The Light Between (Part 1 of 8)

by Erisian

Book 5

 

Note, if you have yet to read the saga - the tale starts here:

Into The Light

Hope you enjoy!

 

Earth. Deep blue skies filled with clouds and sun.

Returned from the desolation and horrors of Hell, Jordan finds herself again surrounded by friends, kitty, and a peaceful campus with idle moments seemingly to spare.

Yet relaxation and inner peace remain elusive, as unanswered questions flit across thought and dream. After all that she has endured a quiet life as a simple school student feels like a mighty jest - one with a waiting and deadly punchline.

For time, even for angels resurrected in the light, does not so easily stand still.

 

Chapter 1 - Duty

 

It was not the coughing of the children that had disturbed his slumber.

The last of Uganda’s warm November rain fell upon the corrugated aluminum stretched above the schoolyard patio, hard droplets playing a sharp staccato as if marbles spilled from the sky. The rooms behind the rough stucco wall had recently been repurposed, small desks pushed aside to make way for rows of cots filled with those who in this place should have been nourishing their minds instead of struggling to breathe.

The nighttime nurse opening the battered screen door caught him holding lit match and cigarette, the meager light revealing a still-youthful face whose complexion was much lighter than everyone else’s.

“I thought you’d quit.” Dark thin arms crossed over scrubs the same deep green of the surrounding foliage. Letting the screen bump itself closed she leaned against the wall next to the cheap plastic chair upon which he sat.

Returning the box of matches to the white lab coat’s side pocket embroidered with a red cross, he inhaled the nerve-soothing toxins. The flare at its tip illuminated stubbled cheeks at least a week past their last shave. “This is purely for medicinal purposes.” Offering the glowing stick over she too took a long drag before handing it back.

“Can’t sleep?”

He ignored her question with one of his own. “How many more?”

“How many what?”

“Won’t live to see the dawn.”

She said nothing and stared off into the damp night. They’d run out of antibiotics days ago and the hospital in nearby Kaabong had none to spare. It would take yet more time for reports of the outbreak to reach higher authorities. Or more honestly, weeks for the aid organizations to grease the right palms. Hours and days that those within did not have. Shaking her head, she pushed a tire-sandaled foot away from the wall. “I’d better get back inside, Doctor.”

The screen door again clattered shut. Exhaling a cloud of smoke and worry, he watched it slowly drift out into the rain.

More coughing came from within but for now all they could offer was cough syrup and kind words. Here it was the twenty-first century, and yet in the furthest corners of the world plague still festered in the chests of young and old alike. Worse still was the knowledge that many more in the local populace were also likely infected but too wary of modern medicine to come to the make-shift hospital, ancient tribal superstition and distrust disavowing any outside aid.

Many would die who otherwise should have lived.

As his eyes drooped with a weariness beyond physical fatigue, he idly wondered why in the midst of all this he kept dreaming of a childhood far removed from here or even his own American upbringing.

 

“Nebu, give that back!”

Bare toes scrambled through a marketplace’s alleys. A larger boy with tousled brown curls that matched his tunic grinned as he fled from another boy whose own hair mirrored the crows perched upon the surrounding trees and mud-bricked rooftops.

“Nebu!”

Ducking past produce-filled wagons, the boy in front easily avoided the smaller hands trying to recover possession of the stolen knife plucked from the younger boy’s belt. It wasn’t the first time Nebu played this game with his distant cousin, leading the boy on many an afternoon chase only to arrive at his cousin’s house. Whereupon Nebu would demand a kiss from his cousin’s beautiful twin sister in exchange for return of whatever he’d managed to pilfer from the sulking brother.

But today Nebu’s cousin was more determined than ever to defeat the thief and reclaim that which was his.

Laughing as the shorter boy lunged at the blade held above out of reach, Nebu’s heel caught against a stone in the loosely paved road. As he fell backwards the point of the knife jabbed the haunch of a fine and towering tan-colored stallion being led to auction.

In an instant both rear legs of the startled horse kicked backwards, catching Nebu and launching him into a nearby wall.

While the stallion whinnied and fought against its handler Nebu slid down the hard-packed bricks, a trail of bright red smearing behind. Fingers twitched but failed to reach towards his cousin who could only stare aghast at the blood flowing from the head wound.

“Matityah?”

Pink bubbles trickled from Nebu’s lips and his next words were lost to choking against that which filled rib-pierced lungs.

A shout went up in the crowd, further spooking the horse who reared and bucked in greater frenzy.

But Matityah had eyes only for Nebu - and for the black robed figure who had knelt beside him as Nebu’s struggling breaths went still.

A woman screamed, diving straight through the unseen figure to clutch at the fallen boy. Dark fabric rose, its owner’s face hidden behind the hood while it regarded the small boy standing with tears of anger and anguish flowing free.

“You could have saved him!” Matityah shouted.

“Yes.”

“But you didn’t!”

“No.”

“Why, Father? Why?”

Wings also akin to the crows spread outward, and Matityah’s father - who was there yet not there - disappeared.

 

A woman’s voice startled him awake. “It’s not fair, is it?”

He must have drifted off in the chair. Heat from the burning nub of the cigarette flared against fingertips. With a yelp it was tossed into the rain, the embers squelched in the puddle besides the woman’s strangely mud-free boots.

She stood underneath an umbrella, beige raincoat belted tight around a thin waist set above equally tight jeans that only accentuated the long legs. Unlike the dirty yellow strands hanging to his shoulders, hers were platinum and bound into a tight bun.

He couldn’t see the parking area behind her well enough to determine if another vehicle had joined his own mud-encrusted jeep. And if there had been, where was Irumba? He was supposed to be standing guard against possible raiders! “Excuse me?”

The woman took a step forward under the awning and lowered the umbrella. Dim lights from inside the schoolhouse windows revealed elegant yet sharply cut features, the skin glowing otherworldly until she moved past the small illumination into the patio’s shadow.

“I said, it’s not fair.” She gestured towards the school with perfectly manicured fingers, each digit tipped with a shade of grey slightly darker than the previous. “But then again, when is death ever thus?”

“Are you from the hospital?”

Her laugh reminded him of wind chimes, yet its music held a disturbing dissonance. “No.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

“Looking for you, Matityah.”

He stiffened. Was he still dreaming? “How do you know that name?”

“I know many things. I know your true father, the one who sired your spirit. And I know the reason why you dream of death each night since Summer’s end.”

Pinching an arm, the sharp sensation did nothing to waken him further. With trembling hand he fumbled in the pocket, pulling out the last cigarette found within. As he was about to go back for the matches, the woman gestured and the cigarette lit itself. There was no spark or flash, instead the end simply glowed red and burned.

Inhaling too fast, he coughed excess smoke from his lungs. “Magic.”

“Only from your perspective.” Tapping the tip of the open umbrella against the patio’s concrete, the fabric folded in upon itself. Despite having been held aloft its surface was dry.

“What do you want?”

“Nothing much. Only to aid you in achieving your greatest ambition.”

He had to laugh. “What are you, some kind of forest spirit offering a devil’s bargain?”

She flashed a beaming smile no dentist could possibly improve yet which offered no comfort. “In life after life it’s the same for you, isn’t it? Shaman, druid, medicine man, doctor. Forever tilting against death. And always ending in loss.”

His own merriment faded. “It’s not a fight that can be won. Victory is measured only in temporary successes.”

“What if I said that winning is achievable? That all the suffering you’ve fought so hard against has been absolutely needless and is immanently stoppable.”

“I’d say you’re deluded, maybe even insane.”

“Archimedes once noted, ‘Give me a place to stand and a lever long enough, and I will move the world.’ He never knew how right he was. Come with me. Let me prove the truth of this to you.”

“Lady, I’m not going anywhere. Regardless of anything you offer, I’m needed here.”

Tall headlights split the deluge, bringing with them the sound of tires sliding across mud after having been halted by a wrenched parking brake. Good lord, were they about to be hit by raiders even in this weather?

From the passenger side a man in a poncho hopped out into the wet waving arms high. “Doctor! Come!”

“Irumba! What the heck is going on?”

“The medicine! They brought the medicine!”

Silhouetted by the vehicle’s circular lamps, he could no longer see a face but her voice cut through the rain. “A gift, Matityah. Go save your precious children. None need die. In the coming days we are sure to talk further.” Her shadow turned and the flipped umbrella opened automatically to ward off a wet which never touched.

“Wait! What do I call you?” Was she real or spirit? He still couldn’t tell.

As she faded into the night he heard her chuckled reply.

“Son of Azrael, you may call me Alal.”

 

Chapter 2 - Terms

 

If you ever find yourself being asked kindly (and later not so kindly) to cease all personal airborne activities and thereby end random panicked reports of shiny UFOs from concerned citizens, then I’d highly recommend getting a motorcycle.

Specifically a superbike with more horsepower than common sense such as the Ducati 1198S, a slick streamlined machine which as far as I was concerned was straight out of some cyberpunk anime.

Yeah, it’s that cool.

The trick though is to use an open-front helmet. That way you feel the wind blasting against your cheeks while the roaring engine encourages pretending that you’re flying low over the roads nestled between the snow-touched pines and plow-created embankments which line their path. A pair of retro goggles are also necessary, especially if the Red Baron decides to make an appearance in your imagination.

Which is, let’s face it (literally and metaphorically), bound to happen as you kick up sprays of loose asphalt around curves and corners while thanking the engineers for having included automatic traction control.

The only drawback is the complete lack of practicality, specifically with regards to a simple detail overlooked by both myself and the best friend who’d gifted the technological marvel as a Hanukkah present. Namely the mileage was rated at thirty miles per gallon or thereabouts - which sounded great except for one thing:

The tank only held four gallons.

Now if you’re like me and start getting paranoid about filling up as soon as a gauge reaches that last quarter this means rather frequent fill ups. Not that there weren’t other stops on the route I’d planned out. Despite it having snowed the past week several of the look-out points were still accessible and offering lovely views of the White Mountains of New Hampshire in all their evergreen and brilliant ice-covered glory, each spot requiring several minutes to appreciate properly. Taken together the five hour estimated loop through the area was turning into more like six. Maybe six and a half.

Plus tack on yet another hour as I’d decided to grab a midafternoon Sunday lunch, choosing the diner sitting at the crossroads of a pair of two-lane highways forming the upper right corner of the trail I’d mapped out for the day. Sitting next door to the pumps the building looked more like a small house than a restaurant even with the small parking lot nestled against its brick and brown-paneled walls. Having parked the white motorized steed - okay, technically the color was called Bianco Perla - a color selection insisted upon due to my friend’s sense of humor - I went through a door which proudly announced “Welcome ATV Riders”.

It was a lot warmer inside, the sharp contrast reminding that I still wasn’t used to heated accommodations after having spent the past couple years in far colder places. Okay, so for everyone else it’d only been like a week - but for me, the nearest I could estimate was just shy of two years subjective time.

Don’t blame me if that seems confusing. Travel between various realms of existence often doesn’t make sense, especially with regards to differentials of the flow of time. And it very well may have been even longer than I thought, which was part of the problem.

Pausing to scan the place from corner to corner, I took a spot along the far side of the long U-shaped counter, yielding a good view of the two walls with windows facing the road and parking lot. Shoving goggles into the ivory helmet’s padding I balanced them on the seat of the high-backed stool next to mine and did my best to ignore the long stare from the scrawny guy in a plaid shirt who stood behind the counter.

At least he was the only other person in the place and therefore the whole typical “check out the tall girl decked out in tight riding leathers” bit was limited to just him. And if you think such stares only come from men, think again. Whether I wished it or no, I stood out in a crowd.

Of course the reddish-gold hair which had escaped in wild freedom from the helmet didn’t help. Being stuck in that transition between super short and actually manageable, it was spiky enough that when combined with the bike outside I was almost a proper Japanese-animated protagonist except for being a) not Japanese, and b) unarmed. Unfortunately I’d been told that carrying a spear around was ill-advised. Let alone a longbow and quiver.

Which was annoying as walking around without a ready weapon was like an itch I couldn’t scratch. At least the leather jacket and riding chaps felt somewhat like the armor we’d worn for stealthier ops.

Once the guy with stringy brown hair stopped trying to discern my bust size under the jacket he came over, putting one of those square napkins on the counter. “Get you something?”

“Iced tea.”

“We’ve got hot chocolate if you’d like something warmer.”

“I’m fine with the cold.”

He shrugged. “Okay.” A laminated menu got dropped off before he slipped out from the counter area to grab a bottle from the cooler behind me. The glass-door refrigerator was shoved against a chalkboard-covered wall that had columns for desserts, lunch, and dinner specials - though only desserts had anything written in. As for the glass bottle, it was what they had for tea and it plonked heavily onto the napkin. “Need a minute to decide?”

“Nah. I’ll take a burger with extra extra cheese. And fries.”

That earned a pair of raised eyebrows. “Extra extra? So like four slices?”

“Yep. The more cheese the better. Medium rare if you’re willing.”

With another shrug he took back the menu and went through the nearby doorway into the kitchen, favoring the left leg with a noticeable limp as he did so. I would have regaled him about how absolutely special earthly cheese was (even good ol’ boring American!), except I figured that’d be too confusing to explain. Though it’s absolutely true. The stuff they’d dared to call cheese where I’d been stuck for those years hardly compared. Then again, they didn’t have cows or even goats from which to get normal milk so the taste being way off shouldn’t have been too surprising.

But please oh please, let what I’d been given not have come from lactating demons. Because eww.

The throwback to grunge rock came back out and placed a fork and knife onto their own paper napkin in front of me. The knife was one of those thin serrated steak knives with a sharp point, a cause for wondering just how tough their hamburgers might be. The guy looked like he was going to say something more, but didn’t because my attention had focused on the TV mounted above the opposite counter.

The news was on and broadcasting images from Egypt. Even though the volume was low I could still make it out.

“…riots and protests continue against the President and the military. With the mysterious force fields continuing to surround the pyramids despite military efforts to penetrate them, the outcry grows day by day as tourism sinks to levels never before seen…”

Video footage of crowds chanting and screaming at government buildings cut to yet more pounding fists against blue energies which had enveloped all the major pyramids and even the Sphinx. This was interspersed with shots of tanks sinking into sand followed moments later by said swallowing desert spitting out the dazed crews miraculously unharmed.

“…still no explanation from the government as to the cause, nor for the attack on the Djoser Pyramid that started it all and seems to have triggered ancient and unknown magical defenses. Equally mysterious is the disappearance and seeming erasure of all video footage showing the attack: the epic battle between a massive dragon and equally towering devil, and the appearance of an angel streaking across the battlefield on brilliant wings of light…”

Cold tea went down the wrong pipe. Coughing, I waved that I was okay to the server guy and he frowned before he too returned his attention to the TV.

“…Muslims and Christians alike have declared these to be signs of the End Times, sparking further violence across the nation. Many Coptic churches have been attacked and burned while religious leaders on all sides remain divided between calls for peace or for escalation to holy war. Even museums have not been spared, such as the Greco-Roman Museum in Alexandria which saw its storerooms of ancient Roman artifacts ransacked by a mob decrying the veneration of foreign invaders prior to the entire historical collection being set afire…”

With a click the TV turned off, the pictures of angry crowds and destroyed buildings fading instantly to black. The server guy was stiffly pointing the remote at the set. “That isn’t going to end well.”

I couldn’t argue the point so didn’t try.

Shaking his head, he put the remote atop the granite counter. “I’ll go check on your-”

The obvious verbal continuation of ‘food’ or ‘burger’ never got spoken. A loud crack from outside had me diving to the floor behind the aluminum underside of the counter while trained instincts rapidly scanned past walls for potential attackers. The closest soul other than the server slid past the windows at a range of fifty feet; a quick focus on the surrounding pattern however revealed no gun nor magic war-stick.

Just an old jalopy of a truck with an engine in dire need of new valves.

Beating back the flood of internal energy which fortunately wasn’t needed, I got back to my feet and felt like an idiot. Except I discovered I wasn’t the only one who’d ducked for cover as the grunge-guy was also no longer standing. Forcing a chuckle I said, “Well that was surprising, wasn’t it?”

There was no response. Stepping slowly around the counter I saw why.

Huddled on the wooden floor with arms hugging himself was my server, face pale and eyes unfocused.

Ah shit.

Dropping into a crouch I spoke with as much calm assurance as I could muster. “We’re all clear. There’s no contact, no danger.”

Eyes as brown as the hair looked slowly up.

I repeated the message. “It’s all clear. Was just a truck. We’re safe.”

They shifted their focus to the knife gripped tightly in my hand.

“Well shit.” I hadn’t even realized I’d grabbed it. Carefully putting the knife down, I offered him the now-empty hand. “C’mon man, maybe you could use a hot chocolate yourself, eh?”

Hesitant fingers took mine and I easily lifted him to his feet, something which surprised him though he tried to hide it. Standing there awkwardly he let go. “Sorry.”

“Hey, no worries,” I said with a smile I hoped was comforting. “I hit the deck too.”

“I’ll…I’ll go get your order.” He limped off and I had some new ideas as to the nature of his injury.

Sitting back at the counter, I took a long swallow of tea before wiping at my face to clear some unpleasant memories of my own. It wasn’t the first time since I’d returned that I’d over-reacted like this. Part of the point of today’s sojourn through the mountains was an attempt to follow the therapist’s orders to relax. You know, do things like play with my kitty (who kept insisting on pretending he was a goat to bonk my forehead with his at every opportunity). Or go out and marvel at there being an actual sun hanging in the sky, eat pancakes (oh my god, pancakes!), pretend to be human, that kind of thing.

Some days this was more difficult to accomplish than others.

A cheese-piled patty enveloped by buns, lettuce, and tomato magically appeared. Additional cheesy glory had been given the thick fries, an added bonus I hadn’t asked for but gladly accepted.

“Thanks.” Taking a ketchup bottle I commenced the smacking procedure to encourage the red stuff to flow.

Meanwhile the guy was staring at me again. Different kind of stare this time though.

“You serve?” he asked.

I put the cap back on the bottle, making sure it was tight. “You could say that.”

“Army?”

“Yeah.” Okay, that wasn’t really a lie as I had indeed served in an army. It just wasn’t the good ol’ USA’s.

Pondering my expression he said, “You’ve been in the shit.”

“So have you.”

“No offense, but you’re awfully young.”

I shrugged and cut into the burger. It was too large to try and ham-fist into my mouth, so fork and knife it was. “Get that a lot. I’m much older than I look. I blame my mother’s genes.”

“You could almost pass as a high schooler.”

If he only knew. “It’s a pain in the ass.”

“Where’d they send you?”

“Hell. Straight to Hell.” I didn’t meet his eyes. He didn’t need to see the demons perfectly pictured behind mine.

“I hear you. For me it was Fallujah.”

“Dang.” I pointed the fork towards his leg. “You take a hit?”

“I.E.D. Weird thing is I can’t even remember it happening.”

“Ouch.”

“Years of physical therapy and it still isn’t right. But that’s not the worst thing possible when you think about it. ‘Cuz I’ve still got the leg.”

“There is that.” I took another bite.

He considered while I chewed then asked, “You out or on leave?”

I could have made up an answer but didn’t. “I’m not sure.”

He nodded. “Between terms then. Some pretty sweet incentives on offer to re-up from what I hear.”

“Many friends are still there.”

“Yeah, that makes the decision all the harder don’t it.”

I didn’t say anything.

After a long silence he patted the counter. “Let me know if I can get you anything else.” That said, he moved away.

Chomping a chedder-smothered fry I tried not to think of such things. The cheese was good. Too good. And note that I said “tried”.

I certainly didn’t succeed.

 

The rest of the ride back to campus went smooth enough. Fluffy clouds of various shades of grey hung in the sky below the sun the way they were supposed to. Wide shadows were cast across hills mostly green from the covering swaths of trees whose species stubbornly refused to acknowledge Winter’s yearly arrival. The day’s mild weather was but a brief break in the New England pattern as an incoming shift to much colder, wetter, and then frozen future aimed to hit overnight.

Which of course is exactly why I took this fleeting opportunity to try out the new bike.

Having zipped past the gargoyles anchoring the main gate and maneuvering the Ducati to the student parking lot, I tucked the bike into its assigned space and smothered it with the form-fitting padded covering that I’d insisted it come with. Frowning at it all I wondered how well it’d hold up to serious hail, but I suppose that’s what insurance was for.

Or friends who made serious high-powered attorney money.

Still in riding leathers and with helmet under an arm, I jogged past many uniformed students and on up the steps into Hawthorne Cottage - the school dormitory to which I’d been assigned. With only three stories above ground and a highly steeped roof it looked ordinary, just ignore the huge power panels in the back. Connected underground to the nearby medical building the “Cottage” held many specially designed rooms which served the unique environmental needs of some of the Academy’s more, shall we say, unique students.

In that respect my own room off on its own in the attic was comparably boring. Its only special addition were the wards both inside and out. Though trust me on this, the entire country if not the world was unknowingly happier that those wards had been in place.

And no, that wasn’t an exaggeration.

Past the cottage doors and turning towards the elevator my path found itself blocked by our hover-wheelchair-bound cottage mother, Mrs. Cantrel. Glaring with dark-skinned hands folded over the blanket covering her lap, she gave a head-to-toe glance at my attire and tsked. “Miss Emrys.”

Skidding to a halt I replied, “Yes?”

Equally dark eyes glinted. “I presume, child, that you were granted permission to go off campus on that toy of yours?”

Heh. Yeah, nope. I hadn’t even bothered to try.

 

Chapter 3 - Bound

 

The question hung in the air. Behind us in the student lounge several kids stopped their studying - or more precisely stopped the goofing off while pretending to study.

“Why Mrs. Cantrel,” I said with exaggerated cheer. “Would I do such a thing without it?” Then before she could respond, I cheated.

Flicking eyes first to the side towards the intently listening students I returned them to meet her own penetrating gaze. At this angle the kids wouldn’t have seen it.

But she did.

The woman’s shoulders tensed. “My office. Now.”

With the whine of her hover-chair’s mechanisms she edged forwards, effectively herding me past the lounge and into a room whose desk had several monitors arranged in a large viewing grid, many showing images from cameras both inside and out of the cottage. An obviously hot mug of coffee declaring, “You got this!” also sat on a wooden coaster.

“Shut the door.”

Letting her past I did as she asked, the solid wood closing with a loud thunk. Those shoulders slumped and she rubbed her face. “What are we to do with you?” She sounded tired. That was cheating in its own way, dangit. And here I was all prepared to be argumentative and stubborn.

“The situation is bizarre, isn’t it?” I allowed, leaning into the door using a boot to press against a plank.

Offering a more understanding smile (more cheating!) she nodded. “It must be rather hard on you.”

“Compared to what I was doing a month ago? Not really.”

Alright, I suppose as understatements go this warrants proper explanation so here’s the skinny: This past Autumn (according to Earth’s calendar) I was a student struggling to deal with having my life turned upside down. I’d gone from being a boring forty-year old male software engineer to a budding Nephelim-turned-angel who, of all things, had taken the form of a sixteen year old girl.

Yep, it was messed up.

All that craziness had also grabbed hold of my fae-spirited niece, and together we’d come to this Academy: her as a real student, and me faking it while trying to learn what it meant to have boys (and men) staring at my chest and ass every chance they got. But as if that wasn’t enough we ended up in Egypt in an attempt to prevent disaster from sweeping across the world. That shining angel reported on the news broadcast about the pyramids? That was me.

In that fight however my niece had died. And I’d been blown literally off the map.

More specifically, I slammed into one of the realms within Hell. And due to fate’s warped sense of humor, I’d been embroiled in yet more shenanigans all of which concluded with nothing less than me leading a demonic army into pitched battle before confronting an ancient evil bent on the destruction of that very realm.

Fun times, right? Yeah, no.

As a result of that last struggle with a fallen Grigori angel I’d slipped into the Chaos that lies between everything that is and everything that isn’t. Then my lawyer friend - who, as it turns out, is also a pretty bad-ass angel himself - somehow reached across and pulled me out. Two years for me had only been one week for everyone here on Earth.

And yes I’m skipping a lot, deal with it. No there won’t be a test on this later. Though I wouldn’t put it past Rabbi Kirov to somehow work some of it into his lectures next term.

Returning from the dead, as it were, did make things rather complicated. The DPA (Department of Paranormal Activities) which had been managing the unique circumstances by having arranged through a ton of paperwork a new identity for my transformed self was stuck with a tough position. The U.S. had become aware that a number of its citizens were in truth angels - and therefore Heaven and the Host were frighteningly real. Plus the Apocalypse was underway, with three of the seven mystic seals of biblical legend having been broken. For the record I can only be blamed for the first one. And it wasn’t so much as busted as bent to have a rather specifically shaped hole.

So what to do?

Despite the fact that the Academy had already been attacked once by assassins (who were trying to kill my niece), the powers-that-be decided it was still the safest place to stash their problematic individual, namely me. The whole scholarship grant which kept me in spending money - arranged by the instigator of all this (who himself was now stuck in Hell as in a weird turn of events we totally traded places) - was incumbent on my graduating high school for the second time. To speed that up my government-issued fake identification had been adjusted for the time I’d spent in the realms below and the school bumped me from junior to senior year. The debate regarding letting me officially graduate at the end of the current term had yet to be settled, but whatever. It’s not like I cared all that much.

I’d come to this school to be there for my niece as I’d promised. And now she was gone.

“You left this in your room this morning,” Mrs. Cantrel said, producing a mobile phone from under the blanket.

“Oh, did I?” I took it and shoved the thing in a back pocket. “Thanks.”

“If something had happened to you, girl, you wouldn’t have been able to call for help.”

“I wasn’t worried. And I didn’t want the DPA sending cars to shadow me either.”

She tutted disapprovingly. “And what if we here needed you?”

I chuckled. “The tracer spell Circe so cleverly hid inside the front tire is intact. In a pinch it’d serve to get my attention.”

That surprised the older woman. “You detected that? Your skills have come a long way.”

“Hell was an effective teacher.”

She considered while wringing her hands. “We’re doing our best to help, you know.”

“I do. And I appreciate it. It’s just…”

“Just what?”

I hugged the helmet to my chest. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

Sympathy flooded her expression and the chair whirred closer so she could put a hand on my arm. “Well I happen to know what you could be doing right now.”

“Oh?”

Mrs. Cantrel’s eyes glinted mischievously. “There is a girl upstairs waiting in your room who could use some assistance with studying for her math exam.”

“Tamara?” I groaned. “She and equations are like oil and water.”

“I have faith in you, my dear. Now get going.” Picking up the steaming mug, she gestured towards the exit.

Opening the door I aimed for the nearby elevator, muttering under my breath while waiting for it to arrive. “I swear, teaching demons table manners was easier.”

From behind came a spluttered and coffee-choked laugh.

 

~o~O~o~

 

“If it’s imaginary, what good is it? This makes no sense!”

Green teen-aged eyes wobbled between anger and outright tears. Sprawled across the purple area rug covering a good section of the floor were an open textbook, notebook, and scattered pages of homework whose red markings glared brightly even to the casual viewer. Tamara lay on her stomach before the mess of mathematics, her school-patterned skirt and uniform blouse scrunched underneath while stocking-covered toes twirled in the air behind. The shoes had been flicked off in frustration half an hour prior.

I’d have to clean the smudge spot one had left on the wall later.

“Don’t focus on that,” I said. “It’s just a thingie. A symbol we can use.” Sitting across from the girl who was on the verge of ripping out the long raven strands that kept brushing the pages, I leaned back and stretched out a leg to try and get some blood flowing again. Unlike her, I was wearing sweatpants so I wouldn’t be flashing any underwear by doing so.

You have to think about such things when you’re a girl.

“But we were taught that you can’t take the square root of a negative number!” she whined, “But now we are?”

From over on the bed came a snicker. “Typical, isn’t it? Teach us one thing and then tell us the opposite the next year.” Our friend Jenna was on the king-sized bed ostensibly studying for a history final. Like me she was in sweats and t-shirt. Though unlike my own wild helmet hair, her head was smoothly bald as she’d removed her wig.

As for Khan - my grey and white kitty - he was being smart and keeping out of the line of fire of any more shoe-rockets by curling into the blankets besides Jenna and pretending to sleep.

I sighed. “Jenna, hush. You’re not helping.”

The snicker turned into a giggle - which only caused Tamara to moan louder.

“Okay, let’s back up,” I said, reeling in the leg to sit properly again. “You’re used to plotting X versus Y stuff, right? Functions of X?”

“Yeah?” Dubious green eyes peered past the bangs.

“Think of most of this as just a new way of plotting. Instead of X and Y, it’s the real versus the imaginary. But don’t get hung up on the terms - think of them as just two parts of a whole. So a single number is made up now of those two parts, which can be represented as points on a plane.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s useful. There are equations which have no real solution yet have these complex solutions - in other words using numbers like this gives solid results. The so-called imaginary number i has some neat properties, especially when repeatedly multiplied by itself, which makes it really useful for cyclical processes.”

“I don’t get it.”

“That’s okay, don’t worry about that. Just focus on thinking of a complex number as being a new kind that has two parts instead of one. And when you add or multiply them together there are new rules on how to do that like we’ve been going over.”

“But a number is a number! Why would it have two parts?”

Jenna turned a page of the history textbook, saying dryly, “And yet you can out-magic your whole class.”

The struggling not-quite-a-mathematician stuck her tongue out at the other girl which only triggered more giggles from the peanut gallery.

Though that did give me an idea. “Hey, you know how there’s the distinction between physicality and spirit?”

“Yeah? What about it?” Tamara looked back at me.

“So when you do your workings, you’re combining the two, right? Spirit-harnessed energies manipulating the physical which in turn has a feedback on the spirit-side.”

“Well sure.” Tamara frowned but I had her full attention.

“So what are we? Physical bodies or spirits?”

“Both, duh.”

“And there are rules to how they interact. You learn them instinctively from your practices, from the feel of the flow.”

“That’s different.”

“Is it? A complex number is still a number. It just has more parts. Like we do. And there are rules on how to do things with them. If you learn how, you can use them to do neat stuff - with the two parts interacting via the rules. The physical can’t do things that the spiritual can, and vice-versa. So with a real number you can’t take the square root of a negative, but with the so-called imaginary part of a complex number you can. We just call it i. And then use the heck out of it.”

“I…hmmm.” One could just about see the gears turning in her head, though in her case it was more like flowers budding on a vine.

I smiled. “Try to think of it that way, and review how to add and multiply them. Then do those exercises again.”

New resolve took root and she pulled the book closer, black hair dangling like a curtain around the text.

After a minute of focused silence I got up, stepping quietly so as to not disturb her concentration. Walking past the intricate circles decorated with mystical symbols and writing covering the floor around the bed I stepped to the double doors leading to the balcony. While it had been made comfortable with its own bathroom and wide open living space, the room was actually a portion of the attic of the entire building. The many criss-crossing rafters formed the roof’s high peak above to give a feeling not unlike standing within a chapel. It just was missing a set of stained glass windows to complete the illusion.

Though the large bed, desk, wardrobe, and many bookshelves usually brought things ‘back to earth’. Especially as I’d not been especially tidy lately, what with drawers hanging open with jeans and shirts falling out, books stacked vertically on shelves instead of horizontally like they ought to, and all-around disregard for where used laundry should be in general.

Eh, what’s the worst that Cantrel could do about it, give me another lecture? Pfft. Besides, Khan didn’t mind as long as his litterbox was kept clean.

Which it was. I still had some standards.

Peering through the glass the sky still held the faint afterglow of sunset lingering above the forest ringing the school. A solid weight against the ankles announced that Khan was done faking his nap so I picked him up and held him against a shoulder. The not-so-little guy nudged my cheek with his forehead and began to purr, earning him an extra squeeze as I scritched the fluffy scruff behind his neck.

With the brightness of the room’s lightbulbs reflecting everything in the window panels I watched as Jenna slid out of the bed. We made quite a pair in that reflection, with her taller by a good number of inches and showing much more muscle than I did. Where I was slender but toned with muscles seen more when I moved than when standing still, she was the proper vision of an amazon warrior: everything burgeoning with ready power yet none of it detracting from her natural beauty. Even her hairlessness worked for her, especially when silhouetted.

Given a few more years of martial training and she’d likely gain a presence equal to a former captain of mine, the one who’d taken me in when I’d arrived to the realms below. Jenna already carried herself with a similar stance.

After running her fingers over the top of Khan’s noggin the youthful uncertainties written across her face broke the comparison. “I can’t stop thinking about him.” She spoke quietly so as to not disturb Tamara - and to not be overheard.

“Your brother?”

“Yeah.”

The kitty squirmed in my arms, and following his lead I let Khan hop into Jenna’s hands. His purred staccato never faltered.

She clutched the little guy close to her chest, the small golden cross dangling there getting somewhat entangled in the fur. “I know you’ve told me he’s alright but you also said the time difference was crazy. Years will have gone by for him already, right? What if something happened?”

“Twitch, I mean Tommy, is a seriously skilled soul. He can take care of himself.”

“Can he? You don’t ever talk about it. But everyone can tell you aren’t the same since, you know, coming back.” She paused. “It must’ve been bad.”

“Only parts of it. But yep, it sucked.”

“Brendan says you sometimes remind him of his dad on the nights he starts drinking. Especially when you’re sitting alone.”

“Or when staring off into the distance like now?” Turning I tried to smile, but the worry in her eyes hurt to see.

“Yeah, exactly.” She swallowed. “He told me his dad was a soldier. Did you have to do a lot of fighting?”

I resisted chewing on the thumb I was bouncing against a lip. “I’m not…I’m not ready to tell you about it, okay?”

“But Tommy is still there.”

“He’s fine.”

“No he’s not. You said because of what he went through he’d gone mute.”

“Yeah, but physically he’s okay.”

“You can’t know that.”

“I’d know it if he wasn’t.”

Fingers stopped their stroke through Khan’s fluff. “How?”

I held out the palm and showed the faintly glowing star sitting at the center, smaller and so much dimmer than it had been.

Yet it was still there.

“Through this.”

“I thought you said you didn’t know what that was.”

“I know what it was supposed to be. A Commander’s Mark.” Flexing the fingers I added, “When souls or demons are taken or pledged in the service of another they gain a Mark. It ties them to their…to their owner.”

She flinched. “Someone owned you?”

“For a time, though it really didn’t take. That mark burned off. This one, well, it tied me to those in my service. And through it I feel whenever one of them is hurt.”

“You owned my brother?” Anger rallied across her face but Khan’s white-socked paw touched her cheek and stemmed the rising tide.

“I never accepted it that way. He joined those I led. And with that mark he’ll have protection.”

Even Khan’s special mojo had limits as she let him drop to the ground. He began rubbing against her ankles. “But you aren’t there! How can that help him now?”

“Because my team will do it. He’s one of them.”

“And just how strong is this team?”

“Most were bad-ass demonic mercenaries, alright? And if I’m not mistaken they’re now being led by a powerful angel. One who I healed before I left. He’ll take care of Tommy.” What I didn’t add was that Nathanael - who I’d known first as a soul named Hank - had damned-well better take care of them all. “Look, it’s complicated but if something had happened to him I’d have felt it.”

“I thought Hell was cut off from everything.”

I shook my head. “I don’t understand it all either. But wizards can summon demon’s spirits somehow, right? Well, I still feel them. I haven’t been able to communicate, but…” I trailed off.

“But what?”

Looking back at the floor, I sighed. “One died.” I’d felt it; he’d been consumed by fire. That’s all I’d gotten but it had woken me out of the usual messed up dreams clear as a drumbeat banging away inside my head.

“Oh.” She thought about it for a moment then went pale. “But if one died, something more powerful is after your team!”

“Maybe the guy did something stupid, or was sent on a dangerous mission. I have no idea which.”

Jenna’s anger marshaled itself once more. “You escaped. They say that should have been impossible, but you did it.” Pointing an accusatory finger she added, “Why didn’t you take my brother with you?”

Twitch, standing in the hospital hallway, taking off the glove to hold up his star and say goodbye…

“He wasn’t with me when I…I…”

“When you what?” Her finger jabbed a shoulder.

“When Azazel pulled me into the Primal Chaos and out of Hell. There on the edge of Everything.”

Tentacles of shadow, wrapping around limbs and torso, fierce heat and overwhelming cold burrowing within from the contact, as a vortex of absolute incoherency swallowed us both…

She took a step back, her finger curling in uncertainty and dawning horror.

I tore away to again face the doorway’s windows while the fragments of memory played back. “How did I survive? I don’t know. I just don’t know! Isaiah pulled me out but somehow I’d been reaching for him. Everything in between is a goddamn blank. So no, I can’t go back to free Twitch, to free any of them! Don’t you think I would if I could?”

Closed eyes did no good; I still saw them. Soul after soul after countless soul, bound into so many demonic shadows, all staring up with pleading faces, hearts and hands outstretched towards a light forever denied. Whereas my own could reach only to touch the door’s empty glass.

Which promptly shattered into the night along with all its windowed brethren.

 

~o~O~o~

 

A chilled evening breeze swirled through empty frames and it was Jenna who finally broke the shocked silence, her anger as quick to depart as it was to arrive.

“You’d think they’d have installed sturdier plexi-glass after the last one. This makes what, three times now?”

Bending down to examine the shards glittering across the balcony I sighed with disgust. “They did.”

“Oh.”

Behind us Tamara got carefully to her feet. “I’ll go get a broom. And I’ll let Cantrell know you’re gonna need some plywood to cover that for the night.”

“No need,” I said and motioned for Jenna to take a step back. “Give me some room.”

Hooking a foot around Khan to keep him from exploring outside she did so, pulling the curious kitty with her. “What are you gonna do?”

“Fix it.”

It was surprisingly easy. Scarily so even. For the past few weeks each night I’d lain in bed staring past those windows before finally falling asleep to not-so-blissful slumber. The pattern of what had been there before was absolutely crystal clear in examined memory.

All I had to do was touch that blazing light within and without, the light that made pretending I was still normal a constant challenge. Since returning its immense brightness had grown, roaring eternally in the infinite contained both within and without, always present and always inviting the possibility of losing myself across, well, everything.

One whispered word folded around the pattern in my thoughts and it was done.

“Holy shit,” breathed Tamara. Between an eye-blink the shattered fragments had disappeared and the wooden frames in the double doors were again filled.

Exactly as it had been.

Jenna, almost stumbling over the cat, gingerly pulled open the doors and ran fingers over the restored glass. “There’s no magic residue. None.”

“That wasn’t magic.” Tamara stepped closer, hand reaching but not touching as if she didn’t dare.

Frowning through a pane Jenna stared at her. “It had to be, right?” When she got no answer from her magically-inclined friend she looked instead to me. “Right??”

“Not the way it works,” I said quietly. Khan moved over to sit at my feet and began to lick an extended furry leg.

“Well what would you call it then?” Jenna demanded.

Tamara lowered her arm. “A miracle.”

I shrugged.

“I don’t get it.” Closing the doors, Jenna stood there and began fiddling with the cross dangling over her shirt.

Tamara tried to explain. “Jordan altered reality. She made it so the glass had never been broken.” When it was clear Jenna still wasn’t understanding she added, “Like loading a game save. No application of magic energy was used to transform anything, its state was just overwritten with the old one. Instantly.” She swallowed as the implications began to register, the color in her face draining away as she studied mine.

“Go ahead,” I told her. “Ask.”

“You didn’t need your wings and didn’t even glow or power up.” She chewed on a thumb. “What…what if you had?”

I answered the real question she was afraid to ask. “I don’t know if there are any limits. Not anymore. I have to completely know the pattern first, but I learn more all the time.”

“What’s to keep you from…” She couldn’t bring herself to say it.

Kneeling down I scritched at Khan’s instantly offered white belly fur. “Other angels will detect it. And there are likely rules against doing things like that which I don’t know.”

“Wait a minute,” Jenna said catching on. “No limits? So you could what, remake the world?”

Tamara stared down at me and the kitty. “I think Jordan could remake more than just that. But she’s right, there’s gotta be rules.”

“Wow. No wonder they excused her from the Combat Finals.”

At the end of Fall and Spring term, Whateley Academy students all faced the dreaded ‘Combat Finals’ where they’d have to undergo contrived scenarios to test not just their powers but also the ability to think, adapt, and overcome. Rumors were that the events were live-streamed and a small betting industry had illicitly popped up around them. Which is one of the reasons the DPA had leaned heavily on the school to exclude me. But the real reason was no-one wanted to test what I could or couldn’t do.

Including me.

“Escaping Hell should qualify for a passing grade, don’t you think?” Tamara said with a weak smile before frowning again. “But you not remembering how you did it is odd, isn’t it? I thought angelic memory was perfect.”

Khan fake-attacked without using any claws, biting gently at my fingers while paws encircled the wrist. “I thought so too, but apparently it’s not.”

Jenna crouched so she could wiggle one of Khan’s rear toes. “Hmm. You ask the gryphon guy about it?” By ‘gryphon-guy’ she’d meant the angel Tsáyidiel, the half-raven / half-panther Kerubim whom I’d freed from Azazel’s control.

I shrugged. “He didn’t know what to say, other than that I’d gone outside the bounds of Creation.”

Tamara looked across the room where her math book still lay open on the floor. “What about August? You ask them?”

“They’re not here anymore, remember?” August, the student slowly experiencing the mirrored gender transformation to my own which was making pronouns tricky to employ, just so happened to be the incarnation of a Grigori angel named Tamiel. My carelessness with a torn-out (or mystically connected) page from the Book of Life had turned her own upside-down. What with the school having been attacked, two students dying (myself and my niece Danielle), and the onset of rather dramatic physical transformations (a reverse parallel to my own crazy experience if you thought about it), August’s folks had yanked them out of the school as soon as the funerals were over.

From the parents’ point of view I could hardly blame them. I was actually surprised that more hadn’t done the same.

“But they’ve got the connection to the Book, right?” Tamara pressed.

Jenna piped in, her hand gaining its stony armor so she could more safely pin Khan’s feet as he wrestled happily between us. “August said he wasn’t allowed to tell people what he saw in the Book.”

“Isn’t that more about their future?” the dark-haired girl asked. “What about the past?”

She had a rather valid point.

“Ok,” Jenna said. “Except Jordan can’t just call August to ask him.”

I had to agree with that. “Yeah, you’re right. My phone calls are likely tapped by every three-letter agency our government has. And some it officially doesn’t. They don’t know August is an angel, and I don’t want them to. But I haven’t a clue as to where August lives.”

Jenna grinned. “Leave that to me. I’ll have the address tomorrow.”

“Good,” Tamara declared and crossed over to sit back on the rug. “Now if you two don’t mind, please keep the metaphysical shenanigans to a minimum so I can get back to beating my head against this nonsensical logic instead.”

I laughed and my hand must have moved wrong because Khan suddenly bit down kinda hard. “Ow!” The fuzzy monster immediately let go and began rubbing his whiskered cheek against the hand in offered apology.

My kitty was simply awesome like that.

The two girls returned to their studies and as Tamara seemed to have gotten enough of the concepts to really work through the problems her need for my assistance dwindled. After first asking if it would disturb their efforts I pulled a chair off to the side of the room and got out my father’s flamenco guitar. I’d been playing it more since getting back, not having it while in Hell had been more painful than I’d wanted to admit. I mean, it’s not like I’d ever played it all that much before, but not being able to made the desire to strum out a multitude of falsetas all the stronger.

Do souls in Heaven miss their instruments too?

Come to think of it, other than Vance and the Lilim’s troupe there hadn’t been much music in Hell. But maybe that was more due to having spent most of my time in the company of demonic mercenaries. Vance had asked me to join the Lilim and perform for audiences in the big cities, so there had to have been some appreciation for the art.

Not that I’d had any interest in doing so. Sure it’s nice when friends happened to appreciate the sound, but for me the point of playing was the music itself - the investiture into beat and melody, where thoughts disappear and notes and emotional spirit become one.

There’s probably a metaphor for merging with the heavenly light in there somewhere but I was too busy navigating the flow of Asturias to worry about it.

Adjusting the capo to a different fret (in order to play Seguirias it needed to be on the third), I noticed Jenna and Tamara were standing in front of me patiently waiting for my attention. Okay, Tamara was waiting patiently - Jenna was doing some serious jazz-hands.

“Yoo-hoo, Jordan!” Jenna grinned as I blinked up at her.

“What?”

“We’re gonna go get some grub. You interested?” The girl’s stomach gurgled to emphasize the point.

“Maybe?” Holding the guitar steady I craned my neck around to try and see the clock on the desk.

“It’s ten to six,” Tamara said. “As it’s Sunday, dinner closes at seven.”

“Well crap.” With a foot I nudged the open guitar case closer, and after removing the capo I returned the instrument into its snug home. “I’ve got a video call thing with Cassius at six. Almost forgot.”

“Oh?” Jenna asked, her grin achieving mischievous proportions. “Lemme guess, Cassius is your partner for the Rabbi’s essay-instead-of-final thing.”

That earned her a blown raspberry. “Yeah. Who’d you get?”

“Brendan.” She did a happy bounce; Brendan and Jenna were again an ‘item’ in the parlance of teenage romance.

Tamara was frowning. “I thought you guys said your final for that class was on Tuesday.”

The taller girl shrugged. “It was. But Kirov emailed everyone this morning with essay assignments instead, due at end of the week. Apparently the personal trip he took off for last week is taking longer than he’d expected.”

I stood, picking up the case. “But why couldn’t he have just let us write our own?”

“C’mon, Jordan.” Jenna side-nudged a shoulder with her own as I stepped past. “Everyone else in the class would totally rejoice at having Cassius as their partner. He’d do the whole thing; instant ‘A’! Which is probably why Kirov put you two together yet again.”

With a chuckle Tamara agreed. “Makes sense. You’re too stubborn to let someone else do all the work.”

“Nah,” Jenna giggled. “Those two will just argue about every word across every sentence. Been there and ate the popcorn as witness!”

My retort was anything but eloquent. “Bleh.”

“Don’t fight too much over it,” warned Jenna with a wave as the two went for the door. “Or you’ll miss dinner!”

As the door shut behind them I called out, “Save me a seat!” Maybe they heard, maybe not.

Fur nudged an ankle, followed by a loud meow.

“Okay, okay! You can have some dinner too!”

One fresh can of chunky tuna bits in a bowl later the ravenous furry beast was chowing down, fluffy mostly-black tail happily sweeping the floor behind him. I wasn’t sure who got hungrier more often: Khan or Jenna. Of course if comparing the raw quantities consumed Jenna won hands (paws?) down, but c’mon, that was hardly fair. Proportional to their weight classes however I wasn’t too sure. Not that Jenna would let me weigh her without it turning into a WWF cage match - even if in the name of science!

With a minute to spare I plopped onto the office chair and logged into the school-provided laptop. Unlike many of the ‘younger’ generation who were perfectly fine using the laptop’s built-in keyboard and screen, I preferred having multiple monitors and a proper clickity-clack keyboard thank-you-very-much. For those who only used the things to scroll social media (or even dare read the scholastic links posted by their teachers) having such a setup probably seemed ‘weird’, but true gamers and hackers still understood. Surprisingly muscle memory for typing hadn’t faded one whit during the hiatus away from technology.

In other words I could still bang out walls of text at blazing speeds.

When I fired up the campus video-conference tool one of the displays instantly filled with the glowering skinny face of a boy still waiting for puberty to harden his features. Blonde hair dangled dangerously low and therefore mostly occluded the pair of angry blue eyes as his shrill voice instantly blared through the speakers full of furious accusation.

“You told him, didn’t you!”

It took a moment to remember to thumb the microphone’s separate un-mute button. “Huh? Tell who what?”

“Kirov. He knows!”

“Jeeze, Cassius. What the heck?”

Anger flickered with panic. “Why else would he assign this topic? You must have told him who I am!”

Uh oh. “Who you were, you mean. And no I didn’t.”

“You must have! And you still don’t get it, do you? I am but a coat of paint over a cursed and rotted framework.” His face moved off-screen, the sound of creaking floorboards coming through the speakers as the guy paced his room.

“Calm down, please! I promise you I haven’t told anyone that you’re…who you were.” In case the school recorded these sessions, or had been hacked by the three-letter crew, I didn’t want to say the name. Frankly I also didn’t want to accidentally make it harder for Cassius by saying it either. The poor guy was the unfortunate incarnate of an old and not-so-nice spirit: Shemyaza, co-prince and angelic captain of the Grigori who had not just fallen from grace but torpedoed the ground and kept on going. Shemyaza had been a real nasty piece of work and had almost plunged the world into permanent darkness if not outright destruction due to his schemes to defend against Heaven’s wrath for all his transgressions.

To say Cassius had ‘issues with himself’ was an understatement of literal epic proportion.

Pale complexion returned into view. “You promise? By your true name?”

“My name means promise. You know that.” Technically my true name, Amariel, meant Promised by God, but that’d be splitting hairs. Fine golden-red hairs, but still. “And yes.”

“To no one? Not even other angelics either incarnated or not?”

“Not even them.”

The eyes focused with rapid thought. “Okay, I believe you. But could Kirov have figured it out? Maybe I messed up. Maybe he detected-”

“Cassius!” I said sharply, regaining his attention. “Why don’t you start by telling me why you even think Kirov might know. And are you sure you want to do this over the video link? I could go to your cottage-”

“No! We do this remote!”

I sighed. Even before I’d gone to Hell Cassius had been freaked out by the thought of me touching him. It was a trait he shared with his spirit-self: they were terrified of such contact. Not with anyone else, mind you, just me. And since I’d come back? Let’s just say he could barely hold it together being in the same classroom, even after changing seats to be as far away as possible. “That’s risky, don’t you think? Are you sure?”

“Your presence makes everything worse.”

“Sorry. I don’t mean it to.”

He winced, looking off to the side. “Not your fault. You’re unable to help being who you are either.”

“And here I’ve been practicing hiding the shine.”

“I can’t help but feel it anyway.”

“Dang. But again, why do you think Kirov knows?”

“Have you read the essay assignment he assigned us?”

I shrugged. “I didn’t open the attachment yet. I saw your follow-on email wanting this call and figured we’d look at it then. What did he hit us with?” I may have been in a rush to sneak out on the Ducati and therefore wasn’t paying it much mind, but I didn’t want to admit that. I’d been having a hard enough time taking these class finals seriously. Actually, correct that: it had been hard to take school itself seriously.

“He wants us to write a ten-to-twenty page treatise on The Ethics of Justice for Transcendent Beings.”

That took a moment to sink in and Cassius stayed quiet as it did so. “Good grief,” I finally admitted. “That’s a loaded topic.”

“Why he would give it to you is obvious. But why make me your partner? Why even have partners? He has to know!”

“Okay, hold up. You lost me. I mean, granted what I am and all is obvious, but it’s not like I’m an angel of Judgment or anything.” That’d be my friend Isaiah as it turned out, much to my surprise and his. Which raised an interesting idea: if he’d answer his phone I bet he could provide an excellent diatribe on the topic, more than enough for an essay…hmm. Tempting to try.

Cassius interrupted the thought. “Don’t be an idiot. You not only have been to Hell, but as one of the prophesied Horsemen of the Apocalypse you are by legend part of a larger Judgment of not just mankind but all of angelkind.”

“Oh.” Muscles at my temples twitched, presaging a humdinger of a headache. “Fine I get it. But I still don’t understand how this is about you.”

“Because the topic encompasses the very question I wrestle with every single day.”

How do you respond to that? The poor guy’s spirit was, by all measure, evil. And not petty evil, we’re talking downright nasty, abusive, megalomaniac-tried-to-enslave-the-world evil.

But Cassius himself wasn’t. He’d fought against his own spirit ever since his angelic nature awakened - an occurrence I was guilty of making worse by breaking the First Seal. And by fought I meant just that: he’d been slashing his own arms into a bloody mess - using the resulting physical pain as a tool to suppress his spirit.

Which is why I owed him one.

Shemyaza as he had been couldn’t be allowed to run free - at the moment the dark Grigori was bound to perpetual reincarnation and with it the suppression of who and what he was. Yet that had weakened and should the Fourth Seal crack who knows what might happen. If Cassius’ angelic nature, twisted as it was, manifested in full - would there be anything left of his human mind and nature? Or would that top layer be wiped away by the malevolence of the re-awakened and terrible being lurking below.

A case could be made that Shemyaza deserved obliteration. As punishment for what he did as well as to safeguard the world. Except that would destroy Cassius too, a boy who had done nothing wrong - and who struggled to contain the evil within.

How could such a sacrifice be right?

“Look,” I said, speaking slowly. “Kirov knows you are the only student in the class who not only will stand up to me without freaking out but also is smarter than I am. Mind you I said smarter and not wiser, so don’t smirk too hard. The Rabbi also knows I haven’t been giving school assignments proper attention. They’ve been letting me skate on a lot of stuff probably because my therapist is afraid of me having PTSD and the military is freaking out about what I might or might not do should I power all the way up.”

“You certainly ping off the charts. Like a constant pressure against reality. Something changed for you in Hell.”

“Yeah, well, I got the rest of my wings. The point is,” I said quickly before he could comment on my transformation to full Seraph, “you’re the only one who has a chance of forcing me to focus on the assignment.”

Out of the monitor blue eyes stared past bangs I dearly wanted to trim. “It’s not just a matter of focus. If you’ve gained all six wings then…” He trailed off.

“Then what?”

“Have you told Kirov about this? Your wings?”

“Uhm, in passing yeah.”

The boy inhaled deeply then let it out slow, a mannerism far older than a teenager should have had. “Then I was wrong. It really is all about you.”

“Well yeah! Wait…what?”

“It means you are no longer just any angel, Amariel. How can you not realize this? You exist on a higher level, whether you understand that with your manifest consciousness down here or not.”

“I do, sort of. I mean there’s definitely part of me ‘elsewhere’.” I frowned, struggling to put all the weird feelings into words.

“That is it exactly. Your true self is in the Abstract, with a capital ‘A’. The realm of ideas and concepts. This must be why Kirov assigned me to work with you on this - I’ve had numerous discussions with him about the higher planes. We’ve debated Plato’s influence on the Kabbalah at length.”

“And this has something to do with the topic? How?”

Cassius was now muttering more to himself than to me. “He said 'Transcendent Beings’. Not ‘Supernatural’ or even ‘Spiritual’. In my paranoia, I missed that. It’s not about the lesser angels or spirits at all.”

“Dangit, explain already!”

In disgust he waved dismissively at the camera. “Archangels. The highest ones. More than anything else they are ideals; the original thoughts in existence. The Most High’s perception of self? That He was I AM? That was the First thought. That was Helel - whom most know as Lucifer - exploding his Light outward. All that he perceived was God and that which his Light could not reach was Not. And as the Most High hammered that perception from raw and infinite instinct into wisdom, that act was the Second, Beliel, bringing it into focus. A struggle that continued while a multitude of concepts swirled and developed until finally their limits became defined and understood when Azrael delineated All in his Judgment. In the Kabbalah these are the first three Sephiroth: Keter, Chockmah, and Binah.”

“But they’re angels, with personalities and everything. I’ve got memories from Gabriel. She suffered pain with her struggles. She’s an actual person, not some fuzzy thinking!”

He looked at me wryly. “This is where it gets tricky. The Kabbalah talks about the patterns of the Sephiroth repeating as things go from the highest abstract to physical creation. There are many layers in between. From our perspective here we understand them best through stories, through the archetypes of their beings. How real are those memories? Did things actually happen exactly that way? Or are they but tales through which your consciousness here can glean the archetypal comprehension of their truest selves. At what levels are you actually remembering?”

“I-” My lip was raw from being chewed. Ow. “And you think all this has to do with Kirov’s essay topic?”

“Yes. Because it raises the question he likely wants you to consider. And if he’s busy with personal business then he cannot be here to address this directly with you.”

“Huh? What question?”

His eyes flicked upwards at my denseness. “It’s simple if you think about it. At the core is the challenge of how can one ethically judge an archangel who is staying true to their manifested purpose even when they oppose another’s. What is justice when raw ideals collide?”

“How the heck am I supposed to answer that?”

“Given that it’s a topic that has been debated for millennia maybe he’s not looking for an answer. Maybe he’s just asking us to think about it. And by ‘us’ I mean ‘you’. Perhaps he really wants your specific and ‘angelic’ insight. Or at the very least he thinks you need to start considering such concepts.”

“Good grief. That’s nuts.”

“Is it? For all our sakes you absolutely must start understanding what you are.”

I sat dumbfounded staring at the screen while trying to wrap my head around it all.

He let me stew in silence for at least a minute before shaking his head in exasperation. “Did you get dinner yet?”

“No.”

“Then go get some before they close. Think it all over and we’ll talk more tomorrow.”

“What about you? Did you eat?”

“Before this call, yes. And, uh, I apologize for accusing you.”

That took me by surprise. Cassius? Apologizing? I should alert the Vatican of such a miracle. “It’s okay, I understand.”

“Do you?” And with that he disappeared from the monitor. The jerk had hung up.

Looking at the clock I cursed before quickly tossing on some sneakers and running out the door.

 

~o~O~o~

 

Tamara and Jenna had just about finished their meal by the time I arrived at the Crystal Hall’s cafeteria. While selecting my dinner from the buffet I ignored the usual set of weird glances if not outright stares from the kids all around. You have one incident of leaping out of your seat preparing an energy blast due to someone tripping and dropping their tray, and folks get all jumpy around you.

Okay, in their defense I may have lit up the whole Hall brighter than a noon-day sun over the Sahara. Meh.

After making it through the line, I sat down at the girls’ table with a simple grilled salmon salad tossed in balsamic vinaigrette and caught the middle of their conversation.

“…all know yours,” Tamara was saying. “Super tall, dense as a truck with a mind to match, and noble to a fault.”

“Hey,” Jenna protested. “Brendan isn’t stupid!”

Tamara giggled. “He is stubborn though. But he’d need to be to be with you!”

That earned her a tossed napkin missile from Jenna which bounced harmlessly off her forehead. “As if!”

Starting to poke at the leafy green stuff I looked at both girls. “I miss something?”

With an exaggerated pout Jenna said, “She thinks Brendan is dumb.”

“Well,” I said as if pondering deeply which had Jenna preparing another napkin. “Nah,” I said finally, “he’s just male.”

Jenna dropped the paper weapon and with a silly grin agreed. “Oh yeah, he sure is.”

Taking a sip from her soda (and rolling her eyes) Tamara then said, “Okay, so we’ve already established that I like blond surfers-”

“Cassius is blond-” interjected Jenna.

“-who are athletic as well as smart,” finished Tamara with a glare. “And as Jenna likes big, derpy, and the ruggedly chiseled, that leaves one open question. Hmm.” She stared at me like a mad scientist observing their experiment.

I delayed the fork’s delivery. “Why am I suddenly concerned?”

Poking a shoulder (ow!) Jenna chuckled. “Just tell us. What’s your, you know, type?”

“Uh, QWERTY?”

Tamara put palm to face. “Good goddess, you are such a nerd.”

“I don’t get it,” Jenna said with a puzzled frown.

I feigned innocence and commenced chewing.

“The explanation isn’t worth it,” Tamara declared. “And besides, we already know the answer.”

“Well I don’t,” Jenna said.

“Not to that, silly - to the question! We already know what Jordan’s type is.” The witch-in-training’s teeth gained a rather predatory smirk. “Clearly she likes studly, handsome…” she paused for dramatic effect, “…and silent!”

I flinched - almost dropping the fork - immediately meeting Jenna’s equally startled gaze. As embarrassed heat rushed through my cheeks she gasped.

“Oh my god.”

“Jenna, it’s not-”

“Did you two…?” She couldn’t finish the question.

“No, no we didn’t. But-”

“But you wanted to? He’s just a kid!”

“For him it’s been at least thirty years! If not more.”

“Still. You and Tommy. I just…I can’t even.” She stood up. “That’s just wrong.”

Pushing against the base of the fork with a thumb, my utensil began to bend. “Is it?”

Tamara looked between us in total confusion. “Am I missing something?”

“Yes!” Jenna and I shouted in unison.

Though I continued. “He’s a good man. He’s strong, caring, and the bravest soul I know.”

“He fell for you, didn’t he.” She emitted a short sound, more pain than laugh. “Don’t deny it. I mean, how could he not? You’re you. And he’s him.”

“I didn’t see it for the longest time.”

“Yet you still left him there. And don’t give me the excuses again, dammit! You know I love you, but you can mend the universe with a single word. So figure out the sentence or paragraph to fix this!” She grabbed her tray with its empty plates. “I’m gonna go. I’ve got an exam to study for.”

Not knowing what to say we watched her walk off.

Tamara, subdued if not chagrined, said, “Uh you realize I meant Zap, right? Who’s Tommy?”

“Her brother. He’s stuck in Hell.”

“Oh. Wow. Shit.”

I sighed. “Exactly.”

 

We didn’t talk much more after that. Tamara wanted to ask more questions but was smart enough to leave it well enough alone. I soon finished the salad and after wishing her luck on the math final, we went our separate ways.

On the way back to the cottage the threatening clouds overhead decided it was time to start drizzling atop everything. By the time I was ready to attempt sleep (after beating my head and its foreign memories against a few thick books on Kabbalah) a proper rain pelted against the reforged glass of the balcony doors.

With a snuggling fuzzy lump squished under an arm, the happy purrs and steady tak-tak-tak of drops outside eventually lured me away.

Though it did take awhile.

 

~o~O~o~

 

Alone in his room Cassius again lay awake much later than he’d wished. It wasn’t that the bed was uncomfortable or the comforter not warm enough. The problem was the thoughts in his head.

And the voice.

You should have let me gut her when we had the chance.

In the dark his hand found the blade, hidden this time by taping it to the underside of the bed’s metal frame.

Spare us the blood, child. You know the truth of it. She has come into her full power - soon there will be only two paths before us once she realizes we will never again serve the lie.

Through a tightening jaw the young man hissed. “What paths?”

Eternal banishment. Or outright destruction!

The last was shrieked across his brain as the edge of the knife dug through his skin, the washcloth wedged underneath the arm gaining fresh stains.

It took three rows for the screaming to stop but the resulting silence was indeed golden.

Not allowing himself to wince, he wrapped the cloth tightly around the growing set of scars and lay back against the pillow. Light from the lamp-post outside teased past rain turning into snow and the curtains both, dimly illuminating the piles of books resting upon his desk.

And within its central drawer was held a small box and accompanying letter.

He didn’t need to pull out the envelope to again reread its contents.

 

Cassius,

I won’t insult you by saying I know what you’re going through. That therapist lady talks a great game but I’m betting she’s got even less of a clue. You’re too smart to let anyone see anything you didn’t want them to. You’re not lost in some kind of ‘depressive episode’, whatever the heck that means. I may not have gone to college - and I sure as heck haven’t read the entire library like you have - but I do know one thing: the look a man gets when preparing to fight.

You had that clear as day when asking to get this made. Hope you won’t mind, but I got your uncle to help - he knew a guy who knew this retired helicopter pilot that worked metal. I don’t understand what this thing is for but that’s alright. My boy says he needs it.

I’ve seen you take the abuse from the idiots in all those other schools, seen you take those lumps without so much as a whimper. And then watched how you arranged for each of those losers to get their just desserts.

It ain’t been easy being just the two of us and I wish I could’ve done better for you. I’m sure your mom would have wanted me to tell you to trust your teachers and all that sort of nonsense. She was the most beautiful woman I ever did meet and I miss her every day, but there are things a man has to do himself.

And I trust my son to do them.

Whatever it is you’re facing, give ‘em hell.

- Dad

 

Before finally drifting off to sleep he whispered, “I will.”

 

Chapter 4 - Dream

 

Shadows gathered behind glades of flowery wonder where petals had never before known eclipse. Shrouded in plumes of malevolence the enemy flickered, dark silhouettes framed by the crash and tumult of the immense energies gathered at their back. Demons, fae, godlings, and more marched or flew in countless formations across the endless horizon, all curving towards a singular destination.

Winds heralding their menace whipped across the multi-hued grasses, flattening every blade and bud that lay before the towering edifice of marble and gold guarding the core of Heaven. Here was the sacred loci of the Throne, and here was the home of the Host whom continuously attended that Presence with song and fire.

Now, on this day of days, that Host stood shoulder to shoulder upon the walls looking not upward into the infinite but outward, their music re-tuned to summon resolve and the fortitude needed to hold against the unthinkable. For hanging over the army’s advance with spears and swords of fiery power were their own winged brothers and sisters, returning not for succor and respite after enduring travails at the Edges of All Things.

They came instead to conquer.

Upon the wall’s parapet two pillars of brightness challenged the approaching darkness. One whose golden gaze shone a purity no shadow had ever countered, and the other whose heart swept silvery brilliance across each and every defender with a steady and uniting beat.

Though her sword, forged from unearthly metals to hold the sharpness of a crescent moon’s tip, felt foreign and lent no warmth to her fingers. “Is there truly nothing more that can be done?”

The light standing beside her pulsed brighter still. “Samael has by his actions been clear. His Seat lies in rubble and but for a missing few the Maschitim all rally to his banner. The time for alternatives has ended.”

Chill air blew strawberry strands across cheeks of porcelain grace. “Then we defend and make our stand here.”

“No, beloved Gabriel. We go out and meet them upon the fields.”

“Michael suggested-”

Holding a hand high, the brilliance cast from the Seraph’s many wings coalesced into a blinding spear. “Some arguments cannot be decided by hiding behind walls. Come. The first debate is about to begin.”

Lifting free of the golden stones, Lucifer streamed from the tower as an orb of blazing white fire. Shaking the fundament with their unified shout of glory and holy purpose, the winged Host followed after like an unending swarm of comets chasing a burning sun.

 

Something damp yet scratchy and most certainly not a pillow pressed against nose and cheek. The mustiness of forest undergrowth mixed with a salty ocean breeze gave further notice that I was no longer in my bedroom. A shifting lump upon a shoulder was also too light to be from the usual suspect of larger-than-average cat.

Dangit, I’d slipped away again.

An opened eye confirmed the diagnosis. Tall and scraggly trees akin to Eucalyptus and maybe Oak thinned out as the dirt gave way to a rocky cliff and the ocean beyond, their many discarded leaves haphazardly serving as my current bed. A botanist, should they ever visit this place, would likely either give loud critique or become lost in excitement (depending on their nature) as nothing here was exactly as on Earth. Because, well, it wasn’t. As much as the circles around the bed at the academy were supposed to help anchor those inside to remain on Earth, every few days or so they failed and I’d find myself yet again in a particularly stable and dream-straddling realm.

“Good day, milady. Art thou awake?” A high-pitch voice sounded loudly into an ear, obviously emanating from whatever - or should I say, whomever - was sitting on my back.

Twisting neck to get a look over the shoulder I muttered a quick “Ow!” as long hair had pulled stringently against the movement. The strands were trapped under my chest and functioning as an odd replacement for expected bed-sheets.

“I shall take your exclamation as one of conscious acknowledgment.” Tiny clawed feet tensed before shoving free as the creature jumped to land only a foot or so in front of my nose. An albino squirrel - complete with bucked teeth, floofy tail, and pink eyes - removed its matching miniature top hat and executed a courtly bow. The only other clothing it had on was an equally white leather sash wrapped around the stomach holding a carving knife tucked between fur and belt. “I am known as Whittler, milady, due to an occasional obsession with such wood-based activities.”

