Burning

Gabriela saw the preacher from the corner, the amen man, she thought, and two women run out of the library with their arms full of books. She stayed out of sight, first behind a tree, then a trash can, then a dumpster. He saw her anyway.

"Little sister!" he said. Gabriela was afraid of something in his smile.

"Uh-hi," she said. She tried to smile back.

"How ya' doin', honey? We're gonna do God's work today. Hallelujah yes we are amen!" He laughed too loudly. She shuddered.

"Who's your friend," said one of the women who looked somewhere between forty-five and sixty.

"Oh, she's a street kid like I was," he said. He turned to Gabriela "A real musician, aren't you. You make a joyful noise every day, don't you? It does my tired heart good to hear it. It ain't easy preachin' in this neighborhood. Can I get a hallelujah? There's an old song says it's hard to be a saint in the city. Maybe that's true. Maybe you'll learn to play it one day, but you're more of a jazz girl, right? Wild, wicked, and pretty."

"Amen," said the other woman, "and we are doing God's work today."

"See these books, little sister?" said the preacher. "They've got some words in 'em we don't like." He held up a copy of The Origin of the Species. "Do you know what's in this book?"

"N-no," she said.

"Good for you, little sister. The stuff in this book makes me sick to my soul. Makes me want to cry, little sister. Can I get an amen?"

"Amen," said the women.

"Amen," said Gabriela.

"This one," he said and held up another. "This one's got soul sellin' and devil dealin' all through it, little sister, and it was written for kids just about your age. You know what we're going to do with these evil things, little sister?"

"N-no," she said.

"We're gonna burn them. You know, send them to Hell where they belong. Can I get an amen?"

"Amen," said the women. "Hallelujah, amen." Gabriela felt heat blossoming behind her eyes. An inferno was budding, soon to bloom. A wind was rising. When she spoke again, they could smell the incense on her breath.

"Not in His name," she said. "Not in his name."

"What, little sister?"

"Not in his name." The books were heavy in his hands. Gabriela shuddered. Fire, she thought. Burn it down. Burn it all down. I'll burn it-burn it-burn it-can't-no-wrong-not His orders. She shook her head hard and bought herself another half-minet of humanity.

"Little sister," said the preacher. "Your eyes are glowin' red. Do you need help, girl? Have you been sinnin'? We're all backsliders-" Gabriela could no longer hear him. She was slipping-slipping-drifting, and then-

"Not in His name," said Saint Gabriel the Archangel. The book burners saw something like wings, transluscent, but getting thicker, more real, by the second, shimmerning in the air behind Gabriela's shoulders.

"A demon!" said the preacher. "Begone, you! We ain't scared of Satan!"

"Satan!" said the Angel, "You would not know him if you saw him." His voice was a wild tenor with singing undertones that ranged from impossible heights, the empty air above soprano, down to the blackest depths of contrabass. "I have seen Satan. I have known Satan. He stood where my brother Michael does before your galaxy began to coalesce." The air around the Angel was hot. He, or maybe she, floated three inches above the sidewalk.