Lucifer was the archetype for beauty. Everything that God wanted in the perfect partner was present in the Son of the Morning. Other angels, created after him, would weep at the sight of divine seraph, beating their breast and often their loins also if God had given them the relevant bits.
It might be worth pointing out here that most angels are asexual. They have no means of reproducing. Only the Seraphs, archangels, cherubs and grigori were able to reproduce. The others, having no physical outlet for their love, got good at singing in the shower. Why do you think Michael was so grateful to be elevated from angel to archangel? It wasn’t just for the better housing.
I’ve often asked myself why he gave those few angels reproductive organs. I mean, He’s the one that make angels, right? He didn’t ship in a mating couple and wait for them to reproduce to 100 billion, did he? No. He created the whole lot on day one. My point is, why then did he create four tiers of angels capable of reproduction and then make them all male?
There are two possible reasons that I can think of. Either (a) he foresaw that the angels would mate with the mortals and produce nephilim (which he didn’t like anyway, hence the whole Flood drama) or (b) he’s Gay.
It’s got to be (b) hasn’t it? If I was a gay God I’d surround myself with beautiful angels to shag every which way till Sunday, too. I’d even make the same rule of them not shagging each other so as to keep it all for myself.
“How did you find me?” he says.
I almost laughed. “It wasn’t hard,” I said. “You’re using the same name you chose before Harold was even born and you’re working in a dusty old shop that hasn’t seen a customer since the invention of the microchip.”
“The what?” Senoy pulled out a ledger and ran his finger down dusty columns.
“The microchip?” I gestures to the 42” LCD TV he’d been watching. It was tuned to Songs of Praise, even on a Tuesday. “It’s what makes that thing work without an eight foot tube behind it.
“Is it really?” The angel looked over his shoulder. “I did wonder how they’d made it so thin.”
“Microchips,” I said. “Digital technology.”
“Oh.” The confusion left his face. “Computers. I thought you were on about potato fries. I don’t hold with computers.”
“How can you not live with them?” I said. “Even Heaven has issued its operatives with Blackberrys.”
“I know.” Senoy, or Mr. Duke as he preferred to be known, pulled out a dusty box from underneath the counter. “They sent me one as well but I still prefer a notebook and pencil.”
He flicked through the pages and I say Harold’s name flash past several times. I closed the book and leaned on the counter until he stepped backwards to regain some personal space. “So,” I said. “How’s the brimstone business?”
Until the morrow. X