To prove this the small fae held up a foot-long stick upon which an excellent rendering of a sleeping angel had been carved, many wings curled against her back with each feather softly captured in immaculate detail along with every stitch of the simple tunic pulled over her knees.

“That’s, uhm, that’s great work, Whittler.” Yes, the little guy had carved a likeness of my somnolent self. And no, the fae’s real name wasn’t actually ‘Whittler’, but the fae didn’t like giving out their true names.

Of course I knew his, just as I knew the real names of all the fae living within this pocket of a place. Due to me having been an idiot a number of fae had become bound to my energies and had therefore followed me to this realm - a realm which Gabriel herself had created. As my own pattern had some of Gabriel’s within it (long story that, involving a hair-wrapped seed from Paradise and a man too stupid to not walk directly into a summoned maelstrom of heavenly fire) the place recognized me and had also tolerated the many fae who quite literally had nowhere else to go.

The little guy blushed - yes, pinkness spread over the pale cheek’s fur - and bowed again. “I thank milady for her kindness to say so.”

Sitting up I tried to shake wet leaves out of my hair. Here in this place the tresses always stubbornly manifested at their full length - dangling inches below my rear-end when standing to be precise. Why this was the case was something I’d yet to hash out with the ol’ spiritual subconscious. As for the wings they demonstrated a Teflon quality and remained immaculate within their continual soft glow. “How long was I here asleep?”

“Hmm,” squeaked the squirrel in contemplation. “I daresay my lady slumbered shorter than a full Bristlebeak story and longer than Pickness requires to clean his teeth after a good helping of boggle stew.”

Well, that was certainly specifically uninformative. “I see. And was there a particular reason you were sitting upon my back while I slept?”

“Oh yes, naturally! I would not dare do so otherwise.” The white rodent bobbed his head vigorously enough to cause the hat to slip forward before being hastily pushed back into place.

“And that reason is?”

“Two, milady.” Two hooked claws raised in serious earnest. “There are two reasons, distinct in their fundamentals yet correlated by their logical extensions.”

“Excellent. Shall I ask what the first is first, and the second following on second?”

“Indubitably, milady! For describing the second before the first would break the flow of reasoning. Of course there are times where such is beneficial, as was the case with the incident when Yather’s cart truly did need to be placed before his horse lest said horse see where they were going. That would have resulted in all kinds of trouble, you see.”

“But this is not such a case I presume.” I smiled, plucking free another leaf while pondering whether I could fetch Bristlebeak and use him as a hairbrush. Tempting.

“Assuredly so.”

“Well then. Please, Master Whittler, tell me your reasons for perching upon my back so that I might be enlightened.”

“Milady! You are already quite ‘enlightened’. Goodness me, there can hardly be anyone moreso described as such as you!”

I groaned. “In some ways, yes - and others no.” Raising a hand to forestall the imminent protestation I added, “Your two reasons. I await them - and without any further delay.”

The request came out firmer than I’d intended. Flustered with nervousness, the squirrel tapped tiny claws in front of his whiskers as if chewing on a nut. “Well, you see, it was my, well, it was my assigned task to prevent my cousins from disturbing your slumber and to only cause your awakening should any other visitors arrive while the Lord Tsáyidiel was otherwise occupied.”

“Other visitors? Wait, is someone here?”

The albino creature managed to turn even paler and gulped. “Oh dear me, I got it backwards. Curse my furry feet, the clarity is now all muddled therewith - please accept my sincerest apologies, milady! I shall immediately endeavor any penance as you decree to make amends!” Grabbing the top hat he pulled it against his chest as he bowed low, tiny ears and bushy tail quivering.

“Who is here, Whittler? And where is Tsáyidiel?”

Still bowing the fae finally answered. “One of the Host of Holies, milady. I know not his name, for such was not bestowed upon my unworthy self. The Lord Tsáyidiel gives escort to the Mountain we fae are forbidden to approach. I was bidden to tell thee of this upon your release from sleep’s restful snare.”

Host of Holies? That meant another angel. Hoo boy.

Wings flared as they lifted the rest of me free of the ground, the glow erasing all shadows of branch and leaf from the surrounding clearing. A quick moment of focus cleared the rest of nature’s clinging offerings from hair and the simple lavender tunic I’d woken in alike. Staring down at the hat-clutching fae I said, “Then your two-fold task is complete and I thank you, kind Whittler.”

“But milady, my penance!”

I paused. While I could shrug it off, I knew the little guy would worry non-stop until given something. The lack would eat at his fae spirit, a painful itch ceaseless until satisfied. “Did you see our guest when he arrived?”

“I did, milady.”

“Then whittle his likeness as you did mine.”

“With all the skill contained within these claws it shall be done. And quickly too, for none are as swift as I!”

“I look forward to receiving it, good Whittler. Until then, be well.”

Whatever his reply was I missed it, as I’d already launched for the sunless yet bright blue sky covering this realm’s calm beaches, dense forest, and high rocky mountains.

It was towards the latter that I flew, specifically the one with the highest peak. Though I didn’t aim for its tallest point from where the entirety of the realm’s upper grounds could be seen. No, instead I kept above the forest to reach a wide pair of rocks lurking at the boundary marked by the tree-line where taller foliage ceased and rocky outcroppings began to stretch stony fingers upward. Behind those rocks lay a path to the true heart of this place of which the surface was but calm icing.

Below it all sat the Monument of Remembrance.

A wide cavern lay hidden under the mountain. And within that carved out space were millions - perhaps billions - of alcoves, each containing items which had once belonged to an angel. Weapons and armor, countless in number and forged from the purposes of the angels who had used them, all sat individually in perfect darkness waiting to be lit only by light cast forth by those who had come to visit. And only within that light could their lost images be seen - and their histories relived.

For the angels who once wielded these collected instruments in all their glory were no more.

Those who fell to chaos were placed besides those who rebelled and those who had fought against that rebellion. No ordering, no sorting, no hierarchy of location had been imposed for all were equal in Gabriel’s heart, all mourned in full that their holiest of sparks no longer graced the fabric of creation.

As I approached my own heart leapt, for the massive guardian stones had parted to grant access to the dark corridor that lay within.

Swooping down I spotted Tsáyidiel sitting as a black gryphon before the entrance: back legs, haunches, and tail of a panther behind the large raven head and claws in front, obsidian wings resting against the length of his body.

He attempted to offer one of his formal greetings with bowed head as my bare feet again touched ground of gravel and dust but I (probably rudely) cut him off.

“Is she here? Has Gabriel returned?!”

“Nay, milady.”

That caught me off guard. As far as I knew only I and Gabriel could open the stones. Confusion swirled into paranoia. Did someone force their way in there? If so, oh shit. “Then who?”

A voice came from the shadowed entrance, calm and hinting amusement. “One who wished a moment of reverence and long ago was graced with a key.”

Flaring brighter I removed those shadows to see clearly. Our visitor did not flinch at the brightness, if anything the dimpled smile widened as the glow revealed him in full: mousy-brown hair held loosely at the back of his neck by blue ribbon the same color as the embroidered tunic, its gold stitching glinting in the light as perfectly as the simple bracers of the same metal which rested upon his wrists. Soft wings of cotton white framed shoulders strong yet slender as he stepped away from the stones on tan leather sandals.

I recognized him more by sound than image. In my experience he had always been a gentle voice either nearby or directly behind, though I had seen him in a couple of dreamed Gabriel’s memories. Not that there was any mistaking him.

“Raphael!”

Kind eyes crinkled warmly. “Hello, Amariel.” In those blue eyes were lakes of refuge and support, as if all the aches of body and spirit could be washed away in their waters. Perfectly clear to dispel any illusions and penetrate to your core, but without any tinge of judgment - only the singular desire to aid all they perceived in being the best they could ever be.

It was hard not to fall into those eyes and hope they carried you away. “Why…why didn’t you wake me up when you got here?”

“Your guardian seemed loathe to disturb you, that you needed your rest. I concurred that such was important.”

I glanced at Tsáyidiel and his raven head cawed agreement. I’d need to gently instruct him later to always wake my butt up should another freaking angel arrive. Yelling at the gryphon in frustration however would crush the poor guy, for he was as nervous about offending me as the fae - a byproduct of millennia of abuse at the hands of a previous master. We were working on it, but progress was slow.

“Well, uhm, welcome,” I said to Raphael. Crap, while he’d always been more casual as a voice, I had no idea if there were formal things I ought to be doing. “You’ll have to forgive me, but I have no idea what the protocol should be for an official visit.”

His eyes lost some of the softness. “Then rest assured, for this is not an official visitation. In truth our crossing paths here should be construed as nothing more than coincidence - for I came but to reflect and gather memories.”

“That’s drawing some awfully political fine lines. How much are you able to share?”

The archangel regarded me appprovingly. “You have grown. A process never achieved without pain.”

“We all experience our portion.”

The dimples were lost as he sighed. “Yes, we do.” The archangel continued to stare, noting the increase of number to my wings and obviously contemplating what he could - or could not - say.

Turning to Tsáyidiel I said, “Beloved Hunter - I thank you for giving escort to our visitor and protecting the entrance while he was inside. You may return to watching over the fae and the bounds of this realm.”

Beady raven eyes sent a direct mental query. “Art thou sure, milady? Something disturbs our guest - perhaps I should stay as your guard?”

“I’m sure.”

Acquiescing, the gryphon said aloud, “Yes, milady.” Feathers dark as night spread out and with mighty strokes Tsáyidiel soared back towards the beaches.

The archangel and I watched the restored Fallen wing his way into the distance and once he was far enough away I said, “Alright. Let’s hear it.”

“The Council of Seven is to meet to discuss several issues.”

“Anyone find Gabriel yet?”

“No. She is still missing. This is one of the items upon the agenda.”

“Let me guess: I’m another, as is Camael.”

That raised his eyebrows. “Yes. On both accounts.”

“Michael came here, you know. He gave warning that I could be construed a threat.”

“You could.”

“Why?”

Gesturing to the wide stones, a sigil of red and gold flared before them and with an earthen grumble the two slid back into place with a mighty thunk. The sigil was an energetic recording, one authored by Gabriel and also now tied to Raphael’s Name. Only he could hold it, let alone use it. “Because of who you are.”

“Camael, in the brief time I was with him in Hell, called me a gift. What did he mean? And I’d appreciate it if you could avoid the cheesy dessert responses.”

He gave me an odd look. “Simply put, you have the potential to fulfill all our hopes.”

“So what’s the catch that worries Michael?”

“You may also bring about all our fears.”

“The restoration of Tsáyidiel’s Name has something to do with that, doesn’t it? Considering you fled when it happened. Michael said you’d locked yourself in your tower and refused all visitors. Why come here now?”

“The angel Eth came to my door. He declared his business as urgent.”

“Sorry, I don’t know of him. I’m guessing he’s important?”

“When an Angel of Time says a matter is urgent it is best to listen and do so quickly.”

“That…makes sense. What’d he say? Can you tell me?”

The angel of healing’s smiled and the warm dimples returned. “He reported a Convergence would coalesce and that the council would soon be formally informed. He also suggested I reflect on all those we’ve lost, to remember the price that was paid.”

“In other words he told you to come here without telling you to do so. Typical. Why is it you guys are always so obtuse and circumspect?”

“Eth’s purpose is to uphold that events happen when they are supposed to. He needs not understand those events, he only needs to see his task is done. He relayed the minimum to yield the end his spirit required. We must be careful with our words, Amariel. For they have more power than you’ve yet to realize.”

I paced in front of the closed stones before asking the obvious question. “What’s a ‘Convergence’?”

“As you have experienced, time flows differently between the realms and planes of existence. A Convergence is a grand alignment of the time-streams, where a minute in one is also perceived as a minute within all others.”

That stopped my feet. “Whoa. Even in Hell the various domains run at different rates. Does this kind of thing just happen naturally, like when planets group up due to their orbits?”

“No.”

“So someone is causing it?” My mind boggled at what it would take to do such a thing. As far as I could tell there were realms atop realms atop realms, to reach across them all and force time itself to move in sync would require a mind-boggling amount of power.

“Yes, and also no. Convergences occur during singular events - ones which affect the past, present, and future. The forging of Heaven was one such example.”

Wait, what? “How can the past be affected?”

“Time is contained entirely within the bounds of Creation. A fundamental shift within Creation’s pattern will touch the whole.”

“Okay, that hurts the head. Though I’ve heard physicists say something like that. Before the Big Bang time didn’t exist - that kind of thing.”

Watching as I began to pace again, his eyes glinted with sympathy. “It is a difficult subject when contemplated from the perspective of these lower layers.”

“Dare I ask when the last Convergence happened?”

“From Earth’s perspective it was two-thousand of their years ago. Gabriel was rather busy during that event too as I recall.”

My jaw dropped as the implications sank in. “Are you kidding me?”

The archangel shook his head, the long hair threatening to come loose from the ribbon. “Not at all. However this time she has acted without Council approval.”

Oh shit. Two thousand years ago Gabriel was supposed to have delivered a message - about a certain child’s conception - to a virgin mother, an act depicted in tons of artwork found in famous museums. You know, due to causing to be born the guy many claimed to be the Messiah and God Incarnate. The name most humans call him begins with a ‘J’. As did a couple of mine. Yeesh. Not sure I liked that similarity.

I gulped. “I uh, I bet the Council may not be too happy at her going solo on that kind of scale.”

“We are concerned, yes. And as you are intricately involved you will likely be summoned to offer testimony.”

“That sounds like all sorts of not-fun.” Frankly the idea wasn’t that surprising given what had happened on Earth and in Hell. But getting interrogated by beings whose sneezes could annihilate entire civilizations - if not galaxies - was a downright scary prospect. “Any advice you can offer should that happen?”

“Hold true to your Name. Through all of what may come be brave and do not falter or stray.”

I searched a face full of the handsomeness of youth simultaneously overlaid with the wisdom of eternity and bit a lip. “What if that puts me in conflict with the Council?”

“All the more reason to hold true.”

“Anything I can do to help avoid that sort of outcome from happening?”

He considered, tapping an exquisitely sculptured chin with a thumb. “Actually, yes.”

“What?”

Gesturing towards the forest and the distant beach beyond he said, “Move the fae elsewhere. This realm is sacred, and there are those who will take offense at their presence here.”

“Michael told me it was okay as long as they stayed away from the Memorial.”

Raphael chuckled softly. “When discussing this with our beloved warrior were you preparing in boiling righteousness to guard the fae from any potential harm?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Michael being who and what he is could not have told you otherwise. To do so would have diminished his own Word. He is the Defender. He would have felt his sacred Purpose reflected brightly within you.”

“Oh.” That was a creepy thought, yet made a weird kind of sense. “But I really don’t have anywhere else to take them. They’re bound to me and my energy now, no other place can sustain their spirits.”

“Then you should endeavor to create one. Come, I will assist.”

Hoo boy, indeed.

 

~o~O~o~

 

All the fae beings, be they mighty in stature or could fit upon a palm, gathered along the cliffs overlooking Gabriel’s wide ocean. Within the bright azure sky distant clouds floated, some offering glimpses of mighty shimmering towers rising even higher still as reminder of that for which the ones remembered below the stones had fought and sacrificed. Compared to those, my band of less than a hundred was naught more than a few wind-swept drops scattered in a monsoon.

And I was just one more.

Raphael perched a few paces away upon a large grey stone jutting outward over the beach, legs folded beneath him with wings draping behind so the feathers pointed towards the sand. A picture of perfect calm, it was not him that moved with each breath but the wind as manifested in the ruffling of the strands of his hair and the trim of his tunic.

Whereas I was a bundle of nerves, as were the sylphs, dryads, wisps, and all other manner of creatures who had chosen to follow me to this place.

“Okay,” I said, enduring the many stares. “How do I do this?”

Instead of answering aloud, Raphael - as he had done many times before - sent his thoughts direct.

“Your pattern shares a portion of Gabriel’s essence, she who was born when our dream of Heaven was forged. She is of that dream, and from it was this place created. You also hold the light from which all things are made. Blend those powers by will and need into someplace new.”

“That’s more a what than a how.”

“You’ve touched the hearts of other realms just as you’ve touched the hearts of many spirits. Reach out to these creatures your spirit has chosen to cherish, let their need guide yours.”

Their need? I looked at them, in all their forms of feathers, branches, fog, claws, and more. They were fae, enigmas made manifest, each a reflection of nature’s spirit, each a bundle of ordered wildness - as capricious as a roaring tornado tearing across an open plain, as calm as a summer’s breeze caressing a lover’s cheek. Once they had frolicked through the forests of Earth in the spaces not yet tamed by Man. Torn from Gaia’s embrace, they had thereby escaped being bound concretely and trapped forever within mundane bodies of animals or people. For them spirit and physical were fluid concepts, and to tie them to one or the other would be to lose half of what they were and thereby lose the meanings of the whole.

They were dreams and in that moment within the Fae Queen’s realm, when I called upon the light to restore their faded lusters, they had changed. Their tales and sagas, the cores which made up what they were, had intertwined with my own. Closing eyes I saw them still for within they burned bright with that touch of the light - each glorious in their uniqueness, each wondrous in their similarities.

In the brightness came a clarity: Gabriel’s realm of Remembrance, beautiful as it was in its serenity and reflections, could not uphold or fulfill their true natures. In a rush, I felt that for which they truly yearned, that which they had desperately sought ever since being taken from the places their essences had first gathered and gained life.

For in their hearts they ached for one thing over all others: a place of their own. Not a refuge, not a shelter and temporary safe respite, but something more.

Pressure akin to a thousand volcanoes gathering eons of need built up inside. I could no more hold back the eruption than a solitary sandbag could hold back the sea.

Light burst within and without in response to that need, and with awareness reaching beyond it found a voice. As Siabh, the priestess of Gaia who had been reborn as my niece, once did to save a fae realm from a foolish angel’s actions so now did I.

My voice lifted in song.

Into the space that lies between incoherence and solidity, music that was more than music flowed. And into that song poured the yearnings, raw and untamed, of each of those who had followed me out of Arcadia. Transfigured by the light, their stories streamed as notes and words crashing as unleashed waters over jagged rocks with counterpoints sounding as clear as a solitary cricket resonating his call across a midnight meadow. What they had been, what they were now, and yes what they could be coursed through the song, and as each note resonated it shifted - each becoming more as a drop of paint dripped upon fresh canvas.

And upon the new dream gathering and taking shape.

It was not large, that dream, for it need not be. Yet it held mountains of ice-clad peaks and deserts filled with burning sand, and grew dense verdant trees of bramble and leaves besides a lake twinkling with reflected starlight cast from far above. Sunset and moonrise coalesced overhead, and most of all the newborn realm filled with the symphonies of earth and sky, rivers and wind, as insects and birds took to the air while numerous other unique creatures leapt and danced past bark and stone, flower and vine.

Harmonies filled the air as the magic swirled to tug at the essences of each fae spirit, pulling forth notes individually filled with their hopes and desires to flash out as crescendos unto the landscape’s settling shapes. Barrows of mud and root opened to smell of spring rain’s awakening, leafy canopies twirled as branches high within trees came together as small houses stretching for the sky each complete with windows and tiny thatchwork welcome mats outside the doors. Trunks of mighty oaks creaked as living bark split to form doors of their own, refuges within offering narrowest of spiral staircases leading to floor after floor of doll-sized bedrooms of pillows and many-hued patchwork quilts, kitchens of red brick and copper pots, and sitting rooms of wicker rocking chairs. Stones under the lake rolled together, the churning silt settling to reveal tiny fortresses of rock and welcoming shells.

To each fae, to each spirit large or small, the realm gave birth to the fulfillment of their inner longings. And into the dream’s brilliant center, its heart of hearts, was sown my vow: that here they would have the sanctuary their restless sleeps of thousands of years had cried for: a place their spirits truly belonged where their hearts could sing free.

That here at last they would be home.

We found ourselves all gathered in a clearing besides that lake, staring about in wonder while purple and scarlet tinged clouds danced above. I couldn’t remember moving us over or even how long we stood there for I was still transfixed by the song now humming brightly within everything around.

A pair of pixies, one with skin of brilliant sapphire and the other blazing emerald, fluttered on matching glittering wings over my head and before I could think to object dropped a wreath of thinly entwined roses of blues and violets upon my brow. Thorns pricked at the skin, and touching my forehead a drop of crimson fell to the wet earth at my feet. The blood’s red turned to green as a fresh sapling erupted from that spot, thickening in a widening spiral as tendrils of glistening branches split and new leaves burst outward forcing me to take many steps back while the whole stretched higher towards the clouds as its roots dug deep into the fundament of the realm.

Flowers blossomed from the tips of those reaching fingers of bark, petals unfolding in a shimmering rainbow as if hundreds of prisms had unleashed every color imaginable across the newborn tree.

Upon seeing this, all the fae bowed low, each trembling and transfixed. It was Whittler who stepped forward, and after a nervous clearing of his throat, spoke.

“My Queen, you must give name to this place.”

Brushing the streak of blood between fingers and thumb, I found myself replying with warm smile. “Let it be known as Gealltas, for it is my promise to you that this place shall be yours forevermore.”

As the fae gave a mighty shout of the purest joy I had ever witnessed, Raphael again sounded only in my mind.

“Well done, little sister. Well done.”

 

~o~O~o~

 

The faerie after-party, of course, was stupendously loud and magically boisterous. Celebrations continued through the realm’s first twilight and into following night as moon and stars hung low over the ever-burning bonfire nestled by the lake and around which danced all the creatures of myth across ground, water, and air. Their singing and laughter shook the trees and the stomps of many feet turned the earth into a mighty drum. Several had quickly taken branches and with careful focus transformed them into flutes, the trilling of their music echoing the notes which had sung this place into being.

And with a shove by a mighty moose whose fur was a deep forest moss I was pressed into the mix, twirling before the flames as everyone’s infectious happiness carried me away. Tsáyidiel, whom I cajoled into taking his rare human form with dark eyes and brooding lips, laced his hand across mine as we danced amidst the merriment. A mug of fired earth pressed into a hand and with a swallow of sweetest nectar teasing the scent of sunrise and days of splendor the entire night became a blur of a myriad of bodies letting go of everything but the relief and excitement blossoming within their spirits.

Even Raphael joined in, a violin appearing in his hands as with feet splashing through the lake’s water he fiddled perfect counterpoints to the whistling flutes. Upon his shoulders perched pixies, their voices mimicking the sounds of his bow amidst fits of unrestrained giggles, and betwixt his ankles burbled many a shining fish.

With my own feet muddy with earth, sweat, and splashed nectar, I danced and sang with them while bathing in the glow burning within their mystic hearts. Tsáyidiel returned to his panther self to pounce and run with a more slender but equally dark cat through the flickering shadows at the boundaries of the trees, his joy of the chase and play bringing a wide smile to my cheeks. As they flitted through the underbrush I caught sight of Raphael who had stepped apart from the merriment to sit upon a stone at the edge of the clearing and stare up at constellations and a moon that had become but a slender crescent though it was full when first risen.

Slipping away from the revelry (careful not to step on any of the little ones twirling about with glee), I crossed the grass and tried to scramble onto the rock next to the angel. Balance being a bit wonky from the powerful nectar, that required three attempts.

He chuckled as I finally succeeded. Stretching out on my back over the curve of the rock, the long hair reached down to tease at the grass not unlike a waterfall of molten color.

“Fae beverages are potent and need be handled with caution,” he said with an amused smile. “Though I believe medicinal use in this case is certainly warranted.”

Reaching a hand towards that starlit sky, a finger traced the outline of the moon. “Are you saying I needed to get drunk?”

“Care of the spirit is as important as of the body and mind. And often does one interfere with the care of the others.”

“Ugh. I am way too blitzed for thinking that deep.”

We stayed there together, both of us lost in thought or thoughtlessness, as the music and merriment continued nearby. Part of my brain wanted to ask him a thousand questions, but something else shoved it aside and instead I put a hand on his arm where it rested across his lap. It was warm. “What are you thinking about?”

He paused in thought then gave a soft sigh. “That if we all could only have treasured moments like these more, perhaps much suffering would have been avoided.”

“Oh.”

“And you?”

“Uhm, that I like the feel of this breeze through my toes? And that maybe you should join me for another mug if not two.”

He laughed again. “That would indeed be enjoyable but I am afraid I should point out that time continues to move forward.”

Lifting my head I looked at him. “So?”

Amused meriment gazed back. “I should linger here no more. And perhaps neither should you.”

That earned him an unhappy pout. “It’s not even dawn yet.”

“Only because you have wished it so. But the clocks above and below tick on - the sun is already well above the horizon at your academy.” He patted my hand.

Oh.

Oh crud.

“Dangit! My martial arts test is this morning! Sensei is gonna kill me!”

 

The Light Between (Part 2 of 8)

by Erisian

Book 5

 

Note, if you have yet to read the saga - the tale starts here:

Into The Light

Hope you enjoy!

 

Chapter 5 - Exams

 

“Shit!”

First things first. Feed the starving and pathetically meowing kitty: open can, scoop into bowl, give reassuring pets.

Skip shower, curse the hair for being short again and not fitting in a scrunchie all while struggling with a hairbrush to tame strands of wild fire.

Give up. Clothes next.

Strip off pajamas (were they lavender when I went to bed?), grab the folded martial arts uniform from the top of the clean laundry pile. Hop into the leggings, pull on a hopefully-clean sports bra, wrap the top of the gi around the torso before fiddling with the strings that hold it in place, slap the equally white belt around the waist and take three attempts to get the proper knot.

Good enough. Prep complete.

With one last (okay, a few last) scritches to the kitty I ran out the door before bounding down the stairs because the elevator always took forever. Sprinting across the wet and frost-covered campus lawn I realized I hadn’t put on any shoes.

Oops. Oh well.

Taking the outdoor stairs leading to the double-doors three at a time I burst past and into the gym-turned-dojo. A line of teachers stood waiting. After skidding to a stop I bowed low towards the three of them - lower than I probably should have. More oops.

“You are late.” The shortest (yet somehow most imposing) of them scowled and took a step forward. Sensei Ito also wore a gi, though his had the navy blue hakama leggings. The older Japanese man’s fierce scowl made well-earned wrinkles have creases of their own.

“Apologies, Sensei.”

He snorted. “Late you were to the first class; late now to the last.” The wiry warrior’s examination traveled from head to toe, lingering on the grass-stained feet.

“The clock got away from me, sir. Time here is not as time there. I lost track.”

Circe (yes the Circe, foil to Odysseus himself) perked with curiosity. Why the Chairwoman of the Mystic Arts Department was here I wasn’t sure, and my therapist, Natalie, was standing next to her. Obviously they were in cahoots about something. Circe, wearing a dark green blouse and long brown skirt, wished to probe my statement. “There being where exactly?”

Hmm, how much to say? Rising from the awkward bow I debated with myself while catching sight of the many fluorescent bulbs dangling from the ceiling. The lights from each glowed through these colorful small rainbows cast by imaginary butterfly wings as they all flitted about in lazy circles.

Oh crud. The party’s nectar was still messing with perceptions.

“Uh, a dream realm. For fae. I popped out during the night again.” Trying to refocus on the serious ground-bound trio proved difficult and required multiple blinks as the world kept shifting between the physical and spirit. Circe’s immense magic capacity glistened brightly and Natalie’s compassionate heart twinkled this amazing shade of pink.

Sensei Ito however was solid as a rock so I centered all focus on him to stop the swaying. With the discipline of his spirit steadying things I straightened up again.

Natalie first looked puzzled then frowned. “Jordan, are you…drunk?”

I fought back an embarrassed grin. “There was some revelry. In celebration.”

The sensei’s eyes became almost-closed slits, never a good sign. Drinking alcohol was absolutely forbidden at the academy, and not just because the kids were all minors. Intoxicated supernaturally empowered children would be ridiculously dangerous. But Natalie interjected before the martial arts master could start shouting.

“Were these fae the ones who came with you when you retrieved Danielle’s spirit?” After many sessions the therapist had wheedled out of me various details of things otherworldly. Not sure she believed them all, but maybe she did.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And what were they celebrating?”

“I made them a home. A real one.” I pondered. “Well, okay, a dream of a real one. But it’s solid to them.”

Circe startled. “You…you created a realm?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Despite the magically maintained cheeks, Circe paled. “In one night?”

I shrugged. “I sang, they sang, it manifested. So they threw a party. I couldn’t exactly refuse to join in.” I decided mentioning that the moose was insistently huge would not be helpful. Even though he totally was!

Natalie clearly wanted to ask more about the festivities but after peering past glasses at the other two teachers said instead, “Perhaps we should reschedule this exam. Give her time to recover.”

“No!” Gah, that came out louder than I’d meant but it did get all three’s attention. Shaking my head I said, “Whether I’m still affected or not doesn’t matter. Battles don’t sit around waiting for a soldier’s buzz from the night before to clear.” Taking a deeper breath, I forced it out slow while willing perceptions to quit trying to dance about at anything flickering at the edges.

That earned a grunt from Ito. “The exam is now.”

Circe nodded. “I agree.” Her dark eyes bored into mine as she laid out the details of the test. “Jordan, seeing as how we cannot toss you into the usual combat finals we’ve come up with an alternative. You will treat this as you would any real-world attack. However! Use of your angelic-gained powers is disallowed, any detection of such will be an immediate forfeit.”

Maybe it was the nectar but that didn’t sit well. “You realize without using those ‘angelic-gained’ powers I wouldn’t be able to stand here? I’m not human. Not anymore.”

Natalie coughed. “We know that your abilities have saved you time and again, but-”

“I meant that literally,” I said, cutting her off. “Look, my presence is a projection. Sure it feels solid, but it’s not. Not really. I spent a long time in denial about this; those days are over. I am what I am. But fine. I’ll limit things to just the physical manifestation as is.” Even if doing that was stupid. I didn’t say that last part aloud - the nectar had only loosened my tongue so far. “Who am I to fight?” Two rather suspicious souls were pressing up against the door to the locker rooms and obviously listening in on everything; it wouldn’t have been the first time for the sensei to send me against multiple opponents and those two were certainly no slouches.

Though I still wouldn’t want to go all out against them.

Sensei Ito walked to the other side of the circle inscribing the dojo floor. “Your opponent is me. Alone.”

“Are you kidding?” What the heck? The Sensei, as skilled as he was and as masterful his control of chi energy, was not enhanced. He was a bog-standard human, no magic or extra boost. Sure his training and experience exceeded mine, but even limited by decree my physical manifestation was stronger and so much faster - and unlike the first day I had arrived at his dojo I’d since had years fighting demons. Not to mention the training granted by use of an archangel’s bracers.

If I wasn’t careful I could seriously hurt the old man if we went at it hard. If not accidentally kill him outright.

Natalie spoke up. “We believe you’ve been holding back ever since your return and have not been taking your training seriously. This exam is to see how far you’ve really come.”

“You don’t want me to fight him,” I protested. “Not for real. He’s too good to not have to hurt him to win.”

“Yes. For real,” Circe said. “Other than the restrictions already stated, fight as if your life depended on it.” She gestured towards the circle. “Prepare yourself.”

I glanced at Natalie but the therapist was staring stolidly. Good grief, was Ito secretly armed? Could he have a tranquilizer syringe hidden up his sleeve?

If so I hadn’t seen anything. Nor had he been magically boosted by anyone else’s magic. This was nuts.

Moving to the circle I bowed to Ito before stepping within. He watched for a moment before bowing and crossing into the circle himself.

Actually, this was too crazy. And with a nectar-fueled thought I made a decision.

Circe raised a hand and threw it down.

“Begin!”

No sooner had she shouted her command that I did the only thing that made any sense.

Dropping to my knees I shouted, “I yield!”

The sensei, who hadn’t even moved yet, remained still.

Circe snarled. “Jordan! Did we not just warn you about the need to take this seriously? Fail the exam and you fail the course!”

Staying put I locked gazes with Ito. “I am absolutely serious. You said to treat this as real, right? Well if Sensei were to actually attack me like this I would yield.”

Natalie put a restraining hand on Circe’s arm. “Explain yourself.”

I gestured to the warrior across the circle. “Sensei Ito is a good and honorable man. He would not attack anyone without reason. He would need solid cause to do so, in my case perhaps to try and prevent me from doing something horrible. Or to keep others who’d been ordered to take me in from having to make the attempt themselves, with the hope that for him I’d go peacefully. Heck, he might even be protecting me by doing so.”

“And if he was under some form of mind control?” Circe snapped, pulling away from Natalie’s touch. “Something you couldn’t detect? We’ve all seen that happen.”

I snorted. “Then he’d ignore my declaration and charge in anyway. And I’d know that he wasn’t himself and be forced to defend as carefully as possible. Because otherwise? This man would never fail to respect an opponent’s given word. But should he stop - as he just did - I would go with him willingly to find out what was up and why.” Nodding to the sensei I added, “And dammit all, I’d rather fail a class than cause harm to a friend.”

Ito straightened and then offered a very low bow, the lowest I’d ever seen him do. As he rose back up there was a sparkle past the wrinkles that hadn’t been there before.

His gruff voice filled the gym. “You pass.”

 

~o~O~o~

 

On learning that I had not yet had breakfast the two suspicious eavesdropping souls insisted on taking me to the cafeteria, grabbing us a table while I perused the morning offerings. How the kids without super-charged metabolisms avoided gaining a ton of weight at this school was still a mystery, though I suspected the regular gym classes for even those not doing martial arts were probably vigorous enough to burn off the ridiculous in-take of calories.

Such as the ones upon my tray: super cheesy Denver omelet, toasted plain bagel (with real butter!), not-too-greasy hash-browns, pile o’ bacon, and a few sausages for good measure. And this most important item: steaming mug of Earl Grey tea.

Finding them across the Hall was easy as Brendan towered over everyone - even when sitting down. The crazy thing was that despite having passed seven and a half feet he still hadn’t finished growing. He’d needed new school uniforms every few weeks, the poor guy. Jenna, at her more modest six foot two, looked small in the chair next to him.

Making my way through the thin mid-morning crowd, I took a seat opposite the pair. At the next table over a few kids picked up their trays to move further away, one girl in the group especially giving fearful glances over a shoulder.

“Don’t let them bother you,” Jenna said, glaring at the kids’ retreat.

I tried to ignore them. “Eh, I’m getting used to it.”

“It’s your aura.” Brendan took a swallow from the bucket of soda held easily in one hand. “Some energy sensitives are afraid of becoming addicted to the feel, others it just gives a headache. Normies like me though, I can see why they’re scared of you.”

Jenna cocked her head, the long-haired blonde wig holding on as she’d actually used the glue today. “Scared? Of her?”

“Because she’s always on edge.” He put the bucket down and peered at me. “Tell me, how many students and staff are in here? And how many exits?”

I didn’t need time to think. “Sixteen kids at the tables, plus three at the buffet, and two in the bathrooms. Eight staff between monitoring things out here and the kitchens. Three exits from the main cafeteria, two from the kitchens - one behind the offices and another for the loading dock. Though the windows are all security-grade glass, they could shatter from the inside if hit hard enough.” Crunching a slice of crisp bacon, the smoky flavor filled my mouth. Mmm salty too.

“See?” Brendan glanced at Jenna. “Told you.”

Jenna gaped. “Dang.”

“What?” I shrugged, following the bacon up with eggs oozing cheese along with chopped ham and onion compatriots.

“Could you have taken him?” Brendan asked, voice serious. “Even without powering up?”

“Who, Sensei?”

“Yes.”

I didn’t want to lie. “If I had to. Though it wouldn’t have been pretty.”

He studied my face. “I’ve sparred against you since you got back. Some bouts I even won.”

“Fighting for points isn’t the same as using killing blows.”

“So they were right.” His face went taut. “You’ve been sandbagging.”

I shook my head. “Sparring isn’t about who wins or loses; it’s about training and getting better.”

“But you let me win.” The tiny plastic chair underneath him creaked dangerously.

“I gave you openings which at the start of the semester you wouldn’t have even seen. You’ve improved.”

“And if you had to fight me, as they put it, for real? Life or death. How would I fare?”

I put the fork down, staring at food no longer holding the same appeal. “You really want to know?”

“I do.”

In monotone I told him. “Without powering up I’d need to put you down fast. That would require exploiting the weaknesses inherent to your telekinetic shielding and your healing abilities. It would end quick.”

Meaty hands clenched as biceps threatened to split yet another pressed school shirt. “Bullshit.”

I pushed away the tray. “Your shield protects your body against sharp or sudden external pressure impacts to prevent penetration and concussion. You deal with joint-twisting threats using your natural strength. But with proper leverage your bones will still snap.”

“Which I’d heal,” he growled. “Faster now than ever.”

Meeting his eyes I felt hollow. “I’d force a compound fracture of your forearm. My own strength is enough for that. Then I’d rip out the bone and slam it into either your heart or through an eye socket to get to the brain. Your shielding won’t stop the blow - it’ll surround and let the bone through because it was part of you. And being such, your healing ability will lock up trying to mend the bone fragment and the impact site together. It’ll fail at both. Prevent any pulling out of the bone and you’ll die.”

He stood, towering over the table. Anger-flushed cheeks slowly drained of their color as he realized the truth of it.

In a quieter voice he said, “You were right about one thing. You’re not human. Not anymore. I’ve got exams to study for.” With that he walked away, ducking out the closest doors into the light rain which had started up again.

Jenna sat in shock watching him go. “He didn’t mean it.”

Staring at the cooling omelet, I shook my head. “Yeah, he did.”

We sat there uncomfortably for a minute before she spoke again.

“I’m sorry. For last night.”

“Nothing to apologize for.”

“I wasn’t there. You say it wasn’t possible, I believe you. It’s just…heck, I dunno.”

“The thought of it, of going back into the Chaos…” Hands began to shake and I put them under the table.

I don’t know if she noticed because after more awkward silence she asked, “Were your fights like that a lot?”

“What, brutal and messy?”

“Yeah.”

“Sometimes. I wasn’t able to power up. And doing other things was too dangerous.”

“Geezus. That’s awful.”

“Demons don’t fight clean.”

“But you’re not a demon.”

I stared through the crystal dome above us but I wasn’t really watching the rain cascade down the glossy sides. Instead thoughts filled with a memory seen within Gabriel’s Monument of the archangel Camael, blood-soaked wings dripping across shoulders while he stood atop a mountain of eviscerated bodies as defeated enemies filed past without daring to give challenge. In that battle it wasn’t demons that he’d slaughtered. “Angels don’t fight clean either. Nor do men.”

“Have you talked to anyone about it all? To Natalie?”

“Not really.”

“You should.” She held up a hand, cutting off my obvious protest. “I’m serious. You really should. But not to me. I once lectured you about how none of us in our cottage were innocent, but honestly? We’re still kids.” Lowering them, she curled fingers almost to a fist. “Last night I spent some time thinking, and you know what? I had hoped to be part of a super team with you. Especially after the fight by the lake when I got a taste of your power and the…the divine. It’s why I pestered Brendan to get you to group up with the rest of us.”

“I kinda figured.” I managed a smile for her, one she didn’t return.

“And when Danielle went off with everyone to Egypt I was really jealous I didn’t get to go along.” She looked away. “Then she died. As did you. I felt horribly guilty, you know.”

“For what? Why would you feel guilty?”

“Because! I should have been there to help, maybe I could have made the difference.”

I didn’t know what to say.

“And I also felt guilty just for being alive.” Her shoulders hunched forward and she stared hard at the table’s laminate, a finger tracing the lines of the wood underneath.

Blanching, I said, “Never feel that way, hon. Never.”

Swallowing unshed tears, she muttered, “Can’t help it.”

Pushing back the chair I went around the table to pull her into one of those awkward sideways hugs.

She stiffened but didn’t pull away. “I can’t do the things you do. I can’t fight like you. After punching out that jerk of an assassin, I thought I could. But I can’t.”

“You don’t have to. No one is asking you to.”

“No one asked you either.” Her fingers dug into my arm.

“A long time ago in a different life, I think I asked it of myself.”

“You mean as Aradia?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s so not fair. You know that, right? You aren’t her. You should get to choose.”

I rested a cheek against the back of her head, and the wig smelled of baby powder and glue. “I do though. Every damned time.”

She finally relaxed into the hug. But then she straightened and changed the subject. “Haruko came by the cottage earlier looking for you. Said it was important.”

Letting my friend go I leaned against the table. “Alright, I’ll go find her and see what’s up.”

“And I’ve also got August’s address.”

“Oh? Dang. That was quick.”

Her lip pouted, sticking way out. “I’m not sure I want to give it to you. Every time you go off crazy things happen.” Her expression was exaggerated but there was genuine worry underneath.

“Yeah. But think of what would have happened if I hadn’t.”

Reluctantly she rattled off the address. It was in North Carolina which earned a groan. “That’ll be one heck of a ride on the bike to get there and back.”

“You’ve got wings. Why not fly?”

“The various powers-that-be have given me orders to not streak across the sky like a low-orbit comet and cause a ruckus.”

She snorted. “First off, do you really care about what they say? And second, didn’t you just go off on Circe about not really being here?”

“Hey, I’m trying to be good and maintain a low profile. But how does what I said to Circe apply?”

“Don’t fly in the physical, doofus. Shift to the spirit or astral side of things, fly there, and shift back. You always shine like a miniature sun in the spirit anyway, right? That’s what all the sensitives say; I’ve even overheard them muttering about wanting to craft spiritual sunglasses to block the glare.” She waved at me. “So go pretend to be a ghost or something.”

My mouth dropped open. “That’s just freaking brilliant yet totally obvious.”

She patted my cheek and cracked the start of a smile. “And that’s why you still need me. Because you’re a bright and shining idiot who’d be lost without my expert guidance.”

“Darn right. Absolutely just so.”

We smiled at each other. Then Jenna caught sight of the clock on the wall behind me and gasped. “Is that the time?”

I looked over at it. “Unless they messed with the display again, yeah.”

“Ack!” Hopping up from the chair, she wrapped me in a hasty additional hug before taking off at a run. “My history final is about to start!”

She at least was wearing shoes.

 

~o~O~o~

 

I found Haruko in her cottage room, the door left open. Half the space inside was perfectly neat and orderly, books carefully arranged on the shelf and desk, clean uniforms hanging properly in the small wardrobe, and a well-dusted set of Japanese swords placed atop the dresser. A rice-paper scroll calendar hung above the center of the desk and instead of the standard bed with those cheap metal runners a blue futon filled the space. Shoes were kept in tidy pairs within small wooden cubes stacked just inside the door.

The other half though was a mess.

A green plastic hamper was wedged partway into the closet while overflowing with skirts, sweaters, and blouses. Only one complete school outfit hung in that side’s matching wardrobe, looking to have been hastily shoved onto a hanger that tilted towards the front. Leggings, socks, and shoes were scattered randomly throughout, and the bed’s thick comforter lay in a lumpy pile of whites and blues next to a haphazard pile of pillows, each a different color with none matching the blanket. Push-pins held a number of heavy metal band posters to the wall at deliberately non-level angles, but one in particular stood out. Iced Earth.

It had been her favorite.

I must have stood staring at it for too long because eventually Haruko cleared her throat to get my attention. The small-yet-deadly girl was sitting at her desk still in uniform, holding a manga which she’d been reading by the light of a small green-canopied lamp.

“You can come in.” She closed the book, placing it on the desk next to a short dagger made of jade.

The poster still held me fixed in place. “You still have it up.”

“It’s not mine to take down.”

“Danielle’s gone. She’s not coming back.”

“You did.”

“But I’m-”

“No one touches her stuff. No one.” A hand picked up the dagger and dark eyes glared from behind equally dark bangs.

“Okay. Got it.”

She watched for a moment then slowly put down the blade.

“You, uh, you wanted to see me?”

“Yes.” She sat up straighter, swiveling in the chair to face me more squarely and putting hands over the school-colored skirt. The threatening expression disappeared into a blankness that went beyond casual practice. It was entirely - and spookily - neutral.

That by itself was even more concerning. “What’s up? Something serious I take it.” I did a quick scan of her - seeing again the weird spirit egg lurking inside. To my relief its shell was still intact - and still swallowing as much magic mana from Haruko as she allowed.

In a perfectly modulated tone she switched to speaking Japanese with full formal cadence applied to each syllable. She knew that I’d understand her. “It is my knowledge and belief that you are one who would wish to aid my father should an opportunity present itself.”

Her father? Oh boy. Haruko’s dad was Kami Kurohoshi, former Green Beret and current heavy-hitting underworld operator specializing in intelligence gathering. He also happened to be a badass ancient dragon who personally saved the day when a pyramid I happened to be standing next to was attacked by a sixty-foot manifested Lord of Hell. Kami in need of help was not good.

Not good at all.

Choosing words carefully I replied in the same language. “Your statement aligns with truth. Kurohoshi Kami is a trusted friend and comrade; I would readily come to his aid should he call.”

“You understand that neither I nor my father through me are asking for your assistance.” She paused and stared with that neutral expression, holding her posture rigidly still.

I let that sink in. Whatever was going on, Haruko was obviously under strict orders regarding the situation which likely included not being able to say anything about it. Orders which she was clearly attempting to circumvent without actually violating the direct commands. I had to play this just right.

While giving a partial bow I said, “I humbly ask for your assistance in being better positioned to be available should your father ever have need.”

She gave a slow nod. “It would be disrespectful to ignore such a request from one of my father’s allies.”

“Then you have my heartfelt gratitude.”

“Being located across the country from his whereabouts makes being available to my father difficult.”

“I have found this to be true.”

“An offering of transport may remedy this. At your request a private plane shall be arranged for this afternoon to arrive at LAX.”

I blinked. This was much more urgent than I’d expected. “I believe I have a faster method of travel. But upon arrival, assistance with navigating traffic would be useful.” Haruko hadn’t said exactly where he was, though I knew Kami lived in Los Angeles and also owned a nightclub. If she wasn’t allowed to tell me anything, she could order a car to take me direct to wherever she needed me to be without revealing the destination directly.

Yeah, okay, that was a mighty thin hair to be splitting. But a hair nonetheless.

“It would be a simple matter to provide transport which can convey you to a place more convenient should my father decide to call upon you.”

I thought fast. “I know an excellent lawyer who lives in Los Angeles, one who would also wish to be better positioned to offer his services.”

“My father has many lawyers on retainer.”

“None like this one. He is absolutely unique.”

“My father will personally judge his usefulness should your friend accompany you.”

I darn near choked, but Haruko’s steady delivery gave no indication she was aware of the extra meaning her phrase contained. Maybe she knew, but maybe she didn’t.

That’s the problem with conversations like this. You can’t just ask.

Putting a hand on the doorjamb, I thought it through. Switching back to English I said, “I’ll have to arrange things with the school and, well, other parties. I also need to stop somewhere else before reaching California. It’s what, ten o’clock now? That’s seven in the morning out there. A car standing by outside a certain storage facility in the westside around one p.m. local time should do the trick. Any advice on what to wear?” As Danielle had told Haruko the story of her transformation, there’d be no mistaking which storage units I was referring to.

She thought about it then replied, “There are times when formal attire is suitable.”

Huh. Guess I won’t be going clubbing then. “Okay, we’ll figure something out.”

“The driver will know excellent places to acquire apparel and will be at your service.”

“Alright, thanks. Anything else?”

The mask of imperious neutrality faded, replaced by an intensity of barely controlled emotion. Hopping off the chair Haruko ran right at me. For a moment I was afraid she was attacking, but instead she threw arms around my waist and squeezed hard.

I squeezed back and pretended not to notice how much the girl was trembling. What was unexpected was the spirit-egg within her reached out tendrils of energy as if it too needed a hug.

 

Chapter 6 - Books

 

On the way back to Hawthorne, I dialed Circe at her office in the magic department. She was holding study hours for the rest of the morning for any students needing help prior to their own exams so I knew she could be reached there. The rain toying with the idea of snow was steady, but I ignored it along with all the kids who stared as I casually strolled barefoot through the wet while still wearing the martial arts outfit.

“Jordan.”

Ah yes, Caller ID. You don’t need to identify yourself to folks on the phone anymore. I kinda missed that.

“Hiya,” I said to the thousands-of-years-old teacher. “Just wanted to let you know I’m going to be missing the test for Principles of Magic at three. Something came up.”

“Really. Such a shame then that you’ll fail the class after so narrowly passing the martial exam this morning.”

Narrowly passing? Pffft. “Well, about that - I respectfully submit my creation of a new realm last night as a final project to take the place of Ophelia’s multiple choice scantrons. With your blessing, of course.”

“Interesting. What proof can you deliver to substantiate the claim?”

“Have a dreamwalker on staff visit my room spirit-side at midnight. I’ll tell Tsáyidiel to give them a tour of the new digs and the residents can vouch for me directly. Just, uhm, warn them not to drink too much nectar if offered any.”

“I see. And what is so important to re-occupy your afternoon?”

“Need to port to the west coast. I was specifically not requested by Haruko to go help her dad. There’s clearly some event about to happen - probably tonight - but that’s all I know at the moment. And before you say anything, yeah I’ll tip the DPA about it once I get there. That’s if they’re not monitoring this phone call already.” I resisted the urge to call out to the DPA Director in case he was listening.

“You aren’t supposed to leave campus. The government wants you safely contained.”

“We both know I’m not still here because of the desires of panicking officials. Until I figure out what I should really be doing, I’ve got to plan as if there’s a possibility of a life here somehow - which means a diploma and that scholarship payout. Legally I don’t own a cent otherwise.” This was true. Danielle had inherited what little fortune I’d had, and as her legal guardian Isaiah now controlled those assets. While I was sure there were options to get hired for “special operations” work, independence felt important so those were out. Besides, my kitty had made friends here.

“All the more reason to not neglect your studies this week.”

“Look, Haruko is worried. And she’s smart. Whatever is going on she obviously thinks I can help. She’s been through enough already, don’t you think?”

Circe didn’t argue that point. Only a few weeks ago Haruko had fought off assassins trying to set her entire cottage on fire. “This sounds like it could take more than one night. What about your other classes?”

I suppressed a laugh, hard as it was. “Kirov assigned an essay due at the end of the week for Ethics. Cassius will likely write most of it, and then I’ll rewrite it. I can do that remotely from anywhere. As for the Rabbi’s directed study hour, I think escaping Hell should qualify for a ton of lab credits, don’t you? And for Ballroom Dancing, the dance last Friday finished the course. That just leaves the magic test this afternoon, and your final in Mythic History on Thursday. Though I have an idea for that as well.”

“Why am I not surprised.”

“Hey, as much as I’d love to sit down with a pen and demonstrate the memorization of all the reading material, I’ve got something better to offer. Want to hear? I think you’ll like it.” I grinned. I don’t know why, but yanking on Circe’s chain had become a favorite pastime. Maybe it’s because she’d let it slip she didn’t like angels much when I first got to the school. Calling me a ‘bad egg’ in Greek, for example. Sure we’ve been getting along better, but still.

She hesitated then sighed. “Alright, I’ll bite.”

“I’ve typed up notes on everything I remember from Gabriel and Aradia’s point of view regarding the Grigori war and the creation of the Seals. You want it, I’ll send you a copy. That ought to be Mythic History enough to pass your class, right? Heck it should count for the entire year.”

“Are you sure you didn’t work out these offers with Mr. Soren as one of his infamous contracts? Unless this blackmail is simply a byproduct of having studied at the feet of devils directly.”

“Sounds like damning praise to me.” I snerked.

She didn’t laugh. Instead she literally growled over the phone. “You know full well that Charlie would howl for hours if I turned down a chance for him to witness a newly forged spirit realm. And Rabbi Kirov - along with every other professor of mythos the world over - would crawl over broken glass to read a first-hand account of the conflict described in the Books of Enoch and Genesis.”

“Admit it. You’re curious too.”

“Hmph.”

“So we got a deal?”

“Yes, Ms. Emrys. We have a deal. But aren’t you forgetting a class?”

“Oh. I took the written test already for Defensive Driving right after passing live on my bike. You know, so I could park it on campus. They don’t dare plug me back in the simulator to get a grade on helicopters and tanks. Not after what happened.”

“I see. Then I wish you good luck in Los Angeles. And Ms. Emrys?”

“Yeah?”

“When you return we should talk. You, me, and Mrs. Carson.”

That sounded suspicious. “What about?”

“Your future. Don’t get into too much trouble until then. If you can.”

She hung up without waiting for a response. See? Like I said, prejudiced against winged-folk. Yep.

With the phone shoved back between layers of cloth and wedged behind the belt I approached Hawthorne and came across a sight one doesn’t usually find in the middle of a winter storm: a girl in a yellow bikini soaking in the rain as if it were sunshine on a beach lounger set off the path in the grass. About ten feet from her also sat a small tent-roofed pavilion underneath which two girls with purple hair (one sporting a ponytail, the other’s strands trimmed short more page-boy style) were equally wearing swimsuits and playing cards on a patio table.

Skidding to a muddy stop I halted by the dark-haired girl pretending she was shore-side on a hot Summer’s day. The copper tone of her skin could almost be mistaken for a tan unless someone knew better. “Hey Penelope.”

Opening eyes she peered up with a grin. “Hey Red!”

“Enjoying the cool?”

“Chill for you, just right for me! Wow. You’re soaked. Want to warm up?” She gestured towards the two card players. “I’m testing some new environmental spells. Evie and Ester volunteered to monitor the stability.”

“Nah, I’m good.” I looked over at the game, seeing a discard pile and a suspiciously thick deck next to it.

The longer-haired girl pulled a card from the deck to add it to her own hand, studying it carefully. “Hmm. Got any sevens?”

Her playing partner, after giving a hesitant glance in our direction, shook her head.

“Darn.” Evie scrunched up her face then slapped the five of spades onto the discard pile. Seeing me staring at them, she beamed a smile and waved.

I waved back. Speaking softer so only Penelope could hear, I asked, “How’s Ester been doing?”

Responding in an equally quiet tone, the rain-bathing girl said, “Not too bad. Evie says she’s not had night terrors for three nights running.”

“That’s great.” Ester Berglund had been one of Fate’s victims, kidnapped as a toddler by Azazel’s minions because she was an incarnate of the Grigori angel Kokabiel, one that Azazel had enslaved millennia ago. Neither I nor the therapists knew exactly how much Ester remembered of her entire childhood, and frankly it was one of those situations where not remembering may be a kindness. As for her spirit, I’d come to the conclusion that leaving poor Kokabiel alone to, well, “sleep” inside of Ester was also for the best. The two (who were really one) deserved a chance to rest, feel safe, and just live in peace. “August’s leaving was rough on her, but looks like she’s attached herself to Evie now instead.”

Penelope snorted. “August getting pulled out of school and you supposedly having died was harsh. But yeah, she trusts Evie. They’ve become like sisters.”

We watched the two alternate turns. I was still trying to puzzle out exactly what game they were playing (Go fish? Rummy? Blackjack??) when Evie laid down her collected hand.

“Straight flush and a pair of jokers! What about you?”

Frowning at her own cards, Ester shrugged and revealed them. She kept looking hesitantly between them and Evie.

“Oh, hmm,” said Evie as she leaned over the table. “Five sixes and an ace! Wow, you win again!” She smiled at her opponent.

Ester grinned widely in return before swirling a hand over the cards for Evie to quickly gather them up and deal again.

That got me to blink. But sure enough there were five cards with sixes on them, two of them sharing the suit of clubs.

“Unusual deck,” I commented to Penelope.

The girl essentially showering in the rain chuckled. “Hawthorne’s game cupboard is a bit random. Two decks, each with cards missing, got merged.”

Seeing Ester’s enthusiasm to play their clearly made up game again put a grin on my face too. “Perfect.”

Penelope stretched and sat up, folding legs into a cross-legged position. “Yep. So when are you off to visit August?”

“Huh? How’d you…oh. Let me guess: it was you who dug up their address.”

The answering grin was conclusive. “Jenna didn’t say who it was for, so don’t get mad. It was just obvious who’d want to know.”

“Yeah well, thanks.”

She shrugged. “No need for thanks. She now owes me something.”

“As do I.”

“Nope. Not the way it works. She asked, she received. Her deal with you is hers, not mine.”

“You have my thanks anyway. As for when, probably as soon as I can change clothes and finish experimenting.”

“Experimenting? That sounds interesting. Need an assistant?”

“I don’t know, what’s it going to cost me?” I laughed.

“My usual fee,” Penelope said with false seriousness. “I get to take care of Khan while you’re gone!”

That got Evie’s attention and the loss of mirth from the girl’s expression wasn’t faked. “You’re leaving?”

I wasn’t about to lie. “For a day, maybe more.”

“People need you.”

“’Fraid so.”

Evie thought about it. “You going to die again?”

“I hope not.”

“It’s ok. My dress is really pretty. If there’s another funeral I’ll show you the pictures when you get back.”

“You got it.”

This seemed to satisfy the purple-haired teen and she turned back to the made-up card game.

I looked to Penelope who was shaking her head.

“That exchange was entirely too surreal.” She hopped off the chair. “You trying stuff out here or in your room?”

“My room is likely best.”

“Then let’s go.”

With a wave goodbye to Evie and Ester, we went inside. I would have gone to hug them both but I’d had a realization: Evie was being brave for Ester’s sake and a hug would have cracked the control she was trying so fiercely to maintain.

Honoring her intent was hard. I hoped it was the right thing to do.

“Hey Penelope,” I said as we got into the elevator. “Jenna may want to challenge you over rights to caring for my fuzz-buddy.”

“Have you forgotten already?” asked the copper-skinned senior with a mercantile smirk. “She owes me.”

Sliding doors closed and we went up.

 

~o~O~o~

 

After first changing out of the damp martial arts outfit and then feeding the persistently hungry kitty his second breakfast, all so he could happily munch away in the small bathroom while pretending to be an even furrier hobbit, I explained the idea of attempting to be a traveling ghost to Penelope.

She was instantly dubious. “You’re forgetting something.”

“I am?” Despite the rain continuing outside I’d opened the balcony doors so the room would cool off even further for my temperature-sensitive visitor. It’s not like I wasn’t used to cold, and Khan loved romping in snow so he wouldn’t mind either. As a result a wetly chilled breeze ruffled the sheets hanging off the bed where Penelope had perched while I took care of Khan.

“Yup. You want to get to North Carolina, right? But if you shift to the spirit-side, the path is gonna be different.”

I frowned. “Wouldn’t I just need to follow the highways? I should be able to see both sides.”

“Yeah except the map on the other side doesn’t line up. Resonances rule, not geometry. Like our school here is surrounded by thick spirit forests, to even see the road heading out you’d need to walk to it first before shifting over. Fly along it as a spirit and you might find yourself zipping over any of the dirt roads in the north-east that have the same feel. The map of the physical world doesn’t apply over there.”

Dangit. I should have remembered that. Like how Set had to guide the fae queen through the Kemetic spaces to get inside the Djoser Pyramid.

“Huh.” Thinking more about it I got confused. “But how does Louis do it? He found me easily enough when I was flying back with Danielle after she got shot.”

“Fubar? Dude’s a psychic. The astral/mental projection thing is unique. Way it was explained in class is that he just senses minds and can trick them into perceiving his presence. So physical world mapping and distances still apply, he just has like this insane range.”

“Then how come I can touch him? He feels real to me.”

She shrugged. “If I had to guess? You wanting to touch him makes it real. What your energy does is nutso, girl. Like this room - stepping in here is like stepping into another world, you know? Crisp, shiny, and honestly uncomfortable - at least to me, no offense. Every sensation is weirdly magnified.”

That caught me. “No one’s said that before. Tamara and Jenna have been in here tons.”

“Look, not to be insulting but Jenna isn’t sensitive enough magically. Tamara though is a lot stronger than I am in that department and she’s probably used to being around high-powered rituals because of her mom so she’d take it in stride. It’s not bad. Just, I dunno, overwhelming.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Dropping to the floor outside the triple circles inscribed around the bed I folded one leg under the other and hugged a knee. “I may not have time to get to August before I need to pop to Los Angeles then. Bike is gonna be too slow.”

“Los Angeles? You didn’t mention that. You got a flight later or something?”

“There’s a spot there I’m pretty sure I can port to. I’ve done it before.”

“Anywhere near August you could do that with?”

I bounced my forehead off the knee. “Nope.”

We remained quiet while trying to think. Khan strode over to first nudge the knee with his head before settling down next to it, lips smacking happily. I scritched the fur over his ears as he began cleaning his back with his tongue.

“You just need to not be all super bright when flying, right?” Penelope finally asked.

“Yeah. And with how they’re probably monitoring the school with satellites, I’d need to be invisible to not get intercepted by F-16s.”

“Wow. Paranoid much?”

I gave her a look. “It’s not paranoia if they’re really out there. They’ve got my phone bugged; I can see the unauthorized transmissions about where it is. It even occasionally turns on the microphone to try and listen in too.”

“Rude.”

“I could probably twist things to block it, but they’d notice and get even more freaked out.”

She blinked. “Wait, you can see outside the visible spectrum?”

“If I try. It’s all light - and filled with primal energy. I mean, I don’t see it like normal stuff, but I can see it in the pattern of everything.”

“And you can mess with it?”

“Same way as I can pull magic energy out of everyone’s spells. Like with Magnus.”

“Can you shove all the visible light coming off of you into a different spectrum? Then maybe pull it into a tight beam to zot it off into space. Wouldn’t that make you practically invisible?”

My hand stopped moving over Khan’s head, causing him to give it a whiskered nudge. “It’s all energy,” I said slowly while resuming his pets, “light, heat, even the magical mana flowing through ley-lines. Frequency conversion requires either removing or adding energy. But magic is all about converting mana to and from physicality in one way or another.”

Penelope grinned. “So can you go the other way? Convert physical light to mana?”

“Maybe.” I stood up, ignoring the immediate protesting meep from the kitty. Stepping over to the balcony doors I held up a hand and studied its pattern, focusing in on all the light particles bouncing off the skin mixing with the thermal ones generated by my metabolism. The inner vision balked at resolving the script underlying reality at that resolution, and with an annoyed grunt the main two wings flashed out behind me.

There. Now I could see it all properly. Wrapping intention around the hand I whispered commands into the observed matrix, rotating the vectors containing information regarding the hand’s presence into alternate dimensionality before letting the broadcast continue. Even though the mechanism was totally different, it reminded me of the Grigori perception-displacement swords back in Hell. Those had done a lot more but I was trying to limit how much I impinged on the physical realm.

The consequences of messing that up would likely be bad.

“Whoa!” Penelope hopped off the bed, circling around the wings to stare.

“What do you see?”

“If I stop trying to look with magic senses, your hand is totally no longer there. But if I scan for it, it’s like this ghostly mana blob. That’s so cool!”

“Hmm. Then the question will be whether the government has any magic-tech in place to track that kind of thing.”

“Can you link it to the ground? So I can’t see even that much?”

“That’ll just paint the earth with the mana. Not sure I want to push this that far.”

“What about the rest of you then? A hand is one thing, but those wings? That’s something else.”

“Yeah. Hang on.”

In the end it was like building software. Core routines reused by multiply-launched threads got the desired coverage. After a few minutes of adding more and more pieces Penelope finally said, “Ok, think you’ve got it. Congrats! Unless someone has magic talents, you’re totally the invisible angel.”

Khan though was less impressed. He trotted right over to impatiently head-butt an ankle. When I touched his fur with a hand wrapped in tiny angelic script the little guy flopped over to show his white-fuzzed belly.

It was of course a trap. As I knelt down, my hand was quickly wrapped by four paws as teeth gnawed against the skin. Not hard enough to hurt though, because he knew better. With a grin I wrestled the little wide-eyed guy around, sliding him across the floor.

Penelope just stared. “Your cat sees through it.”

“Kitties use their sense of smell to track stuff. I’m not masking that.” Despite the fierceness of the clinging pin I managed to stretch a finger out to boop his nose.

That earned a few kicks to the wrist from the rear paws.

“Still,” she said, “that ain’t normal.”

Unable to help it, I giggled and cheated by adding my other hand to the game. “Of course not. Khan isn’t normal, he’s awesome!”

Against the double assault he squirmed all the more happily while his paws went at it with wild-eyed abandon.

 

~o~O~o~

 

Eventually I had to face the fact that the clock was ticking and there was a lot to do. After reminding Penelope to not let everyone overfeed the mischievous kitty, I pulled up maps of the east coast on the computer to trace out the route and thereby memorize it.

Angelic memory did have some advantages.

Leaving the traceable smart phone on the desk, I bid both Penelope and Khan goodbye and took off from the balcony into ice-flecked moisture. As the storm hung low I could only go so high while maintaining a view of the road leading out of the school.

I noted that the military had left the concrete pylons for their checkpoint behind. They’d just been shoved off to the side out of the way.

Skimming below the thick clouds it didn’t take long to follow the path and reach the I-95 South which would take me through Richmond before splitting off to the I-85 which was needed to get to where August and their parents lived in Greensboro.

Flying felt absolutely incredible. I’d been allowed so few occasions to take to the sky, usually only when some pressing issue required it. Teachers, governments, and common sense had kept me earthbound - not to mention all the time in Hell spent believing the skies had been denied me forevermore.

But not today. Sneaking now through the air invisibly, I was free to spin and tumble all about however I wished. Rain, wet and frozen, slid past grinning cheeks to mix with the underlying perceptions of the majesty of the storm as its patterns of chilled dampness sought their return to the ground.

Skipping in and out of the clouds I couldn’t help but flip upside down and pretend to be a starship pilot navigating the surface of the enemy’s base and searching for the mission-designated trench from which to start an attack run.

C’mon, you know the trench.

Giddy with freedom, the remembered words spoken to a certain droid regarding increasing power gave me an idea.

I wanted to see what I could really do.

Making sure to line up with the highway and recreating other famous car and motorcycle scenes while dodging through traffic, I popped out two more newly-burning wings and willed a burst of acceleration. How bad could it be? It’s not like I went for all six.

I wasn’t prepared for what happened next.

No sooner had I wanted to go than everything blurred. Grey clouds smeared and the ground below blended into mostly greens and browns. Before I could blink the grey burst into blinding sunlight and everything underneath went bluish-white.

Forcing a panicked stop I found myself maybe a hundred feet above endless water under a clear sky with the midday sun hanging in the middle.

Good grief, I was over the ocean. Yikes.

Crossing arms to chew on a thumb I tried to get my bearings. Okay, with the sun at that angle I should at least still be in the Northern Hemisphere so I was likely hovering over the Atlantic. Off to the left was a cruise ship made tiny by the distance, but that wasn’t the direction needed to find shore.

Or so I hoped.

Turning so as to keep the sun directly on the left I put away the extra wings and built more carefully up to maximum speed on the usual single pair of feathered engines. Considering that was still pretty darned fast, I felt rather stupid about having tried for more.

Though it did give some interesting ideas of wanting to practice that kind of thing for combat. The memory of the battle between Lucifer and Michael came to mind which caused the stomach to knot due to another round of the usual “holy shit, what am I truly capable of?” thoughts.

