Angels of Monday

Those are, in no particular order, Gabriel, Michaeil, and Samael.

Arcan is the angel of the air who rules Monday, along with his ministers: Bilet, Missabu, Abuhaza, and Tony, but most texts leave Tony out because his presence is a bit anomalous. In any event, he, like the others, is subject to the west wind.

If you were to set about calling the angels of the first heaven to totally rule over Monday and kick its ass, you'd start with the angels of the east, then the west, then the north, and finally the south, but there's twenty of those guys and it's really dull to go through all of them. Anyway, you'd conjure and confirm upon them all in the name of Adonai (who has seven other names, because he's God and apparently can have all the names he wants), and then make with his glorification, big holy guy who created the sea and all the lakes and the waters on the second day, sealed the sea in his high name, gave it impassable bounds and all that. And after you've done all of that conjuring and confirming you still have to conjure the Gabester, the head honcho, chief ruler, and big Kahuna, which is another twenty-five minutes even if you skip the boring bits and go straight for the candles.

If you're lucky and they bother to show up, it'll be beneath the sign of great rain (Great, it's Monday and it's raining, fantastic). If you've done it all right and proper there will be even more signs: shapes of a king riding upon a doe like an archer, and a boy, and a huntress, along with a cow and a smaller doe and a goose, a green and silver garment of some sort, an arrow, and a many-footed creature. They're into signs, these guys. It's not enough to be angels in the first legion in the service of Orphaniel, no, they've got to have poncy deer and centipedes and jackets and arrows fluttering about the place. Then when you actually see them after all that swanning nonsense, they're black like an obscure cloud, with a swollen countenance, their red eyes full of water, with a bald head and teeth like a wild boar, moving with the motion of an exceedingly great tempest of the sea.

A bunch of fat useless riff-raff if you ask me, because all I need to greet Monday is a decent cup of espresso and maybe a scone.

Occultists! Out of their tiny little minds.