Ancient stories tell of seven holy items that hold back the days of Armageddon.

One of the relics was the Seal of Abaddon. The first seal of its kind, it held back the Destroyer; the Angel of Death. The next was the Seal of Samael and it restrained the Archangel of Death, limiting his power as surely as it had that of his brother. The Pentacle of Ashtaroth curtailed that Dominatrix of Hell, strangling her influence over mankind. Belial's Shroud was a straitjacket for the ancient beast. The Chalice of the Leviathan kept that Titan submerged and sleeping. The Rod of Wormwood stopped the wounded angel's poisonous blood spreading from the sarcophagus he lay in since his fall to Earth.

The final item was originally another seven items in itself: The Daggers of Armageddon. Holy knives crafted long ago in a monastery with the sole purpose of destroying any Antichrist that might rise to power. They had been used more than once over the years and four were destroyed during those struggles. The remaining three Pietre had held for a time, before losing them in a complicated game of intrigue.

It was Pietre who told Michael about the relics. As soon as he knew about them, he knew he had to have them. The problem lay in finding them. Again, Michael found himself frustrated at not being able to sense something out there in the world, just like with the gasoline. Knowing the name of something and knowing what it 'felt' or 'looked' like was not the same. There weren't any pictures of the relics so he couldn't even go off of that. Pietre described the Daggers of Armageddon well, though, and that was where Michael decided to start.

Even better: Pietre knew who had them last. He had last known them to be in the hands of two witches who he believed headed for France back in the mid-2000's or so. Fiona reached out to the coven in Paris but the spirit messenger would need time to track down the Supreme there. Fiona had no doubt Mme Boniface was indeed there; all of the witches left alive in the post-apocalyptic decay made contact with one another regularly. It just took more magical effort now that public telephone service was a thing of the past.

Those wheels were already in motion before Buck passed away. It was merely coincidence that his funeral happened the same day that the first of the relics turned up in New Jerusalem.

...

-= AMERiCAN HoRRoR SToRY =-

...

The funeral had been a homespun one, beautiful in its way. Buck would have been happy with the send-off. Misty Day led the service and had overseen the decorations the village women made. His casket was unfinished pine, yellow and new, hand-crafted by the man's own nephew, Vince. The choir sang. A young boy did a very poignant solo that sounded absolutely angelic in the vaulted chapel.

After the service the community held a potluck supper. Someone brought an ice chest of homebrewed beer—Buck's favorite orange-label. The crafter, a red-headed guy named Adam, announced he was assigning the beer the official name: "Buck's Orange". His hand-made label wasn't much to look at but the townsfolk appreciated the sentiment, and the free beer.

When the service was over, a walking funeral procession carried Buck to the cemetery where he was set on a specially-made pyre and lit on fire, in accordance with his wishes. He had a fear in life of someone tampering with his corpse post-mortem. Though his soul wasn't around to see it, Misty made sure his wishes were adhered to.

Many stayed the whole duration of the fire but it would burn for hours so Michael returned to the church, accompanied by several others. Cleanup work in the chapel commenced, though Michael wasn't participating. He was going over one of Pietre's apocalyptic scrolls for the umpteenth time, trying to decipher where the Pentacle of Ashtaroth might be. He was most curious about her, mostly because she was a she.

He knew from his studies that female angels were a thing but it was strange to think he might actually meet one. From what he could sort out, all of the relics were tied to angels, with the possible exception of the Leviathan. There were too many contradicting texts about what that thing was, and even more man-made fiction pieces that made it even harder to understand. It could be anything from a multi-headed water dragon to a kraken. Or a whale-shark. Or the Loch Ness Monster.

The rest, though, were clearly celestials. Of them all, Samael should be easiest to connect with but Jeremiah had lost his holy pendant when he died. No one knew what happened to it. It just seemed to have disappeared. Jeremiah said he hadn't heard or felt Samael since his death, either. He couldn't remember anything about being dead so he couldn't say what had happened then.

There was movement in Michael's peripheral that caught his attention. Someone had approached him. Looking up from the scroll, he found himself looking at the cloaked figure of Evangelina. She had her hood up but her angular, pale features were unmistakable.

"Oh, hello," he said, rolling the scroll up. "I thought you left with the Order."

She pressed her lips together briefly. "No. I didn't want to go back. I hope it's all right that I'm here."

He smiled. "As long as your people don't accuse me of kidnapping you, you're welcome."

She echoed his smile and took a step closer. "They won't. I...I just wanted to say I'm sorry. About Buck. He was a nice man. He'll be missed by many."

Michael's expression softened. Her soft voice and sad eyes made her prettier to him. "He was a pillar of the community," he said, aware of how canned that sounded. It was true, though. "Are you planning to live here in New Jerusalem then?"

She flushed self-consciously and straightened her cape. "I.. I was. Am. Yes."

"You know Jeremiah's back?" There was probably a more tactful way to say that but Michael didn't feel like stalling the conversation searching for words.

Evangelina glanced away. "He didn't die?"

Michael watched her, finding her reaction curious. "No. He did. I brought him back."

Her eyes were on him again. "You did?"

He smiled, liking the undivided attention. "I did. He's helping Pietre right now, in the back room. Will that be weird for you? Seeing him in town?"

She shook her head and twin lines appeared between her thin brows. She was older than she looked and it showed when she frowned. "No. I said my peace. The Order acknowledged my divorce." She shook her head and folded her hands before her to keep them still but she expressed with them anyway. "I don't even know him, really. We've met a handful of times in over thirty years. I don't blame him for not coming back. I...feel the same way. I don't want to go back either. Not ever."

Even more curious. "Was it that bad?"

She pressed her lips together to check the bitter words that sprang to them. "Yes," she said carefully. "For me. It's not that the Order is...They have good intentions and they do know many things. It's why we've survived. I am just...not... I'm not like them. I'm meant for... I don't know. Something else."

Michael tipped his head. He wanted to ask her more about her previous life but the door to the back hall opened just then and Pietre came out. The sleeves of his black silk shirt were rolled up to his elbows and his impeccable ponytail had a few hairs astray. He looked proud.

"She's awake," he smiled at Michael.

"Already?" Michael grinned and then turned back to Evangelina. "You have to see."

The young woman stammered a response but he was already hurrying for the hall. She followed behind, not sure what was happening. Pietre's self-satisfied smile told her nothing as she passed him. He brought up the rear, shutting the door behind them.

—

Author's Note:

Episode 4, Seven, is so-named because of the many references to the number seven in holy texts. Seven's a popular religious number and is significant in numerology. So is thirteen and I'll be playing with that number as well. For example, if you total up the number of relics (seven) and you count one dagger of Armageddon as part of that seven, add the remaining six daggers and you have... thirteen!

I will be messing with your head that way a lot this episode, so keep your eyes peeled. It's probably proof I've been spending too much time in Math class.

Seven is also the name of a pretty decent psycho-thriller starring Brad Pitt and Morgan Freeman.

This weekend I'll be at a writer's conference, trying to find an agent to represent my stuff. Hopefully I'll get someone who understands and appreciates horror of this breed. I know it's not everyone's cup of tea. I'm glad it's yours, though.