With a shoreline coming into view, that was a worry for another time. Starting as a long strip on the horizon the shore quickly rushed closer as if visible through a camera lens and someone was playing with the zoom settings. Slowing down I found myself hovering over a sandy beach that had a rock-lined harbor entrance off to one side, and a set of buildings about forty stories tall sitting in front of resort-style swimming pools all surrounded by palm trees and other greenery. Two buildings in the front were silvery in the reflected sunlight, and the taller one just behind was a weird shade of red. Past these a harbor could be seen, in fact the entire beach stretching off to the right was more a sandbar providing thin protection for ship-going waterways which had even bigger buildings lining their shores.

None of this sparked any recognition. Closer to the harbor entrance an elderly couple sat on a concrete bench under a few tall palms jutting right up from the rocks. Both wore wide-brimmed hats and while the lady (who wasn’t exactly skinny) was wearing a pink one-piece swimsuit under grey shorts, the man was styling these beige shorts, thick black socks, sandals, and sunglasses. The woman was fighting the wind’s game of tossing silver bangs across her face as she tried to apply sunscreen to the man’s bare chest - a chest that was like a beat-up and scruffy white towel which had definitely seen better days.

Making sure no one else was around, I landed and disabled the invisibility workings by the simple act of pulling in the wings. Without their added power-up I couldn’t maintain it. I was however grateful that my chosen outfit mostly fit the scene: purple jogging shorts, pale blue t-shirt over a sports-bra, short socks and running shoes. While I’d probably get stuck in a dress later to deal with Kurohoshi, these were something I could more easily fight in should anything unexpected occur. Like, you know, it usually did.

As for Camael’s black and gold bracers sitting on the wrists, they probably looked weird but whatever. And yes, there was a bit of added focus needed to repair the patterns of the clothing which had been displaced by the mostly-energy-but-weirdly-physical-anyway wings.

It had taken two weeks of practice to get that right I’ll have you know. The number of destroyed t-shirts used for practice was frankly embarrassing.

“Excuse me,” I said, stepping closer to the couple.

The old man didn’t react, but the lady did and after again brushing hair out of her eyes she gave me a look up and down. “Yes?”

Aha, she spoke English. That meant hopefully this was still somewhere in the U.S. which was a relief. Gesturing to the sidewalk and back towards the buildings lining this peninsula I said, “I kinda zoned out while jogging and got turned around. Which beach is this?”

She looked at me funny and not because of the bracers. “This is South Pointe. See the channel?” Using the sunscreen bottle as a pointer she extended it towards the waterway.

“Oh.”

“You’re at the south end of the peninsula. How long have you been jogging?”

I shrugged. “Few hours maybe?”

She shook her head. “Ah to be young again and have such stamina.”

The old man looked over a shoulder, blinking in surprise to see me there but he didn’t say anything.

I gave him a small wave. “Uh, hi?”

“Don’t mind him,” the lady said with a chuckle. “He’s got the hearing aids in a pocket. Otherwise the wind causes a constant whistle.”

Wrinkles on his face folded into a smile and accompanying nod. A few blobs of sunscreen rested atop ears that had a few stray strands of grey all their own where she hadn’t smoothed it out.

“You a tourist?” she asked, tilting owl-like sunglasses down so she could focus in on the bracers. “And I must say, those are the oddest wrist-weights I’ve ever seen.”

“I’m definitely not from around here,” I admitted. “As for these, a friend gave them to me.”

Her eyes darted to examine my left hand, looking for a ring. “A close friend?”

“Eh, if I had to describe it at this point he’s more like a crazy uncle.”

“Don’t overlook the crazy ones, dear,” she said, turning back to the man with a smile. “They can be princes in disguise. Sixty years we’ve been together, Jacob and I, never a regret.” With obvious adoration she squirted more sunscreen onto a palm and began rubbing it onto Jacob’s arm. “And he was certainly an odd duck back in the day!”

Jacob revealed he could hear well enough even without the aids as with a gruff voice he added, “She is as pretty now as she was on the day we met.”

She blushed. “Jacob!”

Eyes shining he smiled back.

Patting his arm she said, “We’re playing tourist here too, though we’re more snowbirds really. Fifth year in a row we’ve come to Miami.”

Wow, I’d made it all the way to Florida. “Where are you two from then, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Virginia.” She sighed. “I love snow, but the cold just makes the old bones hurt.”

Jacob put a hand on her thigh and squeezed.

“And you?” the lady asked, frowning while adding more to a spot she’d missed on his shoulder the first time. “Winter break with a special someone perhaps?”

“I’m here by myself. Kind of on a road trip.” Or sky trip, but it’s not like I was going to explain that.

“Surely a girl as lovely as you has somebody waiting for them back home then?”

“I don’t think so. I’m…not entirely sure where home is at the moment to be honest. Life is a bit complicated.”

She peered through the darkened wide circles resting atop her nose. “Then take this advice from an old bitty: you’ll know it when you find it, hon.”

“I hope so.”

Finishing up his arm, she popped the top back into place on the bottle. “Now, if your hotel is on the beach just go straight along from here and you’ll have to pass by eventually. But if you’re hungry there are some nice restaurants right over there you can try out first.” She pointed towards the clumps of buildings further in but which still overlooked the harbor.

“Thanks. It was nice meeting you both.”

They smiled their goodbyes and I turned to head up the path. Once far enough away to restore the wings and the disappearing spell, I glanced back at their bench.

He had put an arm around her and she rested a cheek against his shoulder, together their spirits emitted a singular and beautiful glow.

Something inside ached at the sight yet it took a long time to look away.

 

~o~O~o~

 

Finding the way north was simple enough. I-95 - which stretches down the entire East Coast - was just on the other side of the harbor and taking it up to I-74 after crossing into North Carolina worked. Okay yes, I did cut along Route 38 for the shorter path, but at the speeds I was flying I’m not sure it made that much of a difference.

In any case I zipped on through Greensboro and quickly found myself lingering before a pine wreath-decorated front door. It was set on a lovely southern porch complete with hanging ferns, white painted railings, and several matching wooden rocking chairs all lined up to face the road.

As to why I was lingering, well, I was stuck wondering what I was doing there even though it was fairly ridiculous to be standing on their porch asking that of myself after flying all this way. I mean, I knew I was there to try and remember what had happened in the Chaos, but did I really want to know? What if I didn’t like what I learned?

A queasy stomach was certainly unsure about the prospect.

Annoyed with myself I reached a finger for the button but before I could push it the door unlocked on its own. Even having been warned, I wasn’t prepared for who opened the door. For one thing, his cloud-grey eyes were now level with mine. Gone were the feminine cheekbones, the long brown hair, and the innocent eagerness that had once burned behind glasses that were no longer needed.

“Jordan!” A young man threw arms around me in a fierce hug.

Oof. He’d definitely been working out.

“Hey August,” I said, awkwardly hugging back.

Letting go, he stepped onto the porch and the door shut behind him. “I’d say I’m surprised to see you, except I’m not.”

“You knew I was coming?”

He grinned. “I’m still in the Book. Your signature on the threads is hard to miss - it causes ridiculous headaches when it shows up.”

I winced, trying not to think too much about the implications of that. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault you were bound to it.”

“Pffft,” he snorted. “Thanks to you, my spirit again touches the Source. Never apologize for that. Seriously! You really have no idea how much of a miracle that is do you?”

I flushed.

“Thought so.” He leaned back against the door. “So what do you need? Even though we’re both angels, you know I can’t tell you what I see of the future in its pages, right? Sandalphon has yelled at me enough as is.”

I shook my head. “I didn’t come here for that. Not really, anyway. I think I came more in case I could help you.”

“Help me? With what?”

“Uhm, your parents? They pulled you out of the school after my funeral. I could, you know, talk to them. Or even show them-”

He burst out laughing. “Show them what, your wings?”

“Well, yeah. I heard your dad was really upset.”

“Can you blame him? The school got hit by a psychic bomb resulting in the military and CDC showing up. After that two students - well, okay, one student - got killed on a special field trip all the way to Egypt because magical terrorists unleashed a massive demon at the pyramid they happened to be visiting. To top it all off his lovely daughter transformed into his totally handsome son. And grew as tall as him too,” August added proudly. “Which kinda then let the cat out of the bag about Mom telling him the whole shout-at-Sandalphon thing for Danielle was nothing more than a prayer circle. You know, when Circe was talking with her asking for parental permission.”

Ouch. I hadn’t known that. “But you went to the school to learn magic. And I ruined that.”

He blinked. “Jordan, you’re sweet but did you not hear what I just said? Stop blaming yourself for everything! I’ve found exactly what I was looking for and so much more. What could the Academy teach me at this point anyhow? Our abilities as angels are completely different. Even the rabbi told you he couldn’t help with them. And I’ve got a real teacher now, one I don’t need to be at Whateley to see.”

“You’re still in contact with Sandalphon?” Sandalphon was an archangel, and until now was the only angel with a link to the Book of Life and able to write directly onto its pages. Which was a rather scary amount of power when you stop to think about it.

“Yep. So as amusing as it would be to watch my parents faint right over at the sight of a bona fide manifested angel - especially one as shockingly bright as you - I’m good here. Okay? I mean, sure I miss everyone, but like my whole family needs time to deal with what’s happened with me.”

“Oh.”

“Did you seriously just travel a thousand miles to try and get me back to the school? You’ve heard of things called phones, right?”

“Mine is tapped by like every three-letter agency the government has.”

“Huh. But why be so worried about them listening to a discussion about my parents?”

“They don’t know about the Book, or about you. Besides, it didn’t seem right to not ask in person.“

“So you waited over a month to fly down?”

I fidgeted. “I was under orders to not light up the skies; they’d have scrambled fighter jets to follow. And uhm, as much as I’m embarrassed to admit it, it wasn’t until this morning that Jenna suggested I shift to spirit and fly. Though that wouldn’t have worked, so I found a method with Penelope’s help to sneak off anyway.”

He suppressed a snicker which instead came out more as a quick snerk. “I keep forgetting how new you are to all this.”

“Yeah. I’m an idiot, what can I say.” I sighed then looked at him more seriously. “But I also wanted to ask you something - something I didn’t want anyone to hear. And not about the future.”

“Oh? What’s up?”

“Everyone’s history is written in the Book, right? Well, I’ve got a chunk I can’t remember.”

“You should have like perfect recall since becoming, you know…” He waved a hand. “Heck, even I do now when I really try.”

“Not for this. There’s a blank spot and it’s been scratching at my brain something fierce.”

“That’s not…wait, really?”

“Yeah.” I nodded. “It’s about how I got out of Hell.”

“Tell me.”

A multitude of tentacled arms tightened around my waist pulling me under, Camael holding blazing sword in a farewell salute…

I shuddered. “I was pulled into the Chaos - that layer between what Is and the Abyss. Then next thing I knew Isaiah - you remember him, right? My lawyer friend?”

“I do.” Grey eyes focused intently. “And I know who he really is.”

“Well, he reached to the edges of spirit and pulled me back to Earth.”

“Holy shit, really? Wow! So what’s the problem?”

My feet shifted awkwardly. “The problem is I feel like there were things that happened in between. That the transition wasn’t instantaneous, that something else occurred. It feels important - and honestly also terrifying somehow - but I have no idea what or why.”

August scratched his head. “Angels don’t forget things. A blessing and also a curse.”

“I know. I learned that much while in Hell. But if the past is recorded in your Book maybe you could-”

He cut me off. “Won’t work.”

“Why?”

“Two reasons. Chiefly is that you are no longer in the Book. Not directly, not since Justin died and you came back as Jordan.” He let that sink in. Honestly I knew that I’d already died, but I’d thought - never mind, it doesn’t matter. I was wrong.

He continued. “As a result, the pages have nothing written on them directly for you past that point. Only all the events you’ve influenced - when you’ve touched the lives of those who do belong in the Book. Through them you do show up, though since you’ve gotten back from Hell it’s more like you’re this powerful interference. Which is why you cause headaches.”

“And the second reason?”

“Angels have perfect memory because of what we are. A soul exists upon the pattern of Creation, its experiences are recorded internally even as it pushes on the threads holding everything together. Whereas we are those threads, connected entirely to our past and present. In a way our memories are written into Creation itself. You don’t remember the Chaos because for that time, and I hesitate to use the term ‘time’, you were Outside. We aren’t meant to ever go there.”

“Yet Lucifer did it. Likely more than once.”

“He’s the First. And how he managed to do so safely is a super crazy secret that no one knows. Well, except for him of course.”

“Wonderful,” I groaned. “Does this mean I need to find Lucifer to figure this out?”

August shrugged. “Could work if he’d tell you.” He peered past my shoulder towards the afternoon sun. The light was dimming behind clouds threatening to thicken with more rain. “Hey, what time is it? My folks will be home soon.”

“You need me to go?”

“Hate to say it, but yeah. Be easier than trying to explain to Dad why the girl who’s funeral service I attended is standing here.”

“Oh.” Hard to argue against that. This time I grabbed him in a tight hug, using enough strength that he was the one who went ‘oof’. “You take care, okay? If you need anything call me. And if you need it private, I’ll fly again.”

“Will do! Thanks!”

Just as I was about to spread wings and figure out my next move he waved frenetically.

“Jordan, wait! I had a thought!”

“Yeah?”

“Camael! He found you in Hell, right? And he believed you’d manage to get out?”

“He was fanatically convinced I would. How’d you know that?”

“Because the Book has the record of what he told Nick and Isaiah. Not through him, but them. But that’s not important.”

“It isn’t?”

August was bobbing up and down on his toes with excitement. “No, because I bet he left it here for you to find!”

“Left what?”

“Something which could have all the answers, or at least ways to get them.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“I think you came all the way here to ask about the wrong book. But I bet I can use mine to find out who Camael saw before he went after you in Hell.”

“August, spell it out! What do you mean, ‘the wrong book’?”

“Remember Aleppo? You traded Raziel’s Gift to save Kokabiel.” He grinned wider as I finally got it. “Girl, you totally need the Book of Secrets!”

Well heck. Why hadn’t I thought of that? “That’s…brilliant. You really think you can find it?”

“Camael’s presence gives the same kind of pressure on the pages as you do. Eh that’s not quite right, he’s more subtle and less all shiny-blasty but same difference really. I can try to trace out whose lives he touched and let you know. Raziel’s Book should leave a strong trail all on its own as is.”

“If you can send me to it, that’d be amazing.”

“You still have a phone?”

“Yeah. Wait, actually no, it’s not on me. Could you email to Penelope? I can keep pinging her from where I’m going.”

He tilted his head. “You aren’t going back to Whateley? Don’t you have finals?”

“Those are taken care of, for me anyway. I’m heading to L.A. next. Haruko thinks something is going on with Kami. Tonight.”

“Oh. That.”

“What?”

August tried to look innocent and utterly failed. “Uhm, nothing?”

I glared at him. “You really can’t say anything to help?”

With a cringing half-smile, he spread hands wide. “If you’re gonna be there then things will change anyway. You’re like a Joker’s Wild wherever you go.”

“Great. Just great.”

“Try to enjoy! The hors d’oeuvres will be the most amazing stuff ever!”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

He threw a pair of thumbs-up and I disappeared again while he went back inside. He was right, though. If Kami was hosting a big to-do of some kind, the food would indeed be first rate as well as ridiculously expensive.

Kami Kurohoshi was just that kind of guy.

But before dealing with that I needed to get back to the city where I grew up. Which required repeating something I’d only done three (well, maybe technically only two) times before:

Teleport.

On one hand I probably knew my old house well enough to use it as a destination, seeing as how I was raised there and all. But even though Isaiah still had possession of it I didn’t want to go there. Getting distracted by memories wasn’t on the schedule, and if I went back I’d get lost staring at pictures of my departed wife, or thinking about my folks who also were gone, and of course facing the room still full of most of Danielle’s stuff.

Yeah, no.

Besides there was an easier target, the one I’d popped into after getting lost between world-spaces. It was also the place Gabriel had sent me back at the beginning when Soren had transformed it into a channel of holy energies the likes of which hadn’t been seen probably for millennia.

The storage facility.

When I was last there the DPA had taken over the building as they were still cataloging the intricate spellwork that Soren (a.k.a. Camael) had laid throughout. Somehow I doubted they’d relinquished it yet.

Spreading wings wide I let myself slip into the spirit-spaces, much like what it takes to return to Gabriel’s dream pocket. But once reaching that in-between transition I refocused on the feeling of that one storage unit.

I remembered how it felt to re-appear the first time within the blinding agony of energetic overload, and also how it happened the second time when I’d needed to act after experiencing a vision of armed hunters preparing to invade my friend Isaiah’s home.

Both events were moments of extreme focus and need. No shocker then that it took longer to find the right frame of mind and perceptual attunement this go-round. What was surprising was that when the four walls finally shimmered into view unlike last time there weren’t any guards present.

What there was however was all new spellwork overlaid across the remnants of Soren’s previous efforts. Spells which instantly tried to slam the space shut around me like a bear trap.

Symbols blended with names in Hebrew, Latin, and Aramaic, all inscribed within the circles and various shaped stars decorating every surface. Their binding energies reached out to grab hold - which in a weird way may have helped anchor my arrival. Except they felt wrong. The driving forces behind the working was the use of various names of God - primarily Elohim and also YHVH - all commanding in His name that any celestial visitor remain tightly bound within.

The net effect was that of a massively binding prison.

My reaction was instant and performed without thought.

Two wings flashed into six and with an angered roar of my own true name all bindings ripped asunder from the thundering blast of primal fire. The aluminum door blew across the hallway even as the walls to the sides dissolved into spark-filled piles of discarded matter.

From the ceiling was suspended a twelve-inch tablet that amazingly still flickered to life while I both regained my bearing and wrestled with a surge of unpleasant emotion.

A rather grim-faced man with short cropped grey hair and a bushy sheriff’s mustache appeared on the screen.

“Hello Amariel.”

Bright eyes glared at the image, even while scanning for more offensive traps. “An explanation for this insult had best be forthcoming.”

The Director of the DPA slowly examined the destruction revealed through the video feed. Along with the damage to door and walls I’d also done something else:

Every stroke of each sigil and name they had added to this space had been burned away.

Steepling fingers before that mustache, he stared through the screen. “Apologies. These protections were not meant for you. You should have called first.”

“Believing thus poses a challenge.”

“Our experts claim the shielding from unwanted spiritual visitors at that location is weak. Your initial manifestation struck the first blow, and Callas Soren and Nicolas Wright’s subsequent departure weakened things further. With the loss of three of the Seals, penetration of the fourth might be possible at that juncture and as such protections were implemented. Though those very same experts stated categorically that even you would be unable to break them, at least not right away. Clearly they were wrong.” He then added, “I’ve been trying to contact you. I assume you found out by other means and came immediately?”

“Only for the fulfillment of mine own task have I come.”

He paused then said, “Power down, angel. Please. I need to speak with Jordan.”

While not physically present, through the electronic connection spirits still could be perceived. The man was burdened by worry, not for himself but for an entire nation if not a world. His demeanor refused to let the buried emotions show but I felt and knew. Like a sailor lost to a storm at sea he feverishly grasped at what lines of safety may be within reach, while holding no illusions that such would turn the tempest which had claimed him.

Yet he did everything he could all the same.

Wings folded away and the amount of light in the room dimmed considerably. I had, after all, just shattered all the fluorescent bulbs both in this unit and down the entire hall.

If not within the whole building.

Blinking still glowing eyes and trying to shake off the weird confusion of multi-layered awarenesses, I scowled at the government agent on the tablet. “Okay, what is it?”

“Jordan?”

“Spit it out already. Why were you trying to call me?”

“Because of what occurred on the steps of the courthouse downtown an hour ago.”

“Courthouse? What happened?”

“A sniper with cursed ammunition attempted to kill Isaiah Cohen.”

I swore. Jenna was right.

Things definitely went crazy every time I left.

 

Chapter 7 - Birthright

 

It had been another late night. Not that such was unusual, though in theory being a partner at a major law firm should have meant being able to delegate the midnight hour candle-burnings to the hordes of associates.

This however was one skill Isaiah’s own obsessive and detail oriented mindset had refused so far to acquire.

A court hearing awaited in the morning and therefore it was needed to understand every infinitesimal footnote of applicable case histories and all possible information regarding the opposition. And while his own team’s arguments and precedents were overwhelming such that victory was all but assured, nothing would be left to chance. Every “i” dotted, every “t” crossed, and every potential legal minefield mapped to the last inch of booby-trapped interpretation.

If only life outside the courtroom could be that well understood.

As he shifted on his side, the mattress foam slowly settled to accommodate the new position. With his eyeglasses already nestled on the nightstand the room looked mostly a blur: vague streaks of dark were punctuated by slivers of brightness from the exterior lights that kept the grounds of his home illuminated for the on-premise security team. Having armed guards on patrol around the house bothered him, and not just because of the mounting cost of such services. Their presence was a constant disturbance to the solitude and retreat a home and sanctum should provide.

The ghost sitting on the chair by the window’s long curtains gave reminder of why added security was necessary. If he’d listened to the firm’s security suggestions maybe she’d still be…no. He shouldn’t think like that.

What’s done was done.

The spirit of his personal assistant, lost to assassins sent only for him, whispered across the otherwise empty room.

“Get some sleep, Boss. Anything happens, I’ll wake you.”

He didn’t respond other than to shut tired eyes. But he wondered still how his spirit in all its power had let events in the past go so wrong. Events that haunted him (in this case literally) even now.

Had Azrael, the Archangel of Judgment, really done everything he could? Or was all of Creation suffering and paying the price because he’d made a mistake.

Was there really a Holy Plan?

Disturbed in both mind and spirit, Isaiah rolled over and after many more minutes finally fell asleep.

His subconscious, however, continued to churn.

 

A voice spoke not in English but Hebrew:

“And in the fourteenth jubilee Methuselah took unto himself a wife, Edna the daughter of Azrael, the daughter of his father's brother, in the third week, in the first year of this week, and he begat a son and called his name Lamech.

“And in the fifteenth jubilee in the third week Lamech took to himself a wife, and her name was Betenos the daughter of Barakiel, the daughter of his father's brother, and in this week she bare him a son and he called his name Noah, saying, 'This one will comfort me for my trouble and all my work, and for the ground which the Lord hath cursed.' “

 

Upon a high mountain summit, its view unobstructed of the valley below where farms clustered against a river whose waters brought life and abundance, sat a boat.

Tall beams of the strongest of wood formed the interlocking structure holding the curved hull in place, each brace wider around than anyone could wrap arms for this vessel was the largest any man had yet crafted upon the Earth.

Workers, wearing but woolen loincloths and sandals, swarmed the structure as final touches were added to the deck and accommodations. Several blacksmiths, their fires and equipment busy within numerous tents surrounding the ship, rang out the beats of their trade between hammer and anvil. Livestock of sheep, cows, oxen, goats, and camels bleated within many wide pens, all eager for their daily rations of grain and water.

Before the coordinated activities stood a tall man, muscles deeply tanned from many hours below an unforgiving sun, wearing only a red-dyed woolen skirt and well-crafted sandals. The mass of curly hair - a straggled mix of salt and pepper - was bound by a strip of leather to keep his face clear, and a beard now more grey than black hung low over the bare and scruffy chest. Gesturing with a shepherd’s crook, he called out orders to those scrambling to obey his commands, occasionally pulling out a scroll from the many tucked in his waistband to consult the contents before shouting anew.

Peeking out between gathering clouds the hot afternoon sun reached down to press against his back. As he returned a scroll to its holder, a shadow stretched past his feet - one formed by wings with span greater than any bird’s. Lowering the staff he quickly turned and knelt, head bowing low to the dark-cloaked newcomer whose hood kept features hidden within light-less folds.

“Lord, I bid you welcome.”

The one covered in cloth as if by the deepest of caves examined the man, noting every scratch and scar upon the skin - each a testimony to the life he had led. With the sun keeping him but a dark contrasted silhouette, he responded.

“Noah.”

“Are you here to check our progress?” Noah lifted his head but knees remained upon soft dirt.

“Yes.”

“The ship is nearly complete, Lord. As per your instructions. All will be done within a pair of Sabbaths.”

“It is Good.”

Tugging on beard for courage, Noah gave voice to the question still burning in his mind. “Lord, you have provided plans full of marvels. The advances in metal-working alone have the blacksmiths eager to finish this project and take home that which they have learned. Same for the shipwrights. But you have yet to tell us why this vessel needs be built - and especially why up here away from all water? It is a ship worthy of deeper seas - the triple hull as specified is too deep for our rivers.”

“The need is here.”

Moisture dripped across Noah’s brow as he stared both at the burning sun and the Messenger of the Lord. “Our family’s entire wealth has been sunk into its construction. The innovations within the given plans are treasures worth a fortune, but as per your order each was used simply to purchase the crafters’ services. The whole ship is a wonder of the world, yet here it shall be worthless to me and mine. They consider me a fool, and my beloved wife wonders-”

The visitor’s voice boomed out, reverberating within Noah’s ears and body. “This shall be your salvation.”

“I do not understand.”

“Hear me Noah, son of Lamech, grandson of Methuselah.”

A shiver ran up Noah’s spine and his head bowed once more. “Yes, Lord.”

“Upon completion of the work move that which is yours unto this vessel. All supplies for man and beast shall be stored within. All creatures whether they fly, walk, or run which provide sustenance or joy shall you preserve. All vegetation be they shrub, bush, crop, or tree which you would see regrown, their seeds shall you gather and secure. Let none other than family aboard.”

“Lord, to give such a command...what is to happen?”

Clouds above obscured the sun, their shadows sweeping across angel and man.

“War. An End. And a Beginning.”

Fear pressed into his chest and Noah pushed palms and forehead against the earth. “I hear, oh Lord, and obey.”

“You shall be visited but once more, son of Betenos, grandson of Edna. From the Holy of Holies shall my brother come, he whose words offer healing. Through him shall your birthright be restored.”

“Birthright, Lord?”

“That which was given unto Adam shall in turn be given unto you. Defend it, study it, that its wisdom may serve in the days to come. Yet be aware: to read its pages is to fathom the depths of Creation. Knowledge, as all growth, comes not without sacrifice.”

“What must I sacrifice?”

A pause and then was answer given.

“Innocence.”

Wind whipped through Noah’s hair and when he looked the angel was gone. Noting the thickening darkness lurking within the gathering clouds he stood as wide drops which were not of sweat ran down both cheeks.

The rain had begun.

 

~o~O~o~

 

The pre-trial hearing had gone according to plan. As expected opposing counsel was mounting an “unclean hands defense” by claiming that Isaiah’s client had deliberately waited to file suit to increase potential damages, but their motion to dismiss was quashed by the judge after Isaiah’s rebuttals.

Their tactic was pure baloney, of course. But fighting it at trial would require an immaculately prepared timeline of events from when the client had first discovered the theft of his intellectual property through to when Isaiah had overheard his soon-to-be client complain about the situation to the proprietor of the local gamer enthusiast hobby store.

In truth the case was classic intellectual property theft. A student of magical theory had decided to try his hand at using the mystic arts to overclock his computer rig, and to his amazement succeeded beyond all expectation - by several orders of magnitude. Realizing the value, the student had contacted a leading chip manufacturer to sell the technique and had been smart enough to get a signed NDA prior to the meeting as well as filing a provisional patent application. All of which the company had naturally ignored after seeing the details and realizing the student had no financial means by which to sue them. But with potential winnings in the billions it was easy to get Isaiah’s firm to take the case for a high percentage.

It was his case. He found it, he brought it in, and his contracted personal cut would pay off the equity loan he took to buy in to the firm as a full partner. And there would even be plenty leftover.

He just had to win.

With the judge referring the case for trial scheduling, Isaiah was done for the day. After a check-in with opposing counsel regarding whether they’d be willing to settle for the already-offered amount, he was ready for lunch. The leader of the opposing team had declined, though only after staring at Isaiah’s tie for a full count before meeting Isaiah’s open (and predatory) smile. The tie was dark blue with gold slanted stripes formed from thin-font letters repeatedly spelling out “UCLA” one after the other.

The opposing counsel - as Isaiah knew - had attended their rival college USC.

One of his hired bodyguards, Jim, was waiting just beyond the metal-detector cordoned portion of the lobby. Wearing a nondescript navy jacket and slacks, the older ex-military operative almost blended into the small crowd of folks going in and out. The broadness of shoulders and muscles bunched under the jacket however were fairly distinctive. Seeing Isaiah, he motioned him over.

“The car is pulling up now, sir,” Jim said, relaying the report received through an ear-piece. “Alright, let’s go.”

Following as instructed, they crossed towards the glass exit doors on the right and into daylight.

It all happened so fast.

Isaiah had gone down two sets of concrete steps towards the sidewalk when he was shoved hard from behind as a voice screamed in his ear.

“Look out!”

Lurching forward he crashed into the back of the taller bodyguard. Ten yards to his left a hole punched into the steps only to be followed by the sound of a loud crack.

“Shooter! There’s a shooter!” Without hesitation Jim spun about, arm snapping across Isaiah’s shoulders to propel him towards the waiting SUV parked at the red curb between a coin-operated newspaper stand and a tall lamppost. “Keep down!” With one hand pulling Isaiah into a crouch, Jim threw open the rear door. “Get in! Move!”

Isaiah scrambled into the back seat, crawling all the way over to give Jim room to follow. The driver was staring through the heavily tinted windshield. “I don’t have visual!”

Slamming the door shut, Jim then reached across to shove Isaiah forward into the foot-space behind the driver’s seat. “I said keep down!” To the driver he snapped, “Drive, dammit! Go!”

The driver punched it and with a lurch the SUV shot forward towards the nearby intersection. “Which way?”

“Straight! Full speed!”

Peering between the two front seats over their armrests, Isaiah took in the view. They rapidly approached a wide empty construction lot on the left and across an intersection a parking lot framed by thick trees sat on the right. There was also a ghostly hand covered by a gauntlet of bright gold and crimson reaching past the window to grab the steering wheel above the driver’s own grip. Seeing this reminded him of his own hand: the one with skin turned obsidian which had once wielded a terrible power. Heart racing on full from the adrenaline kicking through his system, he focused past the glove covering the flesh - attempting to connect through to the deeper spirit he’d spent the last month trying to forget.

“Quit it, Boss! I got this.”

The armored hand jerked the wheel to the left, and with a squeal of tires the SUV lurched to one side as with another crack the windshield gained a hole in front of the empty front passenger seat.

Also gaining a hole was the seat itself as the bullet slammed through entirely and plunged directly between Jim’s legs on its way out of the bottom of the car.

Fighting to regain control, the driver swore and for a moment the car straightened out. But that didn’t last long as the wheel suddenly twisted the other way - and Isaiah’s door gained a hole of its own.

Jim instantly yanked Isaiah away from that side of the car and into the middle. “You hit?”

“No.” The lawyer shook his head as fingers which had been curling into a fist instead grabbed hold of the side of the driver’s chair. “The shots have to be coming from past that lot on the left.” He marveled at the calmness of his voice.

Struggling to deal with a car seemingly with a mind of its own, the driver made a decision and slammed both feet on the brakes, instantly triggering the anti-lock system to loudly complain in a fierce staccato as the vehicle rapidly decelerated.

A chunk of the road in front of them burst upwards as the pavement took another round right where they would have been.

“Screw it!” The driver threw the controls into reverse. Looking over a shoulder and past Isaiah’s head, he floored it again - this time heading backwards directly into the intersection they’d just crossed before wildly spinning the wheel.

The light was red and several cars screeched tires in protest as the SUV whipped about, throwing Isaiah into Jim. Not waiting for a complete stop, the vehicle was flipped into drive and gears groaned in protest as they engaged forward - narrowly missing the stoplight and peeling into the oncoming traffic’s right-turn lane.

This however took them behind the many full-canopied trees dotting that corner.

Maneuvering past the now-honking traffic, they slipped further into green-covered safety. As they reached a stretch of the parking lot where the trees along the sidewalk thinned out, Isaiah was able to see past the foliage to the buildings they’d almost driven directly past.

A corner office of the taller structure on that block which faced the courthouse exploded in a flash of light, glass, and smoke.

As they accelerated away Isaiah had one main thought:

Jordan was so going to read him a riot act once she heard of this.

 

The Light Between (Part 3 of 8)

by Erisian

Book 5

 

Note, if you have yet to read the saga - the tale starts here:

Into The Light

Hope you enjoy!

 

Chapter 8 - Scans

The Los Angeles DPA headquarters and research labs, which were actually not in the city proper but out in Agoura off the 101 freeway, hadn’t changed much since I was last there - at least from the outside. It still had the three stories worth of dark reflective windows sticking out of the hill into which the complex was embedded and also the massive open parking lot of the kind only found in the suburbs.

While Haruko had indeed arranged for a car and driver (a limo no less!), I’d borrowed a phone to ask her to have them start the slog over the hill and meet me here at the agency. Despite being in the middle of studying for finals Kurohoshi’s daughter had already heard about the attempt on Isaiah’s life and promised to pass on the instruction to the driver. She also gave me his number so I could reach him direct if anything else changed.

Before she hung up she reminded me that I was on the clock to be ready for the evening - all while still not giving any details of what was going on.

Naturally.

Using the whole invisibility trick to fly over and skip all the stupid traffic stuck climbing the Sepulveda Pass had another benefit, one which alleviated one of the Director’s concerns, namely the fact that the crowd of religious groupies outside the storage unit had only increased and if I’d been spotted who knows what would have happened. Enough people had seen the videos from Egypt (let alone the ones from Syria) before the records disappeared that I might be recognized, especially if I were to step out in front of people hoping for a “glorious return.”

Or a divine resurrection.

Apparently the owners of the self-storage franchise were threatening legal action against the DPA claiming unlawful appropriation of the facility - a suit funded by parties wishing to purchase the land upon which to found some kind of new church. I deliberately hadn’t asked the details of the faith they intended to create.

I had enough headaches to deal with.

Being close to the end of lunchtime, I marched into the DPA building and its lobby filled with agents returning from lunch. Everyone in boring black suit jackets with matching dull slacks, conservative skirts and blouses, and even some pantsuits all lined up in front of a contraption that hadn’t been there before. Gone were the standard x-ray scanners and in their place was one of Gregor Kirov’s obvious monstrosities: a gigantic device flashing lights with huge bundles of cables for power and cooling all coalesced about the pod at its center, dutifully scanning each and every agent heading inside.

Making my way to the much smaller line for the lobby’s front desk I stood out like a sore thumb in the purple and blue runner’s outfit that had amazingly come with me through the teleport transition. Granted I had (for once!) tried to mentally hold on to my clothes while willing the shift and much to my surprise that had worked.

Just don’t ask me if they were really still the same clothes. I’ll leave that argument to the Star Trek nerds and Grecian shipwrights.

As I was about to command the girl behind the armored glass to stop wasting time and go fetch someone authorized to let me in, another agent came bustling out the exit-only walkway and called out.

“Jordan!”

Seeing who it was I smiled. “Mark!”

The taller man in a suit and shirt with creases more perfect than the surrounding abundant examples hurried over. Agent Mark Boone, brother to my dearly departed wife, then found himself caught in a fierce hug I couldn’t help but throw around his still-too-thin waist.

At least this time he didn’t wince. His injury from the past Summer’s “fun” was healing, though it was clear he hadn’t regained all the muscle he’d lost. His short-cropped hair also had gained substantially more gray.

“C’mon,” he said, disentangling from the hug that had reached the awkward gone-on-too-long phase. “I’ll get us to the front of the line to get in.” Were his cheeks flushed? Huh.

Leading past all the civil servants dutifully lined up within the barrier of stretchy straps, he spoke to the linebacker-sized security guy at the front and showed his ID. While the security officer got on the radio to confirm our priority level I took another look at the behemoth of a machine everyone was waiting for.

“Hey Mark,” I said to regain his attention.

“Hmm?”

“You aren’t putting me through that thing.”

He frowned and his posture stiffened. “It’s procedure.”

“Did Isaiah?”

“Yes. It wasn’t his first time to do so either, from what I understand. Though they wiped the data once he was done.”

That was news. “Well, I won’t.”

His face went blank, transforming into another official agent of the state. “Everyone goes through.”

Once upon a time I would have been a good tax-paying citizen and buckled to the authorities.

But that was then.

“Not me.”

My former brother-in-law stood even taller in his perfectly polished leather shoes, beating my height by several inches to look down his nose with an officious glare. “That’s the policy for entrance. Are you trying to hide something?”

“I’m tired of all these damned scans. Your agency got tons of data when I was here before, the school has plenty more, and I’m sick of it.”

“But why would-”

“Put it this way,” I interrupted, staring up at him. “I’ll fry every last circuit that device has before letting it do its thing on me. And if I wanted to force my way inside this building there’s nothing you could do to stop me. Your wards are horribly insufficient and the walls themselves may as well be made of cardboard.”

Poor Mark stood there flummoxed. Behind us the crowd of agents and government bureaucrats had gone quiet except for someone who whispered, “It’s her.”

That resulted in even more hushed whispers which I did my best to ignore.

Beeping from the security guard’s radio got our attention. The linebacker pushed a button and said, “Go ahead.”

“This is the director. Put her on.”

The guard gulped and I was handed the radio.

“Hey chief!” I said cheerfully after pushing to transmit.

“Is there a problem?”

“That’s up to you. But I’m not getting into that contraption.”

“Do you have a practical reason for this refusal or are you deliberately being a pain in my ass?”

Several of those in range to overhear inhaled sharply and gaped with wide eyes to see what I would do. Clearly they lived in fear of their director’s disapproval.

Whereas I simply laughed. “Much as that might be fun, nope. It’s a personal choice. Though now that you mention it, yeah there’s a political angle for why you don’t want me in there.”

“Care to share?”

“Your superiors and so-called experts would need clean underwear if they read the report. And as I’m standing in a public lobby, I’ll leave it at that.”

“Hand the radio to the guard.”

The poor guy took the receiver back like I’d infected it with radiation. “Go ahead, sir?”

“Let her through.”

I was nice. I didn’t pat Mark’s shocked face before following the linebacker up the exit-only lane while the rest of security stood aside and watched.

And hey, for once they weren’t staring exclusively at my ass.

 

~o~O~o~

 

Isaiah and Director Goodman sat together in a small conference room that was in the midst of some remodeling, what with the cans of unopened paint in the corner atop a folded tarp and the missing wide screen television removed from its spot on the wall. Something interesting must have happened in here as fresh spackle patchwork crawled across everything - ceiling included. The arms for the TV’s mount also weren’t hanging parallel as the metal was seriously kinked. And while the table had room for six chairs only five of the rickety plastic corporate things were present.

Both men looked up as Mark and I entered, and they kept their attentions fixed only on me. In fact the director and Isaiah eerily mirrored each other with how expressionless and studious was their analysis of my every move.

Pulling a chair around to the end of the table where the TV would have been, I sat with Isaiah on my left and Goodman on the right. As for Mark, the poor guy lurked at the entrance as if not sure whether he should even enter.

Goodman waved at him. “Guard the hallway. Make sure we are not interrupted.”

With an unhappy-at-being-excluded grimace Mark closed the door, sealing the three of us in with a loud thunk.

Correction: the four of us. Technically the room was haunted as there was one more person leaning against the wall behind Isaiah. The curly-haired redheaded ghost in a dark green skirt and lighter green blouse noticed being spotted and bowed her head in acknowledgment with a rather polite if not outright reverent nod.

Which was rather suspicious.

Isaiah had clasped hands in front of his face with elbows on the table. His suit coat draped behind him on the chair, and under navy suspenders the dress shirt was more rumpled than usual. His professionally styled dark hair had gained flecks of additional gray this past year, and while he’d obviously lost some weight it was hard to tell if that was due to exercise or simply stress. Given the circles under his eyes though, it might have been more of the latter.

As for Goodman, he was every inch the company man: black coat, gleaming white shirt, and a solid color tie. Today’s choice was a deep red, and while I couldn’t see his shoes I’d bet good money that they were perfectly polished just in case he had need of a mirror by which to shave his chin.

In other words, as usual I was oddly dressed for the occasion. To emphasize this I kicked sneakers up onto the table and leaned back, waiting for them to speak first.

From behind circular lenses my friend broke the silence with a grumbled sigh. “Say it. Just get it out of your system and say it.”

Crossing arms to complete the rebellious (or possibly petulant teenager, dangit) demeanor, I glared. “I told you going back to work was dangerous. I told you! And don’t freaking minimize it by telling me to ‘get it out of my system’ like I’m some sort of harpy nag. They could have killed you!”

“And yet I’m fine. I had security. They did their job.”

Unseen to anyone else the spirit behind him smirked.

“Did they?” Goodman asked, maintaining the neutral expression. “Video of the court house steps shows you stumbling forward just before the bullet would have taken your head. That had nothing to do with your security detail.”

Oh really? I glanced back at Tracy’s spirit whereupon she lost the smirk to feign innocence.

Hmm.

Isaiah didn’t blink. “As I have noted, Director, I have no further comments to add regarding the incident. You have my statement, and the statements of my driver and bodyguard. Any further interviews will require my attorney be present.”

Goodman tugged at his mustache then reached into a coat pocket to withdraw a small electronic device. Pushing its only button the black plastic flashed a red LED which after blinking went solid, and he then tossed it onto the conference table where it slid to the center.

“While that thing is lit,” he said, matching stares with both of his grumpy guests, “everything said is off the record. No recordings, nothing in my reports. We’ve got to come to an understanding here.”

Isaiah squinted at me. “That true? Is there anything in here taping us?”

Pulling feet off the table so I could sit up, I let eyes glow to take in the room and its walls, floor, and ceiling. The space was definitely wired but the circuits were down. No voltage. And beyond the walls I sensed no souls directing their attentions towards us - and no parabolic microphones to pick up wayward vibrations, nothing.

Just Mark lurking out in the hall pretending not to be frustrated and a spirit who moved to stand more directly behind Isaiah.

“It’s clear,” I said.

Goodman turned attention first to me. “What’s the real reason you balked at the scanner downstairs?”

“You sure you want to know?”

The director shook his head. “No, I am not. But the last time Mr. Cohen was here he revealed to us who his spirit was - though I suspect that Diego knew already. The stakes with you two keep climbing - how much higher are they now?” Tired eyes pleaded at me. “How can we help if we don’t know what’s going on?”

Okay, that answered that question. The DPA’s wizard - whom they had rehired despite a past indiscretion - had learned that Isaiah was Azrael’s incarnate when I’d told Kami. Diego had promised to keep his mouth shut as he’d been kicked out of the agency at that time and therefore had no obligation to report it.

Apparently he’d kept his word. And judging from Isaiah’s startled expression, my friend hadn’t known about that.

“Alright, listen,” I said, uncrossing arms to tap a thumb on the edge of the table. “I really am tired of all the scan and testing crap. One stupid device at the school even scrambled my presence here on Earth. That was well and truly annoying.” I paused, remembering needing Raphael’s help to regain clarity from senses gone haywire.

“But that’s not all,” Goodman prompted.

“Not hardly,” I continued. “I escaped Hell by taking a dive through raw Chaos. That’s the stuff you termed ‘tainted’ when we were dealing with Azazel’s goons. Gregor’s contraption might pick up on any residue and flag it. Then what? Your whole agency would freak the heck out as would everyone above you in command.”

The director’s eyes widened. “If you’re tainted, as an angel have you fallen?”

“She hasn’t,” said Isaiah immediately. “Her connection to the Source is brighter now than ever.”

Which was the other reason - but not one I wanted to say. If that device was anything like Gregor’s original Big Betty scanner, the feedback from plugging my even-more-sparky-than-before butt into it could possibly cause the works to explode. Who knows what it would do. Maybe the damage would be limited to the lobby or maybe it would take the entire building down.

Either scenario could best be described as bad.

Goodman was nodding as he began to understand. “I’d have to report the measurement. The debate at the NSC would be a disaster.”

“Exactly,” I agreed. “So let’s focus back on today, shall we gentlemen? Someone tried to kill my best friend. Again.”

That reoriented the director’s focus away from me and back to Isaiah. “Did you sense the bullet and dodge?”

Isaiah didn’t flinch or look over his shoulder. “Something like that, yes.”

I pointed a finger at Goodman. “Hey, you said the bullet was cursed. Was it tainted like the ones at Whateley that hit Danielle and Brendan?”

“Our experts say no. But you tell me.” Reaching into a different pocket he produced a sealed and labeled evidence bag. Inside was a crushed chunk of metal. “Agents dug this out of North Hill street.”

He offered it to Isaiah who instead motioned to me. “Her eyes are sharper.”

I took the bag, careful not to damage the official tape. As I peered past the wrapping, the bullet’s pattern became clear. The Academy’s training regarding firearms - a side requirement of study for the combat driving course - kicked in.

“Three three eight Lapua Magnum. That’s a serious round. No taint of Azazel or Chaos, but it’s enchanted and the spell is odd.” Okay, I may have read more for the class than was strictly required - but hey, the recommended books had spiffy pictures.

“Odd how?” Goodman leaned forward.

“It’s technically mortal magic - to guarantee death on impact, if I read the intent rightly. Except the workings are super tight. I don’t think I’ve seen anything this packed - not even Circe’s spells approach this.”

“What are you saying?” Isaiah’s fingers twitched like he wanted to hold it too but I wasn’t done with the spent core just yet.

“Hold your horses,” I grumped. “I’m still looking.” Getting up, I took a step back from the table.

I needed a boost.

Manifesting only the original pair of wings, they lit up the room as if floodlights had turned on. The illumination revealed a lot more than intended.

As hiding behind Isaiah, caught by the edges of the glow, stood not a law assistant but a warrior.

From behind a gold-lined crimson chest piece with matching pleated skirt, armored onyx wings spread in response to that shine. With a sword of coppery-bronze in a sheath at her waist, she took a knee behind a perfectly polished circular shield to bow her head in reverence to the light. The red of her braids was akin to Camael’s stained wings, as if coils of blood streamed wetly past the armored neckline.

Compared to this, the revelation that the bullet’s armor-piercing death magic had been anchored to an invocation of the angel Sariel seemed rather anti-climactic.

Heck, that much was practically expected.

 

Chapter 9 - Clarity

 

Dropping the bullet still in the bag on the table, I let the light show drop away - though I kept staring at the angel as she too faded back to being a blouse-and-skirt-wearing legal assistant. She put a finger to her lips.

Yeah, I had to agree. This really wasn’t the right place to discuss it.

“Well,” I said both to the guys and to her for different reasons, “that explains that.”

“What exactly?” Goodman immediately picked up the bag and shook it so the bullet fell to the bottom.

I looked at him. “Angelic energy was invoked to aid the spellwork’s potency. As I feared, it’s Sariel’s.”

Isaiah grimaced. “I thought you’d informed the Grigori that I’d promised not to break the Seal. He has no reason to go after me anymore.”

“I did. Armaros spread the word. But as I told you before, that doesn’t mean Sariel will believe it. And we still have no idea who Sariel is now. No leads, right?” I looked to the Director.

He shook his head. “No. Though that is hardly surprising. Looking for someone across the world who could have been taken over by a foreign spirit is entirely too vague. Do you have any idea how many people are in comas on any given day? Complicating this is the fact that as far as any other agency is concerned, the terrorist behind the assault in Egypt is dead. Even should we find where his spirit went, there’s no court that would entertain charges on such grounds. There’s nothing we could do legally against him.”

My friend the lawyer agreed. “The entire premise of the justice system would be upended should you try.”

I plonked back into the chair. “Why? I mean, if we could prove it, wouldn’t that be worth something?”

He looked at me like I was an idiot. “Can you imagine people filing suits declaring that so-and-so was the reincarnation of an unpunished criminal? Like a murderer who died before trial? That’s not a door you’d want opened.”

“Oh.”

Isaiah turned to Goodman. “The explosion we saw, I presume that’s where the sniper set up. Anything left to identify who they were?”

The director rubbed his face, causing one side of the bushy mustache to droop more than the other. “No. No body, no gun. They’re combing the wreckage now to grasp at straws. Gregor reports resonances at the scene indicating the shooter likely warped out before detonation. And we know Sariel has made heavy use of portals.”

“Great,” I muttered. “Just great.”

“They knew you’d be at the courthouse,” Goodman said to Isaiah. “We’re analyzing footage in the lobby to see if there was a spotter to alert them when you came out.”

“Why not shoot him when he went in?” I asked.

Both men tried to talk at once. Goodman motioned for Isaiah to go ahead.

“They likely needed to confirm my face,” Isaiah said. “From that vantage it wouldn’t have been as visible going from the car to the entrance. A spotter on the steps would barely have time to give notice before I’d have been out of the targeting opportunity window.”

The director nodded. “Mr. Cohen, will you now accept protective custody? The danger to your life is clearly still present.”

Isaiah’s eyes flared, muscles along the jaw tightening. “No.”

“What?!” I blurted. Yeah, okay, that came out sounding rather like a certain princess when learning her planet was still on the menu for destruction. “Are you nuts? You need protection!”

“No,” he said again, avoiding my outrage by focusing on the director instead.

“That’s your choice.” Goodman pocketed the bullet again. “We advise against it, of course.”

I wanted to shout at Isaiah but clamped down on the urge. Figured I’d wait until it was just us two before letting loose.

“Any progress tracking Bishop?” asked Isaiah, obviously wanting to change the subject. “Or Coatl?”

Goodman’s face pinched with disgust. “Unfortunately the answer there is also no.”

Bishop was the Nephelim who had harnessed the power of an incarnate fallen angel to gather immense necromantic energies for fun and profit. It was his crystalline device - sold to Sariel - that had blown my ass to Hell. Coatl was his faithful vampire servant. Both had disappeared after Bishop’s attempt to kill his imprisoned-in-limbo brother went awry and almost let a plague of evil Nephelim loose upon the world, something Isaiah had prevented.

My sudden appearance in the midst of all that mess may have contributed to Bishop and Coatl’s escape so I stayed quiet.

Isaiah stood. “Then before Mrs. Feingold insists on showing up in person to drag the two of us out of here, we should go.” Mrs. Feingold was one of the managing partners of Isaiah’s firm. She was a no-nonsense attorney who had strong opinions on not talking to authorities unless forced to do so. As our personal representative, if she learned we’d breathed a single word to the DPA without her approval, her tongue would likely melt from the acidity content of the words she’d throw at us.

Goodman held up a hand. “One more question.” He turned to me. “When you appeared at the storage unit, you said you came for your own task.”

Isaiah’s eyebrows rose above the glasses. “You didn’t just rush out here because of the sniper?”

“Nope.” In my irritation with his stubbornness it was tempting to add that I wouldn’t have, but that’d be a flat out lie. “Something is going on at Kurohoshi’s tonight. Haruko is getting me in because I officially requested her aid in being better available to assist her father. And no,” I added before Goodman could pose the obvious question, “I don’t know where or what exactly, nor who else is invited. All I’ve been told is that it’s a formal event of some kind, and it’s clear that Haruko very much wants me to be there. She’s even given me a driver.”

“We should send an agent with you,” Goodman said.

This caused Isaiah to laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. Kurohoshi’s people would never let them in.”

“She shouldn’t go alone. It could be dangerous.” The two men stared at each other for a moment then both turned their focus back at me.

I rolled my eyes. “I wasn’t planning on it. I was able to wheedle a plus-one.”

“Who?” Isaiah gruffly demanded.

Getting to my feet I grinned at him.

“Have you got a tuxedo?”

 

~o~O~o~

 

The limo sent by Haruko was parked and waiting in a visitor’s spot by the time we got out of the building. This included myself, Isaiah, and Isaiah’s bodyguard Jim who’d also finished giving a statement. As Isaiah’s own transport vehicle was now evidence, his previous driver was stuck dealing with additional paperwork and coordination with their security agency.

Casually leaning against the tinted windows of the extended sedan was my driver. Wearing an expensive dark blue silk jacket, genuine crocodile leather shoes, and a sky blue shirt, he also had these expensive gold-rimmed sunglasses pushed up to rest upon some seriously gelled and spiky hair. The guy was like the handsome older brother of some teenage anime protagonist, while the hair was styled vertically on top, the sides were shaved and his physical build screamed that if the clothes were to fall off then underneath he’d be as toned as Bruce Lee.

And from the way he moved to pull himself away from the car, he was similarly proficient at hand-to-hand combat.

As we approached his eyes flicked over Jim first, then Isaiah, before settling firmly on me. With an appreciative grin bordering on a suggestive leer he executed an exaggerated bow, complete with sweeping hand.

In Japanese he said, “You must be the lovely rose for whom I have been waiting: the shimmering and legendary Lady Aradia. Allow me the honor of introducing myself: I am Kurohoshi Saito. And I am at your service.”

Isaiah stiffened, but Saito deliberately ignored the lawyer’s glare.

“Kurohoshi?” I said with some surprise before replying in the same language. “Are you related to our esteemed host for this evening’s affair?”

Switching to perfectly American-style English, Saito maintained that smile. “He’s my uncle. My cousin arranged for a fashion consultant to assist in getting you a gown for the event, but the clock is ticking if you want it done in time.” He reached behind without looking and opened the limo’s passenger door.

Jim, having sized up Saito and therefore spotting the pair of handguns lurking under the suit, put a hand on Isaiah’s shoulder. “Sir, this could be a trap.”

I snorted. “Seriously? Kami would flay him alive if he did anything rude either to me or anyone in my retinue.”

Saito chuckled. “The lady has the right of that. I’m no threat, old man.”

Jim however continued to regard him with suspicion.

“C’mon,” I said. “We’re wasting time.” I climbed into the limo, scooting across to the row facing backwards.

Isaiah got in after, but as Jim started to join us in the back I stopped him. “Nuh-uh. You’re riding shotgun with Saito.”

The bodyguard didn’t like that. “I can’t protect Mr. Cohen from up front.”

“Relax,” I said. “I’ve got him covered.”

Jim threw me a “don’t be stupid” look. “No offense miss, but you should leave this to the adults.”

Oh really. Isaiah’s choked chortle didn’t earn him any brownie points either.

“Dude,” I said, “you’re new to this scene so I am going to let that pass. But right now Mr. Cohen and I have things to discuss. In private. Whether you like it or not.”

“Miss,” the bodyguard said with a dismissive growl, “It’s not up to you.” He even straightened his posture and stuck pectorals out trying to be more intimidating.

As if.

Saito, realizing the guy was digging himself a deeper hole, put a hand on Jim’s shoulder. “You’d best do as she says. From what I hear he’s safer with her than just about anyone else.”

Jim knocked the hand off. “Don’t tell me how to do my job.”

Enough was enough. “Right. You asked for it.” In a tone entirely flat I said, “Jim, that shoulder holster of yours is carrying a Glock Twenty-Two. Tucked in your waistband is your backup, a Smith & Wesson Model Fifty-Eight. With two speedloaders for the revolver and three extra magazines for the Glock tucked into various pockets, you’re a walking arsenal. That suit jacket has a Kevlar liner good enough for most small arms but not for long rifles or heavier. On your right calf is strapped a Ka-Bar; it’s on the right because you’re right-handed. You’ve mainly boxed, but you’re also military trained - likely by the Marines due to the initials etched into that blade. Your left knee has arthritis - not bad enough to really slow you down so you’ve still passed your physicals, but it’s influencing your footwork enough to tilt your balance. Now if I wanted I could also describe the various scar tissue you’ve acquired and how it’s all starting to impinge on the range and speed of your strikes, or I could just grab one of those hand-cannons and simply shove it into a nostril before you’d even think to move. But as Saito said, the afternoon is wearing thin and I need a damn dress.”

Only when I was done did I let eyes pulse with a flare of power.

Jim’s mouth hung open as his mental model of me spun around on several axes before tipping right on over. “I’ll…I’ll sit up front.”

“Good boy.”

Trying his best not to bust out laughing, Saito shut the door. Once everyone was in, Saito turned back towards those of us in the plushly appointed passenger section. “The consultant appointment is out on Melrose. But do we need to get him a suit too?” Saito tossed a thumb towards Isaiah.

“No,” Isaiah said from the middle of the rear seat. “I own one. I’d suggest dropping her off while we go pick it up.”

Saito proceeded to don a pair of fingertip-less leather driving gloves while looking to me for approval.

I shrugged. “Sure.”

With a wave of a mostly-covered finger Saito said, “Hi-ho Silver, away!”

“It’s ‘Hi-Yo Silver, away’,” grumped Jim. He was obviously not happy about being stuck up front.

Too bad.

Looking around the compartment I found a set of controls. One of them was marked “Privacy”, so I pushed the button which caused the hidden barrier between the front section and the back to slide into place with a solid thunk. A white noise generator also started up, lending an audible hum to everything.

Right. We were finally alone, just the two of us. Well, three if you counted the ghost sitting next to him. Isaiah stared at me for a long moment as the car maneuvered out of the parking lot.

Sinking into the cushy seat, I said, “What?”

He tilted his head. “Since when have you had a ‘retinue’?” The stern lawyerly facade finally cracked and my old friend smiled.

“Oh, I dunno. Probably around the time I became a queen.”

“Queen?” Eyes blinked in measured surprise. “That’s new.”

“As of last night, actually. Forged a realm for the fae who followed out of Arcadia.” I didn’t feel like explaining that as the reincarnation of Aradia there were already those who believed me to be the “Queen of the Witches,” so I didn’t mention that.

“A new realm,” he pondered. “A queen indeed.”

I couldn’t hold it in any longer, blurting out, “Why haven’t you been answering your phone?!”

“Been busy.”

“That’s a stupid excuse and you know it.” Pulling feet onto the seat, I hugged the bare knees. “Tell me the truth, dammit.”

Anger flashed. “You really want to know?”

“Of course I do!”

“It’s because of this.” He held up his gloved left hand, palm out.

“Your hand went all dark months ago. How is that a reason?”

“Because of what it represents.” Turning fingers around, he stared at it. “Because of the question it raises.”

“Question?”

“Who am I?” Making a fist, he stared over the clenched fingers. “Am I Azrael? Or am I Isaiah?”

“You’re both.”

“You just don’t get it.” He sighed, dropping the hand to his lap.

“Then tell me. For fuck’s sake, if you can’t tell me who else can you tell?”

“What about you? Interesting show you put on there with Jim. If I didn’t know you better I might have been scared. Are you really that fast?”

“Oh no you don’t! You don’t get to change the subject. If you’d answered my calls I’d have told you things I haven’t said to anyone else, but now you bloody well get to wait. Got it? Good. So you and Azrael. What’s the deal? And why on Earth are you risking your life going to court like that - is this case or whatever that important?”

“Yes. It is.”

“It’s just a lawsuit.”

“It’s mine!” He hadn’t exactly shouted but the vehemence behind the statement came across loud and clear.

I hugged knees tighter and watched his mind wrestle with something deep inside.

“Look,” he said slowly after a moment’s silence. “We know what will happen when I die. With the Fourth Seal left intact I’ll just incarnate again. Isaiah Cohen will go up on the shelf, right alongside all the other human lives.”

“We don’t know that.”

“Yes, we do. I’ve had a glimpse of the end of the previous life, when Gabriel woke Azrael up enough to release your spirit so she could bind it to the seed from the Tree of Life by weaving it all together with strings from her own pattern. I’m just another character that Azrael is playing in this crazy game of Cities & Humans.”

I swallowed, thinking of Cassius’ struggles against Shemyaza. And what of myself? Goodman already asked the angel to speak to “Jordan”, as if we were separate beings.

But we weren’t, right?

“That can’t be all there is,” I said. “I don’t buy it.”

“Maybe not for you. But you died, returned, and broke the First Seal.”

Biting a lip I stayed quiet, not knowing what to say.

He leaned forward. “This is my life. This case can make or break my future, do you understand? It’s got nothing to do with angels or heavenly destinies. Azrael isn’t channeling through to enact divine justice. This case is just a legal conflict born of simple human greed stomping on the rights of another. It’s my fight. I put it aside to go after Bishop in vengeance for what happened to you, hoping for that to lead on to Sariel himself so he could pay for what he’s done. But look what happened.”

“Nick and Camael found me in time for Camael to deliver his message. And then you pulled me out of the Chaos. That’s what happened.”

Shaking his head, he said, “Yes, but also no.” His hands were trembling.

I wanted to reach out to him. “Tell me. What else?”

Eyes burned with anger and also fear. “You stopped me. From ripping the corrupted and imprisoned Nephelim from their prison and tossing their rotted spirits into Oblivion.”

The scene flashed past again. Isaiah’s image blended with Azrael’s, his shared grip reaching towards Limbo’s rift, preparing to enact their combined desire. “All I did was ask you a question.”

He spat a bitter laugh. “Don’t you see? Your question kept Azrael from Falling from grace! You saved him from me, from my messed up incarnate’s rage - think of the terrible consequences if you hadn’t!”

My heart surged and the light stirred within. I didn’t fight it and shadows within our compartment melted away.

“Untrue,” I found myself saying. “To none other than Isaiah did I speak. And thus was the spirit of mine uncle and brother kept from crossing a line, one he in pain and sorrow has stared at for so long that clarity has become twisted, perhaps even lost.”

My best friend gaped in astonishment as the illuminated words slowly penetrated his thick skull.

“You idiot,” I said softly as the light faded away. “You’ve had it backwards this whole time. It was you who saved him.”

He sat in stunned silence while Saito smoothly sped past other cars on the freeway. With a tired sigh I couldn’t help but add one last comment:

“I could’ve told you sooner if you’d just returned my danged calls.”

 

Chapter 10 - Fashion

 

“Tiffany, if you show me one more overly-flowered cocktail dress I swear I will make you eat the fabric.”

Yeah, I was not doing a good job of hiding the mounting frustration.

Saito had dropped me off at one end of Melrose Avenue, just past Santa Monica Blvd. There I’d been met by a woman in her early twenties wearing a pantsuit whose blue would have been right at home at Dodger Stadium and whose blonde curls must have taken all morning to get so tight. While the boys went on their way to Isaiah’s house in the hills to pick up his tuxedo I’d been stuck with this lady who kept trying to foist fabrics and designs more appropriate for a junior high student in pigtails and braces.

“Hmm okay,” she said all bubbly while the threat went in one ear and out the other. “What about this one?”

“Dear god, that’s a plaid dishwashing towel with a hole for the head cut into it!”

“It’s designer label!”

“You’ve got to be kidding.” No, I’m not going to embarrass the designer by naming them. That so-called dress must have been an inside joke at the design house that clearly had gone too far. A twenty-four-hundred dollars apiece prank even, unbelievable as that was.

We were in Tiffany’s small office space at the back of one of the many fashion stores lining the Avenue. Much like the other buildings around this one was single-story with tilted head-in parking along the street that lined up before the glass windows. I’d been motioned to an uncomfortable-yet-trendy bar stool while she had perched herself on a minimalistic silver plastic chair kept behind a glass-topped cedar desk. The desk held only a monitor (which had the entire computer integrated inside of it), a wireless white mouse and matching keyboard, and nothing else.

Other than the expensive brand to-go coffee cup whenever she put it down anyway.

On one wall was a much larger display she’d been tormenting with displays of horrible dress after horrible dress that only brain-damaged teenage girls would ever have been willing to wear. On the other wall was a wooden cabinet with a full length mirror on its front, but we hadn’t needed it yet and at this rate never would.

“Look,” I said while temples throbbed with irritation, “Like I told you at the start, I need a formal-style evening dress, conservative yet elegant. Backless is preferred, and a slit up the skirt on one side would be nice. Nothing black and nothing white; I don’t know if the event is strictly Japanese or if other Asian nationalities will be present. Heck I don’t even know if it’ll be global. But I don’t need to show up with a color faux pas.”

“Oh, so this isn’t for a prom?”

“No! For god’s sake, no! It’s probably a gathering of power brokers of the kind that would make most heads of state nervous.”

“Hmm. So what is your mother wearing? Maybe we can complement that.”

“My mother has nothing to do with it!”

“I see. Who are you going with then? Your father?”

I stared aghast at the idiot with the obviously bleached hair and brain. This was beyond ridiculous. Come to think of it, there’s no way Haruko would have arranged a booking with someone as incompetent as this woman.

“Tiffany,” I said slowly so I wouldn’t shout, “when my appointment was made - who was it supposed to have been with?”

She blinked. “Oh. Well, Marion was going to be here but her kid is sick, see, so I said I could totally help out and take care of it!” The girl smiled wide showing off blindingly bright veneers.

“Marion, huh? I’m going to be honest here, you aren’t helping. In fact this is wasting my time.”

A heavily lipsticked and collagen-plumped pout emitted a whine. “It’s not my fault! You said you needed something within a few hours but you’re too tall and proportional to fit anything off the racks! For a long dress like you want the length has to match the legs precisely or else you’ll either trip or it’ll be too short and look all wrong.”

“Are you saying this is pointless?”

The puckered lips quivered. “Marion might have thought of something, but a custom-made dress like you need would take days. As is we’re almost late to getting your hair and makeup done!”

Great. Just great.

I couldn’t help it. Much to Tiffany’s confusion I started laughing. Where were those amazing and magical fae tailor ladies when you needed them? I’d thought of manifesting the fairy-made dress they’d gifted me, something I’d managed to do when showing it off to Jenna a few weeks ago. But that gown was all white with gold trim and could very well be horribly inappropriate for whatever Kurohoshi had planned. It’d be just my luck that the whole thing was actually centered around someone’s wedding, for example.

So here I was, a supposedly great and powerful Seraph, yet utterly stymied by the ridiculous rack offerings of so-called “high fashion”.

Though wait a minute.

Cutting the laughter mid chortle I flicked eyes to study Tiffany who was still caught between trying to summon tears or attempting to fake laugh along with the crazy yet high-paying customer. “Alright,” I said. “You got good Internet here?”

“Internet?”

“Yeah, connectivity. Is the bandwidth any good?”

“I…I think so?” She waved vaguely at the computer.

“What about fabrics and trims? You have that in stock?”

“Yes? But there’s no time-”

I cut her off. “Silk and velvet in greens and darker purples. Trims in gold, rhinestone, or even diamond. Bring what you have out here. And get me a phone while you do that. Move!”

Flustered, she pulled out her own smart phone, fumbled it into my hands, then ran out of the office.

Dialing from memory I prayed the person would answer. It was her private number so I had a chance.

It rang. And rang.

On the third chime it picked up. “Hello?”

“Cecilia? It’s Jordan. Jordan Emrys.”

“Why hello!” she said cheerily. “If you’re calling about the grades for class I haven’t posted them yet.”

“No, it’s not that. I’m in Los Angeles and I could use your help.”

“I’d heard you’d gone off campus. What’s wrong, hon?”

What I said next was something I’d never have imagined to ever need say. “I have a fashion emergency.”

A pause and then in a fully focused and professional tone she said, “Give me all the particulars.”

I was saved.

 

~o~O~o~

 

In every field of human endeavor there have been true geniuses, people astoundingly brilliant within that domain much to the envy of everyone else. Einstein, Ramanujan, Michelangelo, da Vinci, Mozart and Beethoven - the list goes on and on. When it came to fashion and clothing design, I’d discovered that there was one name known in high cultural circles as well as in the darker corners of espionage and wet-work teams.

That name was Cecilia Rogers.

Her shop was tucked away in a small New Hampshire town not far from a certain academy with equal renown in the highest and lowest circles. Spinning out fabrics using her blend of magic and technology she crafted items worthy of making royalty weep and operatives flush with desire. She also happened to teach Ballroom Dancing at that school. Last summer she’d drafted me into her class so I’d stop moving around like a forty-year old geezer and more like the girl my body had become.

