In old scriptures, lessons were passed through romanticized tales of the true immortals. One of the oldest, known from under to over, was the tale of Lilacks rain. In short, the embodiment of death wept endlessly in horror over the divide between himself and his love, the embodiment of life. Elders told the tale to caution the young from embarking on odysseys of the heart. Every creature, divine or demonic, could be weak when love sparked. When I heard the tale often, I wondered if matters of the heart could cause such pain would love not also be something grand and robust?

However, I thought not of Tristan that way. I had always assumed our friendship was just that. Regardless of flirtations passed, never would I have thought him capable of the charge. Though, with thought, it explained his willingness to aid my crisis. Whether I was open to such a love mattered not. Simply knowing he was, it was enough to stun my thoughts throughout the remainder of the day.

"I'll show you it's easy. Walk in, touch the object till it's charged, go home," Tristan explained. 

On our way to help one of Tarlac's students, my roommate, and self-proclaimed lover gave me the steps of our work. 

The student, Hamilton Breach, lived A short subway ride from Tristan's home. The long metallic snake was crowded and loud. Bodies pressed back to back or chest to chest seemed the norm. Standing at a tongues length apart from my demon, we had to yell every other word to communicate clearly while musicians earned their wages just behind my back. 

"You so willingly give your power?" I questioned as the subway car jostled me closer and further away with unpredictable rhythm. 

"I thought angels loved humans," Tristan laughed and wrapped an arm around me to keep us from rocking out of sync with one another.

"We do, from afar. They lack purity, such as us." 

Speaking plainly as we did was reckless till I understood no one cared to listen. We could have exposed the very natures of creation, but on a subway, complex thought was dismissed as lunacy. 

"We are not pure," Tristan suggested with lust in the eye and a tongue threatening to meet my own.

"Closer still, are we not? Don't you worry what they might do?"

"They can't hurt us with our magic if that's your worry. And why would they? Without us, they'd go back to living as they would."

Relief came when the car stopped, and like a wave, the masses dispersed. We had another stop before we'd reach our destination. The doors shut, and unlike moments before, we had space and proper privacy. Tristan let me go, and we took seats while they were available. Across from us lay a man smelling of beef and sewage, sleeping with an open eye. Suddenly the need to speak carefully had returned, but my demon spoke as he would whenever.

"I fear they'll harm themselves," I whispered,  still glancing about the car. 

Far fewer people were within range, but we stood out more so when there were none to draw attention away.

"Oh, they will. But that's not for us to think over," Tristan remarked and leaned forward, watching the homeless man across the way. 

He tossed a silver dollar, flicked it from his fingertips into the sleeping man's mouth. As the car stopped, the man awoke to metal between his teeth. Tristan and I left before he could suspect us of interrupting the peace.

"Are you so afraid? We played their games and read their books. They aren't children. They die quickly but mature just as soon. What humans do with their freedom is their choice, like ours is our own," Tristan said. 

On our way up red steps, the wind sought to blow me over. Again, my roommate was there to save me from the humiliation of falling. Trisal possessed the power to move us in an instant but decided against it. Fair as he was, a demon knew how to torture, and using my legs was a pain. Did he force us to take a long way so that I might grow stronger or to play my hero when I was weak? 

"Tarlac is careful. His students aren't evil, nor are they Saints. I've met them before, Aaron. They aren't children."

We crossed the street and entered a unique building, a library that had seen better days. 

Though countless shelves stretched from ground to ceiling in that bland-colored place, I noted several false books. Much of the library was a computer space, but even those were outdated and slow, from what I could see. The carpeted floors muffled footsteps and voices alike, and lights were dim, if not flickering to death at the corner of my eye. 

"Hamilton won't take us long, but you should look over his object. Once you see it compared to mine, you'll better understand what yours could be," Tristan explained while we found the main desk. 

There was a single man, blond-haired and wearing a blue button-down with a black bowtie, standing on duty. It didn't take much to conclude he was Tarlac's student, and when his eyes lit up at the sight of Tristan, suspicions had been confirmed. 

It was uncommon to ask questions. I only understood that after Tristan gave me a look, telling me not to interfere. But I had to ask, "What will you do with the magic?" 

Hamilton, behind the library counter, behind a glass wall, hadn't reason to answer. He could have ignored me outright. Instead, the human asked us to meet him upstairs. 

"So it's true? You're  the Black Angel?" Hamilton asked after we had reconvened. 

The library's third floor was under construction or perhaps deconstruction. By the looks of mold lines and peeling paint, the entire level had suffered a great deal of water damage. A persistent scent of mildew escaped rugs as we found a corner secluded enough to miss had anyone come up the stairs after us. A window, offering a grand view of the city outside through stained glass, brought light that illuminated the ghastly space. Even the shelving that created a box around our shared area was warped and bent into odd alignments as if preparing to tumble. 

Tristan and I stood near the window while Hamilton checked the floor to ensure we were alone. When he returned, he remained at a distance, several arms apart. 

"My name is Arron," I answered the man. 

None of us would take seats in that place, though they and several destroyed tables were all around. Sitting might have been uncomfortable with that smell in the air, but introductions were more so after Hamilton used my unfavored name. 

"But you are an angel? Yes?" he queried.

Tristan, before I could answer, stepped forward to insist, "If you give me your object, I'll charge it now." 

The human rolled up his blue sleeve and took from his wrist an odd watch made from stone and several breeds of leather. The face was average, but the hands, while carved perfectly, did not move. They lacked an intricate mechanism to allow the article to perform its function. However, that wasn't the oddity. Be back of the watch, which would lay flat on Hamilton's wrist, had a notable spike. Judging by the blood coating the tip, the clock purposely inflicted injury, though not enough to bleed profusely. 

Tristan held out his hand, ready to charge the object, but Hamilton held the watch with hesitation. His eyes, distancing themselves from Tristan's, found mine.

"I'd like the Angel to charge it," Hamilton said. 

"That's not what you paid for," Tristan answered. 

"I didn't pay for the destruction of my library, the end of my relationship, or to be in debt."

"Tristan?" I spoke up, curious and confused, but my demon ignored me to ask the human, "What difference does it make?" 

Hamilton, with eyes still on me, spoke carefully, "I'm grateful for your magic, but with all due respect, I think I'd be better off with a positive charge rather than negative."

Tristan sighed and, after a moment, turned to me. 

"It's up to you," he said, but I could only remind Hamilton, "You haven't answered my question. What will you do with the magic?"