Page 2 of Metatron

“You understand nothing!” God’s reply came with a tightening of Metatron’s throat, as if an invisible fist held it. “What I do, I do for Heaven.”

Metatron flexed his fists and broke the hold on him, not easily, and he knew very well Elyon could have tightened the grip and snapped his neck had he wanted to. “If you have a plan or a vision, then tell me that I might understand your commands.”

“I don’t have to explain myself to you or anyone else. I would smite you, but that might cause more issues than your death would merit. What am I to do with you?” Elyon drummed his fingers on his throne. “Take your wings?”

The idea horrified. “On what grounds?”

“Because I said so,” Elyon retorted. “But again, that might make you a martyr, and that won’t do. I need you out of sight, fading from people’s minds.” God leaned back on his throne, the clouds shifting to accommodate, and a smile touched his lips. “A mission, far from here, would accomplish that. And lucky for you, I have a cantorii ready for departure.”

“Going to banish me to a colony planet?” Metatron spat. He should have been rejoicing he’d live, but the rude reward for being a loyal warrior stung.

“The current planets are already taken care of. It’s time we expanded. Therefore, you will embark on a journey of exploration. It is time we probe and seed the far-flung reaches of the universe.”

In other words, permanent exile. God’s way of handling a messy situation. He couldn’t kill Metatron, not without just cause. Stripping him of his wings and HALO would also draw notice, as Metatron’s bravery and service to Heaven were well documented.

But this, sending him off on a futile search, far from Heaven… Perhaps it wasn’t the worst thing that could happen. In fact, it could be the perfect solution to get him away from Elyon and finally forge a life for himself, free of the constant wars and conflicts.

The expulsion was how Metatron ended up principality of a cantorii that ventured into a spiral galaxy, where they found the lost colony of Eden.

It was also where he’d most likely die because Hell was on its doorstep.

Chapter 1

Sometime before Aziel got caught on camera, Zakai found Atlantis, and Elija destroyed Astaroth’s castle…

The day I met an angel I happened to be drunk. In my defense, I’d had a terrible week. My boss fired me from my receptionist job at a car dealership so he could give my spot to his mistress. My car died on the way home and the tow truck wouldn’t give me a lift, so I had to walk a few miles in the pouring rain only to get to my place—an attic apartment that overlooked a parking lot—and find the ceiling leaking. Not just drips of water, but a torrent that led to my landlord telling me to leave for my own safety.

I barely managed to pack a bag before I got shoved out of my place. With no paycheck coming in and little savings, I couldn’t exactly afford a hotel, and I hated mooching off friends. Not having many alternatives, I turned to the only place I could access and not have to pay: the church basement we used to host our Templar Knights meetings.

Yes, I said Templar Knights, a secretive society whose stated purpose was fighting Hell’s minions, but in reality, it was more an excuse to meet up, have drinks, and chat about how the world sucked and had strayed from God’s path. The weird part about me being a member? I wasn’t very religious. I inherited my spot because of my father and his father before him. A whole line of sons stretching way back and ending in me.

A woman.

Luckily, being an only daughter led to my dad not being a misogynistic ass. My father fought to have me present at the meetings. Standing against those who tried to keep the Templars a sausage fest.

He taught me how to fight and took me demon hunting from an early age. Turned out I was skilled at it, a good thing since I had to prove myself to the old-school knights who thought women belonged in the kitchen or in bed on their backs, legs spread. It took time and effort, but I finally reached a point in the organization where I demanded and received respect.

My induction was just the start. At the last major Templar event—a convention held in Italy that gathered all 304 knights scattered around the world—I’d been pleased to see how many female members now belonged to the various Templar cells. In an even more astonishing stroke, when my dad died unexpectedly last year from a heart attack, my own sect voted me in to replace him. Me, the nonreligious but willing-to-fight evil chick, now in charge of the group that the world assumed LARPed at being heroes. Little did they know, we did actually fight monsters; we just didn’t advertise it.

Anyhow back to the angel. Given my shit day, I’d chosen to bunk down in the church basement with a bottle of Jack Daniel’s—the only best friend a girl really had until the spins hit. I wasn’t what you’d call the sociable type. Me and other girls? We didn’t get along. I’d always understood guys so much better. Problem being, at one point, guy friends made a move that led to you having to not so gently rebuff them. I hated it when that happened. It spelled an end to hanging out because things always got awkward after the rejection.

Currently, I was taking a break from people because they tired me. Non-Templars didn’t understand the secrets I kept. Templars wouldn’t respect a leader fucking their members. It left me with few choices when it came to friendships. Thankfully Jack, that dear old bottle of soothing warmth, gave me exactly what I needed. Relaxation.

Since I didn’t have a bed, I lay atop the table where I’d spread my blanket and pillow, some of the few things I’d managed to grab before being ushered out. Since the ceiling insisted on spinning, I had my eyes closed, one leg flopped over the side of the table, my toes dangling but not quite reaching the floor to steady me. I really hoped I could avoid puking. I’d forgotten to grab an elastic for my hair.

Bang. Bang. Bang. I was startled at the brisk knock at the side door, situated in the alley and giving direct access into the basement so you could avoid the church overhead. At the Templar meetings, we often joked about our underground meeting room being our version of a lair, hidden and secret. The irony being the church rented it to us thinking we were an anonymous addiction group. They ignored the odd hours we sometimes met. In return, we kept pesky demons out of the belfry and did it so well that the pastor and his many volunteers never saw a thing.

Given this wasn’t a meeting night—I should know, I’m the one who calls them—I ignored the tap. If this were a Templar emergency—AKA demon sighting—they would have used the secret knock or, most likely given we’d gone modern at my urging, texted.

The person in the alley didn’t bang a second time, and I expelled a breath as I opened my eyes. The view proved disconcerting seeing as how I’d left a light on. The covered windows made this place too dark and creepy otherwise. It didn’t help it could have used a renovation starting with the ceiling. I stared at the drop tiles, more dingy gray than white, many of which sported yellow circles of mouse pee.

Click.

My half-lidded eyes flew open. I turned my head to see the knob on the door turning. Holy shit. Someone was coming inside.

I was understandably perturbed seeing as how only two other people had a key. Tony, who’d been trying to convince us to switch to Zoom permanently after Covid, seeing as he owned a super nice house in the burbs and hated coming to meetings. And Antonia, who currently vacationed in the Bahamas.

Despite the spinning of my brain, I rolled to my side and shoved my other leg off the table. Unfortunately, my body began to follow. My feet hit, and I crumpled, hitting the floor as the door opened. My hands barely stopped my fall. My nose almost kissed the tile floor. Hair flopped over my cheeks to form a veil, blocking my view. Worst of all, my gun was in my duffel bag on a chair opposite me.

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