After explaining the situation to her she thought for a moment.

“Alright, hon,” she said. “I think I understand what you’re up against but I’m not sure you have the financial means for me to solve it.”

“Well, what are the options?”

“I may be able to assemble an outfit for you in time for your engagement, but your deadline is quite tight and there wouldn’t be a window for alterations or adjustments after seeing how it moves and feels to you. And the real issue is delivery. The few portal users who even offer this level of last-minute service will charge on the order of at least fifty thousand. And while I love you dearly, my own fees are not inconsiderable.”

The fact she knew folks capable of such was another indication of what kind of clients she was used to dealing with. “Actually,” I said, “I could pop back to campus easily enough for a pickup. And then back to my usual arrival spot in Los Angeles after. But without a margin for traffic and travel to our mysterious evening destination that may or may not work. In any case I had something else in mind.”

“Now I’m curious.”

Tiffany came in and began dumping the fabrics and accessories I’d sent her to retrieve all across the desk. “I’m thinking if you can whip up on the computer a fully detailed design down to the last style of stitch, I’ll get someone else here to put it all together.”

“Have you met another tailor with abilities similar to mine who could meet the timetable? I certainly haven’t heard of any, and trust me I keep my ear out.”

“If your blueprints are good enough and they use the fabrics and thread we’ve got on hand, I was thinking of doing it myself.”

That caught her off-guard. “You think you can in one afternoon learn to sew and have the results be suitable for such an event? That’s rather ambitious, Jordan. Even for you.”

“You know that horrible place I just got back from? To not freeze your butt off, either you had an expansive wardrobe or you kept mending whatever little you owned. And my wardrobe sucked frozen rocks. A friend taught me the basics.”

Many hours had been spent fumbling with needle and thread repairing the scraps I called an outfit, with Twitch patiently showing what to do. Could we design fabulous attire that would turn heads on a catwalk for critical acclaim? Heck no. But we could reinforce stitching and perform some darn good patchwork when things ripped, tore, or got sliced off. Which was often.

“I don’t have to be an expert on technique here,” I continued. “I only have to visualize the dress as complete and manifest it. Heck, my subconscious or higher self has had to do that whenever I’ve shifted between realms. Otherwise I’d be popping in and out naked all the time.”

“You sure? If you can accomplish this, it’d be an astonishing feat.”

I sighed. “Look, I haven’t told the faculty everything I can do, okay? I’ve already worked out how to deal with the wings bursting through t-shirts and sports-bras and restoring those, so pretty sure I can do this. With your precisely rendered models it can’t be any harder than reading the blueprints of reality to fix things like, oh I dunno, my balcony doors. I just need to understand the pattern. And also for it to not be some hacked garbage like the god-awful crap they’ve been shoving at me here. Help me, Cecilia Rogers, you’re my only hope!”

Behind me Tiffany emitted a strangled meep and proceeded to have a coughing fit.

Cecilia however laughed. “Start sending pictures of your available materials and we’ll discuss design. You just have to promise me something.”

“Name it.”

“If you pull this off, you must stop by and model it for me.”

“Deal.”

Without any time to spare we video conferenced Cecilia to show off material after material, pausing to discuss exactly how the dress should look and feel, as well as for her to describe and show examples of every type of stitch required.

It was in the middle of one of those discussions that the men returned. They shuffled into the office to find me surrounded by swatches of fabrics while holding up a piece of dark violet velvet and saying, “I like this one. Especially how it shimmers. Oh, hey guys.”

Over the speaker Cecilia asked, “Better than the forest green?”

“Hang on, Cecilia. The boys are back. Hey Saito,” I said, looking past Isaiah and Jim who had walked in first. “What time do we need to arrive and how long will it take to get there?”

The studly-looking soldier for the Yakuza shrugged. “Arrival no later than seven. From here I’d say an hour’s drive so leave by six provided you both are dressed first.”

“Any problems getting Isaiah’s tuxedo? Oh hey, what color is his cummerbund?”

Isaiah answered. “It’s black.”

I made a face. “Well that’s boring. Alright, you guys shoo. We’re busy. Go get coffee or something. I’ve got maybe an hour left to finish this before it’s too late for my hair and makeup.”

“Don’t forget jewelry,” Cecilia said. “You’ll need accessories.”

“Crud. I almost forgot.” As the crew just stood there without moving, I rolled eyes at them and waved towards the exit. “Seriously guys, go! I’ve got to strip down soon and you’d better believe I’m not letting you all watch.”

Saito broke into a mischievous grin and gave an exaggerated sigh. “Aww.”

I laughed. “Trust me dude, this dress will be an eyeful reward enough on its own. Now git!” I winked at him and Saito, now sporting a wider smile, went out the door.

Refocusing on the task, I ran the current fabric between thumb and forefinger before speaking back towards the phone. “Yeah, this one. No trim needed, keep it simple. Also I’ve an idea for earrings and I bet I can cut the time down on getting my hair done. I’ll need help on makeup though, that has to work with the dress. Plus I don’t have any supplies with me. And the nails on my fingers and toes are going to need some color too.”

Isaiah was still standing there, staring as if I’d grown a second head. It took Jim to pull him out of the office. The bodyguard was kind enough to shut the door closed behind them.

“Got it,” Cecilia was saying. “You two work on finding appropriate heels while I get this design done. Give me thirty-five.”

“Okay. We’ll get back to you then.”

Tiffany, who had been holding the phone and quietly following directions, hung up the call and just stood there.

“Shoes, Tiff,” I prodded. “What have you got in my size that’s simple like a sandal? With an appropriate height to the heel, of course.”

She wasn’t listening. “You…you’re friends with Cecilia Rogers? The Cecilia Rogers?”

“Yes, I am. And when we’re done I’ll be deleting that phone number from your phone.”

This time when she looked like she was going to cry it was genuine. And no, I wasn’t going to remind her that she could find it again by looking at her billing statement. Shh!

More gently I added, “Sorry hon. It’s her private number. But you do get to tell Marion how you spent the afternoon working with her.”

The girl sniffled but her eyes brightened as she realized the size of the bragging rights she’d just been gifted. “I think I know just the pair!” With that she too disappeared out the door.

Frowning, I returned thoughts to hair and accessories.

Oh, and underwear. It wouldn’t need a bra, but a dress like this would require seamless underwear - like a sleek thong perfectly matching my skin tone. Fortunately the fae seamstresses had provided that too so I was covered there.

Though admittedly not by much!

 

~o~O~o~

 

With Cecilia’s perfectly detailed schematics and with the exact material right there in front of me, it turned out to be even easier than I expected. All I had to do to manifest the dress was to flip fully into spirit and then back while holding the intention of precisely what to be wearing when re-arriving. Of course to prevent losing my current attire I’d stripped out of it all first so nothing would be lost during the transition.

And okay, Cecilia did revise the design blueprints a couple of times after Tiffany zoomed in with the camera around my ass and armpits while I walked around.

The door was firmly shut (and locked) during all of this, of course.

What the legendary seamstress and fashion mogul had put together was, in a word, beautiful. In the deep violet and velvet fabric, she had designed a one shoulder cap sleeve dress where the ruched fabric rested across the right shoulder then draped down at an angle over the top of the chest as if the torso had been wrapped in a separate and thicker piece laying just above the (cough) prominent frontal curves. From there the fake shawl went all the way to the left arm which slotted through the “faux wrap”, as Cecilia had called it. This left the skin of my left shoulder and upper back bare with the front styling being rather reminiscent of a toga. The dress hugged tight against all the curves of stomach and past the hips the skirt fell mostly straight to the floor except for the thigh-high slit for the left leg. She’d also added some hidden extra support just below the shoulder-blades to keep everything from falling down should wings manifest - and having (quite literally) created the dress once I could do so again to quickly perform any needed repairs due to popping out and returning any feathery appendages.

It was simple, it was elegant, and all in all, I loved it.

“You know,” Cecilia was saying while Tiffany walked around with the phone’s camera again, “With you just appearing with it already on like that, I bet the zipper up the back could be removed entirely.”

“Uhm,” I said thinking about it. “Wouldn’t I need the zipper if someone else had to remove it?” Memories flashed on the numerous times we’d had to cut armor and clothing off wounded demons and soldiers to be able to treat them because there was no quick way to get everything off.

She chuckled. “Are you planning for someone else to strip you bare? My, my!”

“What? No!” My face went hot. Which she clearly noticed as Tiffany had panned back to focus right on it.

Cecilia grinned through the connection at my distress. “That length works well with those shoes. Though if your hair was long like it used to be then the whole look would be improved, especially due to the off-shoulder style. Now, you mentioned earrings - let’s see them.”

Shaking off the embarrassing thoughts she’d conjured, I closed eyes again - focusing instead on more pleasant memories instead. Flipping out and back once more earned gasps from Tiffany and Cecilia both.

This time I’d reappeared with a few changes. Dangling from both ears were the golden star-shaped earrings gifted freely by the fae, glittering in the office light with more sparkle than any mundane metal had ever achieved. Also soft yet fire-metal-touched red tresses cascaded once more across my back. A thin and expertly crafted gold Celtic-knotted circlet rested across the brow and ears, its magical nature holding every strand of hair perfectly in place.

I hadn’t recreated the fae gifts when returning to the physical, instead I merely lent them enough energy to make the crossing through the same gap I used each time. If I got too far away - like if I’d removed them and wandered off - they’d disappear and snap back to my spirit where I’d been holding them in a kind of spiritual limbo ever since I’d come back from Arcadia.

How that mechanism worked exactly was something I’d been exploring with Jenna to understand - somehow the gifts had bonded with me spiritually so where I went, so did they - even if not on display or use.

Across the video, Cecilia’s smile filled with warmth as she took in the details. “That’s lovely, dear. Simply lovely. You’ve come a long way.”

Dangit, cheeks blushed again.

Tiffany, after admiring the earrings, suddenly perked up. “Wait! We’ve got the perfect necklace!” She dropped the phone on the desk and ran out of the office.

“Hey Cecilia?” I said after flipping the phone over and propping it up so she could hear and see again. “What color should I do for the nails?”

She pondered. “You could go with either an even deeper purple, or with a subtle nude hue. Or do the French manicure with the white tips.”

“Eh, I’ve never liked the French manicure thing. Always looks weird to me. Do the fingers and toes have to match?”

“No, though it’d be best if the shades were similar.”

“What about making the fingers a slightly deeper shade of violet than the dress, and the toes even darker? For a three-shade effect?”

“Sounds good!” She laughed again.

I was about to ask her just what exactly was so funny when Tiffany came bursting back in.

“Here!”

Before I could object (or even see what she was holding), she ran behind and draped a thin chain around my neck. In the mirror I could see the charm it held against my upper chest: a simple eight pointed and equally golden star.

Cecilia said it first. “Perfect. Well done, Tiffany. And I think that wraps it up for my assist. Jordan, if you were here, I’d have you duplicate materials with actual protective properties. But at times you have to work with what you’ve got.”

“Thank you!” I shouted at the phone. “I owe you!”

The magic seamstress grinned. “Yes you do, and the bill will be sent out shortly. Try not to faint at the number of zeroes. Now get going and match those nails with appropriate makeup to drop the jaws of all onlookers into the dirt!”

“It was nice meeting you!” Tiffany called out from where she’d moved closer to the cabinet with the mirror.

“You too, hon. Take care!” Cecilia disconnected the video call, leaving me wondering what exactly Tiffany was doing over by the cabinet.

That became apparent as she swung the wooden doors open to reveal all the colors of the rainbow plus more across a selection of nail polish, lipstick, blush, and eyeliner stacked alongside all the required tools of the trade.

“So,” she said while flashing those pearly whites again. “What colors would you like? I may not have been as helpful with finding a dress off the rack, but makeup and mani-pedis are my stock in trade. Just have a seat and let’s get to it!” She pointed to the chair behind the desk as she began pulling out protective mats for the desk’s surface and also the linoleum flooring.

I did as told, and darn me if she wasn’t right this time. She did absolutely great work on the makeup and on each finger and toe. The extra foot massage tossed in was also pretty darn nice, and the tiny dark blue with green artistic flowers added to each big-toe were cute.

With ten minutes to spare - and after fending off a few not-so-polite reminding knocks on the door - we were finished.

“There,” she said, putting down the last brush she’d been using on my face. “Whatever you’re attending tonight, Ms. Emrys, I think you’ll knock ‘em dead.”

Slipping feet back into high-heels that had a simple strap around the toes and another behind the ankles, I stood and turned about in the mirror one last time. With a smile of my own I decided I was ready to do just that.

It felt good.

 

Chapter 11 - Armor

 

Emerging from the office and out to the fashion boutique’s showroom generated most of the reactions I’d been hoping for. Saito whistled while waggling eyebrows and Jim’s posture stiffened as he had to re-evaluate me yet again. I almost felt sorry for him.

Isaiah waited in a perfectly conservative tuxedo complete with black satin bow-tie, matching dark cummerbund, and immaculately polished narrow-toed shoes. Plus, of course, one of his prized gold Rolex watches. His eyes taking in first the high heels, slit-legged dress, and then all the jewelry, he turned away and moved towards the front doors. In a strangled voice he said, “We, uh, should get going.”

Saito watched him walk away then glanced back to me with an amused expression.

I shrugged.

Jim, realizing he was still staring while his client was heading outdoors, scurried over to Isaiah to check the street before allowing any exit. He too had changed clothes from the standard business jacket and tie into a tuxedo even more boring and nondescript than Isaiah’s - though his jacket was unbuttoned. It wasn’t a perfect fit, but Tiffany had quickly found something off the rack for him that was close enough.

“Here,” Tiffany said at my side as she held out one of those thick paper sacks with rope-like handles used at higher-end stores, complete with brightly painted logo. Inside were my expertly folded shorts, t-shirt, sports bra, socks, boring and plain panties, and sneakers.

Camael’s obsidian and gold bracers rested on top.

After getting me to take the bag she stepped back. “Thank you for visiting! Come again!”

Suppressing a chuckle I said, “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

“Oh no! Everything you had on is in there!” She smiled, blinking with projected innocence.

Slinging the handles over a wrist I held out a hand. “Your phone, hon. I wasn’t joking.”

Crestfallen she reluctantly handed it over. A quick search revealed that she had saved Cecilia’s number to three differently named contacts.

And had texted it to herself for good measure.

With a few taps they were removed and the phone was handed back along with a verbal warning. “Just remember. Should I find out you used that number to bug my friend in any way I will let it be known to your boss and to society circles of the kind you cannot imagine that you broke client confidentiality.”

I paused, letting that sink in before adding, “And if you somehow have it memorized and give it out to anyone else, remember this: I am owed favors by those who overnight could remove every electronic record attesting that you and this entire business ever existed. All your financial accounts, medical records, car registration, even down to what preschool you attended, will be wiped. Do you understand?”

The girl turned paler than Isaiah’s ghost and nodded.

Resuming a friendly smile I said, “Thank you for the help today. Saito, shall we go?” Without waiting for his response I too walked (or more accurately, sashayed) towards the front doors, pausing there to allow Saito to open them first.

What a gentleman.

As we walked towards Jim and Isaiah who were waiting at the end of the block, Saito asked, “Is that true?”

“Hmm?”

“About you having those kind of hacker connections.”

I thought of Erica Lain, the super magi-tech genius still lurking inside a pyramid charged up with all the magical power the entire planet had been generating for millennia and answered succinctly. “Yes.”

He whistled sharply. “Lady, forget steel - whoever dates you is gonna need balls of titanium.”

Giving him an amused side-glance I asked, “Are yours?”

“Not without a bottle of sake first.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

We were both still laughing as we passed the alert bodyguard and scowling lawyer on our way to where Saito had needed to park the long vehicle around the corner on the permit-only side-street. Naturally the windshield had gotten a ticket. I wondered if he’d charge the cost to Haruko.

Considering the likely costs of this entire fashion outing she probably wouldn’t even notice. Especially not after I’d forwarded Cecilia’s bill!

 

~o~O~o~

 

Once again Los Angeles traffic lived up to its obnoxious standard. An accident near the 405 and 101 interchange had snarled things in all directions. You’d think it would only mess up the side where the incident occurred, but nope that’s not how it works - especially when the collisions were near the fast lanes and thus clearly visible over the concrete barriers separating northbound from south. Idiots on either side always slow down to look.

As we crawled bumper-to-bumper along, I was therefore stuck contemplating whether we’d end up being “fashionably” late. I’d have shared the joke with Isaiah except he’d been strangely quiet since we’d gotten in the car. He kept sneaking glances at my dress when he thought I wouldn’t notice before quickly returning focus out the window. He was clearly bothered by something but like usual that had him refusing to communicate.

I’d even tossed a “what gives?” look to Tracy where she sat beside him, and the spirit merely shrugged as if to say, “no idea.”

Eh, whatever.

Opening the bag from Tiffany, I pulled out the bracers and held them over a velvet purple lap. Yeah, they totally clashed with this dress. Sure the gold inscriptions and patterns would work with the earrings and circlet, but the dark leather-looking-yet-harder-than-metal cuffs covered most of the forearms when worn, not to mention the small bit of a triangle that went over the back of the hands at the wrists.

I’d lost count of the number of times they’d saved me. From deflecting the blows of a light-swallowing sword to lending the fighting knowledge to go hand-to-hand against faster and stronger Hellish foes, they were a gift I’d come to treasure.

Frankly I’d worn the angelic armor pieces so often I almost felt naked without them, and if I was honest with myself the feeling was more akin to what Linus must have felt whenever his sister stole away his security blanket. But there was no way I could wear them to whatever Kami had planned for the evening which raised another issue. I sure as heck didn’t want to leave them behind in the car.

To casually shove artifacts of Heaven into a glove box seemed, well, sacrilegious.

My tapping them against each other while debating what to do caught Tracy’s attention, and the ghost leaned forward for a better look before speaking mind-to-mind like I’d done with other angels on occasion.

“Those are parts of Camael’s armor, aren’t they?”

I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised by this kind of dialogue anymore, but I still startled more upright. “Um, yeah?”

“They have accepted you. I’ve never seen our armor accept another wearer before.”

“He gave them to me. And when he found me in Hell I never had the chance to ask if he wanted them back.”

Isaiah’s former assistant smiled. “If he had they would have returned to him immediately.”

“I really don’t want to leave them in the car or anywhere else. But I can’t wear them with this dress without it potentially becoming a thing.”

Tracy tilted her head. “Normally we pull the armor back into our spirits when not wishing for them to show. Like this.” Checking first that Isaiah was still staring blankly out a window, she held out a hand and a bronze and gold gauntlet flickered into view. With a twist of the wrist it disappeared again.

I shook my head. “I don’t think that will work. They’ve accepted me, sure, but they’re not bonded to my spirit. Whereas yours is part of you, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it indeed is. Our armor is formed from concentrations of our spirit and divine purpose. Lesser angels such as myself require assistance from craftsman to forge their essence into usable hardened patterns, but for those like Camael his armor manifested naturally.”

Huh. I hadn’t known that. “You’re no ‘lesser angel’ - you feel more like a captain. Want to tell me who you are? Or should I light up the room again and read the name that pops up.”

She gave a grim smile. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

“Why not?”

Pointing at Isaiah, she sighed. “He hasn’t recognized me yet. He may not be ready.”

“Hmm. Okay.”

“But in any case I am no archangel.”

“And Camael is?”

“He became one, yes. And later took the title of Regent of the Seat of Light after refusing its full offering.”

“But Gabriel bossed him around.”

That got a laugh. “Gabriel is good at that when needed. For who would dare upset her?”

“Is her anger that bad?” That was confusing as I couldn’t imagine Gabriel having a horrible temper. I just couldn’t.

“Gabriel’s rage cuts all with the very pain from her heart that triggered it. To even bear witness is to share her sorrow. Yet that is not what most fear. Many would rather a thousand years punishment at Michael’s command than to feel an instant of Gabriel’s disappointment.”

“Oh.”

“You would do well to remember this. There are many who feel the same towards you.”

That caught me.“Who?”

“You’ll need to figure that out on your own.”

Ugh. Not helpful. “Fine. But this doesn’t answer the problem literally at hand: what do I do with these bracers?”

“Why not ask them?”

I blinked. “They talk?”

“Communication is not always through conversation. Let them feel your concern and need, and see what happens.”

She was right. The bracers had never said words as such, but they’d spoken all the same. I’d taken that for granted, along with their reacting to threats with expert guidance. I tried to let them feel what I was worried about, focusing on keeping myself open to whatever response was given.

As usual I got a lot more than I’d asked for and all vision of the limo’s interior faded away.

 

Heaven’s defenders were sorely pressed.

Upon all sides the assaulting force clashed against those loyal to the Throne. Rebel angels had allied with other spirits, adding their powers and numbers to the mass now pushing closer towards its goal of breaching the City. Fae, demons, devils - countless were those who had rallied against the order imposed by Throne and Host.

And now the blood of all spilled forth across the many-layered plains surrounding the holy sanctuary of sanctuaries of the Bene-Elohim. The roar of endless conflict echoed off those towering walls to shake to their roots the very realms of Creation.

Wave after wave of inflamed rage and boundless ambition poured forward, led by the guile and strength of the Rebels’ ultimate Commander. Standing at their forefront wielding in each terrible hand a blade of darkness and chaos, Samael’s laughter of maddening glee accompanied each massive swing through the multitudes before him as he drove his cohorts to further heights of slaughter.

For the former Lord of the Seat of Destruction had calculated tactics too cunning for those desperate to halt his advance, targeted as they were to each and every one of his opponent’s weaknesses. Already a feint elsewhere which could not be ignored had forced away a contingent of Heaven’s strongest, as Beliel’s might anchored the Host’s defense of other realms deemed too critical to lose.

Despite the blazing light of the First sweeping before the walls lines of white fire across entire regiments, the intensity of the assault appeared unstoppable. And Lucifer’s own attentions had needed to split focus between deadly counter-attacks and channeling the holy light through the defenders and the realm itself to maintain their steadfastness in the face of a terror never conceived.

To his former comrade hovering above on six by six by six wings of light and glory did Samael shout even while his sandaled feet trod forward across bone, feather, and blood.

“Helel! Bringer of Light! Hear me! There is no victory here for your argument. Your awareness grasps full the flaws I exploit and lay bare! Surrender now and I shall pluck them forth that you may again perceive unblemished truth. Let this abomination of your forging be at an end and set yourself free!”

A flash of brilliance lanced from the skies with the heat of flames not witnessed since the birth of all things. Crossing twin blades before him as his only armor, the dark-winged angel stood steady while all those around screamed their horror as manifested flesh and the spirits embodied within boiled and burned to naught but smoking cinders.

Only then did the First from on High speak.

“Gaze not at our weaknesses, brother, but thine own. Amongst you are those who would be content only to see the Throne of Glory destroyed, but you ally also with those who desire to sit themselves upon it, to impose their own slanted and twisted words upon all. Can you stand alone against the weight of the greed and arrogance you marshal upon these fields?”

Marching forward as an army of one, Samael closed ranks towards thousands and then millions of golden shields and spears all arraying before him as a wall rising upwards on wing upon wing of purest white. Gazing at the growing number the Rebel laughed again. “This is your defense? Where are your champions, Lucifer? Waste not these tiny sparks and come down from your lofty perch. A direct discussion is overdue.”

To this the First offered no response, for he understood the goal his dark brother had conceived. Without the support of Light’s blessings upon the entire field of battle other salients of defense would fall. Should he swoop down to engage in single combat the war would be lost.

Snarling at the silence, Samael raised swords again. “Then witness the gifts the blood of your own heart has bestowed upon those brave enough to embrace the unpleasant truths from which you flee. Watch and tremble as our objections are proven by each and every obliteration!”

Feathers which once sliced the Primal Chaos itself filled with dark resolve and snapped outward, and in a blur the dread angel fell upon the defenders. Cleaving shields and those behind as if they were naught but the thinnest of ribbons, the blades taken from beyond sliced through that which Is, ripping through layer upon layer of Creation’s pattern - and thereby tearing through angel after angel desperately trying to hold.

Cries of dissolution blended with the tearing tumult of rent steel and flesh. But in the midst of the terrible clamor resounded a tremendous clang, the shockwave of its impact knocking away dust and angels alike from the source.

There at the center of the whirlwind one angel stood tall, his two-handed sword of blazing light holding firm against the twin blades of chaos and bringers of dissolution.

Samael, the lining of his black tunic fluttering in the gusts generated by their opposing force, grinned wide. “And Lo! Behold, brother. A single spark may yet show promise!”

The angel standing stalwart said nothing, beads of concentration dripping across skin tanned almost to match the black of the Rebel commander’s wings. But the eyes, the eyes blazed forth with flame and depth of fury the likes of which his opponent had never yet encountered.

Breaking free, Samael took a step back. “You burn, little one. With the cores of a trillion galaxies, you burn brighter than any but the First himself. What is thy name?”

To this the angel spoke, his words echoing across the battlefield even above the clash and clatter of the conflict entire.

“I am He Who Sees the Lord. I am Camael.”

The Rebel lost his smile. “Then you of all our brethren should perceive clearly the weakness in the Pattern which prick at skin and spirit.”

“I see through to what you do not. I see the Promise held within the Light.”

With sword whose burning flames lifted higher still, black and gold swirled across the angel’s skin as holy script enveloped him with armor forged of burning faith. Cuirass first of purest obsidian over leather shirt and greaves, matching bracers, boots, and gloves - all completed by an onyx and gold circlet which lowered hardened metal across the angel’s temples and cheeks.

The open slit across the eyes flared as a solid line of white flame.

Aloft on terrible wings, Samael again crossed twin blades before him. Instead of lancing forward however he pulled away, for his forces had gathered again with numbers overwhelming, each wielding spear and sword, battle-lust and rage.

And with a single shouted command he sent them forth.

Camael’s wings flashed as he readied himself for the incoming charge of hate and darkness. Behind him stood a scattered collection of heavenly comrades, the few who had survived Samael’s assault. From differing Choirs they stood firm as the power within Camael reached for them, and they too gained armor and resolve as their eyes came to blaze with the same surety as the one who had first held fast.

“Show me, brother,” said Samael. “Show me this newfound strength. And this I also wonder: when drowned you are in blood and fire will thy vision still remain?”

As the shrieking swarm surrounded the seemingly insignificant force Camael again gave reply.

“By blade and will a path to that Promise shall be laid.”

So saying the true slaughter began.

 

Coughing at memories both Camael’s and my own of throat-ripping smoke mixed with the visceral aroma of soldiers torn apart and set aflame, I fumbled and nearly dropped the bracers to the floor.

Partly that was because they weren’t bracers anymore. Instead I held a pair of gold-woven cuffs, the metal weave across their four inch height shimmering in the lights of passing cars. To my sight of course the angelic script was easily visible, but otherwise they appeared just as mundane - and elegant - as the rest of my accoutrements.

Naturally they were a perfect fit.

 

 

The Light Between (Part 4 of 8)

by Erisian

Book 5

 

Note, if you have yet to read the saga - the tale starts here:

Into The Light

Hope you enjoy!

 

Chapter 12 - Challenge

 

With the clock ticking just past six we exited the 101 freeway a few miles west of where we’d visited the DPA earlier. From there we went south instead, passing into an isolated area against the hills complete with several small lakes as well as quite a few golf courses all surrounded by enclaves of houses better classified as mansions.

Unsurprisingly we went past these to a road marked “Private” to reach a higher plateau and its own sprawling complex that overlooked everyone else around as if to say, “You think you’re wealthy? Think again.”

It wasn’t until we passed the transition from paved blacktop onto grey paver stones forming a wide circle around a central fountain that I realized I had an issue.

This dress had absolutely no pockets nor did I have a matching clutch or purse.

Dangit.

While the limo pulled around to the front of this monstrosity of a “home” with its two massive wings and three-tiers of layered archways at the entrance, I rummaged in the bag again, pulling from the shorts my passport, driver’s license, and black credit card. “Here,” I said, handing them to Isaiah. “You’ve got pockets in those duds, hold onto these.”

He was smart enough not to laugh at my predicament and tucked them away inside the jacket. Though his smirk said plenty on its own.

A valet opened our door and Isaiah got out. Deciding to be a gentleman (despite that grin) he offered a hand as I stepped out onto the grey stones laid between parallel and treacherous gaps waiting to trap heels just like mine.

Saito stayed in the car, having already warned us that his task was delivery only and that he himself was not invited. As for Jim, he was allowed to follow us in - something Isaiah told me on the way over had taken serious negotiation using Saito as a relay. As other attendees were allowed their own security details, so was I. Not that I needed it, but Isaiah thought it would reduce perception of my status if I didn’t have one.

Not sure I agreed, but as long as Jim kept his focus on protecting Isaiah I wasn’t going to start a debate.

The entrance to the house was white on white on white, except for the small greenery in square planters that squatted before the ostentatiously boring columns. Before the open doors stood a man I figured was the majordomo, as his tuxedo had extra long tails. He also wore white gloves in contrast to the darker skin visible below the cuffs. Oh, and he was ridiculously tall. Taller than Brendan even, which was saying a lot. Flanking the doors behind him stood two men also formally dressed, but instead of standing as guards their eyes were closed with concentration as beads of sweat dripped from temples while lips muttered a steady stream of chanted Latin.

Before I could tell Isaiah about the magic these guys were swirling around inside the entrance the majordomo approached us.

“Welcome,” he said, looking down on our approaching trio. It wouldn’t have surprised me if the guy had been a former basketball player and hired for this gig purely to be able to tower over everyone as they arrived. Pausing to listen to someone speaking into his wireless earpiece, he turned to me first and bowed. “Lady Aradia, daughter of Prince Lucifer, we are honored to have you and Mr. Cohen as our guests for this evening.”

Formal spirit titles, eh? Okay then. “I thank you for the hospitality. But I must correct you, sir.”

“Madam?” The man straightened so he could look even further down his nose. It was a good thing the entrance had a two story high ceiling so he wouldn’t hit his head.

“My name is Aradia no longer,” I said, staring steadily into his face while hoping my neck wouldn’t cramp. “Time moves on.”

“Your forgiveness, please, if our information is lacking. If I may inquire, by what name and address should we use to announce your arrival?”

I grinned and gestured for him to lean closer so I could whisper into his other ear. After rattling off the latest collections plus a few more he would also need, I asked, “I trust you got all that?”

Being a professional the majordomo didn’t splutter as he returned to his full towering height - though his eyes did widen rather saucer-like in size. “I believe so. But may I inquire in which capacities will you be appearing this eve?”

Cheeks relaxed into what I pretended was a harmless smile. “Why, I am here as an ally and comrade-at-arms to my dear friend Kurohoshi Kami and his spirit self, the great dragon Drathonix. And Mr. Cohen has kindly granted his company at my request should I need counsel - for diplomacy in such illustrious circles is to me a novelty, you see.”

Another relayed communique via the earpiece and the man bowed again, deeper than before. “If you would please follow me, the pre-gathering has commenced.”

Pre-gathering? Sounded like the night was going to be a long one. What exactly had Haruko gotten us into? I waved towards the entrance. “By all means.”

Turning, he led us up the steps.

Behind us Jim muttered, “Still a novelty, my ass.”

Past the open doors was a gleaming marble entry-hall framed by sweeping dual stairways which circled upwards and were lined with decoratively forged iron-wrought railings. The passage between them opened to a large space for entertaining filled with couches and bright chandeliers already buzzing with a crowd of expensively-clad people and the sounds of an unseen chamber orchestra.

Except the magic still being muttered by the chanters at the front and again by two more at the end of this lobby clearly had something else in mind. Something which if Cecilia’s rates for such were correct was astronomically expensive.

Right before we crossed the threshold of their spell I said quietly to Isaiah (though loud enough for Jim’s benefit as well). “Brace yourself. Don’t fight it, and don’t stumble.”

Neither had a chance to say anything as the spell enveloped the three of us and that polished floor fell away.

As teleporting magic went this was a lot rougher than previous experience. There was a full subjective five second count of being swallowed by vaguely lit fog accompanied by a stomach-lurching free-fall before the stilettos again found purchase on solid ground as the mist swirled away to show a different scene entirely.

Despite my own advice, I’d almost popped wings to rip control from the imprecise magic, but that could have been interpreted as rude.

Instead of the previous sharp clicks against perfectly flat marble the shoes now clacked against rounder cobblestones forming a passage between lush vegetation towards a well-lit manor of completely different design and style to the one we’d just left. Spanish rooftops and walls of red and yellow all adorned with round columns and wider flowing archways instead filled our vision.

The temperature had also dropped a good ten degrees.

If the majordomo was expecting shocked reactions to the transition he was likely sorely disappointed. I was giving my best “bored-on-the-edge-of-annoyance” look (Hey, that portal spell really was not up to the standards I was used to - they should ask for a discount.), and Isaiah had slipped into the stoically guarded expression he had developed for court.

Oh. I guess Jim’s delayed and spluttered curse before spinning about might have satisfied the overly tall guy’s amusement. Poor Jim was probably still thrown off-kilter from hearing about my spirit’s parentage as well, come to think of it.

Tough night for the guy. Though I’d have bet good money he’d experience a lot worse before this event was done.

“This way, if you please,” said the majordomo, pointing towards what was clearly a sprawling hacienda.

Isaiah didn’t move. “Where exactly are we?”

“The domicile of my employer, Mr. Lopez, just outside Mexico City. Tonight as your host he embraces his true spirit, the Feathered Serpent and God of Wind and Rain, Quetzalcóatl. Come, most of the others have already arrived.”

Nodding Isaiah said, “Ah. The other party was a decoy.”

“Indeed sir. Security is paramount when the families gather.”

Families? A sneaking suspicion formed while being escorted arm-in-arm by Isaiah. The jungle-framed side passage reached an end and opened to a wide field of perfectly manicured lawn populated by a dozen canvas-covered pergolas containing plush couches and chairs all lit by tiki torches and kept warm by regularly spaced kerosene heaters. Guests, clad in finery from variations of tuxedos to full courtly dresses with long trains, gathered in clumps under the coverings while uniformed white-gloved servants carried trays of glasses and hors d’oeuvres.

Spotting one particular group in a corner I recognized many among them and realized our Jim was severely outclassed. I also began to get a picture as to why Haruko had been so worried.

Amongst many groups a quick scan had revealed to be almost entirely comprised of other dragon-souled individuals all radiating various levels of power, Kami Kurohoshi was the only dragon under his tent. He was also in a wheelchair.

This was not good.

With all eyes upon us the majordomo addressed the crowd. In a guttural tongue never suited for human throats he announced our arrival:

“Honored guests, it is our privilege to present the Lady Amariel, Seraph of Light, Queen of Gealltas, former General of the armies of Duke Valgor of Hell, and the First Angel of the Apocalypse known as Conquest. She graces us this night as friend and ally to one of our own, the Great and Wise Drathonix the Elder. Accompanying her as confidant and adviser we bid welcome to the Archangel Azrael, Lord of the Seat of Judgment within the House of El and the temples of the Most High, and Master of the Fourth Seal - he whose name is Death.”

I was impressed. He'd gotten it right.

Isaiah’s arm around mine flinched but he held his expression perfectly neutral. If he yelled at me later for revealing who his spirit was so be it - but maybe laying it on thick up front would cause folks to hesitate before being outright obnoxious to us.

One could hope anyway.

The majordomo continued. “We are blessed to have such esteemed visitors join our humble gathering.”

Hmm. Given how several enclaves of dragons were staring daggers of unconcealed hostility in our direction, yeah I don’t think they were feeling blessed by our presence.

But hey, at least they weren’t demons.

The majordomo, having fulfilled his duty of escorting us in, nodded and turned to head back to where we’d popped out. Just like that we were on our own.

Pulling on Isaiah’s arm, I started to walk directly towards Kami’s group and was about to take a step off the paved outer rectangle surrounding the lawn when Isaiah tugged sharply back. “You’re in heels. We should go around.”

Oh. In my defense I’d just spent the equivalent of a year marching through mud. Well-maintained grass as an impediment simply hadn’t registered. “Uhm, yeah.”

Shifting direction to take a more casual stroll along the edge, Isaiah gave a sideways glance of eyebrow-raised curiosity. “One of Hell’s Generals?”

I shrugged. “Long story. Tell you later.”

“Definitely will hold you to that.”

While the other enclaves were bursting with dragon energy, Kami’s was not. Instead his ops team surrounded him, along with identically suited Japanese underworld-looking soldiers.

In a tuxedo of her own that I’d bet was bullet-proof, Captain Isong was at attention behind Kami’s wheelchair standing much as she had when I first saw her back at a hotel in Cairo. Frankly the African warrior looked uncomfortable out of her usual tactical attire. Near the front of the makeshift gazebo sat Miguel, the Hispanic fighter and incarnate fire elemental who’d almost slipped into his next life on the roads outside of Aleppo. In a sparkling dress the same metallic blue as both her hair and the swords she could summon from thin air sat Tanya, the mercenary who had been recruited unknowingly into the failed assassination attempt on my niece.

But sitting besides Kami, surgical tubing running from Kami’s wrist directly into his own massive forearm, was Fred. Fred’s tent-like jacket hung on the back of the chair, and his pressed shirt’s sleeves were rolled up. Both shirt and coat had to have been custom tailored as Fred looked like a man who could single-handedly throw a tank.

The fact he was the team medic known as “Doc” not-withstanding.

Letting go of Isaiah, I put hands on hips and addressed their boss. “What’re you doing in a chair that needs wheels, Kami?”

The other guards (who screamed “Yakuza”) making up Kami’s entourage stiffened at my daring to take such a tone with their daimyo. Even his scar-faced Japanese attendant inhaled sharply at such temerity.

His team that knew me however just rolled their eyes and grinned.

“It’s easier than crawling about,” drawled the half-Japanese and dreaded underworld information broker.

I moved closer and risked some eye glow to diagnose the issue. “What gives?”

“Power exercised comes with a price.” All humor faded and the folks around him also ceased their smiles. Although Kami had clearly lost muscle mass and his military cut hair had thinned further, his domineering presence on those around him hadn’t faded one whit.

Shit. I had to look deep, but I saw the problem. “Egypt.” Kami had manifested as his full black-dragon self to tackle a thirty-foot demon, using up reserves of mana at a rate his incarnate’s power channels clearly hadn’t been able to handle. The damage was extensive, the interface between spirit and flesh having become seriously singed - granted though, I’d seen a lot worse. But the damaged channels weren’t the heart of the issue. Behind Kami’s eyes lay a dragon deep in its caverned lair desperately fighting against the need for a century-long nap to replenish its running-on-empty reserves.

“Correct.”

I took a look around the yard almost half the size of a football field to scan all the other groups. Upon more careful examination they were separated by geography: people and dragons from Europe, Africa, Latin America, South-East Asia, and Japan, each speaking in their native languages with the buzz and hum of politics. “Let me guess, these are all rivals who are drooling over the chance to capitalize on their eldest’s sudden weakness.”

“You grasp the situation.”

I inhaled. “How can I help?”

Fred, his healing-tonic blood pumping slowly into the other man, spoke up. “Can you refill him? You darn near overloaded everyone to exploding at the pyramid. What if you did that to the Boss?”

Kami snorted. “An overload caused the problem in the first place.”

I nodded. “Yeah. But I can help your system heal the damage. Same thing I did for a kid who’s spark got snuffed saving your daughter from a necromantic shockwave.” He’d also saved my niece, and darn near forever lost his magic in the process. Just as the team here had saved the world, so had he.

Because if he hadn’t, Danielle would not have lived long enough to be a hero all her own.

Putting a hand on Kami’s shoulder, Isong said, “Didn’t your experts say healing this was impossibly beyond their arts?”

Isaiah chuckled which got everyone’s attention. “Our Jordan here performs at least three impossible things before breakfast.”

“True that,” said Miguel with a nod. “And what’s this about you bein’ a queen?” He winked as he adjusted the yellow-on-black flame printed bow-tie at his neck. Despite the tie being more stylish than everyone else’s, he too was not comfortable in such a formal outfit. “Thought you were our princess!”

I gave him a warm smile. “Always.”

“Whatever she may or may not be able to do, now is not the time,” said Kami.

As much as I hated to see the man like this, I had to agree. If I pulled off what would be considered a miracle right here in front of everyone, then Kami would be known to be heavily indebted to me. It could undermine his political position. “Got it. So what can you tell me about tonight?”

His answer surprised everyone except his scar-faced and silent attendant. “Nothing.”

Yeah, so much for my smile. “Seriously?” Heck, that wasn’t even a cosmic-cheesecake worthy evasion. He didn’t even try.

Isaiah mirrored Isong’s gesture and put a hand on my shoulder. “I believe I understand the situation.”

Kami studied him - which must have carried some extra meaning between the two I wasn’t getting - and then said, “You both should go enjoy some food and drink.” He pointed towards the many servers hovering at the edges waiting for opportune moments to slip unobtrusively through the crowd.

And with that we’d been dismissed.

Huh. And here I’d been feeling all proud at catching the political nuances. But as I’d wanted Isaiah here to help deal with this kind of thing, ignoring him and causing a fuss would be stupid. Not that I didn’t grumble once we were out of earshot of the rest, of course. Well, except for Jim who lurked close behind.

“Darnit,” I whined. “What did I miss?”

Before he could answer one of those servers was instantly on our left offering fluted glasses filled with Chardonnay.

Ugh, I hated Chardonnay.

Isaiah took a sip then a long swallow. “Mmm. This is really good.” By his smirk he was clearly enjoying knowing something I didn’t.

“Savoring the moment, are you?”

He flashed a wider self-satisfied smile then got serious once the server wandered off to their next victim. “You know he can’t ask you for anything, or even be seen as implying doing so. I don’t have your sight, but if I had to guess we’re currently surrounded by dragons from around the world. True?”

Oh. I had actually assumed he’d be able to see spirit-side. Don’t ask me why. “Yeah. About two-thirds of the crowd. Kami is sailing solo on that front with his crew.”

“Then he can’t be seen even suggesting that he could use help from Celestials. It’s a matter of pride. Only worldly and elemental dragons stayed to incarnate when the Seals were put in place - they aren’t fond of Celestial spirits, a category which by the way includes angels.”

“And you know this how?”

Steel glinted in his eyes. “I remember.”

“Look, I understand that much. But he’s not even telling us what this gathering is all about.”

“Think, Jordan. Depending on what is about to happen tonight, simply informing you of it could be construed as asking for aid by your presence alone. As is we are both here solely due to your offering to visit him. Given your status as ally - and how you likely saved most of those present by your actions at the pyramid - he could hardly refuse nor could anyone else object.”

Well huh. Haruko’s inability to tell me anything wasn’t due to being ordered not to. She too had been silenced by the circumstance, just like her father.

Mentally I made a note that I hated politics. It sat atop a pile of similarly phrased sentences that had been gathering for awhile.

Another server appeared as if by magic, this time with a tray smothered with small cuts of barely seared beef wrapped by paper thin slices of grilled onion. Isaiah, having finished the wine (that was fast!) traded his glass for a napkin piled with the toothpick-speared samples. Popping one in his mouth his face lit up, all traces of brooding lawyer (or angel) disappearing in an instant. “Oh my god, you have to try these.” He held out the napkin.

I tasted one. Expecting the usual bite of steak I was pleasantly surprised. The beef melted in the mouth, barely requiring even chewing. The onion, being so thin you could see through it, added just a hint of additional texture and flavor which somehow really enhanced the meat itself.

“You know what this is, right?” He ate a second piece, eyes closing in culinary ecstasy. “Wagyu beef. Perfection!”

Sensing a fresh target, a parade of servers began strolling past. Immaculately clean white gloves carried tray after tray and Isaiah sampled everything with exuberance. Dishes included orange-colored cantaloupe slices wrapped in prosciutto (”These are Yubari King melons! Just one can sell for twenty-thousand dollars!”), lobster and egg frittatas piled high with caviar (”Almas Caviar from Iran, did you know that it arrives in tins of twenty-four karat gold?”), cured ham on lightly toasted bread with olive oil and Parmesan (”Not just any ham, this has to be Iberico!”), and more. Isaiah tasted every dish, each offering propelling him to even higher rapturous exclamations.

While I only sampled a quarter of the things he did, I couldn’t help but smile at my friend’s delight. His only consent to moderation was switching to sparkling water instead of alcohol.

Considering our circumstance of being surrounded by dragons this was probably wise.

He was in the middle of waving yet another napkin - this one supporting bites of bagels and cream cheese which literally was sprinkled with flaked gold (”It’s White Alba Truffle! C’mon, how can you pass this up?”) - when the majordomo appeared again at the edge of the lawn. Behind him was an entire procession of newcomers, some wearing western tuxedos and gowns but many attired in traditional Tang suits or Cheongsam dresses, the latter covered with softer artistic colors and flowers as if hand-painted across the silk.

For all I knew they may very well have been.

Standing beside the majordomo was a Chinese youth no more than sixteen years old. Unlike the rest of the entourage’s more conservatively colored attire his tuxedo’s jacket and pants were a bright yellow tinged slightly by hints of orange. Bow tie and cummerbund matched the rest, sitting atop a white silk shirt that honestly seemed lost behind all that yellow. His black hair was short, the sides not quite buzzed and the rest on top feathered just so to sweep to a side. As if the garish outfit wasn’t bad enough, he looked over the entire gathering with an absolutely arrogant gaze and a lopsided smirk formed at his lips when his eyes fell on Kami’s enclave.

Perhaps even more disturbing was the energy radiating from the guy’s spirit, a deep well of power that must have taken ages to accumulate. The kid was frankly bursting at the seams - and from what I could see of his pattern, his human channels had been carefully stretched and reinforced to expand his capabilities.

Whatever training he’d undergone must have begun as soon as the boy had been able to understand his instructors’ commands. Maybe even before.

Nearest to him were shorter men roughly the same age each with a beautiful girl on their arm; following those were a collection of scholarly long bearded men and grey-haired women.

Turning to bow low to the youth the majordomo again spoke in the draconic language. I wondered if he’d need a lozenge after each throat-scraping announcement.

“Let all who gather bear witness, for it is our high honor to present his Radiant Highness Huánglóng, Son of Heaven, the Yellow Emperor, Lord of a Thousand Years, and Patriarch of all Zhongguo.”

As one all the younger guys surrounding Mr. Yellow immediately shouted in Mandarin. “Hail Huánglóng, Son of Heaven!”

I was beginning to see why this kid’s ego might be a tad inflated.

The majordomo (whose own height was obviously irritating the nowhere-near-as-tall Chinese youth) stepped aside, gesturing towards the one as-yet unoccupied tent area with another bow. The guy in yellow barely acknowledged the majordomo’s existence and began strolling along the paved path towards the empty pergola and the rest immediately followed.

Naturally this was the area Isaiah and I were standing next to, having moved there to be out of earshot as best as possible from anyone else. The outer and non-grassy path to get to it went right under our feet.

I prepared to get out of the way but Isaiah’s arm firmly took mine again. Under his breath he said, “He already saw us. Don’t move.”

As the entourage approached, I overheard one of the younger guys (who was maybe fifteen and staring at me) snicker and say in Mandarin, “I wonder how much she costs?”

To which another replied, “I bet she’ll give that old guy a heart attack later.”

After further snickers one added, “He’d think it worth the coin!”

The whole front group then laughed, while the older generation behind them remained stoic.

I must have tensed up because Isaiah laid his other hand against my elbow where it was tucked around his. Not as reassurance but as firm restraint.

Fine. I’d hold back. For now.

When the crew got within half a dozen feet the fact that we weren’t going to just move out of the way became too obvious to ignore so they stopped. After giving me a look-over that lingered way too long on my body (because of course it would), the Yellow Dragon turned his attention entirely to Isaiah.

“Do you speak English?” he asked, his own accent perfectly neutral American.

“I do,” Isaiah replied.

“That is good. It was my understanding that Tanin’iver declined the invitation on behalf of his entire clan. Are you here then representing the Teli who no longer follow the Steed of Lilith?”

Heh. The guy’s senses weren’t that great if he mistook Isaiah for a Hebraic dragon. Since introducing yourself is sometimes considered ill-manners I spoke up. “Might I present-”

The so-called Son of Heaven immediately cut me off. “Your betters are talking, girl. Be silent!” He even threw in a dismissive flip of a hand.

Isaiah’s fingers on my elbow tightened further, likely to keep me from blasting this jerk on the spot.

Which was very tempting.

My friend took to verbal action to prevent my direct violence. “Sir,” he said in a voice coldly dripping with disdain, “As you missed our announcement we shall overlook your insult as merely being the impetuousness of youth. For only a fool would so dare insult a Seraph of the Most High, and surely you are not such a fool. Come, Lady Amariel. I do believe we can spend our time more pleasantly elsewhere.”

“If you so wish, Lord Azrael,” I said with a sweetness that totally didn’t match my glare. As we turned away from the youth whose own face was becoming an interesting shade of red, I remembered an old proverb I’d heard in college from a Chinese classmate. In Mandarin loud enough for all to hear I therefore added, “After all, a quarter of an hour is worth more than a thousand gold coins.”

I can neither confirm nor deny that an older woman at the back of the entourage chuckle-snorted under her breath hearing that.

Since we couldn’t exactly head directly back to Kami’s group we strolled slowly past it instead. Isong had moved to the back of the tent and her dark features offered an ivory smile as we went by. “Making friends?”

“Absolutely,” I said and blew her a kiss.

Our unique situation must have gathered the attention of the organizer of this fine soiree, as many of the serving staff were suddenly running across the lawn carrying two cushion-backed chairs, a patio umbrella, and one of the kerosene heat lamps. These they set up halfway between Kami’s camp and the next one over which was filled with its own collection of Japanese men and women who kept glaring with obvious antipathy towards the Chinese contingent.

Frankly considering the history between their peoples I would have kept those two factions at opposite corners. But that’s just me.

Taking our hastily-set-up seats with Jim posting up behind, another set of servers appeared at our lefts yet again. This time I accepted the offered wine, and was pleasantly surprised by a wonderful Pinot Grigio which utterly lacked the slimy aftertaste of Chardonnay.

“Hey Isaiah,” I said after the two ladies in suits with the identifying gloves of the staff were well away. “I just realized something. Did you understand what those jerks were saying in Chinese?”

“Yes. Though even if I hadn’t I would have gotten the gist. Each one of them owes you an apology.”

“Fat chance of getting that without beating their heads into the lawn first. But that wouldn’t be diplomatic.”

He laughed. “No, it wouldn’t.”

“So do you have the whole Gift of Tongues thing now?”

Removing glasses for cleaning (even though they looked perfectly clear to me), he shook his head. “Not entirely. I’m able to understand what is spoken, but I can’t always talk back in the different languages like you do.”

Huh. Interesting. “What about the angelic language? Can you speak it?” If he could, he’d gain some serious ability - and transcend even the physical realm’s rules for magic.

You know, like I kept doing.

He stared like I was crazy and, after tucking away the cloth, returned the glasses to their perch on his distinctive nose. “For me to do so could possibly break the Fourth Seal.”

“Oh. Guess that’s out then.”

From our isolated seats we watched the seemingly choreographed dance of servers and guests. Occasionally a member of one enclave would approach another, hold a discussion, then return to their own flock. While there were many things I wanted to discuss with Isaiah this was clearly not a good opportunity - as I wouldn’t have put it past such a wealthy host to have parabolic microphones (or their magical equivalents) aimed at pretty much everybody. There were certainly enough security agents lurking around the bushes and behind open windows of the Hacienda to accomplish such. As I’d not wanted to freak out any of the more sensitive members of the gathering I’d reduced my active scanning of things, something which had taken a measure of self-control to limit.

Just because they were dragons and not demons did not make them any less dangerous, or me any less exposed by sitting here in the open.

As for our (supposed) security, poor Jim was stuck on his feet behind us. Though I did convince him to have some sparkling water. His own poker face was fairly good - if he’d decided we were all insanely wealthy and crazy Live-Action-Role-Players he didn’t let it show.

Of course having been teleported from one country to another would make holding on to such a belief tricky.

Eventually a stocky gentleman sporting a handlebar mustache and wearing yet another perfectly tailored tuxedo stepped away from an enclave to slowly turn about before addressing the crowd, getting them all to hush the ongoing murmur of their discussions. The man’s bow-tie was a neat swirl of light blue and turquoise which imitated the style of Jerry Garcia’s collection - something that got me wondering if Nick Wright had started wearing such ties during his apprenticeship with Soren as I’d seen both of them wearing such. Nick had even worn one when he’d showed up at my house the day the madness started, and Soren had on another when we’d encountered him outside Aleppo. Admittedly the patterns were rather stylish.

Not that I’d get the chance to ask either of them, seeing as how both were still (and likely forever) stuck in Hell.

Isaiah reached over and tapped my leg to get me to pay attention as the guy had been talking, using once more the language of dragons which would have been the envy of Heavy-Metal throat-ripping singers worldwide.

“…has been ages since we have gathered together so. Not since the days of mighty Babylon and its ill-fated Tower have so many of our people remembered their true selves. And now, tonight, the powers of this world - the pantheons of deities, courts of Fae, the Lords of the Elementals - have again been invited to an Ecclesia. For the Seals that bind us are breaking - and the Kemetics Heru and Set have gained control of the mana our beloved world-spirit has replenished over these many years of bondage.”

He stared at Isaiah and me when mentioning the Seals, and there was no love behind the immaculately waxed mustache for either of us.

“What policy we as dragons and lords of the lines of power should undertake needs be decided prior to the greater Ecclesia. Since days beyond memory we have followed the oldest among us, their wisdom offering guidance by which we did abide. But the higher dragons from whom such council was forged did not incarnate. Only Drathonix, our eldest Dragon, he who rules the Secret Places Under the Earth, joined us in that combat against darkness before the flood swept away all. Dear brothers and sisters, are we again united behind our Eldest to heed what council he alone would provide? Or are there any among us who would give challenge to the Exalted Drathonix’s leadership? I, Quetzalcoatl, ask this. What say you?”

Even I could see where this was going - and why Haruko had been so worried. Because without delay a single voice called out:

“I, Huánglóng, Son of Heaven, declare my challenge!”

 

Chapter 13 - Glimpse

 

The Yellow Dragon was granted the floor (i.e. the lawn), and he moved to its center to address the enclaves - or more specifically each group’s individual leader, as it was clear they each were dominated by a single presence. The youth took a moment to steady himself, smothering nervousness with determination before speaking.

“I know compared to many here tonight that my incarnate-self is young. But unlike those who found themselves awakening only this past summer, as one who has within an elder spirit I knew at an early age who I truly am and was. Memories pleasing and horrifying haunted every dream, and through them the dragon inside has made his will known.”

He paused again, standing more and more defiantly in the orange-tinted yellow outfit. “I make no claim that we do not owe Kurohoshi a great debt for his actions in preventing the loss of the Third Seal from flooding the world with an overload only the strongest of us could have survived. But look where the guidance of his spirit, Drathonix, has led us! Trapped for ages beyond measure! And with each passing year fewer of us incarnate - the time between our iterations growing longer. And some have disappeared forever, either lost to an eternal sleep from which their spirits never awaken or cast beyond the trap forged by the Bene-Elohim to imprison their ill-conceived offspring.”

That last bit earned Isaiah and I a few more harsh stares. Not that either of us flinched.

“The time has come to end being bound to hapless mortal existences! The mana tide held in check by the Kemetic agents at the pyramids is rightfully ours. We are dragons of Earth! We are the caretakers of the Mother’s bounty, the proper guides of its sacred flow throughout the world! And look also what the defense of our world has cost. Look at the damage done to our own Kurohoshi and the price he has paid! Those within the barriers of the pyramids suffered no such loss. Only one of our own remains damaged from his sacrifice.” The kid then stared directly at me, the earlier anger again flushing his cheeks. “Even she who removed the bomb set in place by the treacherous Grigori has endured no permanent price. For there she sits, untouched and unharmed!”

Isaiah’s gloved hand was tightly gripping my arm. I’d risen from the seat and taken a step forward. Hissing a whisper he said, “Jordan! Don’t!”

With seething chest I stood still. But the so-called Emperor received the fullness of my rage-filled glare. No price? How dare he!

And the jerk sneered as he turned away.

“Tonight the powers of our world gather. They will debate what is to be done. And we can ill afford to be led by someone perceived as weak. Even someone as noble as our Kami Kurohoshi and the spirit of Drathonix within him. Therefore I offer challenge for leadership - though I ask that he yield as I have no desire to cause him further harm.”

Everyone looked to Kurohoshi who had wheeled his chair to the threshold his pergola. In calm yet harsh words he gave his reply. “I am in no shape for battle.”

Before the yellow bastard could gloat in victory, our mustachioed host interjected.

“Challenge has been issued. But with deference to the sacrifice endured by Drathonix and his incarnate - and fully within our traditions that have served us since this world cooled from primal fire to luscious bounty - I must ask: are any dragons willing to champion our Eldest?” Quetzalcoatl’s incarnate was staring deep into the Japanese enclave adjacent Kurohoshi’s as he said this, right at an older man whose wisps of white hair formed a halo upon narrow skull to preside over deep-set eyes. The old man shook his head. While he too was a powerful dragon, he was clearly no match to the power radiating from the so-called Son of Heaven.

Our host, disappointed at the lack of response, looked around. And then he spoke the magic words.

“Are there no allies who would lend their strength to Drathonix?”

Getting up and stepping out of Isaiah’s reach I called out in their language. “It would be my honor to stand as champion for Drathonix. For when I was in need he lent me strength. How could I not in good faith repay such now? By his actions was the ultimate sacrifice by my beloved fae-incarnated niece not made in vain.”

I didn’t need to see Kami’s slight smile to understand he’d been behind Haruko’s request-without-requesting all along.

Naturally not all were happy with my declaration. A middle-aged woman in a black and purple sarong whose brunette locks were flecked with silver objected. “She is of the Bene-Elohim! She serves another Master. Unless she is claiming that Elohim Himself is now a declared ally of Drathonix, she cannot be champion!”

Isaiah moved to my side. In their language (much to his own surprise, judging by his startled blinking) he said, “Amariel, the Promised of the Most High, serves only her unique and holy Word. The Throne of Elohim makes no claim to her service for she stands unbound and apart from the Host of Holies.”

Everyone was stunned to silence.

“So,” I said in English while grinning rather unkindly at his yellow imperiousness. “We doing this or what?”

 

~o~O~o~

 

It took about half an hour to get ready. The boy in imperial yellow needed to change out of his flashy mess of a tuxedo and I out of my dress.

Granted the dress and most of the accessories I simply willed away before tossing on the jeans shorts, t-shirt, and underclothes that had been left in the car. Jim had been sent back through the portal to retrieve them. His face was a littler greener when he got back, but he made it.

As for the golden wrist cuffs, I kept Camael’s gifts on.

Stepping out of the changing room and back into the chilled night air, I found Isaiah and Quetzalcoatl’s incarnate, Mr. Lopez, waiting. Isaiah was again looking stern, and the way he’d crossed arms made it obvious he was not comfortable about things.

Or maybe he was just unhappy that I’d made my hair short and spiky again. Even a long braid could be used by an opponent against you, and it’s not like I had a helmet to keep it all tucked away.

Being quite a few inches shorter, Mr. Lopez needed to lift his chin to look me in the face. “Are you sure about being Kami’s champion?”

“Heck yeah. What are the rules?”

“Such challenges mix physical with energetic power as befits a dragon.”

I considered. “Are weapons allowed?”

“He will likely wield Long Yuan, the Dragon Abyss. I hear the sword is in his possession.”

“Huh.” A blade straight from Chinese legend. Of course. “You wouldn’t happen to have a spear or a naginata I can borrow?”

Mr. Lopez stroked the side of his mustache. “I believe I have a Conquistador halberd or two, along with a few historical Aztec spears with obsidian bladed tips that were once hurled using an atlatl. Though I would expect that Long Yuan would cleave any of these into many pieces.”

That could be a problem. “How attached are you to those Aztec spears?”

“Attached?”

I smiled. “Would you object if I altered one of them?”

He looked at me with baffled reservation. “In what way exactly?”

“Changed the wood into something sturdier. That’s allowed, right?”

Isaiah, his curiosity getting the better of him, spoke up. “What would you change it into?”

“Felwood. The stuff that grows in Hell is harder than most steel and a total pain in the ass to harvest. Which is why it’s so damned expensive. But it’s got a pattern I’m rather familiar with.”

Mr. Lopez’s eyes lit up. “Then it would become an item entirely unique on Earth! Let me fetch one from the displays!” He scurried off, leaving me and Isaiah standing alone under an archway leading back to the lawn which had now become an arena.

My friend took advantage of the opportunity. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Oh I think I do.”

“He’s trained his whole life to fight. Don’t underestimate him.”

“That boy is in desperate need of a spanking,” I said seriously, feeling again the core of hardness I had tried to put aside since returning from places below. “And this ain’t my first cage match.”

Isaiah opened his mouth to say more, but whatever he saw in me closed it again.

We waited in silence until Mr. Lopez returned with a seven-foot-long spear made of oak, its tip indeed of the black stone that is chipped and flaked into sharpness. Below the pointy end a long brown feather had been tied, with other feathering encircling the staff at a few decorative spots. Taking it from him, I looked it over and then swung it around a few times to get a sense of its length and balance.

Yeah, while the oak was nice, it felt lightweight compared to what I was used to. Planting the staff-end into the lawn I closed eyes and began whispering to the weapon, letting the words carry my intent and light-infused will.

Without needing to look I could feel the reddish oak twist internally as the essence of felwood filled its pattern, modifying and hardening the structure into something both similar and yet quite different. While I could have just created a weapon out of nothing, doing so required a lot more effort, and a magnitude higher amount of energy.

In other words I’d have needed to pop at least two wings to pull in enough primal light. Whereas working with an existing pattern and changing it was a lot simpler to achieve. Even if additional mass was being generated, from an abstract point of view it was a like-to-like transformation.

As for the obsidian at the end of the weapon, I decided to cheat even more by giving the stone extra density as well as enhancing the number of channels through which energy could be poured - all without sacrificing the razor sharp edge.

When I was done I held a feathered staff of knotted black-upon-black with a tip gleaming dangerously in the dancing light of the many torches scattered about the lawn.

Mr. Lopez was staring at it in pure dragon-hoarding desire.

“Thanks, this will do,” I said before patting Mr. Lopez on the back. “And don’t worry - I’ll return it when this is over.”

The dragon’s fingers twitched with hungry anticipation.

“Right,” I said, wondering why I kept getting stuck in the middle of these sorts of things. “Another duel. Yippee-kiyay.”

I left the last part of that quote unsaid. It didn’t seem polite.

The three of us walked out towards the middle of the lawn, though the Yellow Dragon had yet to arrive with his second. On the way I couldn’t help myself. Leaning into Isaiah I commented, “Hey, at least this time I’m not naked.”

His steps faltered and the shocked and confused look across his face as he stumbled to catch up was totally worth it.

 

~o~O~o~

 

Mr. Lopez had been right and His Imperial Yellowness came out holding a rather fancy-looking and wickedly double-edged straight sword, known as a jian. With a silver and blue one-handed hilt, the cross-piece was forged of two elegantly in-curving waves as if the sword’s blade itself was a waterfall splashing into the hilt.

It was actually quite beautiful - and also hummed with great power.

As for the incarnate of the Yellow Dragon, he had changed into (what else?) a yellow silk yi-fu, the kung-fu martial artist’s loose-fabric uniform. He even had matching color “Tai Chi” shoes.

We faced off after a perfunctory bow about ten yards apart, him with right foot extended and the left knee behind bent to act as the main support, holding the sword parallel to the ground so it would point directly at his opponent. His left arm was also held back and up almost like a fencer’s pose but with the fingers held straight and pointed towards me. He had good balance, though I was paying more attention to his chi energies and how he was drawing additional boost from the dragon spirit within to infuse muscles and tendons with greater potentials.

As for me I stood in my own balanced stance holding the spear in what Sensei Ito had called Jodan-no-kamae, or an “upper level position”. Basically the spear is held above the head in line with your feet while the pointy bit sticks out behind you. It’s a good starting form if you need speed and want to strike at a distance.

Also looks rather badass if I do say so myself.

Having moved safely off to the side, Mr. Lopez (Quetzalcoatl) didn’t belabor the occasion with any further colorful commentary and simply listed the rules. “Fight until one yields or is unable to continue. Killing a downed opponent forfeits.”

Good to know.

With a sharp shout of “Begin!” it was on and a fireball the size of a truck screamed towards my face.

Yep, I was expecting such immediate shenanigans. Call it a lesson learned from a certain demonic mercenary captain who was most certainly not resting peacefully.

More like in pieces.

Before the starting shout the kid had also channeled energy into the sword, preparing to instantly strike with the spellwork woven throughout the blade. Which in the end was still just standard magic as per the rules of this physical world.

In other words it had no defense against someone manipulating things on a different level entirely.

Instead of dodging the incoming flames I stepped into them, the spear flashing in a swept circle as the left handhold acted as the pivot and the right guided it overhead to sweep down across the front of the blast to split it into two before the flames faded into a shower of harmless cascading sparks. Which is what happens when someone unplugs the empowering magical mana from a spell by ripping it free and converting it back to primal energy.

Someone, that is, like me.

Around the feathered tip of the spear now orbited two balls of stolen light, pure and brilliant spinning circles half a foot out from the obsidian blade.

Still in the same starting stance, Yellow Kid’s startled expression quickly turned to rage as he charged forward to use the sword in the purpose its metal had been forged: hack and slash.

Letting enough of the light within to flip eyeballs into flashlights, I held the rest of that inner pillar in check - much as it was ever eager to shine forth like a Las Vegas sky-beacon. But I didn’t need that much more mojo, just enough to pierce the possible futures of the dragon-incarnate’s attacks so the no-longer-oak weapon could spin and weave to deflect the sword’s blows one after the other, each impact ringing through the metal blade and resounding as a thud against the solid felwood.

To most onlookers I continually escaped being decapitated by the merest of margins through swing after swing, and the kid’s eyes gleamed with anticipation that at any moment he’d connect and I’d fall to the damp grass in a bloody heap. Indeed many in the crowd were shouting encouragement, eagerly hoping that at last one of their own would take down a hated angel - especially an angel who had in her former life been directly responsible for entrapping their draconic spirits for thousands of years.

Aradia’s guilt lurked still within my heart. Maybe that’s why I couldn’t bring myself to take him down fast and hard. Also he really was just a kid. His attacks, smoothly and beautifully performed with chi-infused speed and power, were in the end the products of tireless practice against training partners who could never measure up to what he himself could do.

This was, as far as I could tell, his first real fight against someone fully empowered. The more we danced and the more his strikes never quite landed, not only did his frustration grow - but also his fear. He really had poured himself into the training, striving as best as he possibly could to live up to the expectations of those around him.

While glimpsing moments in the future I caught fragments of his past.

“Again, Huang Bohai! Your footwork is sloppy! You may have been chosen by Heaven but these failures are yours and yours alone. Do not disgrace your sacred spirit!”

These were words he had heard endlessly from teachers, parents, and grandparents. Starting from before he had even learned to walk.

“You are the Lord of a Thousand Years! You are the vessel through which his greatness may once more walk this world! Do it again!”

