Exodus 20:3

by Freydís Moon

“Allow God to act on your behalf,” Ariel said sternly. The side of his thumb caught Diego’s mouth, flitted across the Saint Christopher, then dropped. “Make room for divine intervention.” “God has never looked out for me.”

Ariel at the edge of his fingertips, and Ariel saying words backward, and Ariel skewered with hollow bones, and Ariel pulled into different shapes. Feathers, falling. Eyes—jaguar, dolphin, human, goat—blinking.

Something interesting. Something true. I’m the family fuckup. Total black sheep. “I read a lot,” he said. “Literary, mostly.” I’ve never been alone with someone like you. “I studied creative writing before I dropped out, but I still follow free workshops online. I don’t really…I don’t really do anything, honestly.”

As much as I cherish the Gospel, it isn’t exactly godly anymore. Holy, yes. Important, yes. Inspirational, yes. But it’s the Bible that condemns promiscuity. Not God.” What a strange thing for a man like you to say, Diego thought. He tilted his head, mirroring Ariel’s previous motion. “Aren’t you, like, a pastor or something?” “I’m someone with an idea. That’s all.”

This strange, powerful man had him snared, caught like an animal with its foot in a noose.

It was a frightening thing, being in the middle of nowhere with someone who paid attention. Who saw him. Who listened.

The moment Diego opened his eyes, he saw the diamond-shaped orb peering at him from Ariel’s forehead. Feathers shooting away from his skull. Appendages outstretched, littered with eyes. Human, goat, leopard, reptile. Diego blinked, just once, and heard wings beat, feathers cutting through the night. In the midst of his lashes flicking, Ariel disappeared.

“Starving.” Diego swallowed the rest of what he wanted to say: what are you, what did we do last night, what do you want with me, can I have you? “I didn’t know you liked beer.”

But Ariel looked at him. Shifted his eyes toward Diego like a wolf watching a deer, like a hunter watching the hunted. Like Diego was a twenty-point buck, and the wolf was weighing his options. Like Diego was something sharp, and the hunter was counting his bullets. It made him feel extraordinarily powerful

“Something that can keep you safe,” he said and walked away. His boots thumped on the stairs.

“I am duality.” Ariel’s wings trembled, eyes fluttering between spotted feathers. Like a falcon. Like a predator. “Designed in the image our creator manifested before the beginning, when the universe was still an ambitious idea. Where you are made of stardust and recycled matter, I was created in the likeness of the canvas you were born to decorate—lightness, darkness.” His mouth was still his, parting delicately for each word. “Sentinels guarding Earth, shepherding you.”

“You are my golden calf, Diego López. You have remade yourself, rebuilt your own empire from within, and demanded recognition from the world. Reverence from unbelievers.

He looked regal. Like a thing too grand for reality. A creature made of legend, meant to be praised.

“I could worship you,” Ariel whispered raggedly. “I would let you,” Diego said. “Stay with me. Stay, little coyote,” he said, breathing hard. “You’ll be safe.” Diego surged forward and sealed their mouths together. “Because you’ll keep me.” He quite liked the idea of being kept. “Because you’re mine,” Ariel rumbled.

“Por favor.” After that, they tangled together in cotton sheets, and Diego found himself straddling an angel—a fucking angel—thanking a God he barely knew, discovering faith in damp skin and pearlescent feathers.

Sometimes it was still jarring, seeing him holy and ancient, waking to the brush of his feathers, being watched by many eyes. But Diego knew him—angel, beast, man—and he couldn’t fathom being without him.