The bar dissolved around him and the air crackled with power, and in the darkness he saw a blasted tree. He saw a creature with a thousand wings and ten thousand eyes. He saw a great chasm filled with molten fire, and there was a voice like the thunder of all of the storms that have ever played across this green earth at once
I LIKE NOT THE DECOR, THIS PLACE SEEM’TH DIVEY
Harry, Wingman to the G-d, was dragged back into his own body, coughing blood into a cocktail napkin as his head swam with incomprehensible visions.
“Sorry,” said the Metatron, appearing next to him, “he hasn’t been out with mortals in a while, forgot the protocol.”
Harry blinked tears of pain and wonder out of his eyes, and looked back and forth between the angel and the nigh incomprehensible form of יהוה, asking, “does he really need me? Aren’t you a literal wingman?”
“I know not the ways of dating. My kind are banned from it.”
“Right, the Nephilim thing.”
יהוה rumbled at the mention, just below the level of speech and therefore tolerable, if uncomfortable, to Harry’s ears and mind.
“In any event, you know the rules,” the Metatron said, “and you have been requested. You must serve.”
“I know the rules better than anyone except the Crone,” Harry replied. “I’m the one living with them. Let’s get this going. I know the place is a little on the trashy side, but the request said he was looking for a one night thing, and this is where you go for those.”
“Very well,” said the Metatron, as the incomprehensible form of the G-d seemed to nod reluctantly. “What then is the next step?”
“Well, it’s going to be complicated, with you in the middle, but I think we can make that work for us. We’ll say he’s a mute, and that’ll play into the ‘broken dove’ thing some women have. Plus he’s-”
Harry turned to look as closely as he could at the form beside him, which was to a man the way that a rocket launcher is to a Nerf gun, the way that a billionaire is to a Monopoly winner, the way that all of human language is to a poem, the way that the object is to the shadow it casts in the cave where men live their lives huddled in the bare warmth of a fire and fearful of the outside.
“-magnetic, I’ll give him that, even compared to the gods I spend most of my time with.”
The air grew dark and dangerous and there was a menace to the G-d’s form.
“He says, ‘Thou shalt not mention-‘”
“Hang on,” said Harry, “I know The Commandments, but I literally spend every evening with a different god.”
The menace grew thicker, and Harry collapsed to his knees.
“Stop! Okay, fine, I won’t mention them, but you know you won’t break the Covenant either. Let’s get you laid!”
The sharp malice that hung in the atmosphere lessened.
“You presume much,” said the Metatron, “but you are correct that for this night the Covenant shall hold. What is our next step?”
“Well,” said Harry, standing and leaning on the bar while his head cleared, “What’s he into?”
The Metatron stared deep into his master’s form, communing in some deeper language of thought that could be sensed but not understood by Harry’s lesser mind, but he could sense that something of import was passing between them.
The Metatron asked, “Will there be any virgins?”
“Oh come on!“ said Harry.