Bruises and broken bones had been visited upon a child always loudly deemed a disappointment. Each wound healed only to be injured again. Until he grew stronger and the instructors began to fall instead to his assault. One by one he learned to crush them all.

Only then did he hear any approval from those whose external voices mattered most to the child still within. But lurking deeper yet was a rumble of steam and thunder, spilling past a pair of golden-yellow eyes staring out from the depths of history.

From Him all that emerged was eternal disgust and loathing for a creature of two arms and two legs, puny in stature, limited in capacity, and forever unworthy.

And here I was about to lend further proof to that exact sentiment.

The boy Huang Bohai became desperate, his attacks overreaching while sending spell after spell through the sword. The lawn ruptured and the air streaked with lightning and fire. Even high-pressure waterspouts lanced the space between us.

But all that did was increase the number of spinning orbs circling about the spear, each growing brighter and brighter with all his expended energy.

After a particularly potent blastwave he paused about five yards distant. Chest heaving and with sweat-drenched hair he stared in disbelief as I took again the same stance as I’d held in the beginning.

Out of breath he stammered, “How?”

Shifting the spear to a more defensive position held across my front, I replied. “You’re strong, Huang Bohai. But you’ve never faced a true opponent.”

That disbelief became disgust as anger fueled by self-doubt and fear snarled lips. “I cannot lose! Not to a Yiji like you! Victory must belong to Huánglóng!”

To the spirit within, Huang Bohai then threw open all the gates.

“No!” I shouted. “Don’t do it!” But my words were too late.

The Yellow Dragon’s power surged upwards as its incarnate fell backwards into the grass. Yellow sparks swarmed from the boy’s chest, more and more of them billowing forth with each heartbeat. The first part to take shape was the head, the numerous yellow-orange streamers coalescing into massive jaws and brilliantly burning eyes.

But underneath I could see that despite the boy’s training his channels weren’t up to it - he’d burnout even worse than Kami had done when fighting the demon at the pyramid.

Because this dragon did not care if his human-side lived or died.

Without thought I was airborne burning with a need of my own. Six wings of light blossomed to illuminate house and sky, and within that engulfing rush my will and the Imperial Dragon’s clashed, the air between us warping and twisting as the dragon’s head began to sink back into the human body lying beneath.

At the same time I siphoned away the released power the dragon was attempting to use to manifest. Doing so caused my vision to shift, the symbols and words comprising this planet flashing undeniably into view.

It was solid, this world, this physical manifestation. Spirit layered and blended with matter, the intent of the All held it fixed as a firmament of firmaments. But the more I looked, the more I saw at the micro-level, far beyond anything measurable, all these tiny gaps and spaces. Not weaknesses per-se, but openings.

And through them flowed minuscule spirals of the purest primal Chaos, bleeding ever-so-subtly into the overall pattern yet still held perfectly in check.

So astounded at this realization I pulled in more Light, broadening the focus further. There was more to see, more to understand, and the symphony which had once overwhelmed and swallowed every perception now danced and swayed as if only there to await my desired command.

As if simply waiting to show me everything.

“AMARIEL.”

Symbols parted, swept away not by darkness but separation. Wings of night moved all else aside until the scene of hacienda, lawn, and guests resolved again into view. Above them floated a sphere of white flame.

Me.

Protecting them from being burned unto destruction by the fires of raw existence was a man with left hand held upward, bare and black as the glove had burned away, while the spirit within shifted wave after wave of piercing and blinding energy into its spread wings of starry night and therefore into alternate - and safer - dimensional lines. Behind him stood another angel clad in gleaming armor of deep crimson lined with gold, gilded dark wings of her own spread free within the immense brightness blazing across everything. The golden shield pressed into Isaiah’s back kept him standing and helped keep his focus steady.

Lest the fabric of this realm, this space of spirit and physical no matter how strong, be rent asunder.

“CEASE THIS.”

I didn’t want to. There was more, so much more. I could reach it. With a push I could examine all of Creation in its entire glory - to see how the tones whether rising or falling fit together and maybe, just maybe, perceive the thoughts and plans of the One Who Created Everything. It was all right there - the answers to all the questions, the meanings behind each and every note in the music that drove all things.

All I had to do was try.

“NOW.”

A surge from the darker angel below tore at that greater vision like a dagger ripping across the mind. Senses failed, and when they scrambled a recovery I was falling and picking up speed. With a cry, two wings reformed to counter the last few seconds of gravity’s pull yielding only a hard landing as limbs, feathers, and torso tumbled through grass and mud.

Rising to sod-smeared knees I spat out a mouthful of gunk, and with a shrieked scream pounded the wet earth with a frustrated fist, sending clods flying in all directions.

I’d been so close. So damn close.

A half-dozen yards away a young man was also on the ground and staring. But not with the eyes of a troubled teen but rather an ancient being wracked again with a torment which had lasted millennia.

For he was trapped once more within human flesh.

“Look brethren, see the truth.” The Yellow Dragon lifted the boy’s head, glaring about with pride and pain. “The Bene-Elohim mean to keep us in bondage - even temporary escape is denied!”

The crowd, picking themselves up from the wreckage of chairs and ripped-free canvas covers, stared at us three: boy, man, and manifested angel.

Still shaking from the ultimate temptation having been ripped away, I struggled to push that aside and again find my voice. “You…you could have killed him. Must everything be decided by fighting strength alone? Whatever happened to benevolence and wisdom, or have they been forgotten?!”

“You dare speak of such principles, angel?” spat the dragon, yellow eyes boring into mine. “Then listen, and listen well. What matters the death of one human when the survival of our people is at stake! Did you not hear the words I gave him to speak? We diminish, year over year, imprisoned behind your curse without respite, and with no newborn dragons of this world to uphold our proper place! What good is waiting for the Earth Mother’s blessings if none are there to receive them? The only hope for our people is to tear that curse apart - no matter the consequences!”

Some distance behind him the Japanese man who our host had stared at when asking for champions used a toppled and extinguished tiki torch to prop himself up, his wispy white hair all a-tumble. He then called out in the language of dragons - though not to me nor to the Yellow Dragon.

“Kurohoshi! If you do not now reveal your greatest triumph, I shall!”

Still sitting in the wheelchair which had been held in place by Doc’s muscles, Kami’s eyes blazed and he roared with rising fury. “Oroshi!”

“If this is not the time, my brother, then when?”

Kami’s shoulders hunched, fingers digging into the arms of the chair, but he said nothing more.

The Yellow Dragon turned those eyes to the one Kami had called Oroshi. “What triumph? Of what do you speak?”

Pointing at his brother, Oroshi answered. “Kurohoshi Kami has succeeded where we all have failed! His daughter’s spirit is dual natured: human soul-spark merged with an egg forged of sorcery and the bond between Drathonix and Delphyne. From this sacred egg we shall bear witness to the birth of the first Dragon of Earth since our captivity! For in truth her spirit is as one!”

The first? Holy crud. I hadn’t realized that. The importance plowed into my brain like a runaway train. The same must have hit everyone else as the air suddenly filled with everyone shouting at once.

“Proof!” bellowed the Yellow Dragon over the rising din. “We must have proof!”

“I’ve seen it,” I yelled out. “It exists - an egg within his daughter that has yet to hatch!”

The dragon snarled. “An egg is not proof of what it contains. Did you peer within its shell?”

Truthfully I hadn’t. With the way the egg swallowed energy I’d been hesitant to let it slurp at mine - especially considering what had happened to the fae whom I’d let do just that.

Instead a woman near Kami gave answer. “I have witnessed the proof you seek!” Her accent was terrible yet Tanya shouted in the draconic tongue. “An Elemental Lord of Fire split his flame to prevent harm to the daughter of Kurohoshi. The Lord greeted her as the ‘bearer of the Dragon Lord’s heir’ and turned apart his fire to hold true to ancient compact! I was there, and I swear this to be true. I swear it upon the sword of my soul!”

The ancient Chinese dragon let the boy’s jaw hang open as the uproar from everyone began again.

Spotting the spear in the shredded grass, I picked it up and forced myself to my feet. Stepping across the wreckage we’d left of the lawn, I placed the obsidian blade at the neck of my opponent.

“Huánglóng,” I said slowly, “Son of Heaven, Yellow Emperor, Lord of a Thousand Years, and Patriarch of all Zhongguo - do you yield?”

Deep inside the boy a dragon exhaled a burst of steam and closed its eyes.

“I do.”

 

Chapter 14 - Roads

 

The jeep’s weak headlights tenuously split the night to illuminate a two-lane gravel road. While plans were in process to properly pave Uganda’s Gulu-Nimule Road, construction had yet to start as, with everything in this part of the world, navigating the bribes inherent in their engines of bureaucracy slowed progress to a snail’s pace. Considering the number of times they’d needed to stop to coax the right-hand-drive jeep out of yet another mud-hole, the need for improvement was clear to anyone who actually used the path from Gulu to the city of Juba, but government officials rarely visited the areas they actually oversaw.

It had been Irumba’s suggestion to make the run at night as the battered and rust-covered jeep’s air conditioning had died years ago and daytime temperatures would reach the mid-thirties in Centigrade, or as his blond passenger’s upbringing was more familiar with Fahrenheit, the mid-nineties. Instead of going north to Juba when they reached the road, however, they had turned south to drive through Gulu and then continue on towards a flight out of Entebbe.

While Juba’s airport was technically closer, South Sudan was not a safe place for travelers.

“The nurse isn’t happy you be leaving,” the driver said for the third time before swerving around another hazardous divot, downshifting a grinding transmission to recover speed.

“All the children have recovered. Our work there is done.”

“Yes, yes. But Apoka says it may have its own outbreak.”

“There is always another outbreak.”

“Maybe your new friend could help there too?”

“Like I’ve told you, she wants me to go to Cairo.”

“Is mess there now. Riots. You should go to Apoka.”

“Just drive, Irumba.”

Settling back into the threadbare passenger seat, the lab-coat wearing doctor closed eyes though he didn’t want to actually sleep. In slumber he’d found no respite from the dreams and the burning and terrible anger they arose within him.

She had promised answers. For the sake of his sanity, he needed to collect.

As the dreams had come to haunt his mind even when awake.

 

The tomb was sealed as the last magenta rays of the setting sun dipped behind its hill.

At the small cave now blocked by rocks and stones stood a shirtless young man and young woman, for their father had already departed. Having removed his woolen addareth, the young man’s skin glistened in the fading light with the sweat of gathering and stacking each stone to seal their mother’s final resting place.

“It is done.”

Moving to her brother’s side, the woman lay her head against his tall shoulder. Her raven locks swayed freely in the evening’s breeze while his remained taut within the wraps holding firm the two thick braids. From her lips whispered the funeral prayer of her mother’s people. “Al molay rachamim, shochayn bam’romim…”

While she recited the long prayer her brother stood still, lending not his own voice to hers.

“…Ado-nay Hu na-chalatah, v’tanu-ach b’shalom al mishkavah. V’nomar: Amayn.”

Only when she had finished, and into the resulting long silence, did he speak.

“He should have stayed.”

“Father’s errands are his to complete, as we have ours.” She gazed upwards, the first few stars twinkling into view by twilight’s arrival. “For she rests now within his hands.”

“This did not have to be.”

“Did it not? Against her body’s natural decay, Father could not interfere.”

“He could. If he truly wished it. Barakiel says-”

“Barakiel. Always it is Barakiel! How a Grigori sways so between wisdom and foolishness astounds. What nonsense has he now uttered unto your ears?”

“That Father is responsible. He holds the Books of Life and Death, and yet let this be Mother’s fate. Again he has done nothing.”

The young woman gazed upon her brother with deepening pity. “And again is the Watcher in error.”

“The Book of Life could have saved her.”

“Perhaps, but Father holds it no longer. For he has given it to another.”

Confusion spilled across the man’s brow. “But his Purpose, he is Judgment. That is his Seat, his sacred task!”

“Matityah,” she said, searching her sibling’s troubled expression, “the day Father wed Mother the Lord Azrael relinquished the Book. Lest the balance of impartial Judgment be broken across the holy script inscribed within.”

“How? Was it not a part of him?”

“From him an explanation was never offered.” Her eyes swept back to the sealed cave. “Yet I choose to believe he pursued a higher balance still.”

“What higher balance could there be than to save one’s own beloved wife and the mother to his children? What monster he must be to have done nothing!” Bitterness rose to his lips as eyes went hard and dark. “Surely he could have done more. The Bene-Elohim claim connection to grace, yet to her none was offered. None!”

“Oh my brother, truly you do not understand what they are.” The sister opened arms to embrace him, hoping to provide what comfort she could from the well-spring of her own mournful heart, but he turned away.

“I understand enough. I understand how he failed.” Picking up the covering addareth, he pulled it over shoulders chilled by wind and more. “Stay with the other useless messengers from on High if you wish. I shall not.”

Two paths led down the hill within which their mother lay buried. One wended its way towards a village where a greater family had gathered tribe and fortune under sun and stars. Only by the solitary Lord of Judgment’s wishes had they not all come to join in mourning. The other trail, more rocky and uneven, led only into a thick forest growing darker with the approach of night’s true covering.

With sandals stumbling across loose stones he refused to look back. He could not bear to witness the wetness upon his sister’s cheeks.

 

As the jeep’s worn suspension lurched over yet more pits in the gravel, the doctor groaned in sleep he hadn’t desired.

Shifting again the protesting gears, Irumba muttered to himself.

“You should have gone to Apoka.”

 

Chapter 15 - Allies

 

The Yellow Emperor’s retinue rushed across the busted grounds to carry away the semi-conscious teen.

None of them met my eyes as they did so.

Noting that my t-shirt was shredded and the sports-bra underneath smeared green with grass, I grunted and after shaking dirt out of iridescent feathers I reluctantly put away the still-glowing wings.

Somehow that was even harder to do than butting metaphysical heads with a dragon.

Carrying the spear I walked across clumps of lawn to stand over Isaiah. He was sitting with one knee pulled up and a brow furrowed deep with thought.

In fact he didn’t seem to have noticed my approach.

“He okay?” I asked the red-haired ghost standing beside him. Gone was the armor, replaced again with skirt and blouse, but the strength of presence remained.

Channeling a disapproving expression straight from Circe, she shook her head. “Do you have any idea how incredibly stupid your maneuver just now was?”

“What, winning the challenge?”

Her jaw set. “Manifesting towards full power.”

Watching the folks in white gloves running full tilt trying to get the pergolas reassembled and aid a number of folks who’d fallen temporarily unconscious, I sighed. “Explain it to me later.”

Isaiah, having finally noticed me (or maybe us?), held out a hand. “Help me up.”

With a quick tug I pulled him to his feet. “Are you alright?”

Pushing glasses back to their usual spot across his nose, he too glanced at the activity about. “As you said: we’ll talk later.”

I studied him for a moment then nodded and handed him the spear. “Here. Give this back to Quetzalcoatl or Lopez or whatever the heck he wants to call himself right now. I need to chat with Kami.”

He took the obsidian-tipped weapon, staring at the top with an expression both wistful and sad. As I walked away I heard Tracy ask, “Missing yours, Boss?”

If he answered I didn’t catch it.

Kami was still in his chair, flanked by Fred and Tanya. Captain Isong stood behind him but faced away towards the bustle of gazebo repair.

“You could have told me,” I said once I was close enough not to have to shout.

The chair-bound man looked exhausted but resolute. “Told you what?”

“That Haruko’s egg was the first ever.”

“Would knowing so have in any way increased how protective of her you’d be?”

“Of course not.”

His hard-focused gaze softened at the edges. “Then she remained safer by you not being able to let it slip to others.”

While I wanted to argue about it, there didn’t seem much point. “Fine.” I sighed and rubbed my forehead, a maneuver which likely smeared more crud across it. Yuck. “So when is this Ecclesia meet-up with the other supernaturals we’re going to supposed to happen?”

“Within the hour. But who says you’re going?”

I snorted. “Kami, please. If you hadn’t wanted me along I wouldn’t be here. More portals I presume?” I looked around but didn’t see any additional mumblers setting up anywhere.

“No portals. We’re going to Mount Olympus.”

That earned him a scowl as I looked up and down at all the damage to his energy channels. “You’re in no shape for spirit travel, bud. The cord could snap.”

“Doc will keep it anchored.”

Beside him the medic shrugged and held up the transfusion tubing.

“That won’t cut it - or rather, it will. Sure you can pull energy from his blood to fuel the trip, but that’d be like sandpapering an open wound. You need my help first.”

“And you think a sandblasting by you would be better? Forgive, but I am dubious. And also resistant to the idea of being flooded by celestial energies, no offense. Their flavor does not suit my particular palate.”

I ignored the suppressed chuckles from Fred and Tanya. “Your dragon-side is also fried. Big dark and scaly will drain everything Fred provides and more to maintain the projection.”

“No, he won’t.”

“I’m not sure he could help it.”

“You should have more faith in those who are your allies, Amariel.” The former soldier had to tilt his head back to look up at me from the chair, but somehow I felt shorter.

“But-”

“Trust in what I’m telling you. Drathonix will not harm me.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because, angel,” he growled, his eyes filling with the experience of eons, “we are one.”

So saying, the great spirit of Drathonix the Elder stretched out phantom leathery wings - and much like I used mine as connections to the Light so did the dragon open his to the earth beneath our feet.

Whereupon an ancient ley line several thousand feet below pulsed in response, a conduit asleep for ages now waking to send a surge upward to envelop Kami and his spirit both. Even to those not sensitive to such things their hair would have stood on end, but for those of us who could see it the entire chair became surrounded by a powerful yet calming emerald glow.

Instead of an overwhelming surge each pulse was measured and exact as the dragon pulled precisely what was needed to stream a soothing balm to the mortal shell’s channels - even while pouring immensities into the much greater well that lay within the dragon itself.

Catching a hint of familiar pictograms at the edges I began to understand.

“Erica,” I said. “You made a deal with Erica.”

Breathing deeply, Kami gestured at Fred who quickly hustled over again to reinsert the pump so it could continue sending over his healing blood. With every passing second the patterns of both dragon and man regained their strength - and the energy even reached back to Fred and replenished his own mana as well.

Opening eyes burning with a will both dragon and human, Kami spoke. “Is she not also an ally? Her victory that day was paid in blood - yours and mine.” In a softer tone he added, “Though your loss was far greater than my own.”

Dammit, I choked up. “Danielle lost the most.”

“Loss is felt by those left behind.”

After a deep inhale, I nodded. “Yeah. It is.”

Behind him the canvas roofs were draped back into place and the white-gloved folks started to circulate again. Instead of flutes most trays were full of tumblers. Many without any ice.

“Yet,” I said, returning attention to Kami who was still letting the flow of energy work its magic. “You could have healed and recharged whenever you wanted. Why wait?”

It wasn’t the man in the chair who answered. Isaiah had come back over, one trouser leg wet where someone must have toweled off the grass stain from the knee. “Because he needed to be seen as weak.”

Kami inclined his head in acknowledgment.

“Seriously?” I looked between the two of them but then started thinking about it.

By being weak Kami had drawn out Huánglóng’s challenge. But what had he gained by doing so?

Well for starters it had forced the two sides of the upcoming debate regarding the Fourth Seal to come out now before the greater meeting with the Gods and everyone else. Except he could have revealed Haruko’s spirit-egg at any time to get the dragons on board without rocking the boat. Or would that have been enough…

Oh.

“Dammit,” I said, putting hands on hips. “This was about me, wasn’t it.”

Isaiah obviously wanted to launch into a full explanation but Kami waved him off. “She’s on a roll, let her continue.”

Ugh. “Not only did this show that I’m in your camp without needing some kind of deal to act but…” I trailed off.

“But?” Kami prompted.

I stared at him. “Did you know I’d go all overpowered mode? If Isaiah hadn’t been here…except you wanted him here.”

He smiled. “As I understand, his presence was your suggestion.”

“Well that made it easy for you, didn’t it,” I grumbled. “Because you needed him to vouch for me being an independent actor. They wouldn’t have believed anyone else.”

“Not as readily, no. And it was necessary for them to witness the truth of your full nature.”

“Why?”

The dragon-incarnate smiled, and my mind filled with images of very large and sharp teeth. “Come with me to the Ecclesia and find out.”

“What about him?” I pointed a thumb at Isaiah.

To my surprise Isaiah shook his head. “They wouldn’t let me inside. You’ll need to go without me.”

There’s no way my friend would not want to go. Yet he wasn’t even trying to lawyer his way in. “You sure?”

Those dark fingers of his twitched. “The gods and greater spirits will be debating on whether to try and break the Seal forged by my hand. That - verges on being an insult.”

The green glow around Kami faded, all the sparkles of the mana flow fizzling out - much like a water main further up the pipe had been turned off and all the last dribbles were done. “It is nearly time,” he said. “And we should go early.”

“Early?”

“Yes. Are you ready?”

I hesitated. There were still so many questions, and obviously Kami had a lot more up his sleeve.

But as the man said, I needed to have more faith in my friends.

“Alright, Kurohoshi. Let’s do this.”

“Then follow.” He closed eyes and a black dragon of yore slipped free from the mortal skin to shimmer and stand tall over all of us in the spiritual plane. I’d seen him in full above the sands of Egypt, but never up close like this.

He was massive, and with Erica’s provided rejuvenation he again thrummed with power. Not as much as before, but enough.

Attuning to the spirit, I took flight and we left Mexico behind as quite a pair: one black-winged legend larger than a yacht and a smaller yet much brighter spark hastily chasing after.

Much like the trip to Arcadia we flew through realm after realm, though this time I had a better sense of the resonances we passed through. Once we were beyond the direct reflections of the physical we floated mostly between dreams forged both by people and places. Drathonix chose to travel with links relating to the globe: from dreams of Mexico to those of its history (oh hey, Aztecs throwing spears, neat!) which were then used to connect to Spain and therefore Europe. Interestingly he bypassed Rome but went instead through spirit reflections of the Alps and across the Hungarian Plain until spiraling above clouds so full they appeared like miniature worlds all their own.

When we broke through those mists we circled a mountain even taller still.

At the top, slipping past thick clouds of white scattered with touches of grey, was a mighty city carved straight from marble. For the mountain peak itself was just that: gleaming rocks of the purest stone ever imagined stretching towards the sky. Columned buildings with towering triangular roofs emerged as if chiseled directly by their master architects, many of the structures resting atop their own peaks shooting separately upward to form the whole. It was towards a wide oval open-air stadium that we flew, but Drathonix landed on a nearby outcropping which had been leveled smooth as if for just such a purpose.

Who knows, maybe it had been.

Waiting there was a phalanx of soldiers, clad in bronze chestplates and shoulder epomides over leather, all lined up with swords, shields, and pikes. With the added detail of the hair-plumed helms with the Greek-standard protective plates for cheeks and nose, the sight made me miss my old helm and even more, my armor. She may have been demonic, but she had protected me with all she had there at the end. Unfortunately when I’d emerged from the Chaos there had barely been anything left.

I’d buried the remaining fragments on the shore in Gabriel’s realm of Remembrance. It had seemed the right thing to do.

Landing beside the mighty dragon I shook off the memories and refocused on where we were. A breeze flowing across the summit was cool but not cold, though it carried with it the heavy scent of moisture gathered in the clouds below. The sun was a spotlight aimed directly from above, lending the perfectly polished marble a dazzling sparkle and shine.

A woman clad in a short white tunic spun with interspersed golden threads approached us. With brown curls pulled back into a tight bun she at least looked young, though her actual age was likely quite different.

“Hail Drathonix,” she called out in a voice melodic yet focused. “It has been a long time. Welcome again to Olympus. And who is your companion?”

The dragon sat back on his haunches, much like Khan would do before loudly declaring his bowl empty. “It is my privilege to be accompanied by the Seraph Amariel, she who was once Aradia.”

My being there must have been a surprise as the lady’s eyes flared and the friendly look she had first given the dragon disappeared into shock before turning quickly into a cold controlled anger. Despite that she was still very beautiful - slender yet with a well-toned physique that showed real dedicated use. Also she was somehow familiar, even if I couldn’t figure out why. Maybe it was that she too had gold bracers around her wrists, ones that nearly matched my own.

“I see,” she said in a tone that would have frozen (if you’ll forgive the graphic description) any man’s balls - titanium or not. “So this is why you wished to meet before the event commenced.”

Taking a step forward I refrained from joining in giving Drathonix a dirty look. “My apologies if my presence is somehow disturbing - I fear the dragon here has been quite busy. Indeed I only learned of this gathering earlier today and was given no details as to what to expect.”

She looked me over, her spike of rage fading the more she stared. It wasn’t my attire she focused on either, as the clothing had shifted upon arrival to match the realm with a tunic not unlike hers though still accentuated by all the accessories from the earlier party.

No, each curve and feature upon my face somehow filled silver-touched eyes with an ancient yet terribly raw sorrow.

As the moment reached uncomfortable levels I had to break the silence. “Might I ask your name, my lady?”

“Do you not recognize me?” She asked, pointed chin lifting as if daring the water welling at the corners of those proud eyes to flow.

“I…I am sorry. I do not.”

Drathonix’s deep voice boomed out. “She is the goddess of the hunt and the moon. She is the daughter of Zeus and Leto, twin sister to Apollo. She is Artemis.”

Oh. Oh heck.

Of course she looked familiar. While there were many who had mistaken me for Gabriel, there were differences between us. Like my nose was slightly longer, and chin and jawline a tad stronger - or even my being taller and more athletic. For some reason I’d thought all those as traits having been received from Lucifer along with the potentials for the light.

But such musings once pondered before a mirror had been wrong. The evidence of that was standing right there before me.

And with her next words the evidence became proof:

“Hello, daughter.”

 

 

The Light Between (Part 5 of 8)

by Erisian

Book 5

 

If you have yet to read the saga - the tale starts here:

Into The Light

Hope you enjoy!

 

Chapter 16 - Sins

Countless nights spent staring into a fire’s dancing flames or into skies darkened by midnight’s gloom flooded everything, twisting as a barbed arrow within the chest. Abandoned by a father whose infinite radiance had turned as cold as the snow he’d left her in, a young girl had wrestled with inner scars which seeped anew from every self-perceived failure. Even her uncle - though he had at least stayed - always bore into her soul with hooded eyes of penetrating and absolute judgment.

Only Siabh had held her tenderly. Only the fae priestess had softly offered words of love and support.

But some nights those hadn’t been enough. And as the long hours crept towards dawn the child had whispered the same questions over and over:

Does my mother also think me worthless? Is that why she never came for me?

Is she ashamed of me too?

All of Aradia’s pain crashed to the surface and it must have shown across my face as well as in the trembling of shoulders and the wings they carried.

Yet Artemis too looked lost, the natural regal bearing clashing against her own internal storms.

The dragon coughed into the strangled silence. “I shall go on ahead.”

A blast of wind and he was airborne. Not that we watched him go.

The phalanx guard, either from a mentally communicated command or simply from a desire to run for the hills, turned to begin a rapid march up the path leading to the arena Drathonix quickly glided towards.

That left the two of us alone, standing upon a platform overlooking clouds and clear blue sky. A goddess and an angel, both in simple yet elegant white tunics and both with absolutely no idea how to handle the situation.

She broke the stare first, looking first down at her sandaled feet and then out at the view. “Have you nothing to say?”

Unlike the girl my spirit had once been, I had but the one question. “Why?”

“That…is complicated to explain.”

“Is it.” Hands fidgeted, unsure of what to do with themselves. The marble surface was also chilly against toes that were again bare. “Try.”

“Alright. But let us sit.” Walking closer to the edge, a flat bench simply rose out of the stony ground for our use - its stylized supports decorated with carved ivy and scenes of fawns and dryads frolicking amidst chiseled foliage. She sat while still facing the sky’s expanse lying before us, crossing runner’s legs as she did, then patted the stone beside her. “Come.”

After hesitating I did so, slender arches dangling toes over the side so I could hug both knees while all the crystalline feathers trailed out behind, the longer ones brushing the ground.

Once I was settled she asked, “How much do you remember of your father?”

“Very little,” I admitted. “Glimpses of the war in Heaven and of when he Fell. Only those and a child’s earliest memories, more fragments than substance.”

“Then let me share mine, mother to daughter. For I am a huntress and not a story-teller.” Extending her upraised palm, a small pearl took shape in the center. “Take it. Take it and see how it was that you were made.”

The part within which had been Aradia stretched out fingers and took the goddess’ offering.

 

Upon the rocks in the midst of a shallow stream did the curly-haired maiden stand, long spear held loose but ready with its sharpened tip aimed towards the waters washing over and between bare toes delighting at their cool caress. Dangling from above, the covering greenery of a mighty willow offered concealing shadows from the crescent moon slowly rising over the forest, for she did not need its light by which to see.

She had ears, she had nostrils, and she had her father’s heritage expanding both beyond the capacities of any mortal.

Her mother and brother would be wroth over her slipping away from the campsite without waking them, but they needed their rest. And by morning she would have a breakfast of fish and fowl awaiting their hungry stomachs. Apollo would relent immediately as he was ever ravenous, but even her mother Leto would forgive once overcome by the scent of such fire-kissed bounty.

First for the fish, impaled by slender wooden rod and affixed blade, and then the fowl, felled by arrows sent streaking forth from the golden bow now nestled amidst the wild roots of her chosen shelter. The fishing spear she had made herself from branch and knife, the bow was offered as a gift from a giant whose singular eye surprisingly sought to avoid seeing her father’s wrath visited upon him after stumbling across her camp in woods now distant.

The resonate croaking of surrounding frogs, the chirping of crickets, the burbles and bubbling of the stream as it wended over and past stone and rock, each filled the senses as they searched for the disturbances which would herald her prey.

Far above a streak of light crossed the sky, a meteor leaving its brushed stroke of brightness behind - and all was silent.

A single mother owl off in distant trees hooted warning, however just the once before she too fell quiet.

Apprehension filled the maiden, and on stealthy feet she slipped back onto the mossy earth closer to the tree. Returning quiver to her back and bow to her hand she knelt, an arrow nocked against the string. For while she thrilled at the hunt, her family in turn was ever hunted by those sent forth by a goddess who would oft rage at her divine spouse’s many indiscretions.

Through the foliage a light flickered, passing behind and between solid trunk and thick bush, its path steady and solid unlike the bobbing and weaving of any will-o-wisp.

And also far, far brighter.

Wincing at a brightness soon shining more painfully than the sun, she was forced to turn her face away. Legs wanted to run, to leap and bound like a fawn from a wolf’s charge, but she had met her father once and had felt his power - felt the thrumming under her skin. What approached was something similar - if not stronger still.

And from one like this there would be no escape.

A voice, echoing as if bouncing off the sky, resounded in her ears.

“You are called Artemis.”

Minding manners her mother had despaired she’d ever learn, the maiden replied. “I am, Lord.”

“Then you are the one I seek.”

The brilliance faded and in its place upon the rippling surface of the stream stood the form of a man. Gold-woven hair hung in a long braid before a shoulder left bare by an ivory-colored and exomis-styled tunic. Eyes of the same gold as the bound locks pierced shadows to illuminate where she crouched behind upraised and tangled roots.

“Lord?” Instinct screamed to flee, but there was something about him, something that pulled at her father’s heritage.

Like a moth to a bonfire’s flame.

“I have need of you, child of Zeus.”

“What could I possibly offer to one such as you?”

“You are a daughter of god and mortal, yours is the only pattern which may succeed.”

“Succeed, Lord? At what?”

“At bearing what must be born: a child who may do what I cannot. And be what I can never be.”

As puzzlement became comprehension, fear widened eyes and the arrow aimed for the stranger’s heart.

He simply laughed at the sight. And she knew then her weapon - as wondrous a gift of magic and craft as it was - could never offer him harm.

“Did my father send you?” she asked. “Or are you here in fulfillment of Hera’s vengeance?”

“Neither. Such paltry squabbles concern me not, though it may affect the choice I now give unto you.”

“I do not understand.”

“Willingly accept that which shall be and you, your brother, and indeed your mother too shall be granted power enough to ascend to Olympus. You all carry the capacity: you and your brother directly from your father’s seed, and your mother also from having safely borne each of you. Rise to the vaunted table of the gods, sip of the sweetest ambrosia, and join your father’s side. With this the scorned wife of the Lord of Thunderbolts shall dare trouble you no more.”

The maiden stared as a lost deer caught by the first light of morning. All her life they had been on the run, moving from town to town, forever hiding who they were. And yet monsters kept finding them. Some they had to flee, others Artemis had put down with many arrows.

But always were there more.

“And,” she heard herself asking, “if I do not accept? Will you let me go?”

“No.” The one word, spoken in the same tone as all the rest, sent shivers of rising terror where once her father’s power had brought excitement. “Choose, and choose now.”

With trembling hands she lowered the bow. “For the sake of my family I will not struggle.”

In a blink he stood not upon the trickling stream but upon the stone besides her. Removing the weapon from her hand he placed it aside, golden eyes aglow and peering past her hunter’s leathers into patterns beyond comprehension.

When he stepped even closer and planted one hand firmly against her back, she dared ask one more question. “Can you at least tell me your name?”

Again his voice echoed off sky and distant mountain. “I am the Fire that precedes the Dawn. I am he who erases the shadows within the darkest of waters. I am Helel, the Bringer of Light, and the First of all Creation. And by my Name I swear to you that when I return to take my child, should you interfere with her destiny I shall burn this world to ash and scatter its dust amongst the stars.”

So saying his hand flared with a brightness to blind not just eyes but every sense she possessed and more. Plunging those flames into the depths of her womb he set everything within afire.

Even as she screamed she heard him say one last thing:

“For that is a kinder fate than what awaits should I fail.”

 

Hunched over knees pressed against marble floor, I was clutching my stomach against a terrible pain that had never been mine.

From behind and still sitting on the chilled marble slab, Artemis spoke - her voice cool though not without sympathy.

“Now you know. He gave no choice. None. And after he stole you from my arms, once the weeping ceased I swore to never again be touched by a male - be they mortal or god. For they always take whatever their power allows. Always. As my father to my mother, and yours to me. Remember this, my daughter.”

Behind us came the piercing sound of trumpets, and Artemis got to her feet. “The salpinges bring the Ecclesia to order. I must go. The crowd may decide to call upon you to answer questions and address us. Until then you may wander nearby but do not stray lest you become difficult to find.”

Unable to stand just yet I could only watch her walk away.

She paused before she got too far and looked back to where I huddled on the stones in front of the bench. “For what it may be worth: from everything I have seen or heard of your feats and exploits - both in this life and your first - I could not be any more proud. Even should I have no right to be. You are beautiful and you are brave, braver than I ever was or dared. And I have never believed that the sins of our fathers should also be placed upon the daughters.”

With a sad yet resolute nod the goddess turned and went up the hill.

 

Chapter 17 - Modes

 

The roar of the crowd and trumpets from the columned arena atop the hill was suddenly silent. A hemisphere of crackling lightning had been raised which prevented any further sounds escaping.

Zeus and the other deific entities wished privacy for their discussions.

The sting from the pain of Aradia’s conception faded but an ache remained. Having managed to get myself onto the bench, I was still folded over while staring off towards a horizon that didn’t really exist.

All sense of self had spiraled in mad confusion. Was I the blind-from-seeing-too-much Aradia? The kindly dweeb software developer Justin? I thought I’d properly become Jordan, the girl-who-was-also-an-angel, but after returning from Hell it felt like she was just a small piece of a much larger force.

A force by the Name of Amariel.

Fingers tensed with lingering anger from Isaiah’s - or really, Azrael’s - slicing across perceptions that had promised to show all. My spirit ached to experience that glory - and to glean the answers to the towering pile of questions sages have pondered throughout time immemorial. And then all would be made clear.

Except that couldn’t be the case, right?

Lucifer would have been able to do the same - and yet obviously it had never brought him peace. He still Fell.

And the asshole had gone on to rape my - Aradia’s - mother. Not physically but energetically, and frankly what he did could be considered worse. His power had rampaged across everything Artemis had been, leaving no refuge and no sanctuary within that his essence hadn’t smeared itself across. Not in her heart, not in her mind, not in her spirit.

He’d taken it all to bind the pieces needed to forge Aradia’s spark.

My spark.

Amariel’s spark.

This was too much to take.

Over a shoulder came a sound not unlike a horse exhaling. “What’s with the sour face, babe?”

Startled, my head spun around - and as it did the red and gold braid whipped all the way around to smack me back in the face before landing against my chest. A being stood nearby with a human body, but the head, well, the head was that of a sharp-toothed and darkly-furred beast. The muzzle at first impression was like a weird cross between a coyote and a camel, but such a comparison wasn’t quite right. As for the body, he was well-muscled as revealed by the utter lack of a shirt underneath a wide obsidian choker fit loosely around the thick neck. A similar-style skirt that was neither leather nor metal yet somehow both hung from his waist to right above the knees, and ties from the black leather sandals wended their way up the ankles.

In spirit I'd only seen him at a distance, but the voice I’d heard before from the lips of a possessed archaeologist.

My legs slid off the bench and I smoothed out the tunic’s skirt. “You’re Set.”

“And you’re…well that’s the question of the day, ain’t it?”

“You reading my mind?”

I must have glared because the god took a step back, waving clawed-fingers defensively. “Nah. No need to get panties in a wad. I’m just your friendly desert god with an insight that surprises even himself sometimes.” His grin, toothy as it was, did nothing to reassure. “If you’re having some kind of existential what-the-fuck, that’s cool. But the dimwits in the circle-jerk are frothing at the mouths over you either being their oh-spank-me savior or a harpy’s curse who’ll screw ‘em over like a President loose in the Playboy Mansion.”

“They and everyone else. Shouldn’t you be back there with them?”

“Privilege of bein’ a powerful god. Multi-location. I can be the center of all the parties at once, if you know what I mean.” Massive fuzzy eyebrows waggled suggestively.

Normally I’d have smiled at such a jest. But not now. “No offense, but I’m not finding that all that funny.”

One eyebrow remained raised. “And here I’d heard you had a sense of humor. A rare thing for a Bene-Elohim.”

“Usually do. Let’s just say today has been a bit rough and leave it at that.”

“Hmm.” With tall legs the god stepped over the bench to plonk down besides me, though he was careful to leave a gap between us. “I’d always thought Gabriel as being the only angelic who could manage a proper laugh.”

“Mine’s probably from her bad influence.”

“Ha. Awesome influence, you mean. Gabriel’s a hoot. Gotta say it though, the rest of your father’s family has bungholes so tight they don’t even shit diamonds - their holier-than-thou poop is straight from a neutron star. Or it would be if the galaxy-sized broomsticks ever dislodged.”

The big-snouted god may have had a point. From all the memories I’d gotten, Gabriel and Raphael were the gentler exceptions that proved the rule.

“Your mom’s side now,” he added, “Those toga-wearing chumps put the ‘fun’ in dysfunction almost as well as us crazed Kemetics. Shit, just look at how they’re treatin’ you.”

“Me?”

He shrugged. “Chief Grandpa Thunderfart over there set up this shin-dig. Invited everybody, blowhards and dickhards alike. And here you sit - his own granddaughter - waiting on all those idiots to figure out how to cajole or threaten you into doing what they want.”

“Is that what they’re planning?”

“Not all, but yeah. Rude, ain’t it? And if I had to guess, Mother Artemis just shared with you how much a dick dear old Dad was to her.”

That earned him another hard look, though he didn’t flinch.

“Not saying he wasn’t,” continued the ancient deity. “But the timing is convenient, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Is it?

“If they’re trying to recruit you away from your angelic family ties, that’d be one heck of a nudge in that direction.”

I didn’t like the sound of that. Except Artemis hadn’t known I was coming. Growing more wary of the muscle-bound god who despite the gap still sat uncomfortably close, I said, “Hey, if you’re here, what about Zap? I mean, Heru. Well crud, no. I mean Zap.”

“The pup? I told him I’d deal with this on my own, but Erica insisted he tag along.” Set rolled widely-placed eyes and muttered, “He’s the one who needs baby-sitting, not me.”

“He been okay?”

Sticking out a broad tongue Set sprayed a messy raspberry. Fortunately it wasn’t aimed at me. “Dude’s fine. Other than being stuck in cramped quarters with a total blanket-hog like myself.”

“How’s he handling it? The whole,” I waved a hand, “incarnate-of-a-god thing.”

“That your deal? You havin’ issues with the modes?”

“Modes?”

“Modes, masks, shards, aspects - plenty of names for the same bullshit. All so idiots can ignore the truth.”

Realizing my fingers were fiddling with the brush-like ends of the braid, I dropped hands to my lap. “Truth? What truth?”

“That egos are crap.”

“Not sure that’s helpful.”

He snorted. “Sure it is. You started off mortal, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then you’ve had those crazy-ass fumble-mumble dreams. You know ‘em. Where you ain’t who you are when awake and shit, and you’re stuck stumbling through a story written by a child whose breakfast cheerios got laced with ‘shrooms.”

“So?”

“Was the you in those dreams really you or not?”

That caught me.

Because of course I’d had dreams like that, even doing things I’d never normally do.

And reality had certainly become more dreamlike of late. Hell had been one continual bad nightmare, but even the realm I’d just created was just that: another dream. One in which I was Queen, for it was mine. On earth I was Jordan, except when I needed to be more Amariel.

But the whole time my spirit was the same and not something separate. Instead the conscious part - the ego, I guess - was (to mix metaphors here) the character the player put on to fit in with the unfolding story they found themselves in.

The spirit was the player. Always had been, and always would be.

My sense of “I” was entirely misplaced.

“Modes,” I said, tilting my head at the still-grinning god. “Modes of operation, you mean. Identities to fit the situation.”

A claw reached out as if to poke my chest but halted as a warning flare of light blossomed across my skin as the muscles underneath prepared to jump. “Yet,” he said feigning innocence with regards to his awkwardly immobile hand, “they’re all you. Every stupefying and fucked up one of ‘em.”

“So why is it all so confusing?”

To distract the roaming digits he used them to scratch at his muzzle instead. “Because egos. They fight integration tooth and claw. For some of us that’s no big deal - we’re flexible.” His rather large bicep popped up and down for emphasis. “But some dumbasses - you know, broomstick squads - they got this stupid need for categories and order. Screws things up and gets in the way of doing what’s gotta be done.”

Categories and order. In other words, judgment. Man, Isaiah was so hosed - though he wasn’t the worst case I’d seen so far. “What if the identities really don’t agree on things? Like fundamentally.”

He leaned back and stared into the bright sky. “That ain’t good. Means one of ‘em cracked.”

“Cracked?”

“Cracked, broke, or as the winged dipsticks put it, ‘Fell’. Damaged goods those, and dangerous. Out of sync with their pattern they’ll go nuts - like a squirrel on meth chanting ‘Winter is Coming’ while building forts out of toothbrushes and hockey pucks. Only three ways to deal with ‘em. Pull a psychobabble miracle out of a rabbit is one. The second is for a stronger shard to absorb the broke-ass one and fix it.” He paused.

“And the third?”

“Burn the fucker who snapped until they fuck no more.”

“Oh.”

One of Set’s ears twitched and he looked back towards the arena. “Debate’s over. You’re up.” He stood and stretched arms with a toothy yawn that produced a tongue much longer than it should have been. “And hey, whatever happens - don’t be a dumbshit like Heru’s lost aspects. Don’t forget what’s important.”

“Which is?”

“Be the you that you gotta be. And if they don’t like it, fuck ‘em.”

I too got to my feet. “Set?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

He stood and bowed, sweeping the well-muscled arm wide. “What can I say, I’m awesome. After this shindig is done boring us to tears, how ‘bout we get out of here and go do something a lot more fun. Sky’s the limit!” The muzzle’s grin somehow managed to become both ridiculous and lecherous. It really was a talent.

“Not today.”

“Aww c’mon. You know you can’t turn all this down. And I promise to be a perfect gentleman.” He flexed and this time made his pectorals dance. “Tomorrow?”

“Promises, promises. And that’s also a no, I’ll be busy. Writing the final paper for a class.”

“You serious? Well, shit. What about the day after that?”

The comical glint in his eye finally got to me, and I may have cracked a smile. “Hair needs a massage, you know how it is.”

“Gotta love a relaxed hair-job. Stylish. The one after?”

“Queen duties. Need to inspect the bramble-harvest. Can’t let the lightberries wither on the vines.”

“Those sound tasty. Gonna send me some?”

“Nope.”

“Crushing. How ‘bout when those barrels are full? I know this great place in Soho…”

By the time we reached the stadium we’d covered the next six months and then some.

And Set had still not given up.

 

~o~O~o~

 

When I first met Kami Kurohoshi (via a video conference which had turned into a stroll through an astral construct), the recognition of the true spirit behind his gaze had knocked free a memory belonging to both Gabriel and Aradia. In that recollection all the greater beings - gods, dragons, fae, and elementals - had gathered at Aradia’s request in a massive conclave.

To discuss and debate the threatening plague of chaos spawned by the Grigori and Nephelim, all of the invitees had filled a gigantic spiritual stadium with the splendor of their pantheons, each in full display of regalia and power. Even the architecture had altered from section to section, each bursting with the style and colors of their true homes. When shifting attention from area to area the entire arena had changed in response to where one looked: Odin and the Aesir took council within high beamed halls of torchlight and mead, Ra and the Kemetics were bethroned between sigil-covered monoliths of gold and obsidian, towering dragons lurked within the deepest of caves behind stalactites and stalagmites, ocean waves continually swelled pools of mighty water elementals, tornadoes swirled madly over those of the air, and volcanic bonfires spat sulfuric smoke to mark the region of fire. Witnessing such grandeur was absolutely epic.

What Set and I walked into now was downright sad in comparison.

Small clumps of culturally-garbed individuals huddled in clusters amidst an arena holding a singular form of marble, arches, and columns. Instead of residing within a multitude of primal elemental glory, men and women all had gathered upon uniform marble benches. At the highest point protruded a boxed area where a toga-wearing man with wild curly hair, long scraggly grey beard, and an impressive set of pectorals sat on a wide and gleaming throne flanked by but a handful of other white cloth wearing individuals.

The other gods and deities, wearing outfits nowhere near as opulent or magnificent as I’d remembered, bunched together with their own - a handful of representatives each for the different pantheons. Many groups only had one or maybe two members with silver astral cords leading off to bodies still residing on Earth, but then again only a quarter of their numbers had volunteered for the final battles against the corrupted Grigori. The rest had retreated from the world to prevent becoming stuck in human form lifetime after lifetime. Interestingly the Hindu contingent had the most silver strands slipping off behind their many-colored outfits of flowers, silks, beads, and gold. One such among them, appearing as a bare-chested and well-muscled young man whose medium-dark skin glittered as if coated with gold, didn’t even watch as I entered - with arms crossed he glared straight ahead and if I’d had to guess the lad was seriously sulking.

Obviously whatever debates had been going on had not been in his favor.

He wasn’t the only member with faces being none too happy. Several fae wearing their best silk fineries glowered with unrestrained and direct hostility at my approach. Standing between them was the plate-armored and former Champion of the Queen, Sir Gwydion. Unlike the others hovering near him the Champion regarded me with neutral expression, the Sidhe’s unusually older yet barely-wrinkled visage was on display as he wasn’t wearing his helm. He even raised a hand (which had apparently healed from our previous encounter) in distant greeting and acknowledgment.

I returned the gesture and nodded to him. He’d fought at the command of his queen and lost, though I too had suffered from our engagement. We had been (and could still be) enemies but he’d never been anything but polite. Unless of course you think someone trying to stab you with a sword forged of raw chaos was rude.

But hey, that was war.

Set moved to the center and lowest point so everyone could look down at us. I began to feel like a Roman gladiator about to be judged whether I should live or die. Which did cause another quick look to see if there were both Greek and Roman versions of those pantheons lurking in the wings - it would have been amusing to see both Zeus and Jupiter in one place having a staring contest. No such luck though, only the Greek aspects were present. Honestly I’m not entirely sure how that would have worked. Would Jupiter and Zeus have spoken simultaneously? Or would their own aspect-separated egos collide in insufferable conflict.

I’d pay money to watch that.

The Egyptian god with the head of an undefinable beast standing beside me interrupted the thought as he spread arms wide and addressed the crowd.

“Yo! I’ve had all the pomposity bullcrap I can deal with for one day. Y’all know who she is, she’s here, ask yer shit and let’s get back to chillin’. Or fighting. Whichever.”

From the stands came a shout from the hawk-headed god standing next to Ra. “Set! You insult our guest!” Heru was wearing the same outfit he’d donned for the fae party we’d once attended together: namely a linen skirt under a bare chest (gods must really like showing off their pectoral muscles) with bronze and blue metal layering atop the cloth, and a matching wide choker around the neck upon which rested an Eye of Horus. Sorry, Eye of Heru.

Set blinked with disingenuous surprise. “Oh?” Giving me a side-eye he asked, “You feeling insulted, gorgeous-tits?”

The crowd gasped but before they could shout outrage I quickly responded though not in an all-that-friendly tone. “That one strayed pretty close to the line, stumpy.” I held up thumb and forefinger to show just how close. Or how small he was under that skirt. Take your pick.

Long ears flapped - don’t ask how - and he shrugged. “I hate boundaries.”

Heru summoned a burning staff of power and took aim as if to fire a bolt at his cousin so after deliberately stepping out of any potential line of fire (and therefore away from the lecherous god) I shouted for all to hear.

“Everyone! Many of those gathered here are likely burning through their reserves to maintain these projections so let’s be brief. I’ve come today out of friendship with the Elder Drathonix. Whether or not I take insult by Set’s impropriety or by the lack of appropriate invitation from my own spiritual relatives is besides the point and would serve only as unneeded distraction from matters of true import.” I threw Zeus a quick narrowed glare. The smile which grew at the corners of Artemis’ lips made the verbal jab worthwhile, even if dark clouds gathered above the bearded guy’s head. Though the storm quickly calmed as a more calculated expression replaced the momentary fury, and the god began to stroke the curly white hairs dangling below his chin as if reconsidering something.

Returning attention to the general crowd I continued. “I propose we carry on. Set stated you have questions. Ask them, and I’ll consider whether to answer.”

Drathonix’s baritone filled the arena. The great dragon rested with folded wings upon a plateau wide enough for a modest home. “We have but one question, Queen Amariel.”

I turned to face the dragon. “Then by all means ask it, ancient one.”

Steam escaped wide nostrils. “Such is not mine to speak.” The dragon pointed a long claw towards Zeus.

Behind the storm-god’s head blueish-white electricity sparked, forming a jagged halo of lightning. Leaning forward to place bearded chin upon a fist that could break mountains, Zeus’ voice boomed out.

“Granddaughter! I bid you welcome to Olympus and to my exalted domain. Change has at last arrived and it is up to us to seize the opportunities presented - and you, here and now, have a chance to correct the imbalances imposed upon us. At the crux of the previous crisis the Priestess Siabh asked our acquiescence to the greater need and allow Gaia her time to heal. We all have done as requested, leaving us cut from manifestation and forced to walk within mortal shells for our feet to ever touch the earth. But Gaia has healed - indeed she has prospered and her long-locked bounty now is freed! Only one barrier to our restoration and the return of our world to her natural state remains.” He paused as sky-blue eyes flashing echoes of the sparks surrounding him pierced the distance between us. “You know of it.”

With steady stance and hands clasped behind my back I met that stare. “The Fourth Seal. And what do you ask of me, Cloud-Gatherer?”

He didn’t hesitate. “Should that barrier in accordance with the prophecies of John of Patmos be broken, the Host of Heaven threatens to descend and scour all so they may purge that which they consider unholy: the progeny of angel and man. Yet while the Seal stands our people and others remain in bondage. We have learned that you are indisputably without ties to Elohim and His Throne. And so we ask you, granddaughter, would you plant your banner alongside ours to shatter this unnatural cage? Come! Join cause with us, stand at your mother’s side, and as goddess and Champion of Olympus defend our world against the wrath of Heaven that we may all at long last be free! What say you?”

Everyone went still and breathlessly they awaited my answer.

As did I.

 

Chapter 18 - Judgments

 

The silence dragged on and I remained unsure how to reply. There had been times in the past when words would slip unbidden from my lips, channeled from the higher angelic self, but no words arrived now.

It was up to me, whoever I may be in this moment, to step up.

Letting light fill wings and eyes I spoke.

“You ask a question as if the answer would be a simple matter. But you well know the complexities. Tell me then: as Azrael himself has stated he will not bring down that which he has wrought, how therefore in this scenario is the Fourth Seal to reach collapse?”

Zeus extended a broad hand. “We believe you possess the means to do so. And if need be the energies harnessed by Imhotep’s engine can assist if not succeed directly.”

I considered. “Tilting against Azrael’s exercise of his truest Purpose is a tall order. In such a scenario how many human lives would be lost by such a collision of power?”

The god didn’t flinch. “Lives, yes - but their spirits would go on. And yet for every year that passes the spirits of deities, elementals, and fae trapped within the binding’s shackles wither - losing piece by piece that which they are. While those who remain outside grow further distant, their anchors to Gaia fading unto dust. All are caught and wounded in this imbalance.”

“At what risk then to Creation?” I asked. “That Michael and the Host fear the Nephelim so should give this gathering pause. Released from incarnation, do we understand how powerful they may yet be? I too as Aradia was of the Nephelim. Should we not fear that they may become as I? For I tell you that I have yet to touch the limits of my full potential, a truth which should frighten you as much as it does me.”

Heru struck the brilliant staff against marble and the resulting thunder rolled across the arena. “You are more than a mere Nephelim, Amariel. Your mother is a demi-goddess and your father is the First of Heaven. And only within Callas Soren’s ritual were you transfigured in the Light. Do you suggest such a path may be traveled by the sons and daughters of the Grigori? Their Order is comprised of neither Seraphim nor Kerubim, they reach not the upper levels of abstraction.”

I turned to the god whose eyes danced with the sun and moon. “And yet the Nephelim were considered such a threat that the loss of this world was acceptable to the Host if it ensured their obliteration. Even now I am given to understand that the heavenly council intends to meet to discuss current events and may require my testimony. Should they too ask me questions, shall I answer that the beings of power of this world intend to increase the risk to all Creation and break the peace to which all agreed? Consider carefully, lords and ladies. And remember that even Lucifer required the aid of the loyal Host to defeat Samael’s Rebellion. Though my gifts may touch upon such lofty perches, alone I would be incapable of standing against such a force.”

That reminder settled upon them and many looked down or away. Heru however did not.

“Aradia,” he said slowly, “was a seeress without equal. The paths of the future unfolded in her sight though at cost of great pain. Only through her vision did we survive the conflict which was. Does the veil that lies across what may yet come also part to your sight? What have you seen, Amariel-who-was-Aradia?”

Irritation that he’d ask such a question here in front of everyone hit sharp. Heru had been a friend, as had his incarnate Zap. But to ask that now? Was he trying to make me look a fool? He’d known I’d only tasted glimpses of things that had come true.

Staring at him though I saw to the truth. Behind the dual-sourced eyes of the god lay those of a young man, one who had once bounced as a hawk in joy upon my balcony and who had only returned to humanity to help when I had needed it most.

That boy was still there - and he was clinging to the hope that I had already found a path to a safe future for everyone.

Except I hadn’t. In fact I deliberately hadn’t even tried.

“Heru,” I said, though I tried to speak more to the young man within him, “Many are the warnings I have been given about reaching beyond what control I have acquired. Already this night it took the aid of another to prevent catastrophe. Some day I may do as you ask, but not now. And not here.”

Disappointment succumbed to a stoic nod and the god hammered the staff a second time. “My question is answered. But that of the Thunderer On High remains. Will you give answer, my lady? Will you join our pantheons, free those from bondage, and defend us?”

This time the mouth gave reply without thought or warning as the Light decided to flash outward, and in the brightness washing over all within the stadium’s walls were no shadows to be found.

“Love unto the Defended; love unto the Destroyed. The blade which upholds the one must fall upon the other. Which shall be received is not the decision of the one who loves.”

As the bright illumination faded Set chuckled into the arena’s stunned silence. “Well folks,” he said, “That’s it, we’re done here.”

“I agree,” announced Heru. With a third impact of the staff he and the rest of the Kemetics disappeared. Group by group so did the others, though the bare-chested god with the fancier lei of flowers gave me one heck of a stink-eye before also fading out.

Guess he wasn’t too thrilled about whatever had just been decided. I stood there blinking while wrestling with understanding it myself, becoming lost enough that Drathonix needed to nudge my feathers with a wingtip to get my attention.

“Are you coming, Queen Amariel?”

Only then did I realize what had just happened.

I’d just submitted my very own entry for the cosmic-dessert-of-the-month contest.

Whoa.

 

~o~O~o~

 

As soon as Kami woke up in his wheelchair I immediately asked him, “Did you get what you wanted?”

I’d been standing at his side waiting for his eyes to open. I again wore grass-stained shorts and shirt because I hadn’t thought to clean them in the process of re-manifestation.

And right now I really didn’t feel like wearing a dress.

Despite the influx of energy from Doc and the recharge from the earth, Kami rubbed the corner of a tired eye as he answered. “Yes. Did you?”

“I don’t know. They all didn’t stay to debate further. Why not?”

With a grunt he pulled the needle from his arm. “Your statement quite succinctly settled the issue.” He handed the tube to Doc who, after looking between us, rose to his feet and stumbled off towards a server holding a tray filled with more food. Tanya and Isong had already stepped away to give the two of us space.

“I don’t get it.”

He paused and his face regained strict disciplined focus. “Each will have heard your words different, according to who and what they are. But your spirit made a promise. One they cannot ignore.”

“Wait, you mean what I think I said isn’t what they heard?”

“It is best to communicate truth in the language of the listener.”

“Dammit, Kami. That doesn’t help.”

“Then let me put it this way: when you figure out who you are willing to fight for, you’ll understand.”

I shook my head which did nothing to stop the growing headache. “So what did they decide?”

“For now they will make no move against the pyramids or the Seal.”

“Good. One problem down. A couple more to go.”

The information broker didn’t waste a beat. “What else is going on? Perhaps I can help.”

“Not unless you know where Soren stashed the Book of Raziel.”

That perked his interest. “I would have hoped it safely buried again. You need it?”

“Maybe. It could help solve a mystery - or heck, all of them.” Pausing, I realized that there were many questions he hadn’t asked. Which considering the last time we’d spoken was before I got blasted to Hell was suspicious. “Hey, how good are your sources at the DPA?”

The man leaned back with a wry smile. “I shall offer no comment.”

“Then you know who Soren actually was.”

“I do.” His expression returned to the neutral and purely analytical. He was hiding something.

Crap. He’d known that much way before. He actually may have known before our defense of the pyramid - and had kept it from me.

As much as the guy had assisted and even put himself on the line out there, he really was a master schemer. Using his daughter he had played me tonight, twice even, to get what he wanted. Yeah I agreed with his goals on both counts, but still. I was starting to not like it much.

Except getting angry about it (despite the threatening emotional swell filling my chest) wasn’t going to help. Whatever information I could get out of him however could.

“Any thoughts on where it is?”

“Unfortunately, no. Soren’s use of portals made tracking his movements difficult, if not impossible, without knowing which cities to canvas.”

So much for that then. “What about Sariel? He tried to have Isaiah killed again today. Speaking of Isaiah, where is he?” I looked around. The pergolas had been reassembled, and many of the factions had already departed - including the Chinese delegation. I spotted Isaiah (and Jim) on the path leading to the portal where he was speaking to a short Asian man with a remarkably long whitish beard and otherwise shaved head. Despite the look reminding heavily of ZZ-Top, the man’s tuxedo was perfectly conservative and therefore colorless. Flanking him were a number of younger men similarly dressed, except one had a white cummerbund imprinted with the emblem from the flag of South Korea: the red and blue Taegeuk (think yin/yang but without the extra dots) and the four surrounding black trigrams. “Who’s he talking to?”

“The dragon Gangcheori. As for why, you’ll have to ask your friend - although I can venture a guess.”

“Given how everyone loves keeping secrets from me, why don’t you tell me your so-called guess and I won’t tip your chair over,” I said smiling sweetly.

Okay, I tried to smile sweetly.

He ignored the threat. “Gangcheori’s incarnate - Kim Ji-hoon - holds controlling stakes in numerous multi-national enterprises. Mr. Cohen’s recent lawsuit is against one such subsidiary. Are you sure Sariel was behind the attempt?”

I saw where he was going. “Pretty sure. The bullet I examined invoked Sariel’s name in its enchantment. Packed a lot more punch than the caliber merited.”

He considered then nodded. “Assassination is not Mr. Kim’s style.”

“Oh? Then what is?”

“Subterfuge, manipulation, domination, lawfare, and most of all - patience. It has served him well.”

The conversation between Isaiah and Mr. Kim must have ended as they both bowed to the other. Mr. Kim and his entourage continued towards the presumed exit, and my two escorts began walking back towards the rest of us.

“You know what, Kami?” I said before Isaiah got too close. “I’ve had more than my fill of those tactics for one evening - especially patience. If you’ve got anything useful on Sariel, email it to me, leave a voicemail, or send a courier with a briefcase locked to their wrist. Whatever floats your boat.” With a quick wave goodbye to Isong and Tanya, I marched towards Isaiah and Jim who stopped walking upon seeing me approach.

“We done?” asked Isaiah as I got near, raising his bushy eyebrows.

“Yeah.”

Jim glanced at my empty hands and frowned. “Where’s your dress?”

I stopped. “Dammit. If all the stupid agencies are watching that house in L.A., me walking out like this would be weird wouldn’t it?”

Isaiah ventured a smile. “It would.”

“Fine,” I growled. “I’ll swap outfits when we go through the portal.”

Jim had a puzzled look. “How’re you going to change clothes if you don’t have the dress?”

“Dude, just shut up and walk.” I kept going to where the Majordomo was waiting in front of the hazy shimmer floating in the air marking the portal’s boundaries. The overly tall representative of our host opened his mouth to spout whatever the usual pleasantries were for departing guests, but upon seeing my expression (which was in full bitch-mode, I freely admit) he merely bowed before silently gesturing to the portal.

I nodded and stepped through, although I was tempted to see if I couldn’t just teleport myself and avoid the imprecision of their spell. Given the stomach-lurching transition I really should have tried on my own. Granted the lingering between spaces did give plenty of time to build the intent to arrive with dress, sandaled heels, jewelry, hair, and makeup all in place just as they’d been when we’d gone through the first time.

With the dagger-points of the heels clicking loudly in the marbled foyer we’d departed from, we made our way back outside. Someone from Kami’s crew must have phoned ahead as Saito had already pulled the limo around and was waiting.

After Isaiah and I had both gotten into the back, I heard Jim ask Saito, “Are those two even human?”

Saito paused before answering.

“Not sure about him, but she certainly isn’t.”

For some reason hearing it said like that hurt.

 

~o~O~o~

 

When Saito asked where we wanted to go, Isaiah leaned forward and recited the address of a hotel further up the 101 freeway at the Channel Islands Harbor.

“Not your house?” I asked.

Our shared row’s leather creaked as he settled back into the seat. “It’s not safe. Grabbed what I needed earlier, everything is in the trunk.”

Wow. He had actually admitted to being in danger. Miracles never cease. Though after all that had happened tonight, it didn’t seem right to tease him about it.

So of course I did anyway. “Glad you’re finally seeing the light.”

“Ha ha. Cute.”

“Speaking of illumination, I guess I overdid it back there. Your ‘ghost’ was pretty upset.”

He removed the glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. “She was right to be. You almost fried not just the house but potentially Mexico City.”

“Not just the city, Boss.” Tracy sat across from us with legs folded and hands clasped over a knee. Every time we passed a particularly bright highway light she would fade out before regaining clarity. Her voice however remained clear. “If she’d kept that up it’d have threatened the planet. If not the entire solar system. Or worse.”

I tried to protest. “All I did-”

“Was manifest all six wings,” she interrupted, “and start charging up enough energy to power most of the sun.”

“Oh.”

She leaned forward. “’Oh’? That’s all you’ve got to say for yourself? You stupid, dangerous-”

“Tracy.” Isaiah tried to cut her off.

Yet she continued, and if my face had been in reach she might have slapped it. “-juvenile, foolhardy Seraph! There are rules for a reason! If I’d ever pulled such a stunt, my first boss would have-”

“Mirael!” Isaiah barked. “Enough!”

In surprise she shut up. Not that I was still paying any attention. Because through Gabriel’s memories I knew that name.

And along with that recognition came a lot more.

 

A broken helm lay across her palms.

Once shining gold and polished platinum with a rising plume proudly sharing all the colors of sunrise, the remaining fragments were tarnished and cleaved by an opponent’s mighty blows and billowing flames. Red stains smeared both inside and out, only the metal where a blade had then cleft it through remained gleaming. For the name from which it had been forged was lost.

Zuhael.

Never again would her song of the brilliant dawn be raised with great gladness, never again would her voice fill the hearts of all with the promise of a new day, never again would she raise their spirits to loftier heights and inspire them to fill that shining morning with their notes even more wondrous than any before discovered.

“How many?” Gabriel asked, voice barely above a whisper, to the angel who had delivered the wagon bearing fragments of armor and shards of blades, piled high with the remnants of so many shattered dreams. A stream of equally full wheeled vessels followed, their line stretching across the city and out the towering gate that had granted them entry.

“One thousand wagons, milady. From this morning alone.”

“And the Rebels? Do they abide the agreement?”

“Aye, milady. Our finders retrieve all, be they from theirs or ours.”

“They all are ours, Jael.” With a kiss to the helm’s cold surface and a single tear of falling diamond, Gabriel’s wings lifted her high enough to gently return the helm atop the multitude. “Every last one.”

Chastened, the angel in simple armor of white and gold lowered his head. “Yes, milady.”

“Deliver them unto the place prepared. Deliver them unto remembrance.”

Taking up the chains before the mighty wagons of jeweled steel, his feathers beat once then again and wheels taller than the archangel herself creaked as all rolled forward across the perfect pavement of Heaven.

Behind her hovered two angels more: one covered in obsidian and gold with a face hidden behind metal of its own, and the other in undecorated silk of brilliant white matching the centers of his wings, for black had trimmed the feather’s edges.

“Why?” asked the one in armor. “Why preserve these pieces? They are of no further use.”

Gabriel turned. “To ask such reveals you would not understand the answer, Camael.”

As the warrior remained silent to the admonishment, the angel in white ventured to speak. “The First requests your presence by the gate. For more has arrived than your wagons.”

“If the bringer of light has need of me, thereto shall I go.”

Above the trail of wagons flew the trio, alighting upon the surface once more on the stones of a wide courtyard resting behind the Eastern Gate. Away from the wagons’ slow procession were ten rows of ten angels each, all armored in burnished reds and the deepest of blacks.

Except unlike the warrior guards they carried no weapons, and all were upon knees with hands and wings bound tightly by golden ropes forged of the light and will of Lucifer who hovered before them. One knelt in front of the rest, with forehead placed upon the polished tiles before the bare feet of the Morningstar. Many wounds had been visited upon the prisoners, each hastily bound with leather and cloth leaking drops of blood to stain the ground.

The First’s eyes and wings flared with fierce intensity, a severe blazing focus Gabriel had only witnessed when her progenitor’s sight attempted to pierce the potentials of what may come - or when he himself wrestled with some inner conflict.

Here and now, Gabriel perceived he burned with both.

