less mellow. “Something else is coming,” said the angel.
    “Something bigger,” Bradley agreed. Atty was looking at him. “What is it?”
    “I wish I knew what was going on. I’m sensitive to some things, but I’ve had to practice to get there, so I mostly pay attention to threats and dangers. Point is, I look at you and I see a whole bunch of not much, but if you have a Mulp coming through the tunnels for you, you must not be the usual type of magical sensitive.”
    “What’s a Mulp?”
    “A large mouth with legs.”
    “See, I knew asking the question was a bad idea.”
    “Why did you ask it?”
    “The same reason people in horror movies walk into dark rooms, probably.”
    “Well, don’t worry, Bradley. I already know what’s behind that door, and we’re not going to open it. Let me help you up.”
    “Thanks.” Bradley got to his feet and brushed off his bottom. There was only a memory of pain, then none at all. “And thanks for fixing me up.”
    “It’s my job. Besides, the bumps really weren’t that bad.”
    Bradley wondered what the man’s idea of a bad bump was, but decided to not argue. Instead he looked down the dark tunnel where he could feel the approaching hunger of the Mulp. “So how does a person escape from a mouth with legs?”
    “Most people run,” said Atty. “My method for facing serious trouble is a bit more effective, though: I talk with my boss.”