Lattes of Faith

I was sitting in the coffee shop drinking a muddled blackberry latte. Across from me sat two young men wearing pajamas.

“So, you two are my guardian angels, huh?”

“Yep,” said Salt.

Wings nodded in agreement.

“And I’m in danger? God, this dream is dumb; but the latte…exceptional.”

“We invented it,” said Wings.

“You did not invent lattes.”

“No, but we make them magically delicious,” said Salt, wiggling his fingers mysteriously.

I continued sipping and steered the conversation back on topic.

“What kind of danger?”

“Have you ever heard of Sodom and Gomorrah?” asked Salt, still wiggling his fingers.

“Is that the one where God burned the city and turned some chick to salt for watching?”

“Kind of,” said Salt. “Sodom was on the chopping block and God wanted to save his buddy Lot.”

“And you’re the descendant of Paltith, Lot’s first daughter. You aren’t technically supposed to be alive, but we messed up. Our bad,” said Wings.

“Yeah, everyone except Lot and his immediate family were supposed to burn,” said Salt.

“Daughters are immediate family.”

“This daughter was already dead; Sodom killed her for being hospitable to strangers,” said Salt.

“That was a crime?”

“Yeah, a big one. Outsiders were supposed to starve to death, but Paltith snuck food to one, so the council burned her alive. Pissed off God divinely,” said Wings.

“You are the descendent of Paltith’s daughter, who was not immediate family,” said Salt. “She blended in seamlessly though.”

“Oh, so are you protecting me or tiding loose ends?” I stood, but Salt caught my pajama sleeve, pulling me back into my seat.

“Naw, you’ve got it all wrong. We’re saving you from the demon.”

“Demon?”

“Yep, born from the pain of Sodom—super pissed you exist,” said Wings. “He just found out; we just found out. Somehow, the Calamity Relief Report from Sodom was lost, but now it’s found. We blame Abraham.”

They both nodded.

I took another drink of the blackberry latte, trying to figure out what the extra ingredient was.

“It tastes like vanilla bean but with sweetened condensed milk.”

Salt clapped his hands, approving my taste conclusions.

“Heck yeah, good tastebuds, Eagle Brand is the closest you can get in real life.”

“Will you two stop talking about the latte? This is serious. He’s on his way to your house and you’re just snoozing away under your electric blanket,” said Wings, perturbed.

“Y’all are my guardians, so fix it?”

“We can’t because you don’t have faith. You believe this is a tequila induced dream from your friend Braxton’s bachelorette party.”

“Well, then, walk me through my crisis of faith. Then I’ll believe in you and the demon won’t get me. Easy-Peasy.”

“Salt, help me out here,” said Wings. “What can we do that will make her believe we are legit guardian angels and not figments of mescal?”

“I can do this.” Salt stood and did a backflip in pajamas.

“Impressive, but hardly angelic, and this is still a dream.”

“Would it help to discuss why you don’t believe in God in the first place?”

“No.”

“That’s it, just no?” asked Wings.

“Hell, no? Look, it’s a long story and I don’t want to go into it. Let’s just say that my father was a card-carrying member of Herbert W. Armstrong’s Worldwide Church of God, which turned out to be the Armstrong Cult of Money, which took advantage of our family and made me an outcast for most of my life.”

“Ouch,” said Salt. “That’ll do it.”

“I’m bitter.”

“Ya know, it’s not all bad—faith, love, harmony, and stuff,” said Wings. “Salt, give her the razzle-dazzle.”

Salt leaned over me, and a shimmering halo dotted with opalescent eyes materialized above his head. White feathered wings unfurled from his back, and light surrounded him and then me. A soft, hopeful feeling welled up inside me, making me cry a little. He put a hand on my forehead and said, “Wake up!”

A crack of thunder made me bolt upright in my bed as sparkling ash fizzled around me. A flash of lightning illuminated the bedroom, and that I was alone; no angels, no coffee shop, and no latte.

I was about to lie back down to nurse my impending hangover when I heard a low, menacing voice from the living room.

“You will burn and scream in agony, just as the people of Sodom. You will sate my hunger for your ashes.”

I could hear dragging footsteps in the hallway as I rolled onto the floor between the bed and the wall. Whatever was dragging quickly reached my bedroom door and pushed it open, filling the room with the smell of sulphur and charcoal, burning my nostrils.

“We will burn together in Hellfire!”

The bed shook and lurched as a hand on an impossibly long arm grabbed my ankle.

“Salt, Wings, Help! I believe—I promise on everything, on lattes and backflips!” I didn’t know who else to beg, what else to say, how else to pray.

The hand burned my ankle as it dragged me from under the bed and into the center of the room. A flash of lightning filled the room again, and I saw the demon, charred like used charcoal, with yellow ember eyes. When it spoke, I could see flames licking the inside of its giant maw and a tongue of lava. Roaring promises of pain, it almost drowned the weather sirens blaring in the background.

One thing caught in my mind, that if the monster was real, then so were my angels; seeing was believing, after-all.

My house shook, and the roof broke away, revealing the night sky, a storm, and a tornado. The sound was roaring lions, crashing waterfalls, freight trains, and somehow trumpets.

The wind and rain bore down on the demon, pulling us both into the air, his hand still locked around my ankle.

I screamed as the wind pulled the demon in every direction, then finally apart, dropping me back on the floor of my bedroom. I scrambled under the bed to shield myself from the debris.

The house rattled, walls fell, windows shattered, and everything I’d ever owned swirled above me. But the demon was gone in the dissipating swirl of wind and chaos.

Later newscasters would say how lucky I was to survive the storm.

“I guess I had guardian angels watching over me,” I said into the camera and winked.