“Camael, Gabriel, Azrael,” said Lucifer without preamble. “The war council has assigned you three a task.”

“Which is, Lord?” asked Azrael, his face aglow with purest devotion for the superior of his House.

Pointing to the kneeling angels who counted one-hundred and one, Lucifer gave declaration.“Determine the fate of these prisoners who approached and surrendered to our guards. And carry out their sentence.”

Gabriel’s heart lurched into her throat. “I recuse myself. I cannot-”

“Not accepted.” Those unmatched burning eyes turned upon her. “You will vote and you will act. By command of Elohim shall this be done.”

“Let Him choose another.”

“He will not. By His word are you chosen, Gabriel. As is Camael.”

Azrael’s feathers rustled. “What of me, Lord? Did He not mention me?”

Lucifer gazed upon the one whom others had termed his ‘Seneschal’, for unless dispatched on errand Azrael was ever by his side. “Elohim bade me select the third.”

“I am honored, Lord.” Azrael bowed low his head. “May we question the prisoners prior to our verdict?”

“You may.”

Azrael immediately turned to the one in gold and crimson who knelt before the Lightbringer. “Your name. What is it?”

Blood-red bangs fell across the immaculate contours of her cheeks as she lifted them to give answer. “I am Mirael, Lord.”

“Of what House? And are you the leader of these?” Azrael gestured towards the others.

“I am their Captain, Lord. We are of the Mashschitim.”

Flames the same color as her hair flared in Camael’s hand as within its grip appeared his tall and fiery blade. “They are Destroyers. Of Samael’s cursed House. They die.” The warrior took a step forward.

“No!” With a burst of wind, Gabriel rushed to place herself between sword and prisoners. “They surrendered!”

Azrael too stepped between flaming sword and bound angels. “One vote of death, one of life. But my questions are not yet satisfied.”

“Ask them all you wish,” said Camael. “Know however that my vote shall not be swayed.”

Lucifer, watching all with eyes burning upon past, present, and future, said nothing.

Azrael acknowledged the warrior of crimson fire with a nod and moved to stand over the bound captain. “Your squadron bleeds. Yet you were not captured in combat by those loyal to the Host of Elohim. Speak, then. Whose weapons inflicted these wounds?”

“By those who rebel, Lord. We fought to cross their lines in our march to the City.”

Camael grunted. “So they betrayed their own.”

Azrael ignored this. “Was there a change of heart?”

“No, Lord.”

“Explain.”

“Our assignment was to guard the Edge for the turn of a single Day within our cherished City. But no replacement squad arrived. Long did we wait - a hundred times the allotted span - and so a scout was sent to discover what had transpired. It was he who learned of Lord Samael’s betrayal - for our Commander bade him return with orders for all to join the siege.”

“Yet you did not.”

“There was disagreement within our unit, Lord. Many would have obeyed the command. We are all who remain.”

Azrael considered this, then asked, “And for what do you hope, Mirael of the Mashchitim? The Seat of Destruction lies shattered in the Halls of the Most High.”

Her head rose higher. “If we cannot continue to gift our words in service to the Throne, then let us perish still loyal to its glory. By their hands or yours.”

Camael lifted the fiery sword. “They die with honor.”

Gabriel gasped, spreading arms to protect those behind. “Die? They are innocent!” Searching Azrael’s face, she said, “You know this to be true.”

But Azrael stepped away, troubled at the responsibility of decision and the pitfalls of incorrect verdict. “They are Destroyers. It is their nature - the same root leading their leader to desecrate all fills them each. To let them live risks repeat of folly already suffered.” Pursuing certainty, Azrael called out to his mentor. “Lucifer! Have you no illumination to offer? Your eyes catch the myriad and shifting possibilities, what guidance is seen therein?”

Standing without expression, the First spoke. “Seek not my vision, beloved brother. Instead seek the truth inherent in thyself.”

Gabriel watched as Azrael began to shake, a tremendous surge building within him. In his eyes she saw him question.

In his heart she felt him answer.

 

Truth?

What exactly is truth?

How is it discovered?

And how can one separate that which is flawed from that which is merited - how is Truth pulled free of Falsehood?

Except he had done so before. When the First had cast forth the Light and forged the fundament upon which they stood, he too had acted. Sword and Will had cut across that Light, dividing it into that Which Is and that Which Is Not.

That had been Worthy.

That had been Good.

But that act required placing restraint upon the infinite. It required discernment. It required boundaries.

For only in the finite could meaning be found.

Only in the finite could it be Created.

 

Whereas Lucifer’s eyes glowed solid, so now did Azrael’s fill with a twilight shine all their own. With his whole being atremble, the Source of All moved across his wings. Blackened edging expanded across each feather to swallow the white and empty canvas with the depths of night’s following shades.

And upon this tapestry spilled shining dots of understanding - each a tiny gap offering but a glimpse to a higher realm.

A place of Perfection. A place of Peace. A place of Knowing.

And few were they who would ever tread the paths beyond that veil.

That feeling, that separation, that comprehension of perception spilled forth to encompass the one-hundred and one. Newborn Purpose overwhelmed each in turn, bringing with it the repairing of their patterns and the healing of their wounds. In so doing were their wings also transformed.

As he gazed upon those whose feathers now mirrored his own, Azrael found himself speaking. His proclamation cracked like volcanic thunder across stones and walls to roll from Gate to Gate and fill the entire City.

Indeed it resonated directly upon the Throne.

“Judgment is rendered. To its Seat these are given.”

As the echoes faded did Lucifer smile and beam with pride upon the newest Archangel. Though Gabriel’s finer senses caught the slightest taste of one additional emotion:

Sorrow.

 

Chapter 19 - Elephants

 

“You remember me.”

“Yes.”

Tracy and Isaiah were staring at each other. The flicker of passing headlights fell across Isaiah, his expression haunted by more than just the ghost sitting across from him. With my own vision still lingering upon a different scene entirely, I stayed quiet.

“Since when?”

“A shield to the spine shoved it loose.”

“Sorry, Boss.”

His face tightened then fell slack. Tilting back against the seat’s headrest his eyes closed. “Explain to her what she needs to know.”

A still angry glance shifted to me. “Shouldn’t she have learned all this as Aradia? I thought you taught her.”

Meeting her glare I spoke up. “Azrael only taught Aradia how to limit her power so she wouldn’t flare into a pile of ash on the rug. She never was an angel.”

“I see.” Swallowing annoyance, Tracy sat up. “I’m not sure where to even start.”

I shrugged. “I’d say to start with the beginning but you might take that literally. And I think I’ve got the ‘Let There Be Light’ part down well enough.”

She may not have laughed but my friend chuckled. I counted it as a win.

“You joke but that’s exactly the problem,” the former Maschitim said in all seriousness. “Alright, let’s go with some basics of manifestation. The wings are representative of reaching to higher levels - they are channels to the Above.”

I nodded. “I’ve figured that much out.”

Her scowl threatened a return. “The physical realm, while its perceptions are more solid, is in its own way delicate. The balance of spirit and material must be maintained. Or else.”

“Or else what?”

“It could collapse.”

I stared. “You know, you’d think something as important as that would be provided in like an ‘Angels For Dummies’ book for us noobs.”

Rubbing his forehead, Isaiah said, “Lesser angels created by Elohim come into existence with all the knowledge necessary for their role.”

Tracy nodded. “You’re the first greater angel to emerge on their own since before the First War. Look,” she said, leaning forward again with elbows on knees, “If you manifest too much of your full self here the space can’t take it. The Seal that Azrael and Gabriel put into place prevents the rest of us from doing it at all, but before that no higher angel that I know of dared go beyond the first two wings in energy.” She paused. “How much do you remember of the Grigori conflict?”

“I remember how it ended. It was a wet mess.”

“But do you really believe Camael and the Powers weren’t strong enough on their own to deal with a single proto-Archon, a handful of fallen Grigori, and a crew of warped and limited spirits all without breaking a sweat? Not hardly. The difficulty was with where they were: here on Earth in the physical. It’s like showing up to a medieval battle armed only with a thousand-megaton warhead.”

“That’d just wipe out everything.” I began to see the problem.

“Precisely. Which would only leave the country you were hoping to conquer as nothing but radioactive wasteland. Along with the rest of the continent.”

Pieces fell into place. It explained why the Grigori believed they’d had a chance to hold against the Host. They knew the Host could never use its full power against them - not without destroying the world.

Or maybe all of physical Creation.

Except Michael was indeed willing to take out the planet. And Gabriel had desperately sought a way to thread the haystack’s needle before the Host blew up the entire barn it sat within.

Aradia had provided her the solution: recruit the pantheons of other spirits who could more freely use their might within the rules. They had even recruited Nephelim to fight against their own, keeping all the damage local and within bounds so it would not threaten the balance.

Meanwhile Aradia was able to channel as much light as she could against that darkness safely - because she herself was a natural limiter. She was the perfect fusebox in the chain. Too much and she’d pop.

Except I wasn’t her anymore. All the safety controls were gone.

Sweat dripped across my forehead and I felt sick.

Sitting back Tracy placed ghostly hands on the seat before making her point more clear and thereby even worse.

“Amariel,” she said, her fierce eyes drilling holes directly through my skull, “if you truly have the potential to match Helel then if you aren’t careful you could trigger a new Big Bang.”

Oh.

Gulp.

Isaiah found a car-sick bag in the back of the limo’s mini-bar and offered it to me. After a moment’s green hesitation I turned it down.

I was determined not to waste those crazy-expensive appetizers.

 

~o~O~o~

 

Isaiah paid for the room with cash up front. The hotel clerk didn’t bat an eye at the wad of bills as he was too busy pretending not to stare at my chest and hips every chance he got.

Yeah, the pimply-faced surfer kid was young.

We had bid Saito farewell in the parking lot next to the marina. There were more white boats tied up to the docks than cars, but maybe it being the middle of December had something to do with that.

I mean sure it was cold, but by my messed-up standards it was downright cozy.

Upon reaching our third-floor room, Jim wouldn’t let us enter as he insisted on going in first to peer behind all the doors and into all the closets.

“It’s clear,” he announced from the bedroom.

“I could have told you that,” I grumbled as we walked in, Isaiah pulling a wheeled suitcase with a matching smaller one stacked atop along. He had also gotten the suite next door - one that had connecting doors between them if both sides unlocked. I hadn’t asked for my own room, but after checking in he’d handed over the key along with my passport and the other two cards he’d kept for me in a pocket.

The key was one of those electronic card ones so it fit right in with the rest.

Inside was a small kitchen and living room nestled before sliding doors and a balcony that looked westward towards the ocean. There were other buildings between us and the open water, but the sea was visible beyond due to our height. A waxing moon hovered over the waves, its reflection on the waves shimmering as its own lighthouse beam aiming back towards shore.

Jim returned from the bedroom. “Jordan, want me to check your room too?”

“No need. On this floor there’s only an older couple at the far end. No one is in the rooms directly below ours either.”

The bodyguard turned to Isaiah. “How the heck does she know all that?”

My friend was at the sink, having removed glasses so he could wash his face. After toweling off he blinked in my direction. “She probably sees their souls through the walls.”

I shrugged. “It’s a talent.”

Jim stared. “You’re serious.”

“Yep.”

“Jesus.” Shaking his head, he took off his coat revealing the Glock pressed against the white dress shirt. “I really need to hit the can.” He went into the bathroom and the door closed with a loud thunk.

That left me and Isaiah standing in the room amidst a weirdly awkward silence.

“So, uh, what’s the plan?” I asked, moving closer to the sliding doors so I could get a better view of the outside scenery.

“Do you think they’ll make another attempt tonight?”

I leaned a shoulder against the glass. “What, here at the hotel? I thought you paid cash.”

“I doubt Sariel will track me using a hacker. And while I do have an amulet to protect against being found with magic, the fact remains that you’re here.”

“So?”

“I grilled Diego about how Sariel found out about the team being in Egypt; he said you stand out like the sun on the spirit-side wherever you go.”

“Oh. That.”

From the reflection in the window I saw him put the towel on the counter. “Yes, that.”

“Want me to leave?”

“No. After what I witnessed tonight my money would be placed on you should they be stupid enough to try anything.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Grinning, he bent down to pull out a bottle of water from the well-stocked mini-fridge. “And if you screw up, I’m sure my spirit will yell at you in the hereafter. Provided you don’t nuke that too.”

“Dude, seriously?”

He shrugged. “Could happen.”

“Ugh.”

“I’ve got calls for work I need to make. You should turn in.”

“What time is it?”

“Quarter past nine. Which means it’s after midnight for you.”

“I’m good. I can go without sleep when needed - and I’m not sure I’d wake up here if I did.”

After a thirsty swallow from the bottle, he lowered it before wiping his chin. “Can you port back to this hotel?”

“I don’t know. Maybe? Worst case I can pop by the storage units again. But without Khan next to me I’ll likely slip away. Happens even if he’s there sometimes.”

“I’ll ask Tracy to wake you up before you do.”

“You mean Mirael.”

Pipes in the walls chattered from Jim flushing in the other room. The ruckus switched to a squeak as the bodyguard turned on the faucet to wash his hands.

Isaiah pointed the bottle at the closed door. “That’s a conversation for another time.”

Putting my back to the glass I faced him directly. “You keep doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Postponing any discussion of the numerous lurking elephants.”

The door clicked open and Jim came back out.

Isaiah put on his I’m-going-to-be-stubborn-about-this face. “Go get some sleep.”

With a foot I pushed off the window. “Fine. Wake me up if any assassins get past the arsenal here.”

The poor bodyguard blinked as I walked past. “Arsenal?”

“Sorry, Jim. That wasn’t fair. Though if I were you I’d charge this guy more.”

“What? Why?”

Pausing in the hallway outside the room I looked back over a shoulder. With a wicked grin at Isaiah I said, “Because of the elephants.”

My friend laughed and the door clunked shut.

Shuffling the few feet to the entrance of my own suite I went on in.

First up was using one of the room’s phones to leave a message for Penelope to give me a call when she woke up. I needed to hear that my kitty was okay. Sleeping without him was going to suck, which it of course always did. She’d better have been giving him good snugs during the night or I’d tell her to let Jenna take care of him instead.

Not that I really worried. Every report I’d received was that my little guy had been thoroughly spoiled by the residents of the cottage before I’d returned from the so-not-a-vacation to places both icy and set aflame. He’d even gained some weight, though I’d promised him I wouldn’t tell the vet.

But I still wanted to hear he was alright.

That done and despite the unexpected allure of the large bed and the invitingly thick hotel-beige comforter, I decided a shower was absolutely required before climbing under any sheets. Walking into the bathroom I flipped the light-switch and smiled at what awaited me in there.

Isaiah had gotten me a room with a hot tub.

Hallelujah.

After filling the basin and climbing in, I lay there with arms floating amidst the bubbles while the brain (because it’s stupid) decided to recap the day.

Let’s see:

During the previous night’s sleep I’d met with an archangel and created a new realm for some otherwise lost-in-the-cosmos fae, gaining a queenship for myself in the process.

I’d then passed my martial arts final by not engaging any actual martial skills, only to follow that with blackmailing (or, depending on how you looked at it, Faustian bargaining) my way out of any further exams.

Learning to go invisible to physical detectors, I’d flown from New Hampshire to Miami (oops) and then to North Carolina to have an awkward discussion with a friend about first one book and then another.

Teleporting to Los Angeles I’d again been interrogated (well, not really - more like talked to) by the DPA about an attempted murder. Of my best friend. By the same asshole Grigori no less that had tried to nuke the Middle East and whose attempt to do so had kept me from being at my niece’s side in order to prevent her death.

After that I figured out how to make my own clothes (useful!) and attended an event in Mexico where we were surrounded by dragons from all over the globe eating the best finger-foods outrageous gobs of money could buy.

I then had to fight one of them (because of course I did) and everyone learned that my deceased niece’s former roommate was carrying the potential future of an entire species of spirits inside her. Though this was only after I nearly destroyed a city. Or continent or whatever.

Then it was off to Olympus itself (shiny columns!) where I had the distinct non-pleasure of finding out that my soul was the product of brutal spiritual rape. And after a brief conversation with an Egyptian deity of chaos and war (who oh-so-wanted to get into my shorts), I went off to basically threaten all the gods and spiritual powers of the world to not go do anything stupid. I think.

Which when you put it in context with what I myself had come close to doing only an hour prior was practically comical.

To top everything off I then relived the moment that the Seat of Judgment within the Temple of the Most High was metaphorically forged from the ruins of the Seat of Destruction and how my friend’s spirit got stuck being the one to sit upon it. And as a result of that he’d been assigned to lead the leftover angelic Destroyers. Oh, and the captain of those said Destroyers just so happened to be my friend’s legal assistant, also deceased due to a previously failed assassination attempt against him.

Good grief. No wonder I was so tired.

With a groan I got out of the tub, toweled off, threw on some manifested pajamas (like I said, useful!) and crawled into bed.

 

~o~O~o~

 

I was dreaming.

It was one of those frustrating sequences where a part of you realizes you’re stuck inside the dream, but the you acting within is helpless to fight against the narrative tide no matter how much you tried.

Because before me was a shut wooden warehouse door. That warehouse. By the river.

The one I really didn’t want opened. Not again.

A five-eyed demon sneered while standing on turf soggy with mud, water, and more as what was inside had leaked out to form small pools of crimson amidst the weeds.

With a shout from the demon the high door snapped upwards.

This time that which lay behind exploded out to smother me with cold, wet, and dead.

Throat screeching, I thrashed under the onslaught of limbs, torsos, and oh god - the heads. Each with eyes staring accusingly even while being tossed madly aside as I scrambled on desperate hands and feet to get atop the ever growing pile.

Many of them had wings.

Struggling to stand, a spear was used as leverage by impaling itself on things squishy and raw.

And still the pyramid underneath grew.

All around a vast emptiness stretched except it wasn’t empty. For there were pyramids in every direction, all built not with stone but broken flesh. Upon their tops those I’d left behind struggled vainly to keep their footing, their cries reaching for me while out of a smoke and fire choked sky bodies continued to fall.

Twitch. Hank. Vance and the twins. Horatio and Veronica. Captain Erglyk. Even the towering Balus was no match for the flood of raining death.

All were swallowed. All were silenced.

While the rain of bloody gore kept falling.

Hands grabbed an ankle. Maddalena’s face peered past entrails, her smeared lips forming words she no longer had lungs to empower.

Yet I understood all the same.

“I…still…believe…”

I screamed and kept on screaming.

 

When clarity returned I was hovering on my back over the carpet of the room two floors below with Mirael’s helmeted head poking down through the ceiling.

“You okay?”

Yes, I did mean Mirael. She’d popped wings in the middle of our struggle after she’d tried to wake me up by touching a shoulder. I’d panicked, pinning her hand with one of my own while the other - already bursting with energy - had lunged for her throat. At which point she’d instantly donned full armor, grabbed the attacking forearm, and tried to hold me down to the bed.

Except I’d focused so purely on her that I’d slipped fully spirit-side and went right through it instead, pulling her with me as I did.

We had thrashed about between floors until I’d woken up enough to realize she wasn’t actually an armored-clad demon trying to do, uhm, unsavory things.

“Shit. Yeah.”

Folding away the pair of wings, I attuned to the physical world and the resulting gravity pulled my purple pajamas-wearing butt that last foot to the floor. At least I hadn’t gone for four (or dear lord all six) of the feathered things.

She came down the rest of the way and began rubbing under her chin at a spot the helm had offered no protection. “That’s a mean elbow you got there.”

“I’m so, so sorry.” Pulling knees up I plonked forehead against them a couple times. “I should have warned you. I get these nightmares sometimes and I wake up rough.”

After landing she removed the helm then tilted her neck from side to side as if to work out a kink. “Bad dreams? Really?”

“Snippets of Gabriel’s past sometimes - not usually the pleasant ones. But lately they’re more the subconscious running rampant all on its own.” I suppressed a quick shake that tried to run up the spine.

“I heard you escaped Hell.”

“Yeah.”

“Tough times down there?”

A shrug was offered as answer.

“You talk to anyone about it?”

“I’ve got a therapist.” I ran a hand over the beige hotel carpet. It felt not entirely unlike rubber.

“Sure, but have you actually told them anything?”

“What makes you think I haven’t?”

She chuckled, causing her wings to spread before they settled again. “Because if you’re like the boss you won’t want to share. Not until you think you’ve worked it all out in your head first.”

“I’m not like him that way.”

“You sure?” She smiled. “It’s one of the traits he picked up from Lucifer. The whole noble martyr thing. Unless you’re claiming not to be stubborn?”

“Uh, I plead the Fifth.”

“Nice try. That excuse won’t fly before the Council. You want my opinion? You both need to talk. And you’re probably the only one he’ll open up to.”

“He won’t with you?”

She snorted. “As Tracy, he blames himself for my death. As Mirael, he’s my CO - and Azrael has given rather violent orders in the past.”

“You remember all of it?”

“I do now. Integration was…interesting. But I had help from the Boss’ other half outside the Seal. Although I’d classify his methodology as doing things the hard way.”

“And you’re okay with it? With, you know, the violence?”

“Oh yes.” She grinned, and it wasn’t a human expression. It was the exposed teeth of a pure predator, of someone willing and able to slaughter her way past any obstacle to achieve her required ends. The smile of an absolute killer - not one without conscience, but one whose determination of right and wrong was total and beyond fanatical.

With the utter obliteration of ‘wrong’ being entirely her goal.

This time I couldn’t help it and shivered, but not from fear.

From recognition.

I had felt such certainties upon Balus’ shoulder as we strode across the battlefield visiting death and destruction to all who had dared opposed us.

Misunderstanding my reaction she shifted and Tracy’s kinder face took over. “C’mon, let’s get you back upstairs. Need me to get the boss to let you back into your room?”

Flexing my back I let re-emerged wings lift me up. “Nah, I’ve got a better idea. Gimme a hand?”

Shrugging she held one out and I took it, shifting perceptions until she became more “real’” than the room around us. “Right. Going up!”

Like riding an elevator without the actual elevator we slid back through the ceiling to my room. Once clear I let go and feet sank into more of that weirdly thick (but not really) carpet.

“Thanks.” Besides the bed where the comforter had balled itself into a mess, sat a clock. Six a.m. Remarkably with the time difference that meant I’d actually slept in.

“Neat trick,” she said. “Think you can do it without my help?”

Good question. “Possible. Though being able to focus on you helped against accidentally clashing with stuff along the way.” Various teleportation mishap tables from the ol’ gaming days came to mind, such as getting limbs stuck in walls that sort of thing. “Could be handy.”

She nodded. “Just be mindful of spirit-wards if you’re trying to be sneaky.”

“Sneaky? Stealth is definitely not my strong suit.” I grinned.

Tracy (she’d shifted back to blouse and skirt and put wings away) didn’t see the humor. “Sounds like a skill in need of development.”

“Eh, what I need right now is some tea.” The kitchenette, equipped with a coffee maker and the makings thereof, was disappointing on the tea selections. Rummaging through the cupboards all I found was a few foil packets which had quite rudely been decaffeinated.

I mean, seriously. What’s the point of those?

Hearing voices in the next room I felt hope. Opening the connecting door on my side and pushing in theirs, I walked out into Isaiah’s suite. “You guys have any proper tea? My room doesn’t.”

Isaiah was standing at the kitchen counter holding a steaming mug of freshly brewed coffee. Jim was in the living room using the small complementary ironing board and electric iron to press his slacks.

They froze.

Both were wearing boxers. Isaiah also had on one of those sleeveless white undershirts.

But that was it.

About then is when I remembered that I’d chosen to sleep in my favorite pajamas, manifested from memory to duplicate what Jenna had picked out for my rather lacking wardrobe. Which just so happened to be a loosely worn purple satin camisole top complete with spaghetti straps and a matching pair of itty-bitty pj shorts.

Hey, in their defense they were super comfy.

 

Chapter 20 - Gelt

 

Not knowing the proper etiquette of barging into a room full of half-naked men while looking like a questionably-legal model straight from the pages of a Victoria's Secret catalog, I had a split second to weigh options.

Option One: immediate retreat. This had the advantage of allowing time for recovery and for everyone to get fully dressed - potentially with never mentioning this again. The disadvantage however was the implicit acknowledgment of everyone’s embarrassment regarding the situation. Or at the very least my own.

Option Two was therefore deployed with all haste.

“G’morning boys,” I declared, marching directly into the kitchen. “My room is entirely out of tea.” After a quick look in the first empty cupboard I added, “Hey Jim, don’t burn those trousers.”

The bodyguard cursed and jerked the hot iron off his pants. If there was any damage, I didn’t see as I was too busy checking the next few cupboards.

“Good morning,” Isaiah said finally while continuing to stand exactly as he’d been. Which is to say rather woodenly directly behind the kitchen’s island counter facing the room. He sipped his coffee. “I think I saw some Earl Grey on the lower shelf to my right.”

“Ooh fantastic.” Flicking my head to get the long hair out of the way (as I hadn’t even put it into a ponytail yet) I crouched down next to Isaiah’s hairy legs to open the indicated cabinet. “Found it, thanks. Hooray! It’s not decaf!” I grabbed the entire box.

From the bedroom Isaiah’s phone began to ring. He made no movement to go answer.

Standing again I took a step back. “You gonna get that?”

He stared straight ahead. “I believe I need more coffee before dealing with the world.” It kept ringing and he just took another sip from the cup.

“Hey, is that a menorah?” A small silver multi-candlestick was resting on the counter. Six thin blue candles in a row had burned all the way to nubs and a seventh, on the higher stand in the middle, had also burned down. Underneath the candles the metal curved elegantly around a single Star of David at the center. “Wait - I knew it was coming, but did Hanukkah start already? Last year it was in the middle of the month.”

“Rabbi Kirov didn’t mention it? Hanukkah started last Wednesday.”

“Oh. He actually left campus the day before on personal business. He probably said something in his email attachment regarding our final paper, but uh, come to think of it I never read the whole thing.”

“Hmm. Should we be concerned for your grades this semester?”

“Nah.”

“Don’t tell me you have Senior-itis already.”

“Geeze, it’s not like getting a high school diploma really matters anymore.” Stepping past I started back to my room. “I’m gonna go have some tea, freshen up, and then we can figure out the day. Deal?”

Only Isaiah replied. “Deal.” Jim was too busy holding up a pants-leg to see if the triangular burn at the ankle was really all that visible against the dark fabric.

Yeah, it totally was.

Pulling the door shut behind I leaned against it and heard Jim ask in a strangled and confused voice, “Wait, she’s still in school?”

Isaiah didn’t answer. Instead he said, “I better go check who that was.” The floor shook as he jogged to the bedroom.

And no, I’m not going to describe why he couldn’t move from his spot against the counter while I was in there.

Though his boxers were a pretty shade of blue.

 

~o~O~o~

 

The cup of hot tea was good, it didn’t have too much bergamot. It was however missing having a fluffy kitty’s belly to rub while drinking. Which reminded me.

I grabbed the phone and called the school again. This time Penelope answered.

“Look,” she said really sounding really annoyed, “if this is another scam for erectile dysfunction solutions I’m going to hunt you down and do things to you with a jar of pickles you will regret forever!”

“Uh, hi Penelope?”

“Jordan! Hi! Oh, I’m sorry. My phone didn’t recognize your number.”

“That’s because I’m calling from a hotel. Didn’t you get my message?”

“Message, yep! But I was waiting until at least past seven out there to not wake you up if you were sleeping.”

“Thanks. How’s my kitty?”

“Khan’s doing great! Though I had an argument with Jenna over his breakfast. She brought back smoked salmon from the cafeteria and wanted to give it to him, along with some bacon. You know, to make up for you not being here again.”

“Oh my god, he’s not going to want to eat his regular kitty food!”

“I know, right? That’s what I told her! We had to compromise.”

“Compromise?”

“We’re spreading it out over each of his meals today. My room is a natural refrigerator so it’ll be fine.”

“Good lord.”

“Don’t worry! He’s gonna burn off those extra calories. Cantrel agreed to let him hang out more in the common room provided we clean his litter there morning and night. Everyone’s busy preparing for exams and he’s a great study-break buddy. They’ll have him chasing his toy mice for hours.”

When you thought about it, that was quite a shift. When I’d gone to the school it had been a fierce fight to let me bring him. I’d won but our headmistress, Mrs. Carson, had expressed extreme disapproval over the precedent and I’d had to promise quite vociferously to always keep him in my room. “Really? Is Cantrel going to get away with that?”

“Okay, you didn’t hear this from me, but apparently when you were, you know, missing for that week? Security cameras caught Mrs. Carson sneaking into your room to play with him.”

I couldn’t help but smile. “That’s my boy!”

“We tried to keep it quiet, but girls in the other cottages are way jealous. Some are even making excuses to study over here.”

“That’s hilarious. Well I don’t know when I’ll be back, maybe later today depending - so don’t promise the little guy too much. He’ll be all sad if some of this goes away when I return.”

“Oh! About that!”

“About what?”

“When you’re gonna get back. I got an email from August. He says to give you a message.”

My heart skipped a beat. Did August find something? “Go ahead. What is it?”

“He says - and I quote - ‘Tell Jordan that she most definitely needs some Sufganiyot from the Kadosh Cafe. The best batches are in the evening during Hanukkah. They’ll be amazing! Time’s running out on the holiday, so she and Isaiah better not miss it!’”

“The Kadosh Cafe?”

“I did some research online and I’m pretty sure I found it. Sufganiyot are like these jelly donuts, by the way.”

“Huh. So where is it?”

She told me and my stomach dropped a few inches. “Shit. That’s uh…that’s kinda far. I don’t know if Isaiah can go. He’s working this mega-sized legal case.”

“Is this message from August in some kind of code? Or is he really telling you both to get your butts out there?”

“I think he means it. And can’t tell us why.”

“Well, that’s silly. He could have encrypted the email.”

“Not really. He doesn’t want an archangel yelling at him.”

“You serious?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

“I better go. Thanks Penelope. You may need to take care of Khan for a few more days. So give my buddy a good scritching, apologize to him for me, and don’t let Jenna or anyone else completely spoil his diet.”

“Sure thing! And good luck with whatever it is.”

“Thanks.”

We hung up, and I swallowed the last bit of the tea. Double-checking that I was again decent (jeans, bra, t-shirt, tennis-shoes, hair-braided - good to go!) I knocked on the connecting door before opening it a crack. “Hey guys?”

Isaiah’s voice came from somewhere in the living room. “Come on in.”

I did so. Their shower was running and as Jim wasn’t in the room I made a reasonable assumption that he was the one scrubbing up. Isaiah was on the couch, still in the white undershirt but at least he had some pants on this time.

He also had an expression of total shell-shock.

“You okay?” I asked, moving over to sit next to him. “Something happen?”

Still staring towards the widescreen T.V. (which wasn’t even turned on), he pointed to the phone on the coffee table that rested next to an empty cup. “I got a call.”

“I noticed. Is it bad?”

“The case.” He swallowed and blinked.

“Uh oh. The judge rule against you or something? Is it hosed?” Wait, it was too early for the courts to be open. It wasn’t even eight o’clock yet.

My friend shook his head. “No. We just settled. For everything I demanded.” A smile began to creep onto his face. “I…I just personally made over thirty million dollars.”

What I did next was, uhm, kinda girly. Because I squealed and threw arms around him in a huge hug. “Holy shit! Congratulations!”

Still flabbergasted he sat there awkwardly returning the embrace until I pulled back.

“Wait,” I said, putting two and two together. “Was this because of last night?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” Remembering how he’d claimed the case was his alone with nothing to do with the angel weirdness, I asked, “Are you okay with that?”

He focused in on what I’d meant. “By stopping your overload, I saved the patriarch of the entire chaebol group that owns the company we’re suing.”

“But you wanted the win to be yours. Not Azrael’s.”

“I’m not sure it wasn’t. I think he wanted you to go all the way.”

“I would have-”

He interjected. “You would have possibly destroyed the world if not more. But not the souls. If you’d managed to perceive the universe in full, then Azrael could have taken that vision and rendered final Judgment. On everything.” As that sank in he added quietly, “It would have fulfilled his burden’s purpose, all at once. His greatest desire.”

“But you stopped it. You forced me out of it.”

“Did I? Could I have stopped him if he was well and truly intent on something?”

“I don’t know.”

“Neither do I.”

We sat there in silence, each of us contemplating our own internal horrors.

“Though,” he finally said, “it wasn’t Azrael who subtly reminded Mr. Kim that he owed me a life debt before we left.”

“You didn’t!”

A sly grin spread across his lips. “I did.”

“Hey, Mirael helped.”

He chuckled. “One way or the other she’s on my payroll, right? Still goes to me.”

“You gonna give her a bonus?”

“Ask at the next review period. Which for angels is what, another hundred thousand years?”

“Dang. Remind me not to work for you.”

“So noted.”

We both laughed, though there was an edge of hysteria to the merriment. Neither of us wanted to admit how freaked out we were on how close we came to doing something truly horrible.

“Dude,” I said as the borderline-uncomfortable laughter trailed off. “You got a passport?”

He grew suspicious. “Yes. Why?”

I gave him a mischievous smile of my own. “I happen to have it on good authority that there’s a place we absolutely must go to celebrate.”

“Where?”

“Happy Hanukkah, my friend. You and I are going to Jerusalem!”

 

 

If you have enjoyed this story so far, please let me know below! Thanks for reading!

- Erisian

 

The Light Between (Part 6 of 8)

by Erisian

Book 5

 

If you have yet to read the saga - the tale starts here:

Into The Light

Hope you enjoy!

 

Chapter 21 - Limits

 

The nice thing about being friends with someone who just became ridiculously wealthy is a decision such as “let’s go to Jerusalem” is easily turned into a phone call to dispatch some assistant into booking flights, hotel, and ride to the airport.

You then get to sit back, enjoy a cup of tea (or coffee), and wait for details of the itinerary to magically appear.

Okay, so Isaiah stayed on the line so he could approve the hotel and also relay the required information from my passport. Delegation was never really his strong-point.

Thinking about things, I realized I needed to make a phone call of my own and sneaked back to my room to use the one in there, dialing the number from - what else? - memory.

The Director’s assistant, once she heard who I was, quickly got the man himself on the line.

“This is Goodman.” Despite the early hour, he sounded fully focused.

“Good morning! How ya doin?” The tea must have been working as I too sounded perky.

“Jordan. You didn’t stay long at the Los Angeles socialite event last night.”

“Ha. You had agents following. Never mind, of course you did.”

“Did something happen to cut the evening short?”

“Yeah, but not there. The real action was elsewhere.”

He paused. “Mexico?”

Huh, good guess. “I can neither confirm nor deny.”

“There are reports of a bright anomaly in the sky outside their capital. Satellite images have come back all static.”

“Yeah, well, it was a real blast.”

“Are you able tell me about it?”

That was a good question. “I was there as someone’s guest, so no. But even that was only a precursor.”

“For?”

“I’ll say this much and then better shut up: for now I don’t think the gods and powers will be attacking Egypt.”

“The gods and…I see.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you sure?”

“Someone may have threatened them a little if they did.”

“Someone.”

“Yep.”

“Who?”

“Uhmm…”

He figured it out as under his breath he muttered, “Jesus.”

“Nope, not him! Though that’s an amusing segue into why I called.”

“Given the circumstances, I am terrified to ask what the conversational connection could possibly be.”

Oh. Oops! I snickered. “Sorry, no, nothing like that. It’s just that me and Isaiah - we’re going to Jerusalem. Today. I wanted to let you know.”

“Why?”

“To give you a heads-up? Being friendly here.”

“No, why go to Israel? More specifically: why are the first and fourth Horsemen - apologies, Horse-people - of the Apocalypse suddenly departing to the Holy Land? Is this it? Are you two going to start the war at the End of Days?”

“Uh, wow. No. At least, I hope not!”

“Then why?” The man’s voice, normally so perfectly controlled, cracked. The poor guy, the stress of all of this must really be taking a toll.

“Well, we need to eat donuts at a restaurant there tomorrow night.”

“Donuts.”

“Yep. Sufganiyot, fried in oil. They’re like jelly donuts. It’s a Hanukkah tradition.”

“That…that’s absurd. Just say you aren’t going to tell me. Don’t make up ridiculous stories.”

“Dude, I’m giving it to you straight! I’ve been told that we need to be at a specific restaurant tomorrow night and to be sure to try the pastries. I don’t know why. But I absolutely trust the source. And before you ask, yes they’re angelic.”

“If you truly don’t know, then anything could happen. And I mean anything.”

“They’re trying to help me find the Book of Raziel. Remember the book that had everyone scrambling in Aleppo? Camael had it before he followed me to Hell. I’m trying to figure out what he did with it.”

“And donuts are going to help?”

“Donuts help everything! Sorry - couldn’t resist. Look, just like you’re frustrated that I can’t tell you details all the time, so is my source with regards to what they can and can’t tell me. That’s all I’ve got: a location and a time window. I don’t dare miss it.” I paused then added, “Even if I have to pick Isaiah up and fly him there myself, we’re going. But first class sounds a lot more pleasant and is likely to be much less noticeable than if I cause sonic booms across the Atlantic every time I need to slow down to consult a compass.”

I gave him a moment to contemplate my traversing NATO airspace at high speed and low altitude. After all, I’d have to fly low so Isaiah could breathe. Just like a radar-evading missile.

Even then I wasn’t expecting his next statement.

“How can the U.S. Government be of assistance?”

“Uhm, that depends on how much plausible deniability you want - you know, should things get messy. With my track record of epic disaster I’m not naive enough to think it can’t happen.”

“What ID will you be using?”

“The passport for Jane Baghdadi blew up when I did, so I had to use the one for Jordan Emrys to get on the flight. Which is now full.” Danielle had carried my passport with her when she and Erica had flown out to Egypt. I really had a hard time holding on to such things, huh. But then again, with how confusing my identity has been of late that was somewhat poetic.

“That may be just as well. Israeli Intelligence is likely monitoring for Baghdadi due to the events in Syria.”

“Oh.”

“Here, I’ll give you the number of our embassy in Tel Aviv and the Consulate in Jerusalem. The Consulate is just south of the Old City in Arnona. If you need anything - and I mean anything - call them. Tell the receptionist you’re declaring a Hezekiah scenario. They’ll get someone cleared to help you on the line as quickly as they can.”

“Hezekiah? You’ve been reading the Old Testament.”

“With what’s been happening how could I not?”

“Good point. And thank you, Director. I hope I won’t need to call.”

“That makes two of us.”

“By the way, is there any news on the shooter? The debris reveal anything?”

“No. We’ve got subpoenas in the works for all security cameras in the area. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

“If the jerk used a portal to get to their perch they’ll have never needed to be on the street or even ride the elevator. Whose office space was it?”

“An accountant. They’ve been in Chicago for the past two weeks on business.”

“Huh. Who would have known it’d be empty?”

“Everyone in their firm and everyone who’d have seen him at the convention. And his wife posted about the trip on social media. She has many online friends; all together it’s a long list.”

“Joy. Good luck.”

“You learn anything in Israel - give me a call.” The man had hesitated in the middle of the statement, as if he’d almost inserted the word ‘please’ but then thought better of it.

“If I get anything I think you need to know, I’ll pass it on.”

Goodman grunted. I don’t think he was entirely happy with that response. Tough.

As promised he then relayed the two phone numbers and bid us safe flights before hanging up. One of these days I’d remember to ask him how his two kitties were doing. Maybe if we ever had a conversation that didn’t potentially encompass the fate of the entire world.

Wouldn’t that be nice?

 

~o~O~o~

 

“Dammit, this is crap.”

With a groan I ripped another yellow sheet of legal-sized paper from its pad. Crumpling it up, the ball of rejected verbiage joined its cousins in the seat-back pocket awaiting the next rounds of the flight attendant carrying a trash bag. Tapping the safer end of the ballpoint against my forehead, I again tried to figure out how to even begin this stupid essay.

Arrival to the airport had gone smoothly enough. We’d bid our goodbyes to Jim, and to our surprise Director Goodman had even dispatched an agent to smooth our way through security. Unfortunately that’s as far as his influence went and with us being a last-minute booking on an otherwise full flight to New York, Isaiah had gotten the last available first class seat and I was stuck in the back with all the other herded livestock.

Don’t blame Isaiah. He tried to offer me the better seat, but after pointing out how much older his comparably ancient and decrepit body was he’d given one of his flat disapproving looks and accepted the more luxurious accommodations.

Of course I’d forgotten how much longer my legs were than they’d used to be, something I was reminded of every time the kneecaps whacked the seat-back in front whenever needing to shift how I sat. Which I kept having to do as the middle-aged suit-and-tie guy in the seat between me and the aisle had these massively broad shoulders stretching far over the slender divider arm-rest between us. Not his fault, the dude clearly put in effort at the gym, but yeah getting comfortable had been tricky.

At least I had the view. There was a storm on its way across the country which our flight maneuvered around, so we were treated to sights of massive thunderhead cotton-balls stretching horizon to horizon. There was even the occasional flash of lightning.

Without phone, laptop, or even a book, my choices for this six hour stretch were to either stare wistfully at the sky or make repeated attempts to put thoughts to paper using handwriting skills which had instantly atrophied as soon as computer word-processing had taken over. All because the march of technology had removed all the in-flight screens on planes because naturally every passenger would have their own tablet or phone to connect to the airline’s wifi.

Sigh.

If I didn’t think I’d lose track of the plane were I to slip outside using the recently-learned trick I so would have.

Suit-and-tie guy’s stomach had been rumbling dangerously for a few minutes and the man shifted in his seat. Doing my best to pretend not to have noticed I started scribbling yet another introductory paragraph.

As his belly gurgled again he gave a grunt of obvious discomfort. With a third gastronomical acoustic emanation the man hastily popped his seatbelt free and booked it towards the nearest lavatory. I hoped he didn’t need fresh underwear, as that last round really didn’t sound too good.

And we hadn’t even been served any dubious airline food yet.

Right. The essay. Needed to focus.

After scratching off two more awkward sentences that then joined their crumpled comrades, I suppressed the urge to toss the entire pad of paper over the heads of the other passengers.

“Having issues?”

I hadn’t heard her approach. Or had even sensed her presence. She was just suddenly sitting there, legs longer than mine crossed under a platinum skirt perfectly matching the long hair flowing as if she’d just stepped out of the highest class beauty parlor to share with the world a face that any starlet would kill for. But she only existed to mundane senses - in spirit she was a disturbing void in human shape.

It was all I could do to not leap out of the seat, and as I had dutifully buckled the belt that would have caused all kinds of damage.

“Uh, yeah,” I said. “School assignment. No idea what to write.”

Her laugh was like windchimes made from crystals and razor blades. “School? Are you still wasting your time with that?”

“Passes the days. And I’ve got a partner on this essay I don’t want to let down.”

She pushed the button on the armrest and leaned the seat back. A guy a couple rows up caught a glimpse of her and was now openly staring back down the aisle over a pair of reading glasses. With the low cut top accentuating her curves she was a wet-dream on steroids, cheekbones cutting lines both innocent and absolutely seductive. I’d been told I was beautiful, but Alal took it to another level entirely. A dangerous one.

But that’s an Archon of Chaos for you.

Perfectly gleaming teeth that had never needed brushing smiled broadly. “And what educational topic could you possibly be so ridiculously struggling over?”

“The Ethics of Justice for Transcendent Beings. I don’t even know where to begin.”

Surprisingly she didn’t laugh at the topic. Instead she waved a perfectly manicured hand dismissively. “The answer is obvious: there is no such thing.”

“Wait, what?”

Pale irises reminiscent of vast frozen tundras stared into mine. “Examine the definitions of the terms. Start with justice. At its basis justice is a form of social control. Groups must have cohesion to continue working together, and they do so by creating rules in the service of the whole. The notion of justice is a mechanism for restoring social balance should a member upset the apple-cart. If someone steals from another, well then they must make restitution commensurate with what was taken to appease the group. This allows everyone to resume their version of normality.

“But,” she continued as a coldness slowly crept up my spine, “take a murderer who killed a child. There is no possible restitution to repair the damage they have done. The child’s soul will never experience the life that had once stretched before it, and their family will suffer the wound of the loss for the rest of their days. So what is justice then? Putting the murderer to death or forcing life-long imprisonment will never bring balance for their actions; punishment in this instance is to prevent recurrence and act as deterrent to other potential transgressors. Or it simply placates the rage and blood-hunger of those still alive whom they transgressed against. The entirety of the concept is dependent upon the perceptions of the group. A perceived injustice threatens the group’s coherency and if levied punishments no longer fit the accepted narrative of balance the society falls apart.”

She blew a kiss to the bespectacled man whose eyes went wide as he quickly spun back to pretend to focus on his laptop.

“The last term of your topic is much more interesting,” she went on without missing a beat. “Tell me, what do you think ‘transcendent’ means?”

This was something that had been giving me trouble, as I wasn’t sure I agreed with Cassius’ assessment. “Well, being beyond human is the standard usage I think. So I guess someone not stuck within the limits of natural law in the physical world?”

“Pah.” The icy landscapes rolled as she shook her head. “You’re thinking too small.”

“Don’t angels qualify?”

“No. They are bound even more tightly than the pathetic humans on this plane.”

I wasn’t sure if she’d meant this airplane or the entire material ‘plane’. Plainly either way worked though, pun absolutely intended. “What about archangels?” I asked. “They connect straight to the Source, right?”

“From the perspective of those whipped up in the Despot’s mixing bowl, they might qualify. For such as you and me? They fall short.”

“How so?”

She placed a hand on mine. To manifested perceptions her fingers were cool but soft.

My other senses however freaked the heck out.

Imagine touching utter emptiness and infinite possibility all at the same time. The duality tore at my spirit, the light both pulling away yet also aching to rush forth to fill the void that was not a void.

Everything and nothing, all incomprehensibly at once. Like standing at the precipice over a vast canyon waiting to be filled by whatever you wished to fill it with. And I do mean whatever. A blank check against an account with no ceiling.

It should have terrified me. I should have been screaming and feeling lost, a tiny speck against a scope and scale beyond rationality.

Except I wasn’t.

Burning within was a certainty I had never felt before.

Or had I?

Flinching, I yanked the hand back. Had the light pulsed? Had Isaiah noticed? I quickly looked towards the front of the airplane, but his spirit was still near the cockpit. The attention of Azrael had not redirected towards us.

Alal caught where my gaze had gone. “Have you realized what he is?”

“Understanding. Judgment.”

Her voice cracked with sharp frozen splinters. “He is Limitation. He is the enemy.”

“He’s my friend.”

“Our father thought so once. And has ever paid the price.” Interlacing fingers she stretched out arms forward until all knuckles cracked. “This assignment of yours is meaningless - even if the human Plato tried to argue otherwise with that ring hypothetical of his. A transcendent entity exists outside all petty definition. Which includes the concept of justice and any quaint notions of good and evil. We who stand on our own within the Primal Chaos need not accept the judgment of any other as only we few are truly real. All others are but phantoms.” She then patted a knee. “Remember this, sister mine, when the moment comes. For you are one of us.”

“You’re saying I’m an Archon of Chaos?”

“Of course. You crossed through and voila! Intact and from all appearances relatively sane.” She showed her teeth again with a grin both amused and predatory.

“Did you help?”

“Help? No. Watch? Oh yes. Though the popcorn could have used more butter. But isn’t that always the case?”

“I don’t remember it.”

She shrugged. “That sounds like a personal issue.”

I frowned, too many questions fighting for attention to make sense of them all. “Why are you here? I mean, this is the third time you’ve visited me. What do you hope to achieve?”

“Hope? I don’t hope. I exist, I observe, I act.”

“And I’m a part of your plans?”

“Only if you want to be.” This time she blew the kiss to me. “You aren’t there yet. But there is still time.”

“When Beliel went crazy you instigated the mob against Michael. You armed warriors for Samael’s rebellion. Do you really think I’ll stand with you against Heaven?”

“Hmm.” She stood, stepping out into the aisle before leaning forward under the carry-on bins to meet my eyes one more time. Platinum earrings dangled close, each a hanging slender dagger whose tip converged upon a single small ruby. “Heaven and its Host are irrelevant. A truth you’ll soon perceive. Enjoy Jerusalem - maybe it’ll clarify your little essay. After all, that city is ripe with the savage history of so-called justice. Take in the sights and ask yourself whether any of it has anything at all to do with you.” With a smile and “toodle-oo” wave of those long fingers she sauntered down the aisle, leaving me sitting there unsure of what else I should have said.

The businessman a couple rows up leaned out to fixate on her amazingly alluring posterior after she walked past. When Alal vanished between our cabin and the next, he startled and actually jumped out of his seat which caused the glasses to fall off his face and hit the aisle floor. After scooping them up he then threw a confused look back towards me which I pretended not to have seen.

I instead was staring again at the legal pad filled with yellow pages even emptier than before.

 

Chapter 22 - Fitting

 

We landed at JFK with a few hours to spare before boarding the much longer flight to Israel. With only fifteen minutes before the main bistro in the terminal closed we grabbed a table and ordered sandwiches. The last time Isaiah and I had eaten together at a restaurant he’d made me order for him as a test of who I was, but this time the man selected his own food.

Although he had to repeat his order three times ("Grilled chicken sandwich, and be sure the bread has no rosemary!") because our waiter couldn’t pull his attention away from staring at me like a dumbstruck stoner, one who wasn’t sure if I was real or an awesome hallucination due to tainted weed. His shaggy brown hair and permanent slouch did little to fight that impression.

The poor kid even stumbled over an empty chair when walking away as he kept glancing back. Chuckling at the rawness of his teenage embarrassment while he hustled off, I stretched and looked back to Isaiah expecting him to share the amusement.

Except he wasn’t.

“It doesn’t bother you?” he asked, his expression doing that lawyerly hiding of all emotions thing again.

“What? That kid’s harmless.”

“All of it.” He gestured towards me. “Being female.”

I shrugged. “Got used to it.”

“Looks like you’ve done more than that.”

“Hey, it’s not like I had a choice.”

He slid the napkin-wrapped silverware out of the way of where a plate would hopefully soon arrive. “You sure about that?”

“Excuse me?”

After a quick shake of the head he looked away toward the bistro’s bar area where a pair of businessmen were arguing over the crazy prices for the alcohol on their bill. “Never mind.”

“Dude, don’t give me that. What the heck did you mean?”

With an annoyed sigh, he turned back. “You can create clothes out of thin air. And cross to and from spirit. Have you tried manifesting as your old self? To be Justin again?”

“I…well no, guess I haven’t. Didn’t think to try.”

“Do you even want to?”

Did I? Good grief, that was a loaded question. Did I want to go back to being Justin Thorne and rejoin the ranks of middle-aged geeks? Sure it’d stop having guys stare at my chest and butt all the time, and if the DPA could resurrect him from the dead all my old credentials would be restored. No need for being at school and who knows - maybe I could get my house back too.

So why did the idea cause skin to crawl?

Isaiah closely watched my reaction and didn’t say anything.

Crossing arms under a protruding chest that I was suddenly extremely self-conscious about, I stared back. “And what if I don’t? Why do I get the feeling that bothers you.”

“Just how much of Justin is still in there?”

Oh for the love of…hmm. God? Elohim? Dangit, cursing had gotten complex. “I’m still him,” I growled. “Just been through a lot, okay?” I frowned as another thought clicked into place. “Wait, this isn’t really about me, is it.”

His eyes squinted dangerously behind the glasses. “Of course it is.”

“Some is sure, fine. Not all though. And what can I say, I’m comfortable as a girl. Maybe even more so than when I was Justin if forced to admit it. It’s, I dunno, hard to describe. Yeah there are things that are annoying - like when men get all dismissive or slobber over themselves because gee, she’s got boobs. And yeah, I’ve had some really freaking scary moments as a result.” I exhaled slowly. “Yet of all the insane changes that have happened, it may be crazy but I think becoming a girl has bothered me the least. Though I’m not the only one at this table who’s had some serious challenges to who we think we are.”

He pointed at me. “I haven’t been through anything as dramatic.”

I laughed. “That’s just it, the whole gender-flip is only a minor note. And you won’t have to worry about that kind of thing; Azrael would likely be just fine wearing your face. It’s not like anyone gets to see it anyway, what with how often he hides under that hood of his.”

At the mention of Azrael, Isaiah stiffened. He didn’t respond as our waiter showed up with our beverages: iced tea for me, and pomegranate juice (no ice) for my friend.

The server made it back to the kitchen without tripping this time too.

Once the hormonal teenager was out of ear-shot, Isaiah rubbed his face. “I don’t think I could handle it. Being a girl.”

“And you’re wondering how I can?”

“I suppose so.”

“It…it works, okay? It was shocking at first, sure. But you noticed it too after the change. Being able to smile easier, like I was more free. Maybe some of Justin’s melancholy was due to things not quite fitting. You know, inside.”

“He had reason to be depressed.”

I shook my head. “Even before losing Caroline there was an inner sadness. She just made it bearable. C’mon, can you truly say I was entirely stable and balanced when we met? I was on a permanent soul-seeking quest - and pushed you mercilessly to run the harshest scenarios in our games and stories. All to delve deep out of a crazed and desperate need to find some sort of internal balance or center. It was nuts.”

A smile peeked out from under the otherwise glowering expression. “You really did. Those all-nighters were brutal.”

“Yep. And you delivered. Which meant a dorky software nerd was better equipped for when destiny exploded in his - and then her - face. I owe you for those.”

He took a ridiculously long drink of his juice. “You made me run so many scenarios without any prep. Over and over again.”

I grinned. “I knew you could do it. You were brilliant.”

Putting the glass down he slowly spun it around. “Was I? I’ve wondered about that.”

“How so? Those stories were amazing.”

“I opened my mouth - and words came out. I never knew how you’d get out of the insane situations your characters got dumped into. At times I was but a witness.” He released the glass and looked at me. “It could have been a setup.”

“Uh, how so?”

“How much was me…and how much was him? Azrael could have been using me.”

“Dude. He is you. As you are him.”

“I’m just a-”

“Just a what? A mask? Listen for a minute, alright?”

Despite his annoyance at being cut-off he waved for me to continue.

So I did. “I’ve been thinking, and maybe our perspective on this whole spirit versus incarnate ego thing is messed up. The spirit is the abstract - deeper than even the subconscious, but bear with me here. You’re this identity as built up by the memories of this human life sure, except that’s still all piled on top of that deeper core. We’ve both had angelic memories kick our butts - heck, that keeps happening to me all the time. If yours are anything like mine you experience them as if you were standing right there reliving those moments. Not as a witness - to steal your term - but right there in the mindset of whichever coalesced identity was driving the spirit core around at the time. You see Azrael as this all-wise powerful being separate from yourself. Except I bet you’re staring at the angelic mask and mistaking it for the true spirit.”

“I’m me.”

“You’re also him. And I think the spirit underlying the aspects needs the wisdom both bring to the table - a need which already happened, remember? You’re a layer of ego for the true abstract - and so is he. From that position you’re entirely his equal.”

He stayed quiet and rotated the glass again.

“Don’t undersell yourself or your perspective.” After a sip of tea I casually added, “Oh, and before I forget to mention it - Alal popped in during the flight.” As his eyes widened I added, “She was also there in Egypt; she helped me get to the hotel where I found Kami’s team. You remember me telling you about her, right?”

“I know who she is.”

“Hmm. The way you said that sounds like there’s more there than just my descriptions. Azrael knows her too, doesn’t he.”

“Yes.”

Now that was interesting. “We should share notes. Other than being a platinum-haired goddess with womanly proportions that make mine seem like a plain-Jane, I’ve learned some disturbing things about her. She surfs the Chaos and has aided anti-Heaven mayhem. And yet she’s helped me.”

“When Lucifer forged the fundament upon which Heaven was built, Azrael acted.” My friend’s tone had shifted, and his eyes had drifted far away. If I’d only been taking video, it’d have been perfect evidence for everything I’d been trying to tell him.

Examining old memories he continued. “With his sword did Azrael slice the Light into Known and Unknown, with the Unknowable beyond. Out of that cut across the chest of the First did two drops fall. From one did Gabriel emerge, the dream held by the Light made manifest.”

He turned that ancient penetrating gaze back at me. “The blood of the other fled unto Chaos. Gabriel’s twin, she joined the denizens who live outside Creation to become the Archon known as Alal.”

If he was going to say more neither of us got to find out as Isaiah’s phone rang from inside his jacket. Talk about annoying timing. Shaking off the mindset of an archangel, Isaiah fished it out and answered.

“Hello? Yes…good…wait for me there.” He hung up and my friend blinked. “Stay here and watch my carry-on; I need to go get something outside security.”

“Uh, okay?”

Without explanation he stood and hurried off through the terminal. Naturally that’s when our sandwiches arrived.

“Here you go,” said the stoner-like dude as he deposited the two plates. “And uhm, also here’s this. We’re closing up so if you don’t mind…?” He put the printed bill on the table next to my meal. I had to squirm a bit to get fingers into the stupidly-tight jeans pocket holding my credit card but finally succeeded - not that the waiter hadn’t enjoyed watching the attempt.

While chewing the Italian sandwich (salami, capicola, cheese, lettuce, and tomato) thoughts kept mulling over Isaiah’s obvious struggle with what kept happening to him. He was worried about losing himself - heck, he could even now be freaking out that he’d just changed modes in the moment without realizing it and be wondering if who he was before this mess started had already slipped away.

That prospect could be scarier than the more abrupt shift I’d gone through. He might be waking up every day asking whether he was still himself. Whereas I was me, and while the whole “higher self” angelic version had at times been distinct and separate, the shifting thought patterns had never been jarring.

If anything they were weirdly smooth.

Was it really the same for Isaiah? Would he tell me if I asked? The conversation with Tracy about not talking to others came to mind. Which reminded that I was guilty of the same.

Eventually (way after my own sandwich had mysteriously disappeared) Isaiah returned. Dangling from a hand was a backpack - and not just any backpack. It was mine, complete with the Academy’s logo stitched over the side pockets and some specifically located mud stains from having been carelessly dropped during wet weather.

“Here,” he said, handing it over.

“Dude!” Feeling the weight, I pulled it onto my lap to unzip the various pouches and smiled at what I found. “My laptop! And phone!” There were a number of other items wedged in there as well - like my makeup kit, extra hair-ties, feminine products which I didn’t really need, and even a small purse. “And uh, girly stuff! How’d you get this?”

Isaiah smiled as he sat back down in front of his now-cold sandwich. “I put in a couple calls right after takeoff once we were able to use the airline phones. It was a race between the courier service driving down from Whateley and our flight. We won, but not by much. There’s also a checked bag for you with clothes from your cottage. Mrs. Cantrel did the packing.”

Headphones, chargers, and even a couple of books: the one by Aryeh Kaplan on Kabbalah where each paragraph required at least five readings, and another by Jack L. Chalker - The Identity Matrix. Mrs. Cantrel probably thought she was being funny with that selection - though I was impressed she’d found a copy. It was seriously out of print.

“Awesome! Thanks!”

Isaiah nodded with one of his self-satisfied smirks. Okay, he’d earned this one. Pointing at the backpack he said, “If you didn’t have any bags that’d have been a red flag at customs in Israel. A teenage girl without phone and accessories would have them thinking I’d kidnapped you.”

My head tilted in thought. “Speaking of which, how are you planning on explaining our relationship when asked? You gonna be my uncle?” I grinned as we both knew that older men traveling with “nieces” usually meant an entirely different relationship.

He coughed. “That would hardly be appropriate. No, we are on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land to pray for the soul of the recently departed: my ward and your best friend at school.” In a softer tone he added, “And I fully intend to do so.”

Swallowing the smile, I pulled out everything I’d stuffed into the stupidly tight pants and added them to the purple purse. After staring at the small pouch for awhile I hesitantly said, “Isaiah?”

“Yrmm?” His mouth was full, he’d just taken another bite of his sandwich.

“Eh, it’s nothing. Eat your food.” The guy needed to fill his stomach. After all, we were about to be stuck on an overnight flight - they may not feed us for many hours after takeoff.

Despite giving an odd look, he kept on munching

 

Chapter 23 - Jerusalem

 

We landed at Ben Gurion airport as planned which meant we emerged from security to collect our luggage right before six in the evening, local time. Getting through customs was interesting as they spent awhile grilling the two of us for why we were there, what we hoped to visit, all that kind of thing. Most of those questions Isaiah was able to answer readily enough, but when they realized we weren’t actually related they switched to focusing more intently on me.

If I hadn’t had the angelic perfect memory to relay almost verbatim the fake background the DPA had created for Jordan Emrys I could have been in trouble. Though there was no need to fake mourning for Danielle or any guile in letting my voice tremble when mentioning the loss of my parents.

I missed them too.

Unlike anywhere else they asked if I wanted my passport stamped or if they should issue a separately stamped piece of paper - one that would have to remain with the passport until I left the country. This was due to the Arab countries refusing to admit anyone whose passport had been stamped by Israel.

Since I had no clue where I might have to go I took the piece of paper. It was always possible I’d need to get into Egypt and visit the pyramid where Zap and Erica were holed up.

The airport itself was nice, very modern in its design with tall open spaces held up by large and grey crenelated pillars, and the outside areas were spotted with simple benches and tables framed by palm trees. Being evening-time during Hanukkah it wasn’t very busy, and the shops that were open had little menorahs shining at the entrances.

Isaiah’s firm’s travel arranger had arranged for a luxury sedan to be waiting for us. The driver (whose name was Ari) was a somewhat short guy in his mid-fifties, wearing the standard chauffeur business suit and gloves along with a black leather flat cap covering the obvious bald spot nestled between wispy silvering hair. He seemed friendly and spoke good but accented English, and Isaiah engaged the guy in conversation. My friend at least had gotten solid sleep during the transcontinental flight, requiring nudges now and then whenever his snoring started to disturb the other passengers.

As for me I had stayed awake the entire twelve hours out of worry I might flicker off to elsewhere again. Tracy’s ghost offered to wake me up should it be needed, but I hadn’t wanted to fall out of the plane if her attempt didn’t go that smooth.

You know, like last time at the hotel. That would have been one heck of a rude awakening over the mid-Atlantic.

“Tourists, yes?” Ari asked. “What sites are you most interested in visiting?”

“The Western Wall. And the Temple Mount itself.”

“Ah. My advice would be to see the Temple Mount early in the morning. Non-Muslim visitors are allowed only from seven-thirty to ten-thirty, and again from twelve-thirty to one-thirty. That’s all. Similar advice for the Holy Sepulcher in the Christian Quarter - while you can go in any time from before dawn until sunset, the crowds are thick once the sun has risen above the old city.”

The Church of the Holy Sepulcher was over the ground (Golgotha) where it was believed that Jesus had died on the cross; it being a crowded spot for visitors wasn’t surprising. It also held his empty tomb - hence the name of the church.

In between chatting up Isaiah, Ari spent the drive cursing at other drivers in Hebrew ("Hel’at ha-min ha-enoshi!" - "Scum of the human race!"). At one point Isaiah joined in after a truck had performed an entirely rude forced lane change in front of us and muttered, “Ya ben zona.” ("You son of a bitch.") Upon realizing Isaiah spoke Hebrew our driver got even more excited.

For the rest of the trip those two ranted about politics both American and Israeli, argued whether being a lawyer was a better profession these days for children to go into than medicine, and even compared Kugel recipes. Upon learning that Isaiah was unmarried, Ari practically went postal - and immediately began listing his own single female relatives in an attempt at match-making. (”Okay, yes she’s divorced - but she’s a good woman! She’s always wanted to go to the U.S…”)

Fortunately as I was pretending to be under eighteen I was mostly left out of such considerations. Though I was informed he had a cousin who went to UCLA ("he is studying to be a dentist - a solid career prospect!") whom I should give a call once I graduated high school.

Ick.

When the two of them began debating military history I tuned them out to stare past the window as the freeway slipped beyond surroundings not unlike Southern California and headed instead towards low rolling hills covered by many more trees than the dry chaparral back home could ever manage.

The topic of war filling the background was probably not the best thing to be listening to when I drifted off in spite of myself.

But dangit, I was tired.

 

Across the fields of Creation the rebel army was in retreat.

Line after line of angels with wings that shimmered the entire spectrum from violet through red and beyond stood along the border formed between the original realms of the rebellious archangels and the rest of that which is. Through layer after layer, realm after realm, and cosmos after cosmos, the battalions of Elohim had forced the attackers back, leaving trails of red-stained wings and shattered bone. The warriors of the Host succeeded not by superior strategy or tactics - as the Generals on both sides of the conflict refused to make mistakes - but by the rules of attrition alone. For when a rebel’s word was destroyed and forever lost no reinforcements could ever take their place.

Whereas through the Light as channeled into Elohim new angels were continually forged, each imbued with the manifest will of the Throne. Under Michael’s command these infinite new legions had swept across existence as unstoppable tempests of fury and sword.

Even Samael with all his might could not hold against their endless march, as each newborn brethren came to life with weapon and shield in hand, ready to throw themselves without hesitation against even the blades of Chaos wielded by the Chief Rebel’s most fearsome captains.

At the forefront of the Host of Heaven stood Gabriel, her silver spear afire with a white light almost matching the glorious shine of he who stood besides her. Other Archangels flew to their sides: Camael with his two-handed blade and matching wings all dripping crimson fire, Beliel in blackened armor with towering mace darker still, Azrael whose wings of night cast shadows even against the glare of the Lightbringer, and Michael whose brilliant shield and golden sword gleamed as perfectly as the day they first had appeared in his mighty grip.

“They run,” she breathed, as if unsure of what she was seeing. “Is this madness finally finished? Have we won?”

“No.” Harsh light spilling from Lucifer’s wings sharpened as his blazing eyes examined countless battlefields. “Our task continues. For their crimes they must be cleansed from Creation, root and branch burned and the remaining embers swept unto the Abyss. Lest they corrupt more with the falseness their tongues spit with each and every breath.”

Michael, flaxen hair curling in the wind between worlds, looked upon their First. “Upon their own soil they have advantage. Our losses would be incalculable.”

“Yet in the fullness of time we shall prevail.” Camael nodded gravely to the leader of his House of Light. “The Powers stand ready, give the order.”

Beliel’s brown eyes grew troubled behind the helm of obsidian. “How many of us will survive such carnage? The numbers of our brethren whom the Source brought directly into being grow thin. Soon only Elohim’s fashioned soldiers will remain. Creation requires more than obedient fighters of war to thrive - I did not lend shoulder to the firmament for this! We dreamed not of a fortress lined with spears but a garden!”

His words troubled the Lightbringer and his shining glory flickered before steadying. “Those of peace and plenty will fill all the realms, my brother, when the threat is no more. New words shall unfold to carry out the Plan.”

The obsidian armored knight turned to face his white-robed brother. “Is a plan requiring such sacrifice worthy? How much can be borne before Purpose is lost entire?”

That ache within Gabriel’s chest which had grown with each passing eon of war pounded in her ears. “What if they surrender? Must there be such slaughter?”

Lucifer returned burning eyes to those who fled towards realms pushed against the edges of all things. “The time for surrender is past. Go home, Gabriel. Go. While we do what must be done.” Bitter were the words on lips thin yet resolute.

Gabriel’s eyes flashed but before she could offer retort another voice spoke.

