“I’ve heard,” Aaron said taking a careful bite of the beans and then eagerly having more. “Except that Camael has a thing for French fries now.”

Belphegor sat back in his chair. “Does he? I would never have imagined that. Perhaps the years upon this world have indeed softened our Powers’ commander.”

“Former commander,” Aaron corrected through a mouthful of food. “Verchiel’s the commander now—and has been for quite some time.”

“Of course,” Belphegor answered, crossing his arms. “How foolish of me to forget.”

His plate nearly as clean as Gabriel’s bowl, Aaron had a drink of water from an old jelly jar, then pushed the utensils away. “That thing with the television,” he asked. “How did you do that?”

Gabriel had finally settled down and lay beside Aaron’s chair. Aaron reached down to pet his friend as he waited for an answer.

“You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.” Belphegor shook his head, arms still crossed.

“You’d be surprised at the things I believe in now,” Aaron said. Gabriel rolled onto his side to expose his belly, and Aaron obliged the animal. “Were those … images, those scenes … were they from some future or—”

“They were taken from your head and manipulated,” Belphegor answered, tapping a finger against his skull. “Things that you most desire, but will likely never achieve.”

Aaron stopped scratching Gabriel’s belly, earning a disappointed snuff, and leaned back in his chair. “I don’t like to think that way,” he said, eyes focused on his empty plate, but seeing something else—a future that could very well be like the one he’d seen on Belphegor’s television. “I like to think that there’s something more for me, after I find my brother and this whole prophecy thing gets straightened out.”

Belphegor chuckled. “Don’t worry yourself about the prophecy thing,” he said as he stood up from his chair. He started to gather the dirty bowls and plates.

“Why’s that?”

The old fallen angel used a spoon to scrape what remained of the mashed potatoes onto Aaron’s dirty plate. “Because it doesn’t concern you,” he answered.

“Don’t you think I’m the One?” Aaron asked curiously, leaning forward in his seat. “You heard what Camael said, and you saw what I did to your magick handcuffs.”

“All very impressive.” Belphegor nodded as he gave Gabriel a green bean from the plate of refuse. “I can honestly say that I’ve never seen power the likes of yours, and your control over it thus far is admirable, but I do not believe you are the One spoken of in prophecy.”

Aaron was surprised by the disappointment he felt; a day ago he would have traded the whole angelic Chosen One thing for a bag of Doritos. Now… “Are you positive?” he asked. “How do you know? Camael said…”

“Camael has been separated from his kind for a very long time,” the angel explained, pausing in his cleanup to gaze intently at Aaron. “He is desperate to belong again—perhaps too desperate—and he saw something in you that really isn’t there. I’m sorry.”

There was something in Belphegor’s attitude that suddenly annoyed Aaron. It reminded him of his childhood in foster care, before he moved to the Stanleys’ and learned what being part of a family was all about. Before that he was looked on as being less than other kids, perceived as a failure before he even had a chance to try.

“The essence inside you is extremely powerful, and I fear that if a true merger were ever to occur between the angelic nature and your fragile human psyche, you would be driven out of your mind. And we of Aerie would be forced to do something about it.”

Aaron remembered a teacher he’d had in the first grade, Mr. Laidon. The teacher had singled him out, telling the other students that he didn’t have a family and that the state needed to take care of him. At that moment he had felt like a show-and-tell project, something less than the other kids in his class. Aaron’s face flushed hot with the memory.

“Maybe I could be taught,” he began. “Camael says that if a union occurs properly—”

The old angel chuckled, a condescending laugh that Aaron had heard so many times in his life.

“Teach you to be our messiah?” Belphegor asked. “No, Aaron. The true One spoken of in our sacred writing will be coming, just not right now.”

“But the Archangel Gabriel said that I was God’s new messenger,” Aaron argued.

“Then he was wrong,” Belphegor emphatically stated, and picked up the dishes, signaling an end to the conversation.

Aaron felt empty, as if being the savior of the fallen had actually begun to mean something to him, warts and all. He was about to offer Belphegor some help when there came a frantic rapping at the front door. Gabriel immediately sprang to his feet and began to bark.

“Come in,” Belphegor called out, turning toward the front door, arms loaded with dirty dishes.

They heard the sounds of the front door open and close, followed by rapid footsteps. Scholar rushed in through the living room clutching a notebook in one hand. “Belphegor we need to speak at once…” His eyes found Aaron’s and he fell silent.

“Good evening, Scholar. Aaron and I were just having dinner. May I get you something? Some coffee, or maybe some pie?”

The silence was becoming uncomfortable when Scholar finally spoke. “I need to speak with you in private, Belphegor.” He tore his eyes from Aaron’s and raised the notebook toward the old angel.

“Come with me,” Belphegor said. “Excuse us for a moment, Aaron.”

The two left the dining room, leaving Aaron to wonder what had gotten the angel so riled.

“So you’re not the Chosen One, then?” Gabriel said, distracting him from his thoughts.

“I thought you were asleep,” Aaron said, leaning back in his chair and watching the doorway to the kitchen.

“You’d be surprised what I hear when I’m asleep.”

“He doesn’t think that it’s me. It’s no big deal. I always knew there was a chance that Camael was full of it.” He looked at his dog lying on the floor by his chair.

“What does this mean for us now?” Gabriel asked earnestly.

Aaron shrugged. “I don’t really know,” he said, for the first time in a long while considering a future that didn’t involve the angelic prophecy. “I guess it means we can get out of here and get back to finding Stevie.”

“Do you think Camael will come with us?”

Aaron didn’t get a chance to answer, for at that moment Belphegor and Scholar returned to the room. There was a strange look upon the old angel’s face and Aaron saw that he was holding Scholar’s notebook. It was open and Aaron could see parts of drawings that he recognized, sketches of the symbols that appeared on his body when he allowed his angelic essence to emerge.

“Is everything all right?” Aaron asked. As of late, fearing the worst had become as natural to him as breathing. It wasn’t the greatest way to be, but at least he was always prepared.

“Were you serious about being taught, about wanting to learn?” Belphegor questioned.

Aaron nodded, not quite sure what he was getting himself into.

Belphegor handed the notebook and its drawings back to Scholar. “We’ll begin your training immediately.”