Beat the Devil

Priester Anasvindo was at the altar already, preparing the elements, as his premier congregants entered and took their place in the front pews. His eyes went immediately to the blond angel. He’d seen the arrival. He’d been drawn to the square along with the others because of the unannounced harbinger sun of summer and had stood at the edge of the teeming throng to watch the descent from the carriage of the curious, repelling, compelling strangers.

The malevolent force in black had made him tremble and lift his cross involuntarily to shake uncontrollably between him and the apparition. And then the angel had appeared at the door to the carriage, and Priester Anasvindo had been transported into his other world. The effect of this perfect young man was such on him that the priest had withdrawn from the edge of the crowd, a clawed hand pressed firmly into the yielding shoulder of the chorister who had been practicing in the church before they all felt the call of the sunshine, and he took the village youth into the sacristy and fucked all of the urges out of himself that the appearance of the white angel had aroused.

And now he, the compelling angel, was here, in his church sanctuary, sitting in the first of the pews, and, as the ritual began was singing in a clear, pure soprano that floated out above all of the rest. The chorister who had felt Priester Anasvindo’s rod was missing, snuffling and sniffing in the bell tower, but the young stranger’s voice was even more beautiful than his.

Priester Anasvindo turned, not really knowing why he was doing so, and beckoned to the young singer of beauty, inviting him to take the place of the missing chorister in the pews behind the altar.

And to his surprise, after looking to the man in black for guidance, the white angel had glided up into the choir pew and lifted his voice once more over all of the rest in an Ava Maria.