“There is another way.” Azrael, standing shorter than all except Gabriel, unsheathed a long yet slender double-edged sword - one that had seen much use as a scalpel against the foes of Heaven.

A hand of light motioned for Azrael to continue. “Tell us.”

“Burn not the root and branch.” Azrael held out the blade. “Cut them free.”

Gabriel’s inner pain and turmoil crested as the full horror of the suggestion unraveled into comprehension. “To do such a thing…“

But the others of the War Council nodded agreement. Spreading wings with feathers gleaming like the sharpest of knives, Lucifer gave the command.

“Let it be done.”

 

Isaiah was shaking a shoulder. “We’re here. Wake up.”

Blinking eyes clear of yet another of Gabriel’s painful memories, I looked up only to see our driver who had opened my door. He offered a gloved hand which helped steady my step onto the grey stonework. The paved stones rested underneath the beige-pink limestone arching overhead and surrounding the single dark wood and glass revolving-door entrance to the King David Hotel. Once I was solidly again in the here-and-now, Ari let go and moved around to get our bags out of the trunk as Isaiah had hopped out of the car on his own.

“Let’s get checked in,” Isaiah said and motioned for me to go on through the spinning doors and into the lobby.

Once in I had to stop and gawk at everything like the dorky American tourist I was.

Before me lay a literal red carpet just wider than the cylindrical entrance, its deep rose intertwined with purple to form a decorative pattern of many broad squares. The room had a high ceiling of green rectangle sections lined with these bronze circular shields all held aloft by walls and square columns colored in a softer white. The check-in counter with its equally dark decorated wooden front sat underneath an interior balcony overlooking the wider lobby that was filled with plush couches, wooden tables, and wide upholstered chairs. Lavender curtains framed windows as well as exits, and the walls past the counter were a two-tone pattern of large lighter beige tiles to contrast with a reflective floor of grey and medium-brown marbling.

It was a lot to take in.

People were chatting and laughing as they sat or walked about, the room echoing with the sound but not too loudly as if each conversation was an island unto itself. There was also this sultry yet flowery scent lingering in the air, more than the several round planters of lilies and orchids could account for.

The entire effect was both opulent and stately without being overdone. And after Isaiah got us all squared away with the front desk (and Ari had turned our bags over to the lobby boy) we walked down a short hallway where our feet stepped on a strip of white-tile all trimmed with gold that went straight down the center of the hall and across the lobby itself. The tile had been decorated with the many signatures of various dignitaries who had stayed at the hotel.

Among these included the unreadable scrawls of several American Presidents and many kings. Underneath in smaller print of both English and Hebrew was the legible name and year of their stay.

Up a few floors using the “Lift” and then down equally ornate hallways of lush vermilion and yellow-brown carpeting we arrived at another door made of that same lovely mahogany which accented every wall and corner.

“This is ours,” Isaiah said as he inserted the room’s key-card and pushed down the golden-bronze handle.

“Ours? We’re sharing a room?”

He made a show of opening the door, gesturing grandly for me to enter. “Not a room. A two-bedroom suite.”

With arched windows above the french doors leading to a long balcony, lush carpeting under equally posh living room furniture, and two entirely separate bedrooms complete with more mahogany paneling and even deeper red velvet lined headboards above the king-sized beds, the suite put most apartments I’d visited to shame.

But what caused me to go “oh, wow” was the early evening view from the expansive balcony. Overlooking first the immaculately trimmed hedges and flowers surrounding the rather well-lit pool and outdoor dining or lounging areas, what lay beyond to one side was a clear and unobstructed view of what had to have been the Old City of Jerusalem - the stone fortifications of the outer walls peeking upwards over the local greenery. The sun had already set, but the full dark of night had yet to fall which lent the entire scene an even more magic feel.

Okay, in all fairness the balcony’s two weirdly suspended half-eggshell chairs that faced the sights seemed suspiciously uncomfortable, but the regular pool-side lounge chairs next to them would likely be just fine.

“Nice, isn’t it?” Isaiah, after tipping the bell-boy for our luggage, had walked up to the railing and was nodding in satisfaction.

“I don’t want to know how much you’re paying per night for this, do I?”

He chuckled. “Probably not.”

“You ever been to Israel before?” I was pretty sure of the answer, but who knows. I’d met Isaiah while we were in college so maybe his folks could have taken him when he was young.

“No. It’s been a dream of mine. Never had the time and the money together before to make it happen.”

I smiled and was ready to let him simply take in the scene but he turned away.

“We should get going to this cafe of yours. Do we need a cab?”

“Nah, from what I looked up while you were snoozing on the plane we can walk. You don’t want to change out of your suit first?”

He shook his head. “We don’t know what time we’re supposed to be there. You’re a teenager so jeans and t-shirt isn’t out of place even if the old geezer you’re with is better attired.”

“Ha.”

Making our way back to the lobby we exited through the rotating doors and walked down the curved stone driveway to the street - which was named King David Street, because why not. Somehow that impressed on me more that hey, we were traipsing down a road just outside the walls of a city straight out of not just history but the bible itself. As we passed more palm trees and reached blocks of short white buildings the juxtaposition of cars on the one-way street with its tasteful modern architecture all nestled nearby the ancient battlements off to our right was rather surreal.

Of course maybe that was more due to my having grown up in Los Angeles where any building over fifty years old was deemed a “classic”.

Many businesses were closed due to the hour, but the quiet twilight was still illuminated by lit menorahs decorating their store fronts. Unlike the garishness of Christmas decorations the effect of the multi-night holiday was more subdued, even with the occasional strings of tiny white lights added here and there.

Though that wasn’t the only thing I noticed.

After making our way left onto our destination’s street I paused to bend down and re-tie a sneaker. Isaiah took the opportunity to take more pictures with his phone - capturing the various shops, street signs, and also me rolling eyes at him.

“Hey, guess what?” I said as I stood back up and we continued our stroll.

“Hmm?” He was scrolling through the pictures he’d just captured on the phone’s display.

“We’re being followed.”

“We are?”

“Dude, don’t look! They’ll realize we know.”

Holding up the phone he swiped the screen into selfie mode, pretending to take a picture of yet another street sign. “How can you be sure?”

“The guy in the light grey sport coat, two blocks back. He got up as we went past in the lobby and when I paused to futz with my shoe so did he.”

“Not exactly incriminating evidence.”

“I’ll bet you dinner I’m right.”

“I was going to pay anyway. So what’s the plan?”

“If he’s smart he’ll talk before I have to get violent.”

Isaiah looked askance at me. “You’re going to threaten him?”

I growled. “He could be another assassin gunning for you. Or a scout for one. You seriously think I’m going to just let him follow us?”

“We should.”

“What part of ‘someone is trying to kill you’ are you not comprehending?”

He shook his head. “Make a scene here and authorities will show. Then we won’t be able to properly follow your friend’s instructions.”

“Oh. The donuts.”

“Indeed.”

“Dammit. Fine. We go on.”

“Good.”

Air currents shifted against a cheek as a spirit popped into perception and flew past on golden-armored wings. “Did you just send Tracy to check him out?”

“Yes. She may learn something.”

We reached another street whose signs were both in Hebrew and English, and as we had to wait for the light to change I asked a question. “Say, where does she go when she’s not, you know, hovering about?”

“She’s with me. Though exactly ‘where’ is hard to describe.”

“I’m surprised the Seal hasn’t sent her on to her next incarnation.”

“It’s a constant pull. But according to her as long as she’s near me she’s got an override.”

“Huh.”

“Keep walking. Let’s see if he notices her presence.”

If the guy did have enough spirit sense to spot the angel walking beside him he didn’t show it. Considering Tracy was again in full armor with sword and shield at the ready either he had the spirit-sense of a random brick or he ought to be immediately recruited by Hollywood for an Oscar-worthy performance.

After another block Isaiah pointed. “There’s the cafe.”

Set in the middle of a white building spanning the block that hosted a handful of stores, the Kadosh Cafe was a small restaurant with indoor dining and also a number of green-topped round tables out on the sidewalk all surrounded by wooden chairs made more comfortable by knitted green and creme-colored padding. Lining the left wall inside was a long counter display covered with pastries I had never seen before and a bunch I had, and even taking a cozy seat outside (at Isaiah’s suggestion) the freshly baked smells wafting past the open door gave tantalizing hints of fruited and sugary temptation.

In fact the counter couldn’t contain it all so they had added two more laden tables tucked under its ledge. Behind those was an inset refrigerator containing yet even more desserts alongside shelves holding a coffee maker, a soft-serve ice cream machine, and rows of liquor bottles interspersed with jars full of nuts. The green-tiled kitchen was behind the far wall with its own counter through which cooked food was being portaled in, chefs busy sauteing away over many pans visible behind. A good crowd of patrons sat around the wood-topped tables filling the rest of the single room, all enjoying various dinner selections or diet-busting delights along with beverages of choice and conversations loud and animated but joyful.

It took a few minutes before a college-age waitress in a long-sleeved white shirt and brown apron finally noticed us to take our order which we both stated in Hebrew: falafel and side salad for Isaiah and a dinner salad for me - a “salade halumi” made of chicken, onion, peppers, and lettuce. After the waitress went back to the kitchen with our selections, Isaiah commented, “The language trick is useful, isn’t it?”

I grinned. “Yeah. But didn’t you learn Hebrew as a kid for your Bar-Mitzvah?”

He shrugged. “I memorized enough at the time. Then forgot it all from disuse. What’s written in the Torah is also different from modern Hebrew - not surprising when you consider that the Torah only has about eight-thousand different words. Modern Hebrew has over a hundred-thousand. The language was greatly expanded when it was resurrected.”

“Sounds like you’ve been studying up a lot more recently.”

He gave a dead-pan look over glasses before pushing them back up his nose. “Considering the circumstances that shouldn’t be a surprise.”

“Who said I was surprised? And hey, did Tracy report any details on our stalker? The jerk crossed the street and is lurking suspiciously past that round corner keeping us in view.” Having marked the guy’s spirit it was easy enough to keep him in focus. Another road curved about to intersect with this one, yielding an oddly shaped intersection and the guy was hovering just around the curved front of the only building marking that corner. With Tracy’s own powerful spirit standing over him he was rather hard to miss regardless of the cover he’d chosen.

“He’s been reporting our activities over a radio; he’s got an ear-piece and throat mike.”

“Really? Dammit, you should have said something. Those are typically short range.” Making a show of rubbing both eyes to cover any flashes, I opened up a bit more to see what else popped into view. “Well crap. We’ve rated our own undercover surveillance van parked the other direction. Four men. Our follower is on an open circuit with them. I don’t like this.”

“You can see all that?”

“Sure,” I said while blinking eyes clear again. “It’s like everything is an open book, the bitch of it is every square yard is a library unto itself. Not getting lost in it all is the challenge.”

“Aradia had difficulties controlling what she saw.” He’d meant to say it neutrally, but a deeper sadness seeped through anyway.

“She looked not just to the present but also the future. I’ve only done that deliberately when fighting - and always kept the focus on the immediate.” Unwrapping silverware from a cloth napkin, I tapped the table with the tip of the knife. “You stopped me from going all-in on the perceptions of the present during that dragon duel. Even now I’m tempted to go for it again, despite knowing how stupid that would be. If I tried for the future too I’m not sure what would happen.”

“Best not to experiment while on Earth.”

“Yeah.”

His coffee and my tea arrived, both steaming hot. His was immediately doctored with cream and sugar, and he then offered the containers to me. “Want some?”

Pulling my cup protectively close to the chest I said, “Heck no.”

“Then some things haven’t changed.” He smirked.

“You dork.” I threw him a fake glare which just widened his smile. “Seriously, though. Think they could be setting up a heavier attack? As far as they know they’ve got us outnumbered. And sitting out here we’re wide open.” My back had begun to itch, right between where wings were anxious to pop out.

“If they have any concept of who you are they’ll realize the odds are stacked against them. Enjoy dinner, have dessert, and see what happens.”

“Meh. I suppose if we hang around long enough they’ll either attack or die of boredom. Though I reserve the right to kick their asses after we’ve had some sufganiyot. Maybe that’s what we’re supposed to do.”

He raised a finger. “Remember that we aren’t in the U.S. The DPA is not going to cover up any of your escapades.” Using the finger to hook around the cup’s handle, he took a sip of the light-brown coffee. “With everything you can do, are they really a threat?”

That earned him a glare. “A bullet through your head will still kill you. I haven’t powered up - I might be too slow to stop it.”

“Tracy will warn of any snipers.”

Scowling I blew across the top of the tea. It was still too hot to drink. Smelled good, though. My friend however was still smiling at me - enough so that it was becoming irritating. “What?”

“Just thinking. In all our games this was usually the other way around - the players were the ones doing the stake-outs.”

“Yeah and usually we’d get attacked anyway.”

“See? Even more evidence to sit and be patient. Otherwise you’d be the villain in the scenario.”

Looking down at the plain and boringly white t-shirt and jeans comporting my attire I couldn’t help but snort. “If I was I’d have a much sexier outfit.”

“Truth.” He nodded solemnly. “Maybe we should get you one.”

“Hey!”

My friend then suggested numerous outrageous attire possibilities one after the other (”Shredded black lace like Morgain wore in that one scene with Arthur?” “I’m so not wearing that!”) until our food arrived. While chowing down on the remarkably tasty offerings we proceeded to debate which stories from the past had the best femme fatale antagonists. With the improved recall capabilities I had the advantage considering most of our games had happened over twenty years ago.

This led to general reminiscing and discussion of the friends (and not-so-friends) we’d once gamed with, and soon we’d had not just one sufganiyah each but quite a few rounds of other tempting desserts.

As for the famed donuts themselves, being jelly-filled I wasn’t a huge fan as I’ve never much cared for such fillings. Isaiah however practically moaned in delight with each sugar-coated nibble, even licking his fingers clean with satisfaction when done. Whereas over those couple hours I gleefully devoured everything that had cinnamon or chocolate.

I had the advantage here too - I didn’t need to worry about it all packing onto my thighs and butt.

Taking a long swallow of yet another cream-and-sugar filled cup of coffee, Isaiah commented, “Tracy says our friends have stayed put.”

I nodded. “Good.” I’d kept scanning every so often, but rubbing eyes or resting my face against an arm to hide the flares had gotten old. The crowd in the restaurant had thinned out as the evening wore on, and the night’s temperature dropped enough that those who remained outside kept their fingers wrapped around their hot cups or in their pockets. Eventually we were the only ones sitting at a sidewalk table as everyone else had taken refuge inside.

Traffic along the one-way street had also diminished, though there was still a fairly steady stream of cars. A light-green sedan grabbed an open parking spot along the curb a few businesses up from the restaurant, backing skillfully into the tight space. Honestly from where I sat I didn’t think the guy was going to make it, but he did.

When he got out of the car I did my best not to stare. “Heads-up, things just got interesting.”

Isaiah, who had moved his chair to sit at my right so he wouldn’t have his back to the street, also took a look and blinked. “Coincidence?”

The driver was walking quickly towards us so I didn’t have time to answer before the guy was in earshot. The man had traded the black cap for a leather one in brown and the black suit for a beige sweater over khaki pants but he was still easily recognizable as our driver from the airport. He also had a blue-tooth earpiece, one with those stubby microphone extensions sticking out.

Pausing at our table, the man had the temerity to feign happy surprise at seeing us. “My friends! Shalom!”

“Hello Ari,” I said with admittedly a not-entirely-glad-to-see-you pursing of lips. Isaiah echoed the “Shalom” and put down his coffee cup.

“I trust you both are enjoying your evening? You’ve certainly chosen a fine establishment!”

Tilting my head towards the restaurant’s entrance I asked, “Let me guess, you’re here for the donuts too?”

“The sufganiyot, yes. Traditions should be honored when possible, do you not agree?”

“You eating here or getting some to-go?”

“Both. I simply do not have the willpower to resist a cup of coffee and a tasty sampling before driving home.”

I gestured to the empty chairs around us. “In that case, pull up a seat. You can answer some questions for us.”

“Questions? I am no tour guide, but am happy to help.”

Smiling, I picked up the tea with both hands before blowing across the top again as it had just been refilled. “How about you tell us who you and your friends in the van work for?”

While Ari’s own smile did not falter, his eyes flickered with a particular hardness even if just for a moment. “Van? I am sorry, I do not understand.”

“They’re on the same frequency as your headset. As is the guy across the street who has pretended to wait for a bus for over an hour.”

The friendly expression on Ari’s face fell into an echo of Isaiah’s own reserved and wary demeanor. “Is this some American jest? From one of your movies? If so, it is not one I have seen.”

I let the light pour into my eyes. “No joke, Ari. Someone tried to kill my friend here only yesterday. I’m taking that kinda personal.”

He didn’t flinch but stared right into the glow. If he saw anything within the light, he didn’t let it show. “Please, there is no threat here. Call it protective curiosity.”

“I’ll ask again: who are you people?” I had a budding suspicion but I wanted to hear it.

“We are concerned with the security of this nation and its people.”

“The last security agent I met - out of concern for his domain, mind you - pulled a gun on me. In the middle of a hospital.”

“I am unarmed.”

“Your friends in the van cannot make that claim. Each is packing a Micro-Tavor and a sidearm. The pair of MAPATS certainly indicates a high level of seriousness.” MAPATS stands for “MAn-Portable-Anti-Tank System” complete with night vision support. In addition to being designed to take out tanks they’re the sort of weapon that could be used against a slow-moving aerial target. Like, say, a hovering angel.

Their mention even raised Isaiah’s thick eyebrows. I hadn’t told him about those.

Ari exhaled sharply. “An abundance of caution was recommended. Especially when considering your last two visits to the region.”

Hmm, okay. The guy had a point.

Isaiah spoke up. “Jordan isn’t here to cause trouble. At least not that we are aware of.”

“Forgive, but I cannot take that at face value.”

Pointing an insistent finger at the contents of Isaiah’s plate I said, “Look. This is why we are here.”

“What?”

“Donuts. It’s all about the blessed donuts. You’re not gonna believe me, but we’re supposed to eat them. Here. Tonight. Beyond that your guess is as good as mine as to what we’re gonna be doing.”

The security agent (Mossad? Aman? My money was on Shin Bet.) frowned causing wrinkles to show more clearly at the corners of his eyes. “The sufganiyot? Because of Hanukkah?”

Isaiah shrugged and held up the last bite from the latest round. “Messages from On High are not always clear. Perhaps we were supposed to meet you.”

“But Elohim specifically told you to be here?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “And eat pastries. Isaiah has even judged them tasty and good.” Okay, technically God hadn’t sent the message, August had. But hey - August was an angel too so close enough, right?

Ari shook his head. “Returning to Egypt due to the unrest at the pyramids I could understand. But why come to Jerusalem? What do you plan to do at the Wall and Temple Mount?”

To this Isaiah answered immediately. “Pray. I plan to pray.”

I glanced down the sidewalk towards the old city where the holiest sites of three religions gathered behind an ancient wall - and things suddenly became clear. “Guys, I think I know why we were sent.” Standing, I waved to the man shuffling in our direction with one hand holding down a fedora against the sudden breeze that played with the tzitzit tassels sticking out from under his coat. “Rabbi! Over here!”

Adjusting thick glasses to better see us, the man smiled. And while there was no physical glow, light and joy beamed from his face nevertheless.

Because with a shout Rabbi Kirov heartily returned my wave.

“Ms. Emrys!”

 

Chapter 24 - Directives

 

“The importance of Hanukkah,” Rabbi Immanuel Kirov was saying as he took another bite of falafel, “is not to memorialize the victory against the Seleucid monarchy.”

After shaking hands with Isaiah and then with Ari (who was introduced only as “the guy who drove us from the airport”), Kirov had hustled inside to pick up his food which he’d called ahead to order. Adding a hot tea he then joined our table outside, diving into the to-go container’s contents with gusto.

“As important as it was to win and reclaim our Temple,” he continued, “it is the miracle that happened after which we honor with remembrance: that a single surviving vial of sacred oil lasted for eight days, keeping the holy fire of our faith lit while waiting for more of appropriate purity to arrive.” The rabbi, bits of falafel already adorning his thick white beard, pointed a fork at me. “While for some such a thing may seem mundane compared to wonders witnessed of late, it is the message behind the miracle that has carried across the centuries to be celebrated with lights.” Always the teacher, he looked at the rest of us from behind the thick glasses and posed his question: “And what might that message have been, hmm?”

Isaiah’s mouth opened to answer but Ari beat him to it. “That as we maintain faith with Hashem, so does Hashem maintain faith with us.”

“Yes!” Kirov waved the fork for emphasis. “Hanukkah is about the little light that sheds a greater one, and so do we advertise the miracle granted us by Hashem. This does not trivialize the achievement of the rebel Matityah or his son Yehuda HaMakabi in the success of their campaign - but while many battles are fought and won, true miracles are of a higher order. By these may a people rediscover the sacred. Even by the smallest of lights may hope be rekindled.”

At the naming of the chief Jewish rebel and his son, Isaiah flinched as if struck by a hammer and almost dropped the coffee cup as its hot contents spilled over his glove. He quickly dabbed the leather dry with a wad of napkins - he was lucky he’d kept the gloves on. “Sorry,” he said. “Muscle spasm.”

I don’t think any of us bought the excuse, but none of us were going to push it right then. Later, however, would be a different matter entirely.

Ari, who I was pretty sure already knew who Kirov was and also our connection with him, took the moment to ask anyway. “I take it this was a coincidental encounter? How do you all know each other?”

The rabbi’s intelligent eyes narrowed before resuming their usual cheer. “Ms. Emrys is one of my students. Though I am rather shocked to see her here.” He turned to me. “Are your exams for the semester already completed?”

“Other than your essay, yeah.”

“And how is that proceeding?”

I didn’t bother to hide the scowl. “Just peachy.”

With amusement he said, “I trust you will endeavor to not leave it all for young Cassius to complete. Or are you - hmm.” He shot a quick glance at Ari. “Are you involved in a substantive journey of some kind?”

Yeah, the Israeli agent focused intently again - all while trying to pretend otherwise.

Deciding I really didn’t feel like dealing with more subterfuge, I moved to simplify the conversation. “You can be open about things, Rabbi. Ari here is an Israeli agent - if I had to put money on it I’d venture he’s with Shin Bet.”

Ari stayed silent. You know, neither confirming nor denying my statement.

The rabbi however blinked with surprise at the man. “Oh! Has something happened? Are you helping them - or are they helping you?”

I laughed. “Don’t know yet. We’re here celebrating Hanukkah - and I’ve heard that this place was where we absolutely had to go.” Looking meaningfully at the rabbi I added, “Tonight especially.”

Kirov’s impressive eyebrows furrowed in befuddlement. “Tonight?”

“Rabbi,” I said gently, “You left campus rather suddenly and we weren’t told where you’d gone. Yet we found you here.”

A range of reactions quickly flickered across the older man’s face: surprise followed by awe replaced with a sorrow-filled hope which settled - with a slow exhale of breath - on acceptance.

We all waited for him to speak though he first used two hands to take a measured sip of tea. Placing the cup back on the table he cleared his throat. “A good man, a friend of many years, is in the hospital. Attacked from behind by ruffians seeking to pilfer his home - though they achieved such little plunder for so terrible a deed.”

The depths of Kirov’s emotions got to me, and I reached out a hand towards his before remembering that touch between genders was avoided by the Orthodox.

Out of respect I pulled back which earned a gentle smile as he said, “If you are here because of me - then it must be him who has need of you.”

Somehow I kept myself from throwing a look at Isaiah. Because a different notion had just flitted across my thoughts: if Kirov’s friend was in the hospital, maybe it wasn’t me he needed. Maybe he needed an angel of death.

And I just happened to be sitting next to one.

 

~o~O~o~

 

At Kirov’s insistence we bustled off to deliver sufganiyot to his friend. At my insistence Ari was recruited to drive us there since if he was going to follow us anyway this would simply be easier for everyone and more likely to get us to the hospital before the end of visiting hours - which was quickly approaching.

My threatening to disable both his car and the parked van around the corner to force them all to walk if he didn’t take us may not have sat well with the agent but in the end he’d acquiesced. Being told what to do by a seemingly teenage girl obviously bothered the man (even if he knew who I was), but I suspected his official orders may have included instructions to not antagonize me unless absolutely necessary.

If the instructions hadn’t, they’d have been wiser to do so. And besides, it really was a short drive from the cafe.

Of course he wasn’t entirely happy when as we approached the hospital’s blue-painted metal gates (leading to what was best described as a fortified courtyard in front of another old stone building that would have made an impressive medieval keep if it hadn’t been for all the equally blue-painted tall windows) the rabbi then remembered that only two visitors were allowed at a time so both the agent and Isaiah would have to wait in the yard alongside the willow tree and surrounding palms.

Too bad. Maybe he and Isaiah could continue discussing marriage prospects or something.

Inside Kirov and I received visitor badges and in so doing I’d caught the name of the rabbi’s friend: Father Anthony Moreno.

After being led down a high-ceilinged hallway whose walls were covered with the countless coats of arms of various crusaders each labeled in Latin, the naming of the hospital after Saint Louis of France fit into place. Through doors of burnt orange and down another hallway we arrived at a small room with a single occupant. A skinny elderly gentleman was propped up by the wheeled hospital bed and reading a leather-bound book by virtue of a floor-standing lamp which leaned in to illuminate the manuscript. Turning a page with annoyance from having to use a middle finger due to his forefinger being clamped by one of those heartbeat and oxygen monitors, the older man wearing light blue long-sleeve pajamas snorted when he noticed our entrance. He was mostly bald except for a few stray wisps of circling white which was interrupted by the thick bandage placed at the back of the head, and dangling from his neck was a beaded rosary - one of those a few inches in height with the full adorned details of his savior as nailed to the cross. His advanced age was clearly apparent from the crinkling of skin that had seen many years of sunshine and its multitude of liver spots which only lent further character.

Though the tint of the skin was a bit too yellow to be healthy.

“Did you get lost Immanuel? Surely the cafe had the order ready when you arrived. Or did you forget to call ahead again?” His voice was raspy yet steady, and his spoken Hebrew had a Castilian flair to the accent.

“I ran into some friends which delayed my departure,” Kirov said as he deposited the brown paper bag of donuts on the bedside tray. “I do hope in your infinite capacity that you will forgive my tardiness?” The rabbi smiled broadly as he settled into the wide-but-cushioned and only chair in the room.

“Forgiveness is the domain of the Lord - it is not mine to give out willy-nilly, you must ask Him first.” The priest paused before also smiling back at Kirov in the shared joke that must have lived for decades. “And are you going to introduce this young lady that you’ve brought with you?” he asked before shaking his head and adding, “Ah Immanuel, I am too old and decrepit to stray from my vows with one so young. Couldn’t you have found a widow with wider hips to tempt me with?” The man in the bed threw me a wink - though behind his eyes an intelligence sparked which was examining my reactions.

Crossing arms with feigned effrontery, I replied before the rabbi could toss out his own retort. “This lady is older than you’d think - so if you’re actually looking for a girl without the naivety to blindly believe all the fables you might tell her, well I could indeed be a proper candidate.” Giving a deliberate look up and down the hospital bed and at the monitors I then shrugged. “Though in your current condition I doubt you could keep up.”

The man’s smile widened further and after a laugh that had the unfortunate side effect of causing him to cough and wince, he wheezed, “You are undoubtedly correct; alas my vigorous years are lost to time. I am Father Moreno, but please call me Anthony. How do you know Immanuel? And does his wife know he’s running about with such an attractive young woman?”

Kirov frowned with puzzlement. “How could Raisa know that? I haven’t yet called her. As to how Jordan knows me, she’s my student. The one I told you about last summer.”

If I’d been expecting a large reaction to that revelation I’d have been disappointed. For a moment though I wondered how little the rabbi had told the priest for him to simply continue to stare nonplussed, but Anthony then said, “Yes she is, isn’t she. Such a light and such an honor.” So saying, the priest bowed his head.

The sudden shift from jovial to reverence left me standing awkwardly unsure of how to respond. “Uh, likewise?”

Sitting up, the rabbi clasped hands together. “Anthony - she is here. She could be here to help you. She could-”

Anthony held up a hand. “My friend, stop there.”

“But-”

“No. You have it backwards. She is here for me to help her.”

Wringing thick fingers one against the other, Kirov leaned forward. “You…to help Jordan?”

I was equally confused. “Help me with what?”

“Your holy and most sacred quest. Open your eyes, angel of light. For we have met before.”

With a prompting like that I had to. He met the brilliance that shone forth with calm beatitude - knowing precisely what I would find.

Because underneath the bruises from the attack to the back of his head and subsequent fall which had fractured a hip lay tumors. There were masses on his liver, and sadder still - upon his brain.

Yet it was what I saw past even these which caused my gasp. For behind the old and sick yet not defeated priest stood a warrior in silver and gold holding aloft a flaming white blade.

With great surprise I said, “You’re Kalka’il.”

 

~o~O~o~

 

The angel Kalka’il, one of the Powers. Under a clear blue sky above the empty desert outside Aleppo he had fought off Kokabiel in her mind-controlled assault, buying me enough time to save a fire-flinging soldier from crossing over before his time.

Kalka’il had also impaled Kokabiel at the moment I’d cut her free from Azazel’s influence, for she was fallen and therefore - according to him - beyond all hope.

A belief that a little girl’s loving heart had proven false.

Ignoring the rabbi’s thunderstruck expression at hearing his friend’s true name, I asked the obvious next question.

“Inoperable?”

“Yes.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“There is no need to be,” said the angel incarnate. “I have lived a long and good life.”

Kirov, whose words had always been so calm and steady, now stuttered in confusion. “But if you’re…and she’s here…certainly…”

Again the priest held up a kindly hand. “Immanuel, this sickness of mine is not of the spirit. For her to force a healing would impinge upon my earthly fate.”

Shaking his head, the rabbi said, “Hashem has performed many miracles of the physical; she herself is such miracle made manifest - cannot she even try?”

The raw heartbreak in the rabbi’s voice ached across my chest. “I’m not Raphael, Rabbi,” I said sadly. “And he isn’t afflicted with a corruption against the light. I wouldn’t know how to safely begin.”

Looking at Kirov, Anthony smiled sadly. “Ah my friend. You are still the same boy who ran full tilt into me in the market all those years ago - still lost amidst the holy city and unsure where to go to receive your next lessons.”

Hearing this, Kirov sighed. “Is it so wrong to hold onto such hope?”

“You would harm your own spirit were you to do otherwise.”

“I trust you had good reason to not tell me that you too were of the Bene-Elohim?”

The priest had the grace to look embarrassed. “That only became clear over the past few months as the dreams gained clarity. Such is not a claim to be made lightly. And now I must ask of you one thing - though I promise to tell you all the details. Just later.”

“You wish to speak with Jordan alone.”

“I do.”

The rabbi stood though slowly. “I will hold you to that promise.” With a pat on my arm as he went by Kirov exited the room, though his shoulders slumped more than when we’d come in.

After the door fully shut Anthony placed the book from his lap on the tray besides the donuts bag. “I indeed witnessed,” he said with a tired smile, “our encounter in a vision, one that left me quite exhausted. This old frame has seen much better days. I understand that Kokabiel survived?”

“She did. She sleeps now within her incarnate self. And her name has been restored to shine as it once did.”

“Magnificent. Truly magnificent.” His eyes grew distant for a moment then refocused. “What set your feet upon the path to encounter the rabbi here in Jerusalem?”

“I asked someone for help and they sent me here. I’m looking for a book.”

“Was it Camael who sent you?”

“No. He’s stuck in Hell. We didn’t have a lot of time to chat before I, uhm, slipped out.”

He chuckled. “One does not simply ‘slip’ out of the realms below.”

I crossed arms. “Yeah well, I did. Got yoinked into the Chaos and next thing I knew I was being pulled out to a rooftop in Boston. I want the book to try and remember how that happened. It feels important. You’re of the Powers, so I’m going to come right out and ask: before he went to Hell, did Camael give you Raziel’s Book of Secrets?”

A smile crinkled the old man’s face. “He did.”

Elation surged only to crash back to reality. “Except you were robbed.”

“By thugs who have already been arrested. They hit two other apartments in the complex before the night they caught me from behind. Police say they’ve recovered most of my items which will be returned when no longer needed as evidence.”

“So they didn’t take the book?”

“It was not in the list of articles provided by the officers. And as I have been stuck in this bed ever since I have not had opportunity to check the safe. The x-rays of bruises revealed much more than any of us expected, you see.”

Oh god. “You didn’t know you had cancer?”

He shook his head. “I did not. Yet even not knowing this did I argue with Camael to leave the volume in a younger man’s hands. He insisted.”

“He say why?”

“No. Stubborn old fool as I am, I still found myself unable to go against my Captain’s wishes.”

I thought quickly. “You didn’t leave the book out in the open. You hid it.”

“It was placed behind wards to keep the safe concealed from the wrong eyes. Look behind the painting of Gabriel and the Annunciation of our Lord upon this earth.” His smile widened, the wrinkles of his face fanning out from his eyes. “Though the artist did not capture Gabriel’s true beauty and grace. I admit freely that the memories I have gained of her are of the most treasured.”

“You’ll let me retrieve it?” I chewed a lip. “If it’s even still there.”

“I was holding it for you. Alas, I believe Immanuel had been instructed rather stringently to not tell anyone - no matter who - that you had returned. I had to badger him as is simply to hear of your…disappearance…in Egypt. Camael had faith that you would find me - and here you are.”

Remembering how Isaiah and I had yelled at the rabbi for once sharing information about me, I mentally cursed. Dangit!

“Speaking of Immanuel however,” the priest added, “I do have one request.”

“Name it.”

“When you get the book, do not let him view its contents. Even I did not dare set eyes upon its sacred pages. The secrets of the Lord are not for the unintended to perceive. I fear the contents would be too much for the rabbi to bear.”

“Wouldn’t he only see the truth?”

“Truth rarely aligns with Mercy. And some truths are not for mortal minds to comprehend, unless they are chosen as Adam and Noah were.”

I’d already seen an angelic spirit be caught in the web thrown by reading but a fragment of a book of power. While August was happy with the changes, I could only imagine the damage possible to an unprepared human soul. “Done.”

“Thank you. Now let me ask you also one other thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Discovering what happened while in the Chaos may indeed be important. Yet is this truly what you seek?”

That caught me. Certainly I was hoping this Book would reveal and make some sense out of that entire experience. But was I hoping it would do more?

Well, duh. Of course I was.

“There are so many damned mysteries,” I said after a moment’s thinking. “Fundamental to it all is a single question burning in the back of my head.”

“Which is?”

“What am I supposed to be doing?” Moving over to the chair I collapsed onto it, pulling one knee up so the heel of the shoe rested on the front of the cushion. “I mean, I’m told I could be a threat to Heaven. Heck, I just got asked to become a goddess and stand with a bunch of deities against the Host! And how would that even work? Aren’t I an angel?”

“By the heritage of your spirit’s mother you also have ties to another mythos. Tales of Aradia are still published; they could be used to pave the way into joining Olympus. It would mean taking on a different aspect, one bound to the structure of their pantheon.” He chuckled wearily. “Though as a priest of the Holy Mother Church I should offer warning against following false idols.”

“Artemis warned me against Zeus too. After our talk I’m not too keen on having to call him ‘Boss’. Or even ally.”

“I shall lie here relieved to hear such.” His eyes twinkled.

While massaging sore temples I groaned as thoughts kept churning in confusion. “I keep wondering if maybe it was safer for me to be in Hell than to be loose up here. All I do is bounce from event to event, always reacting to weird threats and situations without having a clue going in.” I sighed, shaking my head. “Do you know the angel Nathanael?”

“Not in this lifetime; only in memories from what came before. His is a strong yet wise spirit, a true gift to have at one’s side.”

“Well, he found me in Hell - and I miss him terribly. He always knew just the right questions to guide my thinking, though a lot of the time I’m pretty sure he was simply testing to see what I’d do. Anyway, he once tried to explain to our team the differences between tactics, strategy, and grand strategy - and as far as I can tell I’m perpetually dealing with things only on a tactical level. Which means I’m missing the bigger picture and that’s going to be deadly some day.”

“And you hope the Book can fill that in?”

“Yes. Well, maybe.”

“As a foolish and dying old man, let me offer this: no book can tell you what to do. But where there is evil, fight it! Where there is wrongness, right it. What you hear within your heart of hearts is the need from God singing true. No more, no less. Where there is darkness, dearest Amariel, let shine the light as only you can.”

I didn’t know what to say to that.

Father Anthony coughed again, eyes closing with obvious tiredness and pain.

I stood up. “Can I get you anything?”

“What have I need of? I have donuts.” He patted the bag. “Take Immanuel and go to my apartment. I insisted he stay there - it’d be silly for him to pay for a hotel when I’m not using it - so he can let you in. Tell him to come visit tomorrow and report back what you find. The wards on the safe will cause you no difficulties, and the combination is as follows.” He rattled off the numbers which I then repeated back to him.

“You know,” I said, “you could have asked him to check your safe before this.”

With a weary chortle he shook his head. “Though he hides it well, Immanuel has the same endearing flaw as both his brothers. They all suffer from insatiable curiosity. How many seconds would it have taken before he’d have peeked inside the Book?”

I couldn’t help but laugh in agreement. “Okay, you’ve got a point. It was nice meeting you, Anthony.”

Despite exhaustion, his eyes still sparkled. “A pleasure, Jordan. I would say ‘God be with you’, but it is clear that He already is.”

Not wanting to start a debate on that, I bowed my head and left the room in search of wherever Kirov had wandered. Everyone kept having so much faith in me - but I had met enough angels to be fully cognizant that they too could fail.

And cause so much horrible damage when they did.

 

~o~O~o~

 

Father Anthony’s small apartment was not far from the hospital, in fact with the complexities of the one-way streets it may have been faster to walk than to again cajole Ari into being our driver. His undercover assignment in picking us up at the airport was definitely requiring more chauffeuring than he’d intended.

As the poor priest had been assaulted from behind after already unlocking the door there was no damage to the lock, which Kirov promptly opened.

“To think such an artifact was sitting so close,” mumbled the rabbi as we all shuffled in, “and here I’ve slept for over a week right next to it without even knowing!”

As places went it was cramped yet tidy. The living room contained an old brown leather couch and reading recliner, both brushing up against walls covered in floor-to-ceiling bookshelves laden with volumes both hard and soft piled atop each other in ways that would have made a Tetris master proud. Where an old CRT television had once sat was just dust resting in the empty alcove surrounded by more books, the cables having been ripped out of the wall in the thieves’ hurry to grab valuables and run. Kirov had obviously cleaned up so it wasn’t obvious what else they might have taken, though there were other empty spots on the shelves where small items had once sat.

And there were a lot of shelves. They had been hand-built to fill every corner available and served to frame the two feet by three painting of a red-haired angel with gleaming wings of white hovering over a maiden in reds and blues: Gabriel delivering the news to Mary that she would give birth to the son of God. Anthony had been right: as lovely as the painting was, Gabriel’s nose was a tad wide and her cheeks too plump.

Though now that I considered it, wow - poor Mary in such a situation. No pressure or anything, geeze.

Before I could start wondering about Jesus and what he might think about everything going on, I let sight shift to take in the wards that Anthony had mentioned and looked beyond the painting to the safe behind it.

Except there weren’t any wards.

“Shit.” I pulled the picture off the wall and shoved it into the hands of a confused Isaiah. “Dammit dammit dammit!”

“What is it?” he asked.

Quickly punching in the code on the small keypad, I swung open the wall safe and stepped aside so all could see.

As feared it was entirely empty.

 

 

The Light Between (Part 7 of 8)

by Erisian

Book 5

 

If you have yet to read the saga - the tale starts here:

Into The Light

Hope you enjoy!

 

Chapter 25 - Uprising

 

The mass of people below the balcony windows shouted and screamed, chanting with all the power in their lungs for the end of corruption and misery, for the end of the current responsible regime, calling for the death of the military dictator who many years prior had seized control. Distant gunfire echoed towards the swarm of people still filling the streets and their howling grew only stronger and defiant.

The hotel had once held well-maintained grounds of palm trees and grass, but now its bricks sat scorched by the flames of rebellion, and each night hired security had needed to barricade the doors to keep an angry throng from setting torch to the fineries present within the lobby. The singed patches of carpet he’d stepped across when he’d arrived gave testament that the previous evenings’ defense had not always been successful.

Three nights had passed since he’d checked into the room, each sunset marked by hotel staff bringing what food they could muster up directly along with warnings to remain within. Three nights of hearing crowds rally and disperse, three nights of fighting the urge to seek out and aid those shrieking in pain and suffering from the wounds inflicted upon both oppressors and oppressed.

Tonight was proving no different.

A knock on the door paused his pacing in front of a television showing only more images of what lay right outside on the street. Cautious, for the empty plates of his meal already rested upon the bed, he moved to the door. “Who is it?”

“One who serves she who sent you here.”

“About damned time.”

After unbolting the multiple locks, a man whose dark-skinned skull long ago had abandoned what hair it once held entered. A leather attache case - not entirely a different shade of lighter brown than the long thin coat worn by its holder - was set atop the bed’s thick comforter next to the dinner tray by the newcomer before he turned to examine the one who’d let him in.

Sharp blue eyes full of youth and also its loss stared back, glaring through the smoke spiraling upward from a habit’s current offering. Despite the coldness of the room, the occupant wore a sleeveless pale shirt showing a body toned but not overly muscular and below his khakis were grey socks whose bottoms were already stained by the residue of carpets not vacuumed since the month-long troubles began. The start of a mottled yellow beard was framed by marginally lighter hair which hung to his shoulders, many strands wisping freely from lack of focused brushing.

“Where is she?” Nervous fingers brought the cigarette back to sun-chapped lips.

Waving smoke away from his own deep-set eyes, the old man coughed. “A filthy habit. As a doctor I would have thought you’d know better.”

“I do. Now answer the question - where is she? And why did she insist I come to Cairo? It’s a madhouse out there.”

The visitor coughed again and, once his throat was clear, spoke. “The mistress moves as she wills; I know only that she is not here. You are to receive that.” A black and bony finger swollen with arthritis at each joint pointed to the case. “I am to sit and watch.” The man pulled out the metal chair from under the small desk and sat, resting the gnarled hands upon his thighs.

“What’s in it?” The doctor stepped to the bed, putting a hand on the case.

“The answers you seek. It is not locked.”

Forehead crinkling with suspicion, the cigarette was crushed alongside its brethren in the overflowing ashtray perched on the ceder nightstand, and the case’s latches were then opened with simultaneous clicks. Within was but a single item. “A book?” Hands first burnt then tanned by African sun slowly lifted the thick leather-and-gold-clad tome, its weight much greater than even the large size merited.

“Yes. I suggest sitting on the floor before looking upon its pages.”

“Why?” The bookbinding was smooth yet rugged with no writing visible, only decorated by the gold leaf framing the edges of the cover in a pattern simple yet beautiful. But something below the fingers vibrated with a sense of familiarity, though the doctor was sure he had never held or even seen the item before.

“I am told it is not an easy read.”

Tearing attention away from the volume, he looked at the older man who with preternatural patience sat upon the small chair as if whatever happened there in the room would be fine. Should the crowd somehow barge in or the book even explode, he had the sense this man whose skin sat so tightly across bone would be equally nonplussed. “You haven’t tried?”

“Such is not for me. Again, I am only to witness.” So saying, a dark film spread across the old man’s eyes, leaving them pools of empty blackness even darker than the surrounding and wrinkled skin.

The doctor felt a second and entirely different gaze join the first to also peer out from within. Except this addition was filled not with stoic calm but sardonic amusement.

Fingers twitching with the strong desire for another cigarette, he lowered himself to the carpet instead and lay the tome upon his cross-legged lap. As the binding creaked open the older man with the disturbing eyes began murmuring, his low-hummed chant in quiet contrast to the louder mayhem shouted outside.

The cries of fury and pain which later came spilling from the young doctor’s throat however equally matched those of the crowd.

 

Chapter 26 - Walls

 

“Sariel. It has to be Sariel.” I rattled off a few choice and rather impolite demonic phrases picked up from marching alongside my old crew.

We were still sitting in Father Anthony’s alcove of an apartment. Correction, the three men were sitting on the antique couch creaking uncomfortably from the combined weight. As for me, I kept pacing in front of the empty safe left open as a hollow reminder that I’d gotten there too late.

“What exactly,” said Ari, “were you hoping to find? This has not been made clear.” The agent was wedged on the left between the curved armrest and Rabbi Kirov whose generous stomach took most of the center and then some. Isaiah was half sitting on the other armrest, hunched with one hand touching his chin while intently watching me walk from one side of the room to the other. Being the only one who could possibly have understood the language of Hell, I think my phrasings may have even surprised him. Though other than blinking rapidly at the better ones he did a pretty good job of not reacting.

I stopped to stare at Ari and gestured with annoyed emphasis. “The Book of Secrets! Haven’t you been listening?”

Kirov said its full name again, still thunderstruck by the entire situation. “The actual Sefer Raziel HaMalakh. I cannot believe it really was here.”

“Well it was,” I said. “And now the bloody thing’s been taken.”

“This,” said Isaiah, “is not good.”

“No shit.” I stopped myself from chewing on my lip before it bled.

“And what capabilities would this book grant the possessor?” asked Ari, looking to the Rabbi for guidance.

Kirov’s eyebrows scrunched in thought. “It holds the secrets of the angel Raziel - the secrets of Creation itself.”

“Sariel wants Isaiah dead,” I reminded everyone. “Can he use the book to accomplish that?”

Holding up a finger Isaiah spoke. “His true goal is to keep the Fourth Seal intact. From what you’ve told us, Soren used the book to recover himself as Camael before breaking the Second. Perhaps what Sariel learns from it would give him the means to prevent the Fourth’s destruction. If he can do that, he would have no need to kill me.”

“Except the jerk tried to take you out anyway two days ago! And he’s had the book for what, two weeks?”

My friend met my worried gaze. “We should take that as encouragement then that the tome may require extended study.”

I grunted. “So we could have some time before he actually uses it for anything - though we have no idea how much. But we’re still hosed because we have not even a guess as to where Sariel is! Or even who.”

“I do not understand,” Ari said, rubbing at the way-past-five-o’clock stubble upon his cheeks. “If this person - or angel - stops another of these seals from breaking, is this good or bad?”

“It’s complicated!” I snapped rather loudly before forcing myself to continue in a more measured tone. “That barrier’s collapse could open some serious cans of crap from Above. But Sariel just having that book in his possession could do the same.”

The agent stared blankly back. He really didn’t have a clue of the stakes - and I was too worked up to explain it without more shouting.

“Someone fill this guy in. Dammit, I need some air.” Yanking the front door open I stepped out to the second-floor walkway which overlooked a parking lot lined with palm-trees. The painted spaces for cars looked ridiculously tight - like seriously, there’s no way anyone with even a mid-sized SUV would fit between them.

Not without scraping the heck out of the other cars anyway.

A fist descended towards the iron railing but stopped before the decorative metal suffered the wrath of a frustrated angel. I grabbed hold of the rail instead, tilting forward into the Mediterranean breeze to let it cool my temper as well as face.

A little while later the door behind creaked as someone stepped out to join me.

“Jordan.” It was the rabbi. “Are you alright?”

“Just…trying to think.” I didn’t turn around, so he moved to the rail on one side.

“And are you succeeding?”

“Remains to be determined. Is Isaiah explaining everything to Ari? I would have figured you’d want to listen to that.”

“In this moment I have concern more for you.”

Flipping around, the banister then pushed into my back. “Well, I’m worried what Heaven might do if they find out a Grigori has that book.”

“You are sure Sariel is the thief?”

“Who else could it be? Nick knew that Soren had it, and the magician was working with Sariel. Heck, Nick even saw Kalka’il help me fight Kokabiel. They could have had people watching Father Anthony after that for all we know. But we’ve got nothing to use to find Sariel. Well, that’s not quite true.” I sighed.

“Oh?”

“I could send Tsáyidiel to hunt him. But then the home I made for the fae would be undefended - a brand new realm with a full inner well, ripe for the plucking. Some god or even other fae might be tempted to try and take it if they think I’m too distracted here on Earth. And the truth is that I am distracted! I need to be here to protect Isaiah.”

“You have said that Gabriel’s realm was otherwise empty, wouldn’t it be undefended as well?”

I snorted. “That place holds the sacred monument she built to remember angels who are no more. Anyone stupid enough to move against it would find every last member of the Host singing their death. Or worse. Mine has no such backing - especially as everyone now knows I’m not part of the Host.” Tugging on a braid whose strands were getting rather loose I added, “No, whichever way I slice it, I’d be risking something dear to me. My other option is to take Zeus’ offer.”

“Zeus?”

“Oh, sorry. I haven’t told you that bit yet. Zeus - you know, the God of Olympus - offered for me to join his pantheon as a goddess. He’s hoping I’d stand with them against Heaven. Though that would get me allies who could defend my realm.”

Kirov stiffened. “Surely you would never-”

“Never what?” I interrupted. “Go against the Host?”

He nodded.

“Rabbi, I will do what I must. And I’m seriously beginning to wonder whether the status quo imposed by Heaven all this time is right. But I still don’t have a clear picture of everything! The Host thinks I could be a threat; Camael thinks I’m their savior. The gods think I could be a tool to regain on this world what they lost when it was sealed. The DPA and therefore the United States thinks I’m…well, honestly I’m not sure what they think at this point. So far I’ve helped stop a major disaster so they may simply be desperately trying to not piss me off in hopes that I keep at it.”

“And what do you think?”

“Me? I think all I’m doing is making this headache worse.”

“The situation you find yourself in is not an easy one.”

“Yeah.” I chuckled at a sudden thought. “But you know what’s funny? The repetitions.”

“Ah, hmm. How so?”

“The threat from the Host towards Earth rises again, for one. And this is the second time we’ve chased after a dangerous artifact. Heck, this is my third trip to the Middle East.” What was it Alal had said in Egypt? Something about the Universe liking its threes. Sure enough I’d just seen her for a third time too.

Did that mean I wouldn’t see her again? Or would our next meeting not be as cordial?

He paused while lips pursed through the thick beard as if he wanted to say something that he wasn’t sure he should.

I tilted my head. “What? I’m still your student until at least the end of the week, so whatever you’ve got…hit me.”

He considered before speaking slowly, carefully measuring each word. “Often have I observed individuals experience numerous similar circumstances cropping up throughout their lives, with these challenging situations only changing when the lessons offered by the events are finally realized, absorbed, and acted upon. Typically this requires truly difficult choices and effort, but the first step always is that understanding.”

“Are you saying that I’m stuck?”

“Only you can answer that,” he said with a kind smile. “But I would offer that in times past I have found comfort and inspiration within prayer to Hashem. Perhaps you could try the same.”

“Prayer?”

“We stand only a couple miles from the Temple Mount, where my people have prayed for aid and guidance for thousands of years. We may have lost our beloved Temple, but the Western Wall still stands. If ever there was a place to seek answers from on High to such questions, would it not be there?”

I gaped openly at the rabbi. It was so simple a thing to try and yet…and yet nothing.

“Rabbi, you’re a genius. Do we have to wait until morning?”

He smiled. “Everyone is welcome to pray at all hours. In fact I’ve found the quiet of the night with the lessened crowds preferable.”

“Then let’s grab the boys and go.”

 

~o~O~o~

 

The Western Wall.

It has other names: HaKotel HaMa’aravi (shortened to “the Kotel” or even “Kosel”), the Buraq Wall (being the location where Mohammad tied his winged steed al-Buraq before ascending to Heaven), or even the Wailing Wall - though the last one was used by Christians as a possibly derogatory remark about all the tears shed in Jewish prayer for the loss of their sacred Temple that used to sit behind it.

As for the wall itself, it stood as a retaining structure of limestone originally put up as part of the expansion of the Second Jewish Temple begun by Herod the Great, holding in place the natural steep hill of the Temple Mount - a barrier of stone upholding the most sacred site in all Judaism. Larger stones reached upward, with smaller ones going further still. Those were more recent additions placed atop that which had stood through history, with crenelated gaps and a few spots of greenery sticking out and all.

Getting to it was simple enough. Our troupe of four piled into Ari’s car again and took a short trip to park outside the bricks surrounding the old city, which really wasn’t that far from our hotel. On foot from there we passed through the Jaffa Gate (and therefore past the Tower of David) and made our way through the narrow vendor-lined passages that wended their way through the city. Our path threaded between the Christian Quarter and the Armenian Quarter (which was also Christian) and then into the Jewish Quarter before reaching the Wall.

We had to go through a security checkpoint, and I had to confirm that no, I was not carrying any small Torah scrolls and was not wearing a prayer shawl under the white t-shirt somehow. I also was given a dark blue shawl to wear around my shoulders - although my shirt covered them fine it was somewhat low cut and Kirov encouraged me to “not risk it”. The boys only had to wear kippahs to cover their heads, and I was sternly warned that my prayers (unlike theirs) must be silent.

As tempted as I was to give the rabbi grief over the blatant gender discrimination, I bit my tongue. The rant that wanted to bubble forth wouldn’t help the situation and instead would have only made the man distinctly uncomfortable.

Considering the late hour, most of the shops that had lined paths which felt more like cave passages had been closed - though the stalls that sold spices were readily identifiable from the intoxicating lingering scents of quantities of varied offerings much more expansive than found in American grocery stores. During the day the scent must have been overpowering for a passage likely loud and tightly packed with tourists - a gathering I was glad to avoid.

Crowds and watching for potential assassins don’t mix well. Especially if you’re keenly aware of the emotional state of everyone’s spirit. Usually it’s just a background buzz, but even sitting at the cafe it’d been hard to ignore.

The buzz here at the wall however was something else entirely.

Standing outside the two clearings nestled against the stones which were gated apart from each other into a men’s section and much smaller women’s section, I could feel it.

Years upon years of hopes, pleadings, sorrows, and thankfulness, each unique yet also the same had etched the ground, the wall, and the hill beyond with a weaving of humanity at its most vulnerable and most heartfelt.

I had to stop walking to regain my bearings as it all slammed through. Isaiah’s footstep also faltered.

“You feel it too,” he said quietly.

“Heck yes.”

“Try to get as close to the fence on the left in your section as you can. I’ll go to the far right on our side. And don’t lose control.”

Control. Oh. Yeah that was a concern, wasn’t it?

Splitting off from the men I made my way to the entrance to the women’s area, the shawl’s fringed ends flicking in the breeze. Exchanging polite smiles with the few ladies I passed by, I reached the corner of modern steel fencing and ancient stone. Wedged into all the cracks of those large smoothed rocks were tiny slips of paper, each with its own prayer written in ink and spirit. Thousands of them, piled one into the other as holy tokens, each hoping to reach beyond the barrier not of earth but of flesh to touch the divine.

All in the hopes that an angel would carry them to God.

On the other side of the fence I felt more than heard Isaiah begin reciting the Kaddish, the Jewish mourner’s prayer. He was doing exactly what he had said he’d do.

He was praying for Danielle’s soul.

I touched the wall and part of me stretched through to touch all the prayers uttered by those who had lost their loved ones, feeling their desperate cries for God to care for all the souls they themselves could no longer hold.

Here they had a place for their words to rise towards Heaven.

Here they weren’t entirely cut off.

But those for whom I would also pray lay trapped beyond all possible grace from on High.

With an incarnate of Azrael’s chant resonating in ears and heart, I felt an anger grow as if each prayer placed upon this wall was a billows encouraging a spark smoldering within to then bloom into a bright furnace inside my chest.

A righteous burning filled all focus with the heat of white rage and demanded answers.

Gabriel’s memories opened within and attempted to provide.

 

With two hands did Azrael cut Creation.

This was no task to be accomplished in an instant. Intent and will expanded across all layers of every realm, and to each the dread blade’s power sliced connections away strand by infinite strand. Stars and galaxies, dimensions and fractals, all split apart as what was One tore slowly into Two.

So did the Rebel’s homes fall away from all else forged within the light of lights.

Those foes closest to the Archangel’s platform shouted alarms of terrible dismay, marshaling the enemy into a desperate push to reach and stop the Lord of Judgment’s will. Heedless of cost, wave after wave of charges suicidal crashed against the line of Heaven even as all paths outward collapsed towards the only remaining portion which narrowed further with each splatter of fallen blood.

Drops that dripped past through the fractures unto the Chaos spiraling into the gaps created by Azrael’s dual-edged sword.

Under a hood soaked with sweat did Azrael speak. “Hold them, Michael. Hold them until it is done or all is for naught.”

The Defender, his Word blazing true across the Host, sent the best of the newly forged Bene Elohim to the front to bolster the line forward of where he and the other Archangels stood.

To an angel they understood the true measure of the command and, with a united shout shaking the remaining cosmos, their wings spread wide as they crossed to smash into the enemy with singular purpose. With fire and steel they gave themselves over, an equal match to the frenzy of the panicked warriors who cried pleas with each strike unto Gabriel for mercy.

A mercy she was helpless to provide.

Behind the enemy’s formation of angels and demons a lance of scarlet and obsidian burst across the fields of battle. With twin swords of death and destruction carving a path with an efficiency marked by the wake of shattered armor, feathers, and bone, Samael shouted as he rammed his way forward.

“Helel! You fool! You slice yourself in twain as well by this!”

Lucifer, the Morningstar and Prince of Light, gave no answer. For his teeth were locked in horrible grimace as his spine bowed against the red-stained line spreading across his tunic. Azrael’s blade, as it must, also ripped its path across the chest of the First of them all.

Seeing this, Gabriel finally understood. “Azrael! This should not be!”

The Angel of Judgment, eyes lost to the sea of lights hovering in his greater vision, groaned as Gabriel’s words ripped across his awareness.

And the blade’s passage slowed.

“No!” With hand scarlet from clutching at the growing wound, Lucifer grabbed instead his brother’s shoulder and where fingers touched did stains sink into dark cloth. “Do not stop!”

Azrael’s hands tightened upon the leather-wrapped hilt with a grip no soul could escape, the endless need for finality urging it to slice those few remaining threads free: the strands upon which the entire Rebel army now stood as they gathered for one final charge.

Seeing Samael’s incoming and desperate rampage, Camael summoned his long blade of crimson fire. Preparing to throw himself into the battle, he caught sight of another flash of power and focus streak past. A platinum shepherd’s staff clashed against the Rebel’s twin swords, the impact tossing apart all nearby as if the area had been struck by a meteor thrown from the Heavens above.

For in a way it had.

Raguel, he who was the Lord’s Justice, stood athwart the Chief Rebel in a robe of white glowing fierce with holy purpose.

Burning with the flames of his heart’s rage and his swords’ blackened chaos, Samael cast disdain at his opponent even while slashing forward in a blur of void and fire. “You cannot hope to win, Raguel! Unlike Camael’s, your word also encompasses my cause.”

The unadorned staff spun, deflecting each attack into a fresh tower of sparks. “I need not win. I need only to hold.”

With a snarl set against stoic resolve, silver and flame danced with darkness and light.

Except their battle only delayed the Chief while his many Captains slipped past: Abaddon with gleaming spear and flowing golden locks, Beelzebub and his cohort marching in imposed unison, Abagor with sword and dagger glowing as if plucked straight from burning coal - all rushed around to emplace their wills against the Lord of Judgment, to hold that last sliver of connection upon which they stood.

Summoning the Powers, Camael formed up to assault this last defense, knowing that in so doing they must cross Azrael’s line and join the Rebels in their impending and eternal doom. Yet before he could shout his order Gabriel stepped forward.

With a heart wrenched into knots, she raised to her lips the golden shofar hereto unused and blazing within with holy power.

A single note sounded, and in the wake of its mighty blast all other instruments of the glorious and infinite symphony were silenced.

All who stood before the trumpet’s indomitable tone were swept away, and those who had fought against the Light were cast like splinters in a tempest out into the realms falling into the dark waters which lay behind and beyond.

Fingers dug through Azrael’s cloak as Lucifer leaned closer. “Finish it. Finish it now!”

Azrael’s heart and being flooded with his greatest desire: for the bloody war of all wars to end - and for the final peace and certainty he believed such would bring. Shoving that surge into his blade, arms and body strained to snip the last bonds still straddling the great divide.

But the instrument of his will did not move.

With a thundering crack sweeping all be they loyal or rebel from feet and wings as if an unstoppable wind had ripped through all things, Azrael’s sword snapped in two. The hilt came free in his hands while the black metal it once held remained wedged against those final bonds.

Creation had refused his command.

Samael’s booming laugh of triumph lashed against Lucifer’s cry of dismay and fury.

Realizing that the narrow cave-like passage remaining between the sides had forged the perfect defensive position for the Rebels to hold indefinitely should they eject Heaven’s forces, Michael shouted orders for all the Host to rise and obey. His purpose, steadfast and true since his own ascension to its glorious Seat, knew his Host needed now to rush forward in full force lest all hope of ending the war be lost. For all choices were gone but one.

The path Gabriel had feared the most.

Lucifer, straightening despite the pain, stated that fear aloud. “It is to be slaughter then.”

Two armies scrambled to reform, bracing themselves upon the remaining threads which held the passage open, each understanding the terrible stakes. Samael, his own purpose burning fires of reddish splendor brighter than ever before, grinned wide as here at last his ultimate wish would finally reach fulfillment.

Survival or Death. There would be no middle ground.

As each side shouted defiance with feet and wings beating the drums of war while blades flashed through answering sprays of blood, reality flickered.

And froze.

Time, that inevitable force of effect following cause, ceased its progression and stilled.

Unable to move, nay even to blink, each instead bore witness as before the slim remaining passage appeared a figure whose height extended over all.

Bearing the many faces of the host flickering past one after the other, each contorted and warped with an anger borne of endless conflict and overwhelming pain, the figure stretched forth a tremendous arm into the last connection between the two halves of that which is.

With cloth forged from the encompassing light of all things did the arm become wrapped.

With the might of all words was delivered a message in deafening roar and quiet whisper.

NO MORE

The cloth twisted tighter, its light intensifying until none but one were able to continue their witness, before its threads then faded into shadow beyond shadow as all color drained away.

And so did the Rebels fall for by the will of the Throne were they so bound.

When Time reasserted itself the first sound heard was Gabriel’s open weeping as she placed a hand against the towering Wall of Elohim and its one-way gate to realms forever lost.

 

Chapter 27 - Confessions

 

The prayers of thousands, maybe millions, swirled around and through perception. Many filled with the agony of terrible losses, but also with life: hopes and dreams for a better future for themselves and for those whom they loved. Having once contained the howling mayhem of the residues of uncounted untimely and horrific deaths, these in comparison were soothing as each was issued from hearts bowing in humility to the one to whom they prayed.

Standing with a hand still touching the wall I breathed them in, letting the sensation wash the anger and sorrow of Gabriel’s bitter memory aside. A strand of inner vision stretched upwards along their course until the spirit I knew would be there was found.

He still stood within an endless field of wild green grasses under the blue of a calm and clear sky, the plain dotted with flowers of every shade and shape. Except this time I recognized the grass for what it was: representative of each and every soul over whom the incredibly tall and long-bearded angel watched.

Where before his beard and hair had been dark against tan skin, now patches of whitish silver wove through the tightly curled strands. The khaki shorts and sandals were the same but the shirt had been replaced with shimmering deep azures and violets that formed a tapestry of overlapping petals as if made by flowers swaying in an unfelt wind. The book in his hand was no longer a paperback either, instead long fingers clasped a thick scroll bundled in burgundy velvet which itself had gold lettering woven through its fabric. Though he wasn’t manifesting wings, there was no doubt as to what he was.

“Your control,”said the angel as he looked down to where I stood, ”has greatly improved since last we spoke.” He was framed by a halo of light as if he’d eclipsed a sun that wasn’t actually there.

Or perhaps it was.

“Hello Sandalphon,” I said, nodding politely as emotions finally settled.

“Amariel.”

Resisting the temptation to gaze upon his scroll (which would likely have swallowed all perception), I instead kept attention on his face so I could inquire about an entirely different volume. “Someone has stolen Raziel’s secrets.”

“They have, yes.” Brown eyes were neutral yet kind, perhaps even guarded but at the same time warm. Protective.

The mix was unnerving. “I need to find it.”

“Do you?”

“Someone has to. It’s dangerous if in the wrong hands, isn’t it?”

“Raziel’s treasure is indeed a dangerous tool. Are you sure yours are the proper hands to wield it?”

I grimaced. “No, of course not! But I had hoped it could shed light on things. Maybe help me remember what happened in the Chaos because not knowing is driving me nuts!” Fists clenched and then let go. Staring at them before looking back up, I added, “And dangit, I just have so many questions.”

He chuckled lightly. “Unlike others that Book does not shine - that lies not within its purview. Its purpose is but to guide and inform.”

“Well I could really use some guidance right about now on how to find it. Any chance for some divine assistance?”

“August has already influenced events on this salient.”

Dammit. “Isn’t the threat of its misuse enough to get you to help? What’s the point of you having the Book of Life if you don’t act when needed?”

His expression grew stern. “But I do act. However as with all such things its power must be managed with tremendous care. I must not impinge upon the purpose of Creation lest all be undone.”

“You know,” I growled, “That almost sounds like an excuse.”

“Leading someone to understand this sacred duty is never easy.” The angel sighed and looked away over grasses blowing in the wind of his breath. “Which is why I grow concerned for August.”

“Concerned? Why?”

“His attachment to the Book of Life grows deeper with each passing day. But his incarnate self simply cannot manage the impact due to the physical limits of the human brain. Those limits could lead to a dread conclusion not just for himself but for everyone.”

I didn’t like the sound of that. “Can you slow the progression?”

“That would be akin to slowing the moon’s rise over the horizon: the effects far-reaching and damaging to mind and spirit. Thus in this moment my actions are restrained by the careful balance of many needs.”

“How can I help?”

He turned attention back to me and the warmer smile returned. “You already are.”

I stared at the overly tall angel. One of us must have conjured the gust that decided right then to blow dramatically across the flowers and flutter through his beard and my money was on him. Well, probably.

“It grows late for you and your companions,” he then said. “It is important to seek rest when you can.”

“Are you seriously telling me that I need a nap?” Yeesh, really? And why was it that talking to these higher angels always led to being more frustrated than before?

“The bliss of sleep is a wondrous gift. One I have missed from the days of walking the world.”

Interesting. “Judaic lore says you were their prophet Elijah. I take it that’s true?”

“I once held that name to feel the sand against my feet. Perhaps I will do so again.” He smiled again, though the edges held a touch of sadness. “I wish you well, Amariel.”

“Uhm, thanks.”

Blinking clear of the projected scene, all focus returned to the wall in Jerusalem. Beside me stood a woman whose wispy grey hair poked out from under a darkly knitted scarf as she slowly rocked back and forth, her eyes closed and seeing only her own inner world.

And maybe, just maybe, a glimpse of her God.

I wondered whether in her vision His arm still wore a tourniquet.

 

~o~O~o~

 

We slowly regrouped away from the Wall. Rabbi Kirov took the longest to finish which had left me and Isaiah standing there awkwardly alongside Ari. The agent clearly wanted to know if we’d experienced something but also didn’t want to seem silly by asking. As for Isaiah, he hadn’t said anything and his glower was indicative of a more Azrael mode of thinking.

