Gabriel's Hope

He never wanted to deal with the unexpected in his personal life again. At least, he thought he didn't when he invited Harmony to his bed. Most nights, she wasn't enough to settle his restless blood. He had sex and went back to work, unable to sleep knowing all the issues he couldn't fix. Though he never felt that way sleeping with past-Death, he valued trusting the woman in his bed over potential rejection.

"Where you've slept every night for the past two months," he answered.

She appeared relieved.

"I'll be late," he said. "Don't wait up. Grab this guy and take him downstairs in case his soul pops up later."

"Will do." Harmony bent and lifted the dead man in a fireman's carry. She called forth a portal, and what looked like a cave opened in the air before them.

Gabriel followed her into it. Portals to various places in the mortal and underworlds glowed in the in-between shadow realm. Mortal portals were like sunshine, the underworld the color of a storm cloud, and the portal to Hell blacker than Gabe's eyes. Harmony disappeared through the gray portal while Gabe took one of the yellow portals.

He emerged at the Caribbean Sanctuary, one of four places that connected the mortal and immortal worlds. Governed by Death, the Sanctuaries were located on islands protected by magic and tended by convents of Immortal nuns, who helped any who came to them.

The room of the Sanctuary where he materialized consisted of nothing more than a lectern holding a massive book possessed by a long-dead Oracle. In its pages, the events of the Past were recorded, the Present written and the Future a blur of potential outcomes.

Not that he could see the Future. He'd hoped to be granted the same level of power as his predecessor. Instead, he'd found his vision unchanged. Gabe strode to the lectern and watched the words of the Present being written across the pages. They leapt from the pages to create visions before him that then swirled and turned back into words. He could see the Past and Present. Never the Future.

The balmy morning breeze drifting in from the small window was fragrant with the scents of the ocean and bread from the Sanctuary's kitchens.

"Any news today?" he asked the Oracle.

More visions formed. These were of demons gathering the souls of dead mortals while death-dealers missed the lives meant to be ended. The Oracle was re-writing the present, based on who was killed and who had lived that wasn't supposed to.

"Yeah, I know," he said. "Anything more useful?"

The images returned to the pages. The Oracle was quiet, scribbling words. As he watched, the words reached the page on the right, the one reserved for the Future. Interested, he read the message addressed to him.