When Kirov finally shuffled over he regarded us all with a raised eyebrow. “Have we achieved any further insights?”

I scoffed. “Just that it’s past our bedtimes. You?”

The rabbi shook his head. “Only the thought that we should inform Anthony of everything in the morning. I do admit I am weary.”

“Then go get some sleep. Why don’t you come to our hotel first thing, we’ll all get breakfast.” I looked to Ari. “And what of you, secret-agent-man?”

“Me?”

“Yeah. You didn’t pray at the wall so I’m assuming you contacted your team to get them to follow up on the idiots who ransacked Father Anthony’s home. Any leads on who hired them?”

“They’ll be re-interviewed.”

“But not until morning?”

“The police are presently forming up squads to interrupt their nights.”

“Oh. Good. Maybe we should go with you to help with the questioning.”

Before Ari could object to two foreign civilians being involved, Isaiah raised a gloved hand. “You said it was ‘past our bedtimes’. Why?”

My eyes rolled. “Because certain parties noted the importance of being well-rested.”

“Certain parties.”

I glanced at the glove and back to his eyes. “Yeah.”

Those eyes narrowed. “Then we should return to the hotel.”

Huh. “You think we’re gonna dream some new memories that are pertinent?”

“Perhaps.”

I groaned. Hadn’t I just had enough of that? “Seriously? Those are never restful. But fine. Let’s just hope I don’t fall through the floor again.”

Both Ari and Kirov’s eyes widened but it was Kirov who spluttered, “Through the floor?”

Laughing, I began the walk out of the Old City. “Don’t worry, rabbi. Isaiah’s got a ghost who can help.”

“A ghost?!”

As Isaiah and Ari fell in behind, Ari said, “With you people I don’t know whether she is joking.”

Isaiah shrugged. “You get used to it.”

It didn’t take long to get back to Ari’s car. He agreed to give Kirov a ride back to Anthony’s apartment as the walk from the Jaffa Gate to the hotel was short. I was pretty sure his van of troops would be lurking near the hotel anyway, and I’d caught a glimpse of the guy on foot still following us.

Which I found both amusing and annoying.

When Isaiah and I were about halfway back to where beds and our luggage awaited, I broke the lingering silence between us. “Alright, I think we’re out of earshot. And at this point our rooms are probably bugged.”

“True.”

“As you may have figured out, I spoke to Sandalphon. You?”

He paused. “Nothing direct. But I…communed…with Azrael.”

“Learn anything?”

“Only that Danielle’s spirit has not reincarnated. I was unable to determine where it was.”

I stopped walking. “Don’t tell me her spirit is stuck somewhere again.”

He gave a quick shake of the head. “No, that wasn’t the impression I received.”

A lump formed in my throat. “Do I need to dispatch Tsáyidiel to find her? He succeeded last time.” Yeah, and he’d found her soul imprisoned by its younger fae sister. Who later tried to flood the world with magic, damn the consequences for humanity.

“She’s waiting. It’s hard to put into words.”

“Waiting? For what?”

“I do not know.”

“Is she waiting for me?” The tightness sank into my gut. I’d been back for weeks and I hadn’t tried to find her spirit. I just knew she’d died, something I’d felt happen as a bomb exploded in my face. Fuck. “Should I have gone after her?”

“I…don’t think so. That doesn’t feel right.”

I blinked. Isaiah, the lawyer extreme, was attempting to give guidance based on feelings. Whoa.

But speaking of feelings I had another question for him. “When Kirov was lecturing about Hanukkah, something hit you hard.”

“Another memory from Azrael.”

“Oh. Can I ask of what?”

He stopped walking. “Teaching the mysteries to my…to his son.”

Wait, what? Oh my god. “His son. Azrael had a son. Holy shit! In all the memories I have from Aradia, that never came up.”

“She knew.”

“But how? I thought he kept to himself in that cave near Siabh’s village.”

“Not always. There was a family, a special family. One the Grigori had been set to watch over specifically. He would visit and…” He looked away, focusing on scenes far removed from the streets laying before us.

“And what?”

“Angels,” he finally said. “We had open welcome to their holding, to a brotherhood of faithful followers of Elohim. And she…she had eyes as pure as those of the beloved First - as clear and perfect as those witnessed in the moment of Azrael’s creation. When he first opened his own to behold the Lightbringer’s shining and joyous smile.”

I was stunned. “You…Azrael…fell in love.”

“Yes.”

“And had children.”

“Yes.”

“But they’d be Nephelim. And the Flood…” Words trailed off as implications painfully dawned.

Haunted eyes returned to mine. “Matityah. That was his name. And his sister, Edna. By Azrael’s hand and actions did they die.”

“Oh dude.” And I, as Aradia, had also taken part. “How long have you known?” I wanted to ask if their Nephelim spirits had survived the Seal, but couldn’t bring myself to. So many hadn’t.

“Since you went to El Paso.”

“You didn’t say anything.”

“I’m not the only one who hasn’t shared all that’s happened to them.”

A car went past, its white lights turning red in the transition. Far above, tiny dots twinkled to barely edge past the city’s own glow, the pinpricks of their distant and ancient fires only now arriving after thousands or even billions of years.

Somehow I knew how that felt.

“C’mon,” I said and led him to the nearby bus stop, one with a Plexiglas canopy and a very low plastic bench. Motioning for him to sit besides me I lifted heels to the bench’s edge and huddled around my knees. “Look, there’s…there’s a ton I haven’t told you. Or anyone.”

“I know.”

“You deserve to hear it. All of it. I’m sorry I haven’t but it’s…” I faltered.

He finished the sentence for me. “It’s not going to be easy.”

Yet I did so anyway. After taking a breath to gather myself I told him first about the fight in Egypt. About Gwydion’s evil sword slicing a wing, the bomb, and waking up in the darkness of Hell. I told him about being a Reaper and receiving coin to turn over lost souls. I told him about the assault on our outpost and Azazel’s plots, about Beliel’s Tears, and fighting nightmares with bare and bloody fingers. I told him about the duel and leading demonic mercenaries across fields of smoke-covered slaughter, with mud and allies alike smothered by the wet gore resultant from my commands. I told him of Camael and Nick’s late arrival, and about almost losing Nathanael in a battle over a hammer as an entire realm hovered on the brink of dissolution.

Hardest of all I told him about those I’d left behind.

Twitch, my quiet and steadfast companion in the dark. Maddalena, the priestess whose healing arts weren’t enough to save her from damnation. Hank, through whose beautiful blue eyes sparkled a hidden angel’s love and steady guidance. Horatio, whose shy affection for the lovely yet damaged Veronica smoldered unfulfilled. Praztus, whose brief taste of a light he had never known would now be lost forevermore. Balus, who stood as tall anchor at my back while his single deadly eye blazed out over all. And the Lilim, who filled their nights with music, dance, and blood.

All of them. Every last one.

And as the tears inevitably leaked out my friend put an arm around a shoulder and lent the strength to get it done.

When I finally ran out of words we weren’t where we’d started. We’d wandered far as we’d once done after days spent with dice and fantasy when we’d wander through the nearby neighborhoods and shops until dawn while discussing minute details of the stories unfolding in those sessions, pausing only to rest against stone walls or benches and bending knees to scritch whatever kitties of the night happened by.

Except this time what I’d described was no game and he’d stayed mostly quiet to hear it all complete.

“That,” he said while gazing along the street at another car passing us by, “is quite the tale.”

I shrugged, looking at sidewalk and shoes.

“It’s not your fault,” he said as we reached the next block of closed storefronts.

“You’ve said that already.”

“I don’t mean Danielle. The souls trapped below - they aren’t your fault either.” He removed glasses which had fogged up again. “If anything, the responsibility there is mine.”

“You didn’t seal them in.”

“No, perhaps not. But what I…what Azrael tried to do was worse.” Instead of cleaning the lenses he simply held them.

“You remember that?”

“Yes.”

“It’s wrong. Souls falling there for eternity out of rage, desperation, or despair. It’s just wrong.”

My friend stared off into unfocused distance. “In the tradition of law there is a notion called Blackstone’s Ratio. It states that it is better that ten guilty should go free than one innocent suffer. Abraham argued similarly to spare the Cities of the Plain to preserve the few righteous among them.”

“Sodom and Gomorrah still burned.”

“They did. But Lot’s family escaped.”

“Was that Azrael’s doing?”

“Yes.”

We stayed silent, turning at the corner to head back towards the hotel without needing to agree on it. As we approached the driveway Isaiah paused under a bright street-lamp.

“There’s one part of your story that you don’t seem to fully appreciate,” he said, amber light glinting off the glasses he’d just put back on.

“Oh?”

“Your demon mercenaries. By your account they feed on hate, selfishness, and slaughter. Yet instead of running from that battle they sacrificed themselves to save you. Of everything you’ve said, that perhaps is the most extraordinary. Think on it.”

He then went up the stone-paved drive and on through the waiting rotating doors.

 

~o~O~o~

 

When we made it back to our rooms there was a small envelope resting on the table before the flat screen television. It hadn’t been there before.

Isaiah and I looked at each other but I walked over to it.

Yeah, I scanned the heck out of it before touching. It was as it appeared: a white envelope with a single folded piece of paper within. Pulling it free, I quickly read the contained message though it was comprised of pictographs rather than letters.

 

Tlahuizcalpantecuhtli!

Unsafe to meet, soldiers many surround you. A debt is owed; here is payment.

As Mictlantecuhtli did with me, so must you. Seek a master by their servant: Faaiza Irfan who serves a Great but Fallen Prince. But beware Lord of Day! The servant wields an artifact my Exalted Master was unable to bargain to acquire.

Should justice fall upon she who defied his wishes my Master would be pleased.

-Coatl

 

Clutching the hand-drawn note as if it were a tablet from on high, I looked to Isaiah who still stood cautiously by the door. Physically and emotionally exhausted as I was, I still managed a grin.

“Dude, we’ve finally got a clue!”

 

Chapter 28 - River

 

The clock on the small kitchen’s microwave read three a.m. which made it only five in the afternoon back in Los Angeles.

On the television’s wide screen by thanks of my laptop, Kami Kurohoshi had paused preparations for yet another formal event to take our call - the immaculately pressed sleeves of his dress shirt still had yet to have their carefully chosen cuff-links applied.

And by ‘our’ I meant myself, Isaiah, and a hastily arrived Ari who stood out of view of the laptop’s camera by hovering over the island separating the suite’s living area from its small kitchen.

I’d had a feeling the Israeli agent was about to be useful and made sure he was here.

“Gentlemen,” I said from where I sat at the center of the soft leather couch in prime focus. “We have a way to find Sariel. The jerk has an assistant, one Faaiza Irfan. My source indicates if we find them we find their boss.”

“Your source?” inquired Kami even as he motioned to someone off-screen to presumably look into the name just given.

“Yeah. I was left a message while touring the city here. From Coatl.”

If that surprised the underworld boss he didn’t let it show. “Can you verify it was actually from him?”

I grinned. “I think even Israeli Intelligence would have had a hard time writing a perfect note in Aztec.” Flicking eyes over at Ari just for the fun of it I asked, “Hey, did your team even notice him come and go? And what did they think of his script?”

The agent shrugged with a lot less embarrassment than I expected. “They’re still working on the translation. This Coatl, is it the same individual who escaped prison in the U.S.?” He didn’t even flinch at the amused glare he received from the tacit admission that they’d invaded our room.

Having expected such anyway, I resumed being more serious. “Yeah, that’s him. Works for Bishop. I think Bishop tried to bargain to get the Book and failed. Tipping me off is a bit of a sore-loser power-play but I’ll take it.”

A hand with sleeves more properly buttoned offered a tablet to Kami. Taking it he read the contents. “Irfan, Faaiza. Born in Jordan into a wealthy banking clan, she received her education at Oxford in business. Upon graduation she joined Shir Industries International in India first as an executive assistant, where she rapidly received several promotions until achieving a slot as a Director of Finance.”

Isaiah leaned forward. “Let me guess. Shir Industries - it’s owned by Firuzeh Sardar, isn’t it?”

“Correct,” said Kami. “And upon Sardar’s death Ms. Faaiza Irfan resigned her position. I do not have a current location.”

From the kitchen Ari cleared his throat. “If she’s Jordanian I may be able to assist. Might I use a bedroom for a call?”

I waved towards Isaiah’s room. “Sure. It’s not like your guys haven’t already been through everything in there.”

That at least won a smile from the agent who closed the door after walking into the other room.

Waggling eyebrows at Isaiah I asked him, “So hey, are all your boxers blue? I bet they know.”

My friend laughed. “You really want to find out?” He must have said it without first realizing the full potential implications as both of us then flushed beet red. Which must have been even more obvious across my pale skin.

Yeah, ok, my fault. I waltzed right into that one.

Kurohoshi ignored the exchange entirely. “If you do find this Faaiza, what is your plan?”

Isaiah didn’t hesitate. “We get Sariel’s current identity and location.”

“How?”

The lawyer’s eyes went hard. “By whatever necessary means.”

Kurohoshi nodded slowly. “And should you find Sariel?”

It was my turn to answer. “Sariel needs to move on to his next incarnation. No more skipping from body to body so let’s not mince words. He needs to die. We find him, we kill him.”

That must have shocked Isaiah as he blinked with guarded surprise, “You’re okay with that?”

I met his expression with a cold one of my own. “Yes.”

Sorrow yet growing respect blended upon his face which was uncomfortable to watch. I turned back to Kami whose big head on the display was still nodding.

“Good,” said Kami. “Do you require additional assets?”

That was an excellent question. “What do you have available?”

“Isong and Tanya have arrived at the Waldorf Astoria.”

“What, here in Jerusalem?”

“Yes. Where you go, trouble follows. Preparedness is often key. Give me two days and a full team will assemble.”

“How did you…” I paused. “Goodman. He give you a heads-up on our destination?”

Kurohoshi simply smiled.

I was about to say something more but Ari came out of the bedroom. To him I asked, “Find out anything?”

The agent, still wearing the beige sweater and khakis and therefore looking more like a college professor than secret agent, held up a smart phone. “We have her current address. Her father, Mahmoud Irfan, suffered a stroke and she returned home to Amman to tend to him.”

Isaiah raised a brow. “That was quick to get that intel.”

Ari shrugged. “Every intelligence agency in the region has been ordered to find out all possible information regarding the assault on the pyramids as well as the event in Aleppo.” He then pointed at Kami on the screen. “Your friend there has likely earned a lot of favors of late.”

Kami neither smiled nor frowned at that. “Is she under Jordanian Security surveillance?”

“No. Her passport and I.D. is merely flagged to track her general movements.”

“If she’s in Jordan,” I said, feeling a little weird saying that due to my adopted name, “then I can’t call Goodman for official assistance despite his offer. Not with what needs to be done.” I thought for a moment and then it hit me. “Wait, her father had a stroke and is ill?” I looked to Isaiah meaningfully.

He caught my drift. “When exactly did that start?” he asked Ari.

Not being entirely dense, the agent answered immediately. “He was taken to Emergency the day of the attack on the pyramids.”

Holy shit. “That can’t be coincidence. How wealthy is he?”

“Mahmoud Irfan is majority owner of one of the largest banks in Jordan. He also has invested heavily in several Jordanian mining companies and refineries.”

Isaiah straightened in surprise. “Refineries? For precious metals?”

“Yes.”

The lawyer turned to me, irises burning with dread purpose. “Then we have him. Sariel took over Mahmoud.”

Somewhat confused I said, “I agree it’s likely - but why are you so certain?”

Isaiah banged a fist against the leather couch. “Because with a refinery they can re-cast the gold stolen from Whateley. And then use the bank to sell it. We need to move and do so fast. Like right now.”

Again I asked, “Why?”

Kurohoshi answered for him. “Because a man that wealthy and influential will have informants of his own within Jordanian Security. And if Ari just used a contact there to get intel on the daughter, then the father will soon know about the external interest.”

Everyone looked to Ari. The agent rubbed a scruffy cheek and said, “I’ll get you Jordanian Visas. You’ll have them by dawn.” He didn’t argue with Kurohoshi’s assessment.

Chewing on a thumb, I nodded. “Good. And you intelligence stud-muffins have another quest to fulfill before then.”

Ari paused pushing buttons on his phone. “Which is?”

I flashed a demon-hunting grin. “Get me the blueprints to their home and an assessment of whatever private security they’ve got.”

The agent’s eyes also went flat and he nodded. “Will do.”

After Kami signed off and Ari paced back into the other room for his calls, Isaiah kept his attention’s focus on me with his lawyerly unreadable expression.

“What?” I asked.

“You’re looking forward to it.”

“Huh?”

“To the hunt. And even the kill.”

Anger surged. “That asshole keeps trying to kill you and his stupidity in Cairo killed Danielle! So yeah, I'm looking forward to taking the son of a bitch down. He fucking deserves it! You saying you aren’t?”

“No. I too wish it done. It’s just…” He paused.

“Say it.”

“I’ve never seen you like this.”

I had to stand. “You’d best damned well get used to it. My innocence lies spilled alongside my blood upon the frozen wastes of Hell! Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go follow advice given separately by both an archangel and a good friend.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I’m taking a nap. Wake me up when it’s time to plan this shit.” Marching off towards a bed, the door to my room slammed shut behind.

Though his odd expression of respect crossed with sorrow stayed with me.

 

~o~O~o~

 

No, I didn’t sleep.

Forty minutes of lying in the too-soft bed staring at the room’s blank white ceiling was interrupted by Isaiah sticking his head in to announce that they needed me.

Grumbling, I stumbled out to find that Captain Isong and Tanya had joined us, both wearing outfits mostly comprised of dark pockets resting over Kevlar. Most importantly is that Isaiah handed me a fresh mug of tea.

No sugar, no milk. Hallelujah.

Ari was leaning against the kitchen island with his own cup of brewed leaves in hand. From the smell it was some sweet monstrosity of cream and sugar. He didn’t waste any time and said, “We have a problem.”

“Yeah?”

“Mr. Cohen can use his work as cover to visit Jordan due to his firm having contacts in the city whom he could legitimately be visiting. These two,” he pointed at Isong and Tanya who were sitting on the couch pouring over printed blueprints, “have clear passports which will get them across as tourists.”

“So what’s the issue?” I took a slow sip. Huh, minty. Not sure I liked it much but it’d have to do.

Isaiah pointed at me. “You. As Jordan Elin Emrys you’ve been flagged. It’s what triggered Ari and his people to tail us from the start.”

“Well that sucks,” I said before looking over at the two on the couch. “You guys wouldn’t happen to have brought new credentials with you or anything?”

Isong shook her head. “No. What happened to the old one for Baghdadi anyway?”

I shrugged. “Burned up on the way to Hell is my guess.”

She blinked at that then simply nodded.

“Getting a solid fake I.D. and passport for you will take time,” said Ari. “Potentially a day, maybe more.”

“Hey,” I said. “How come Goodman didn’t know my passport as Jordan was flagged? He only figured my other one was.”

Ari answered. “Our relationship with U.S. intelligence is good but not always smooth.”

Tanya flicked a wrist and a small blue knife appeared in her hand. “You should have made arrangements with Kurohoshi before coming. We had to run like crazy to make the flights.” She proceeded to use the blade to clean her fingernails. “He could have helped with that.”

“Eh, no biggie,” I said. “I’ll just meet you guys in Amman when you get there.” Another sip and I put the mug down. Yep, too much mint.

The intelligence agent blinked. “And how will you accomplish that?”

“I’ll fly. And,” I said with a smile to everyone who was busy picturing a fireball zooming across the border, “no one will see me do it.”

Isong commented first. “That’d be new.”

With a yawn and a stretch I went over to see what those two were looking at. “It worked against the DPA. Should be fine. So what’ve we got?”

The Captain took me at my word and returned attention to the printouts. “Residence, four stories up and two underground. Located in a wealthier section called Abdoun - think Beverly Hills but not those areas against actual hills. Individual house plots mostly taken up by the mansions with just enough space leftover for a fancy driveway and gate.”

“Security?” I asked while kneeling to shuffle through the pages on the table and mentally capture their images. I had to shove hair out of the way a couple times because I’d forgotten to pull the reddish-gold mess into a ponytail again before coming out. I still wasn’t used to again wearing it long.

“Private. A few guards for the house, another couple as bodyguards for wherever they go.”

“Light arms or serious?”

“It’d be illegal to have more.”

I rolled eyes. “Yeah but that won’t stop someone wealthy enough.”

“True.”

Pondering, I tapped the table. “If Mahmoud is there I’ll get it done. Tanya and Isong should be support in case things go sideways to provide retreat with a vehicle or something. If only Faiza is at the house then we grab her and go.” I looked up at Kami’s dark Captain. “Can Kurohoshi arrange some spot we can take her to where we can find out what we need?”

She met my gaze. “How will you know whether Mahmoud is in the house or no?”

“Because I’ll see straight through to Sariel’s spirit. He may have spellwork to hide behind but I plan to rip through whatever he’s got.”

The warrior blinked in surprise. “You’re going for a direct approach then.”

“A fight with Sariel will be messy anyway. That’s why I want you both on support; he’s likely out of your league.”

Tanya pointed her knife at Isaiah. “What about him?”

“He comes with me. Just get him some Kevlar if you’d be so kind.”

Isong frowned. “Is that not an unnecessary risk?”

Knees straightened, and as I rose I looked over at my friend. “Not having him there in case I go overboard is the greater threat.”

Isaiah nodded solemnly in agreement.

“Indeed.”

 

~o~O~o~

 

We all went our different ways shortly after sunrise. Isaiah got in a hired car to head to the border where another vehicle would be waiting for him on the other side of the Allenby Bridge - known as the King Hussein Bridge by those in Jordan. Isong and Tanya went off to ride the public bus that would also get them to the bridge and once through customs they’d catch another bus to make it to the city. It’d all take more than a few hours so it was decided to meet up at a mall which was right outside the wealthy neighborhood of the target.

And hey, from what I saw when we looked it up the mall had bumper cars. Could be fun, though I firmly believed that if we were to go all battle royale on those things that Tanya would totally kick our butts.

It was the blue hair - she just had that punk edge.

Ari of course wasn’t coming. He didn’t need all sorts of international heat if things went sideways, and let’s face it - this was a high possibility. After getting us all the information he could and agreeing to have breakfast with Kirov to explain our absence, he’d left the hotel room muttering in Hebrew how we were fools to rush in with so little planning.

Maybe we were, but if it was a race to get to Sariel before he swapped bodies again then I wanted to win. If he was true to supervillain form he could have more backups already lined up.

The brightening morning sky was filled with clouds, but not the types that threatened rain. Instead, white fluffy mountains floated overhead to slowly merge or separate at the whims of the wind, causing areas of ground to slip in and out of shadows cast by the rising sun. Flying first north to get away from Jerusalem, I then kept rather close to the ground instead of going for altitude while streaking over low mountains before turning east to zoom past farm plots filled with various vegetables or even olive and date trees. I’d never really seen date trees before, best description of those would be if you take a palm tree and deliberately fill out the stem with even more of the long green leaves so the whole thing turns into a large ball of fronds just waiting for some gigantic cat to use it as a toy.

While I was invisible to sight, I knew anyone with strong spirit senses might detect me anyway so I stayed just above the trees and directly over crops wherever possible, zooming past like an angelic missile hellbent on avoiding radar installations.

It had seemed like a smart idea when heading out, but as I zipped over a farm and approached some thicker greenery just beyond a rectangular field I discovered the plan contained a serious hidden drawback.

Did you know there’s a darn good reason convertibles have a front windscreen? Well there is. Because I slammed face-first into a massive swarm of flying black dots while cruising at over a hundred miles-per-hour. You’d think after getting the motorcycle I’d have remembered being warned about such open-faced risks come springtime.

But nope. Can you say “splat”?

After emitting a decidedly non-ladylike shriek, I tumbled to a halt mid-air as hands flailed about trying to bat the danged things away. This was followed by a stream of loud curses (in several languages no less) in between some serious spitting and groaning.

Not only had the tiny buggers impacted teeth but quite a few had gone right up into the sinuses. Because of course I was inhaling deeply at the moment of contact out of a silly curiosity of whether I could figure out what the crops were around here just by smelling the air.

Dangit, they’d even left wet trails across cheeks and forehead not to mention completely smearing their butts through my hair.

I may have been a tough-as-nails demon hunter accustomed to shoving hands into viscera, but still. After all, I’d never been stupid enough to suck demon guts up my nose.

Beyond the fresh greenery ahead lay a small creek which was likely the source for the dense and rude clouds of insects. Hovering down to its bank, I squished onto a patch of soggy dirt, noting that the creek itself must’ve narrowed upstream because the current was happily burbling past at a good clip.

Where I’d landed swirled a pool just off the main surrounded by thick green and brown vegetation matching the rest hanging over the creek, but its water was being adequately refreshed so it too was mostly clear instead of being discolored by silt and algae. The other side of the brook was only twenty feet or so away and the depth didn’t seem all that bad either. In other words, I didn’t hesitate and immediately splashed out into the pool - tennis shoes and all - to try and get the mess off eyebrows and yes, out of my mouth.

The ridiculousness of the situation finally hit as I caught myself trying to dip wings into the water to splash them about to get all the nasty specks off my feathers and cursing because the spots I needed to rub clean were really freakin’ hard to reach no matter how I pulled them in.

I burst out laughing, all traces of foul mood evaporating away.

Because it was silly. I was being silly.

All I had to do was blip spirit-side and come back and all remains of those icky bugs would be gone. And yet what was really hilarious was that somehow I didn’t feel like this would be good enough. Even then I’d want some good shampoo and probably a neti-pot.

While standing in the pool I did so anyway, cleaning the wings in a quick flick of brightness. Though I still washed my face fresh again anyway before looking around at the lush surroundings in more detail.

It really was beautiful.

After all the time spent traveling a realm where the waters were undrinkable, where plants grew twisted and had evolved harsh spiky edges to rip skin free from bone, and where what lurked in the underbrush would not only kill but possibly enslave one’s soul for eternity - this was, in short, paradise.

The moment of perceived perfection sadly only lasted for a brief moment. Having stretched out perceptions I then sensed pulses of fear and distraught panic.

Up the creek a good hundred yards or so away, a lone sheep with wool dirty-white except for its dark brown head (which made it look like it was wearing a leather hood) stood at the water’s edge, hooves pawing at the stream as it shook itself back and forth in obvious distress.

Except it wasn’t by itself.

A muffled bleating came from behind a rock in the stream directly out from the shore.

I didn’t think, I moved.

Immediately airborne I streaked to that rock, where a lamb’s small muzzle struggled to stay above the current while its exhausted body thrashed below.

Oh god, its legs were trapped in a fishing net. The weights had caught hold of rock and lamb both, trapping them one against the other as taut nylon threads dug harshly into wool and hide.

Plunging into the cold stream, wings flared with power to steady against the water’s considerable pull. While the little one’s brown-eyes stared wide with panic, I dipped under to take hold of the strands and rip them away from the stone and brush into which the mess had entangled - careful to do so such that it wouldn’t tighten its wiry grip on the lamb.

Sharpness ripped across palms but I didn’t care.

With a loud bleat I wasn’t sure was from the young sheep or myself, she came loose and by wrapping her in my arms I was able to lift her free from the water’s grasp.

Clutching the trembling girl to my chest, I carried her to the shore, her mother scrambling madly across the brush to reach us. But the netting was still locked tight around her torso, digging deeper lacerations into legs running slickly scarlet over the whiteness held close to my shirt.

“Dammit!” I wasn’t sure how to get the stupid net off. If I tugged on any piece the danged cords would just cut deeper on the other side. Her terrified struggles had bound it too tightly against and into her scrawny limbs. Already had arteries been tied off, removal would only lead to a faster end.

I didn’t know what to do. Manipulate energy or blast something? No problem. General imposition of will on the local pattern? Sure. Cleanse a blighted spirit? Bring it on. But not this. I didn’t know what to do. Maddalena was the physical healer, not me.

And she wasn’t here. Nor did the small one whose breaths came shorter in tiny choking gasps have time for me to fly her for miles while hopelessly searching for an emergency veterinarian.

The mother’s pained whimper as she braved nearness to the strange and glowing winged being to nuzzle her suffering child tore just as deep as the netting.

Ever since coming back I hadn’t asked for help from above, not really. Even at the wall I hadn’t prayed so much as reacted in anger. But here, with this little lamb crying so plaintively within my arms, I called out in frantic desperation.

Raphael, anyone, help! Please!

What reached down upon me wasn’t Raphael, nor Sandalphon, nor even Gabriel.

Only the Light.

And with its brilliance came this most incredible serene peace.

It wasn’t through a glorious symphony or some incredible revelation of universal import that it arrived, only this infinite calm as if every part of my heart and the greatest spirit above had perfectly aligned and through that concordant connection flowed a deep tranquility and acceptance.

All else simply washed away.

Hands glowed brighter as fingers tugged on frayed cords, and the knotted strands dropped free.

Tenderly did I offer the lamb to her mother. And where the light had touched, the little sheep - with neck and face tinted brown just like her mom’s - had been made whole.

As were unbroken palms which then received gentle nuzzles by mother and daughter, their short fluffy tails swishing rapidly with relief and joy.

We stayed there awhile on the bank of the stream, me gently petting their heads as the sun warmed us dry. Thoughts and the lack thereof floated past with a crystal clarity not experienced in some time.

Eventually I needed to resume the airborne journey, and so after bidding the two sheep farewell, I took to the air once more. It wasn’t until I flew over a larger body of water forming a lake with an obvious dam that I put two-and-two together against the map I’d glanced at before departing the hotel.

The lake just now had to have been at the Kafrein Dam. And the small creek I’d just left? Yeah, that must have been the actual river from which Danielle had taken my new mortal-focused name. I guess considering its historical importance I had expected the water flow to be a lot larger, like the wide Nile seen in Cairo, or even the mighty Mississippi from when I’d twice driven over it. Instead the legendary river Jordan had the stature of a minor rivulet. Trippy, right? Threw me for a loop realizing that.

Oh and my blood-stained t-shirt had been cleaned and repaired just like my hands, something I noticed before take-off as the sheep, bleating happily to each other, wandered along the water’s edge back towards their herd.

In fact the cloth had become a brighter white than before.

 

Chapter 29 - Offerings

 

After consuming countless refilled iced-teas as an excuse to keep sitting at the mall’s food court, I watched Isaiah finally saunter up the escalator. Isong and Tanya were already in the crowd but they hadn’t approached, instead they’d been hovering by the closest shops and maintaining their distance. Communication using the earbud with the built in mic they’d handed me back at the hotel was kept to a minimum, just a simple check and acknowledgment that they were working.

Which of course meant no bumper cars. Such sadness.

As Isaiah got close, I stood and tossed the cup into a nearby bin. “Any problems?”

“No. The car is waiting, let’s go.”

That was fine with me. Not that the mall wasn’t nice or anything - it actually reminded me of one in West Los Angeles that I had frequented often as a teenager. While this complex had four floors instead of three, it was still the same internal layout of stores in a long ellipse with the center open to broad glass ceilings at the very top, with each level lined by multiple escalators and capped by elevators surrounded with potted planters. It was clean, modern, and had just one drawback as far as I was concerned.

Too many people.

A headache had already started from keeping alert for any out-of-the-ordinary behavior as well as performing regular spirit scans. Opening up to such also meant being bombarded by the emotional wash from all the passersby, which was annoying. Of course also adding to that was having to stare down young men who, having caught sight of a female sitting by her lonesome, kept thinking I needed company. I’d put on a hijab to hide the fiery hair but that hadn’t helped much.

Or maybe it did. Was hard to tell.

Fortunately the resting-bitch-face I’d developed to intimidate demons into doing my bidding worked even on impetuous and hormone-driven teenage males.

We exited the complex through the set of automatic glass doors out to the sidewalk where we climbed into the back of a Mercedes sedan, one whose windows were almost as dark as the paint. Isaiah must have already given the driver (who couldn’t have been over twenty) instructions, as without a word he pulled the car away from the curb.

Finding the mall from the air hadn’t been hard. Amman as a city didn’t have that many high-rises and our destination was a mostly residential neighborhood anyway - which meant no houses over four stories tall. The whole city sprawled over these low-rolling hills as if the earth at some point had rolled just like ocean swells and then got stuck that way. Some areas were new construction, but others were clusters of older buildings in great need of repair beyond the minimal patchwork maintenance they’d received just to keep things standing.

Abdoun was filled with the former, including entire plots which had been cleared but were yet to be developed; these left odd gaps of dirt between the many walled mansions lining the streets.

We turned left to head into the wealthier neighborhood. The buildings, both commercial and residential, were all painted off-white as if made of stone, the architecture being mostly blocky yet touched with inset arches over windows and entrances. Every few buildings one would have red slow-sloping tiles for its roof, but most were flat. The houses also had small balconies on every floor, each jutting out the sides to face the street or alongside inner atriums.

Pointing out the window down a cross-street we were passing, Isaiah noted, “Go straight from here and you’ll reach the U.S. Embassy. If things go wrong, head there.”

Good to know. Though I’d already caught that from looking at the maps. “We still doing a drive-by first so I can scan?”

“Yes.”

The house of interest was on a corner, the curb painted alternately yellow and black with the sidewalk wrapping around in red, matching the roof. Well, most of the roof. The front of the house looked like it had been built up to frame an observatory, as the main entrance was under a circular balcony held up by two elegant front columns which extended higher to support a stone-colored half-sphere dome pressed into the fourth floor. Palm trees and other local shrubbery decorated the small yard, all surrounded by a low wall topped with intricate ironwork fencing. Each section of fencing was framed by lamps and also sported golden sun-face emblems in the centers.

Frankly this house was quite tasteful and modest in comparison to some of the others we’d passed.

As we approached I began to take a deeper look, of course. Yes the building was warded.

And yes I gazed through them anyway.

I rattled off to Isaiah what I saw: ten security agents both lightly and heavily armed, four maids and/or chefs, two non-human spirits of which one was angelic and the other a Nephelim, plus an artifact of some kind which glowed with some seriously bright and heavenly energies.

That last had to have been the Book. I didn’t stare too closely at it though, as now was not a good time to risk reading deeper and getting caught by its pages.

In the middle of listing everything, the front pedestrian gate opened and out from its protected garden walked a member of their security detail - immaculate pressed suit, sunglasses, and all.

Whereupon to our surprise he continued to step directly in front of our car and with two empty hands motioned for us to stop. It was then that I should have realized that the rest of the day was not going to go in any way like we had planned or even conceived.

Moving around to the passenger side (so he’d still be between us and the house) he turned to face my door and bowed deeply. Through the tinted window he then said in Arabic, “The Master of the House would be greatly honored if you would join him in the sitting room.”

I rolled down the window. Okay, technically I pushed a button and it slid down. Hush.

“We are to be his guests?”

“Yes, madam.”

Ooh, he called me “madam” instead of “miss”. I decided I liked him. “One moment, please.” The window went back up. Noting that Isaiah was in his business attire (jacket over Kevlar vest yet still wearing a tie as opposed to my “flying-casual” outfit), I asked him, “Think I should go formal?”

“It couldn’t hurt.”

When I opened the door and offered my hand to the gentleman holding out a hand to assist my graceful exit, I was again wearing the violet one-shouldered gown, high heels, and all the lovely golden accoutrements. I’d tucked the throat mic under the wrap on the shoulder as best I could, and for passport and phone I’d needed to once again deploy Isaiah’s pockets.

The security guy was impressively stoic, having not skipped a beat from seeing me first in a t-shirt and a moment later dressed entirely different. Tan skin held mine politely before he turned to lead us both inside.

Isaiah had to get out of the car on his side all on his own, a fact which I found amusing.

After crossing yet another brightly lit marble-floored and frond-decorated entry hall, we turned left through a tall and wide light-wood archway into a cream-colored room illuminated by a single tall window framed by off-mocha hanging curtains and two golden lamp sconces. In front of that window was a ‘U’-shaped couch formed out of a sequence of cushions laying directly on the floor - all a slightly lighter shade than the curtains. Blue and white striped throw pillows dotted the couch as the only dash of color, and the whole was set around a mosaic-patterned rug that rested under a low table of glass-covered marble which itself held a bowl of dates and a silver pitcher. With the couch so close to the ground the ceiling appeared much higher than it actually was, giving the room a much more open feeling.

Not that I had time in the moment to really examine the room or admire the pair of golden-framed sand-paintings of patterned whites and shadows. All attention was drawn to the two individuals awaiting us.

The first was an older gentleman who sat upon the central cushion, a short walking stick resting near the lapel of his tan business jacket. He had the skinny and drawn look of a man who had recently lost weight due to a serious health issue - cheeks which once sat more plumply upon the face now were weathered and taut. A round nose which had suffered much abuse in its years sat above a well-trimmed white beard, and a black-and-white checkered headscarf covered his head. Despite the tremors visible in the hand wrapping around the cane the dark eyes were rock-steady.

They also were tired if not outright exhausted.

Standing over him was Faaiza Irfan, recognizable from the photo Ari had shared - though she’d clearly aged since college and if anything had gotten into better physical shape. Her navy-blue jacket and slacks matched the stripes on the cushions, and brown hair with only a hint of a wave draped just below her shoulders. The fierceness of expression (if not outright hostility) belied her stature as she was about a foot shorter than I.

Though maybe she just had some serious intimidation factor going on due to the tall Roman spear that she held in a tight fist. A weapon whose simple iron tip blazed with tremendous holy power, broadcasting a field of energy not unlike that which still permeated a certain storage facility in L.A.

I spoke first. “That,” I said while staring at the spear, “is not a book.”

Sariel - for though the body had been labeled Mahmoud at birth, his angelic name sat clear as day upon his spirit - squinted with puzzlement. “Were you expecting one?” His voice had the gravel tones of a man who had smoked more than his share of tobacco.

“Actually? Yeah. I was.”

“Presuming you mean the volume you allowed Callas Soren to keep, I have no knowledge of its whereabouts. Nor have I sought after it. Perhaps its mysteries lie permanently buried under the mountain where Azazel met his fate. I have had no need for it.”

“No? You could’ve used it to find another way to kill Isaiah. Especially after your recent bullets failed.”

“Bullets?” He looked genuinely confused. “I have taken no action after realizing my error at the pyramid. I should have known the fae queen had already reached the Seal and that it therefore was too late to destroy the pathway to its anchor.”

“Error?!” I boggled at the old man. “You call that just an ‘error’?! You almost wiped out the entire Middle East!” I took a step forward, causing Faaiza to shift and place the spear’s tip between me and the Grigori. “And what exactly is that?” I pointed at the weapon. “You planning to use it on him instead of a bullet?!”

“No,” said Sariel, reaching out to Faaiza’s waist, tugging for her to stand down. “It is an offering. And a plea.”

Isaiah moved to my side. “You would bargain for mercy?” By his voice alone the water in the pitcher should have frozen over.

Before Sariel could even venture a reply, I blurted out, “Mercy?! You…I…If it weren’t for you I would have been there for her! She might have lived! How dare you!” My shoulders and arms trembled. “What makes you think you even deserve it?!”

The fallen angel simply shook his head in sorrow. “I do not. I accept whatever judgment Lord Azrael renders; kill me or send my spirit to the realms Below, I shall not fight your will. I beg not for myself but for another.”

“Then for whom?” I asked, although I was pretty sure I knew the answer.

The cane tilted towards Faaiza who had reluctantly returned the spear to a neutral guard position. “For my daughter Gili - and for the spirits of all the innocent children forged from their parents’ flaws. Keep them safe within incarnation, oh Lord of Judgment! I beg mercy for their souls! I would bow upon the rug but alas this body cannot stand.” So saying Sariel lowered his head further in supplication.

“You deserve worse for what you have done.” Isaiah’s left hand twitched into a hard fist.

“Name the price, Lord, and I will pay it. Even unto my own complete destruction. But please, spare my daughter’s spirit! She is my child, I will do whatever you require!” The pleading was writ raw across the old man’s face and Isaiah went still.

With a face that should have been enfolded behind a cloak’s hood, he spoke then in a voice far steadier than mine. “It is not for me to grant but hers.” And two sets of eyes within one then gazed upon me.

“What?” I gaped at him and the smoldering spirit inside.

“Enact your justice, Amariel. I ask you, what must be?”

“But aren’t you…shouldn’t you…”

“This moment is yours alone.”

Swallowing, I stared back at the broken old man on the couch, searching deeper still to the fallen spirit which had displaced the soul that had once been within. I had come here to kill him, to force that spirit either to forget itself within a new incarnation or to grab hold of it and shove it as punishment past the gates I myself had once burned past.

Danielle and Tracy had died because of him. All the innocents at the Academy had almost died or been driven mad because of him. The Middle East was almost destroyed because of him.

Because he’d do anything to save his daughter’s soul.

Because the Seals were breaking and Heaven in its awakened fury would not abide the mere existence of her spirit.

Because without comprehending the consequences I’d broken that First Seal to save the one I had taken in as a daughter of my own.

I wanted to hate him, wanted to scream anguish loud into his ears, wanted him to feel every lash of the pain carved into my heart.

But what good would his suffering do Danielle now? What good what it do him?

What wouldn’t I have been willing to risk to keep her eternal spirit safe? I had already come close to destroying an entire realm of fae in trying to do so, killing many in the process.

And I knew I’d do it again in a heartbeat if only to hold Danielle safe in my arms once more.

Had I come here for justice or raw revenge? It was my turn to ask of myself what I’d once, exhausted and overwhelmed, had asked of Isaiah.

I swallowed, and the room spun without moving.

“You,” I said with the drumbeat of my heart pounding in my ears, “you could have contacted me. Talked to me. After the gathering of the Grigori, through Armaros or Nick, we could have tried to work this out.”

Sariel’s eyes filled then, with something I would never have expected:

Pity.

And guilt.

“Even Gabriel,” he said with tired resignation, “was forced to abandon compassion in the face of Heaven’s wrath. We, in our perceived abandonment, had lost ourselves. What agreement with Heaven for our offspring could we have hoped for now? On that subject even her hands of grace were tied most firmly.”

“But mine are not.”

“And this is what I did not understand.”

I looked over to his daughter Faaiza where she stood defiantly holding the spear between us, and if I had been paying more attention to the scowl growing across her face maybe I’d have seen it coming. But the spear in her hands - its solid Roman craftsmanship untouched by rust despite the centuries - blazed forth with a purity that washed through the swirling emotional snarls within my thoughts to reach past and connect with the greater light pulsing deeper still.

From that connection pulsed a calmness, a touch of the tranquil clarity I’d felt at the river’s edge. With it also came an awestruck recognition of what Faiza may have held so tightly in her fingers.

“Is that…?”

Sariel nodded. “It is. Kept hidden amongst mundane peers until they burned to splinters and only it remained. The Holy Spear, the Lance of Longinus. That which pierced the side of he whom I had once hoped would grant our progeny the same salvation he promised to all mankind.” He held out his own empty hands. “And now I offer it to you, Lady Amariel. Will you take hold of the Spear of Destiny and stand guard over the spirits of our own beloved children? Will you do what the savior of men’s souls could not?”

Into shocked silence the mid-day call for prayer rang out over the whole city. The melodic and deeply haunting tones of the muezzin sounded from building to building as the recitation of the Adhan loudly filled the air, summoning worshipers to refresh their dedications to God.

Faaiza did not echo the prayer as sung. Instead she whispered, “It is time.”

Hearing her words, I felt it.

A tear ripped through spirit, like an obscuring film stripped free, leaving nerves open and exposed. Without intention brilliant wings sprouted from my back to fill the room with that glorious light.

Simultaneously, feathers of star-spotted night unfolded behind Isaiah and wings of smoke poured forth from Sariel, causing from him an immediate cry of horror and wordless dismay.

With a gasp I turned to Isaiah, and he in matching surprise answered the question that sat unspoken upon my lips.

“The Seal. It collapses!”

As for Faaiza, she was already in motion. Flipping the hold on the spear she drove the point straight through her father’s chest.

 

 

The Light Between (Part 8 of 8)

by Erisian

Book 5

 

If you have yet to read the saga - the tale starts here:

Into The Light

Hope you enjoy!

 

Chapter 30 - Terminus

 

For more than thirty years, Deniz Akbas had given fishing tours of the Bosphorus with his small boat. With his pleasant demeanor (and perhaps due to a few missing teeth lending him a certain charm) tourists had found him trustworthy as well as deeming his white-tire clad vessel seaworthy for a day’s cruise. From his pilot’s position in the wooden front compartment, travelers to Istanbul had relaxed in the glass-walled and ivory-benched area in the back where they enjoyed whatever food and drink they’d brought aboard inside their many baskets - all while marveling at the magnificent views of the Turkish seaside and the wide bridge connecting Asia to Europe, a construction officially known as the 15 July Martyrs Bridge and unofficially as the First Bridge.

In all that time he had never been paid so much to do so little.

A bright orange jacket draped unzipped around a midsection which had once been more slender (but still wasn’t bad for someone heading into their sixties) all while the midday sun warmed the air to a rather comfortable eleven degrees Celsius. Of course for the American tourists he’d report that as fifty-one degrees Fahrenheit, what with their being ignorant of the superior metric system.

Though his current passenger who happened to also be from that distant land had spoken fluent Turkish, so Deniz didn’t want to assume the man had the same lack of education.

Checking the GPS on his phone, Deniz compared the coordinates to those scribbled almost unreadable on the scrap of paper he’d been handed. With a satisfied nod, he throttled back the engine which then coughed and spluttered even though valves and hoses had just been replaced. He’d have to have a word with Emre tonight about that. Not that he’d accuse the man of bad work, but perhaps the parts weren’t quite as new as he’d led Deniz to believe.

Stepping out of the front cabin, he smiled at the clear blue sky above and watched as seagulls and other birds darted over the waters.

It was a truly beautiful day.

Walking along the side of the boat he greeted his scruffily bearded passenger with a hearty, “Selam!”

The young American, who really should have brought a jacket as the temperature would likely drop sharply in the later afternoon, quickly closed a rather large leather-bound book that lay across his lap. Despite the brilliance of the scenery the man appeared pensive, and restless fingers kept tapping the thick binding. “Captain.”

“We are at the location you asked for,” said Deniz. “Say, are you really a doctor? The lady who arranged your charter said you were.”

Fingers stopped and a palm pressed against the book. “I was.”

“Ah. Know anything about back pain? Every morning when I rise mine spasms. The wife says I’m overreacting and just old, but what does she know eh?”

“Are we really at the correct spot?”

“Yessir.” The Captain waved his phone. “GPS matches the numbers you gave.”

The man stared for a moment. Checking his watch, he shifted the heavy book into one hand before standing up. “Okay, sure. Take off your jacket, let me look.”

Quickly removing the warmth-bringing orange covering, Deniz placed it on the gleaming bench. “What about the shirt?” he asked, gesturing at the faded light-blue pressed fabric worn underneath.

“It’s fine. Now turn around. Lower back or upper?”

The Captain shuffled feet to look out over the sea. “Usually it’s the-” He was about to say upper but a sharp pain, worse than any kidney-stone he’d ever had, slammed across his lower back instead.

As legs collapsed, he heard the man choke out a quiet sob. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” A knife clattered to the deck.

Confused, Deniz looked down as stains of red began to swell around his knees. Except it wasn’t growing as a solid pool. Parting along the edges, the blood formed words and symbols in a language the captain had never seen.

The strange markings caught fire and burst upwards, spreading to the air surrounding them both to spiral about with greater and greater speed in a rapidly growing inferno. Reaching a hand into that whirlwind, his passenger cried out as with a fist he ripped the heart of those burning symbols free.

In those last moments the boat’s captain somehow understood the man’s shouted foreign words:

“Father! Come and see what your prison has made of me!”

 

Chapter 31 - Infinities

 

Faaiza leaned over the angel pinned to the couch in the midst of manifestation, her two hands gripping a spear now glowing with a brilliant light of its own. The face of Mahmoud Irfan shifted around eyes that strangely had no need to change, while the rest of the features settled onto those I had barely glimpsed within a dream. His fingers, no longer weak with age, locked around the shaft below the tip which had been driven through to cushions quickly gaining a third color.

Sariel gazed up at his daughter and in a rasped voice filled with tremendous pain that had nothing to do with his pooling blood, he asked, “Why?”

With a snarl, Faaiza told him. “Because you forever fight for our imprisonment, never for freedom! Because you are not my father! He is dead and your wearing of his skin is an abomination that sickens my soul! And because my name is not Gili - I am Faaiza!” She tried to twist the spear but his hand prevented it.

Looking past the struggling daughter, Sariel cried out to Isaiah. “Quickly, restore the Seal! For the Nephelim at least, you must!”

Hearing this, Faaiza went into a frenzy, desperately trying to pull the spear free. “No! We shall be free!” The bleeding angel however refused to budge. As I moved closer to try and pull her away, she shrieked and let go of the holy weapon - only to spin about and launch herself instead at Isaiah.

Her fingers had also turned into long and deadly-edged claws.

I would have grabbed at them anyway to throw her aside, but there was no need. The air shimmered as a circle of shining gold materialized and slammed into Faaiza’s face, sending her staggering into the cushions against the side wall.

A fourth angel with feathers of twilight had appeared, wearing the gold-lined crimson armor of Heaven. Braided curly hair matching the color of her chest-plate danced across a shoulder as Mirael lowered her shield.

Faaiza, however, was already getting back on feet which then blended into each other as trouser fabric ripped and the woman raised higher than her previous height would have allowed. Before the warrior angel now towered a lamia, with woman’s torso set atop a wide serpent’s tail coiling on the carpet below. Slitted eyes going scarlet, Faaiza hissed past long fangs and prepared another attack.

With a laugh, a burning gladius appeared in Mirael’s other hand. “You’re tougher than you looked.” Without waiting for reply, Mirael struck out again, this time the shield backhanding her opponent through drywall that in turn burst dust and wood across the colorful Persian carpets decorating the next room. “I got this one, Amariel. You deal with what’s on the way.”

On the way? It was then that Isong shouted through the device wedged in my ear.

“Jordan! Portals outside, many! Incoming!”

Shit.

Turning to Isaiah, I asked, “Can you do it?”

His business jacket had become a black hooded robe and with a dark hand he removed his glasses. “I do not know how.”

Gunfire echoed outside, and the front door blew inward as if a tempest had simply lifted it off its hinges and slammed it aside. Seeing who was standing past the porch I exhaled sharply. “Figure it out. I’m going to be busy.”

From the stained couch, Sariel spoke again despite his wound. “I will help. And Amariel - use this.” In one fluid motion he ripped the bloody spear free from his chest and tossed it across the room. Not as a javelin aimed to kill but off to the side so I could easily pluck it from the air.

The glowing wood hummed within my grip. And between our lights the fallen angel’s blood upon the tip burned away, leaving the sharp iron clean and pure once more.

Moving past my friend, I said, “Get Isong in here to shield you. And Tanya to deal with anything else.”

“Will do.”

High heels turned into sneakers as the dress became shorts and sports-bra, all while the refashioned black and gold bracers flared with crimson fire. Calling out to the looming figure waiting beyond the entrance, I shouted, “Tight quarters in here, Sir Knight! Shall we keep this to the street?”

Gwydion, Knight Champion of the Fae, spoke from behind a closed and intricately forged silver helmet. “As milady wishes.” Trusting that I would follow, the powerful plate-wearing knight stepped away from the gap where the garden’s gate once stood.

And gauntleted fingers carried the unsheathed light-swallowing longsword of Chaos along with him.

 

~o~O~o~

 

Captain Isong sat in the driver’s seat of the mid-sized sedan that she’d rented that morning. In the passenger seat a bored Tanya had propped blue sneakers atop the dash while playing some mind-numbingly repetitive game on her phone. They had parked down the block from the house where Isaiah and Jordan had entered after being spotted and apparently invited in by the guards.

With a snort, Tanya lowered the phone. “We should’ve had the entire team for this. Or at least Miggy.”

Privately Isong agreed, but in response she said, “Sergent Ramirez and Mr. al-Shadid are on another assignment. Doc is still recovering from the party. And the Major wouldn’t tell me where the hacker is.”

“I bet Derek is having more fun though.” Tanya yawned. “Has it been a minute yet? They should have found the target by now.”

Down the street a black Mercedes van pulled up against the curb.

Followed by another.

They both straightened in their seats and Tanya’s sneakers dropped to the floormat, as no one proceeded to exit either vehicle.

“What do you think?” asked Tanya.

“Could be trouble.”

The call to prayer rang out across the city, causing the younger woman to flinch and mutter, “Still not used to that.”

Isong grinned and was about to offer commentary when both women, sensitive as they were to magic energies, felt a ripple of power wash past. Like blinking clear of a mirage the captain knew something had changed.

Something big.

“What the heck was that?” Two shimmering blue daggers had appeared in Tanya’s hands.

The captain however was already out of the car and staring towards the house. Ovals of reddish orange electric flame were surrounding the building- one directly before the front door. The others dotted the street, the garden, and even the air above the structure.

Triggering the earbud’s transmit, Isong shouted through the comlink. “Jordan! Portals outside, many!” As shapes flowed through the rings of fire she added, “Incoming!”

Kicking open the passenger door, Tanya followed and pointed at the many shapes emerging from the ovals. “Holy shit. Are those friends or foe?”

The men in suits stationed out front then opened fire on a wide silver figure with flowing cape who stepped out before the front portal, their pistols barking loudly.

Bullets bounced off rune-covered plate. Drawing a sword which caused the hairs not only on the women’s necks to stand up in terror, they watched the knight gesture with his off-hand.

The gate and front door both blew inward, and the local security found themselves launched fifteen feet into the air - air quickly filling with beings out of the portals and also straight out of legend: humanoid bodies with faces of birds, pigs, even elephants, each with multiple arms and wings painted full of bright colors. And all shrieking ancient war-cries.

Isong jogged to the back of the car and popped the trunk. Retrieving the duffel bag that they had picked up after crossing the border from yet another of her boss’s contacts, she dropped it on the pavement and bent down upon a knee to unzip the sack. Eyes scanning around even as hands dipped past the zipper, she noted Jordan - wings already burning bright - following the armored knight out to the street where the two squared off, black sword versus a spear burning within a nimbus of light similar but not quite the same as Jordan’s own.

The beast-faced flying things were joined by more on the ground, preparing an assault on the house. At the knight’s direction they had ignored the two facing off in the street and moved past.

“Not friendly,” declared Isong. Pulling out an M249 LMG, the captain took aim at the swarm of asuras already smashing against windows now glowing bright green with magicked protection, causing the attackers to snarl with fury and pound the rising runic shields with swords, axes, and fists.

Rapid controlled bursts of gun-fire filled the air from her weapon, followed by agonized shrieks from the attacking Vedic demons who turned towards the source of their pain.

More gunfire from weapons other than her own immediately followed, and Isong instinctively ducked behind the car next to Tanya who was peering cautiously around a fender.

“We’ve got company from those vans!” shouted the blue haired mercenary. “They’re attacking whatever the heck those things are!”

Men in tactical gear had hopped out and taken aim at the inhuman flying attackers, firing rapidly as their squad began moving up the street.

One of them even carried an RPG launcher. As he planted knee and launched a rocket into the face of a multi-headed gorgon, over the resulting explosion he shouted in defiance at what had invaded his city. “Allahu Ackbar!”

As the burning gorgon crashed through a palm tree, others in the air screamed and swarmed the squad which responded with additional rounds and shouts of their own, each bullet shredding through medieval armor and hide. Three more vans raced around the corner, spilling out yet more human defenders and their modern munitions.

But not all the attackers went after them. Some formed up before the house, extending rods and staves to raise sapphire power with which to directly engage the building’s protections, causing sparking conflicting magic to roar across the walls.

Through the earpiece Isong heard Isaiah, his voice strained but steady. “Get here. First floor.”

Pausing her own targeting, she sent back a short reply: “Wilco.” A shield dome of ocean blue flickered around both women as the captain lowered the gun and nodded to her companion. “We’re needed inside.”

Summoning five gleaming halberds to spiral outside the dome, Tanya grinned with fierce resolve. “Let’s do this.”

Two warriors charged the house, their souls still full with the smoldering echoes from having once touched the glory of the divine.

Those remaining sparks now flamed themselves anew.

 

~o~O~o~

 

The floor shook from the battle raging in the next room. Isaiah’s former assistant was laughing, her angelic warrior spirit enjoying being fully free and manifest after millennia of bondage. “C’mon, girl! Is that all you got?”

Another shrieked hiss and the house rattled again, causing the crystal chandelier dangling above the sitting room to sway wildly. The spilled water pitcher rolled wetly back and forth with each structure-straining concussion.

But this was not his concern.

First he did as Jordan suggested and radioed the pair outside. Being human, the house wards would grant them entry. Then to the wounded angel on the couch did he speak, even while searching within for the answer to the proffered question. “What do I do?”

Gasping for air, Sariel inhaled shallowly. “The Seal withers. Buttress it. It is yours, lend it strength.”

“I thought only I could break it.”

“As did I. Yet it still remains yours.”

The glove was already off. Stretching forth arm and those black fingers, he remembered what had been seen on the rooftop in Boston. A working with seven holy names amongst which his own was numbered. But with Gabriel’s assistance his hand had been the one to set it all into place, as they stood together upon a cliff that moments later would be washed away by tumultuous and roaring sea.

A cliff whose stones and dirt had buried the body of his only son.

And so he understood.

Pattern of his pattern, blood of his blood.

A death upon which all was sealed.

And by another’s sacrifice had his son found escape.

Reaching out with hand and will, he found the edge of that seal even as it unraveled across the world. With a heart hardened by guilt and necessity, he sent the remnants of that ancient working his power. While he too had chafed against the chains which had bound them, the alternative of Heaven’s wrath at its absence he knew would be far worse.

As somewhere on this blue marble of earth, ocean, and sky, his daughter’s spirit still lived.

 

~o~O~o~

 

The last time I fought the fae’s Champion I’d gambled and gotten lucky. Though in so doing the evil of that beyond-obsidian blade had seriously messed up a wing - a fact causing great trepidation every time its edge swung anywhere near. Fortunately I’d learned a few new tricks since then.

Even still, I was surprised at how even our fight was turning out to be.

My problem, of course, was that longsword. Not only did it chew chunks out of the street every time the tip brushed or even got near the pavement, but its chaos nature played havoc with my ability to monitor future possibilities and select out the ones where I kicked the most ass.

And by havoc I meant shutting it down completely. The blade’s future was simply unreadable and therefore any usage of foresight was null and void. All I kept seeing was the same eye-churning static that had lay across the waves found on the Edge back in Hell.

Talk about frustrating.

Gwydion’s problem was with my armaments: Camael’s bracers could deflect the sword without damage. And while the black-hole sucking power of his weapon swallowed blasts of light and blood-red fire in equal measure, it wasn’t able to launch attacks at range in return. Similarly, which had been a pleasant surprise, the holy Spear could also parry that blade’s edge without being swallowed by it.

More fun still was that with each contact against the fae-forged armor, the iron point eroded the enchantments infused into his moon-blessed metal. Spellwork that did handy things like make the armor lighter, grant the wearer greater speed and strength, all those sorts of useful things had begun to fade with each scored contact.

So we danced and spun, sparks and anti-sparks flashing as light clashed again and again with darkness while we lay waste to any walls, gates, and cars we stepped past or flew too near. Through all the damage, our priorities in the fight remained straight-forward: he had to keep the spear’s iron from scraping the armor or finding a weak spot to plunge on through, and I had to make sure my skin never connected directly with that sword.

Bashing the crap out of each other with fists, feet, or the spear’s shaft was therefore acceptable when necessary. Bruises rose across my arms and legs, only to disappear in the next surge of light used to keep the knight occupied while feet or wings regained balance. And as for him, well, that armor gained dent after dent and groove after long groove. Runes flared wildly and then out with each scraped touch, and the protective metal gained sections where the underlying gambeson began to poke through. While he too could heal - several times needing to mend broken ribs - his own energy reserve was limited, whereas mine ultimately was not.

The long-term advantage therefore was with me - as long as he couldn’t score a hit with that blade whose mere presence was taking everything I had to not turn wing and flee.

After I’d escaped much-too-narrowly from a particularly close call, my opponent paused to recover his stance and offered commentary.

“You have greatly improved, milady.”

High praise. “I’ve had serious reason to practice. It’s a funny thing though, isn’t it? The last time we met you were trying to prevent me from getting inside the pyramid and to the queen. Whereas this time I’m the one fighting to keep you out.”

“Conflicts tend to such repetitions and reversals. Attack and defense. Always is it thus.”

“Yeah. But I don’t quite understand this round.” I gestured towards the fighting surrounding us which had moved mostly inside the house or down the wreckage of the street where those I presumed to be Jordanian Security had split the swarmed attack. “So what’s the deal, Sir Knight? I thought the god-council moot had decided not to do something stupid like mess with me.”

The fae-lord required a few more inhalations of breath to gather his reply, while standing with heaving chest over the wreckage of a broken fancy streetlight one of us had sliced in half. I think that one was his, though the two beyond it were mine.

“There were those of us already pledged to another’s course of action. And you are not the day’s target.”

As figured they’d really come after Isaiah and Sariel, yet I still had questions. “But who would you follow that you’d dare risk so much? You wouldn’t trust just anyone, and certainly not any of those sad idiots in the stadium. You’re smarter than that.” As I said it a light bulb went off in my head. Okay, not literally, though who knows. Maybe the eyes flashed brighter in that moment - hard to tell under the city’s bright sun. “Good grief, did Alal contact you?”

The otherworldly knight remained still but somehow I was sure.

“She did, didn’t she. The one who gave you that cursed weapon. What did she promise you?”

Shifting the grip on his weapon, he answered. “A chance to save my people. To free the fae from this earthly bondage and escort them safely home. To bring them to Arcadia, which by Siabh’s sacrifice has again been made whole. I will not fail them.”

He raised the sword in salute, mailed fingers gripping the undecorated hilt of evil.

Evil.

That’s what it was, right?

Alal had said she considered the concept of good and evil to be beneath her and not worth considering. But what exactly was evil?

The spear in my hand - glowing as it did with holy purpose - would in the eyes of those with pure faith be thought of as good. Gwydion’s sword felt evil, for it swallowed light like an unrestrained child binging cosmic birthday cake.

Other than the danger its essence represented, did it really qualify?

The ancient knight took my silence as invitation to continue, charging across the distance to again lunge with a blow aimed to pierce my unarmored chest.

But thoughts first raced ahead and even as metal-clad feet pounded closer one step after the other across damaged pavement, certain realizations were becoming clear.

Good, by those of faith, was defined as being God. God was good. Anything not God was evil. The lack of God was evil.

And that sword was full of energies pulled from beyond God’s reach, yanked from outside Creation and by Alal’s will given the shape of a weapon through which to disrupt the pattern of everything that was. Even now the threads of the world screamed while trying to expel it, lacking only the required power - or light - to do so.

The light that was in all things. The light that was God’s intent and love holding up all Creation.

Except I had seen that here in the physical, in this strange blend of matter and spirit, small pinpricks of Chaos continuously bled within.

A mixing built directly into the pattern’s structure. A pattern that also was God’s - the Most High’s, the Source’s - intent.

While the power within the Spear opposed entirely the Chaos, it having blocked blow after blow of that purest weapon of oblivion without nary a mark. The spark of the holy name contained within tip and rod rejected such energies. A Name plural and not singular.

Elohim.

Something within took hold of that realization and what my hands did next was insane.

With Spear held tight in one fist, the full complement of iridescent wings manifested behind to pull fiercely from that burning ever-present Source. Not to shine outward, but instead to blaze solely inside, safely shining brighter than any astronomer had ever observed.

Because then the other hand closed around the incoming blade of darkness and, much to the shock of both myself and the Fae’s greatest Champion, guided the metal-which-was-not-metal straight past skin to slide deeply into my heart.

Everything crossed with Nothing.

Infinite Light burning against Infinite Possibility.

As agonizing ecstasy or ecstatic agony overwhelmed, and with the gripped Spear clutched close as the ultimate anchor, in the language of the Most High I shouted between those infinities one word and one word only:

My true Name.

The resulting singular explosion ripped through levels of perceptions I’d never realized existed, and all sense of self scattered further than the Four Winds had ever blown. For that moment I - or what I considered as “I” - shredded entire, leaving behind only the core of something much deeper, much larger, and beyond any layers my usual self could even directly perceive let alone comprehend.

As a consciousness recovered towards that which was without instead of within, the brightest of angels hovered on six blazing wings. Below her knelt a knight whose helmet-less forehead had pressed against the center of the twenty-foot-wide crater now carved into the rubbled remains of the asphalt. Windows and portals alike had exploded from all the energy which had nevertheless breached containment, leaving unconscious (if not outright dead) devilish asuras strewn about like tornado debris across a ravaged trailer park. Those few agents of national security still miraculously awake had fallen to their knees in horrified wonder as they beheld the being filling air and sky with endless streams of holy fire.

Held aloft within her radiant hand was a spear of Light and Shadow. Like caduceus serpents, the twin opposing energies coiled tightly one around the other to form the haft, merging at the end into a glowing-yet-not-glowing point sharper than any scalpel had ever dared be.

With nose bleeding profusely from the concussive blast, the grey-haired fae pleaded in his ancient language to she who floated above, his voice choking both with blood and the abandonment of all pride.

“I beg of you, Archon Amariel! Let my people go!”

She knew what I needed to do.

 

~o~O~o~

 

Bodies of multi-limbed demons continued to pile against the glowing blue barrier that formed a perfect defense around the remains of the sitting room. Between Tanya’s manifested knives, swords, and axes as well as Mirael’s gladius which continuously spat orange-red fire, all who had attacked towards the concentrating hooded Archangel had met their end.

The amount of blood and viscera smeared outside Captain Isong’s shielding was both impressive and disgusting, even to her.

“Almost complete,” breathed the fallen angel still slowly leaking scarlet across cushions which would never again be usable.

Azrael, standing now with hands wide and dark wings reaching planes beyond the world, watched as the curtain of the reinvigorated Seal began to coalesce at the center of the room. Though the part of his mind which was still Isaiah had been disturbed by the realization that each demise of the attacking demons had in their own way lent further energy for the binding. Each distinction of life versus death, each crossing of that boundary, had fueled the solidity of his effort and acted as hammers on the anvil of his angelic Purpose.

Searching for a new target, Mirael glanced out the front door to take in the scene from outside. As the daylight suddenly burned brighter than the sun should ever be, she screamed to Isong. “BRACE FOR IMPACT!” She then promptly cocooned herself within a ball of her own dark feathers as she dove for what meager safety the corner of the room could provide.

The window behind the fallen angel, miraculously intact through the non-stop attacks, finally burst inward as a pressure wave of light and heat slammed through the home that groaned mightily against its foundation.

If not for the quick warning, Isong wasn’t sure she’d have been able to hold against such a tremendous blast, but everyone inside the shield, now flickering thin yet intact, was untouched.

The Great Seal paused its narrowing as Azrael, puzzled by a strange and sudden chill flooding every nerve, looked towards that empty window and the burning angel who floated through its frame, all clad within a robe of white fire.

More specifically he stared aghast at the brilliant yet disconcerting weapon held within her hand, an item of terrible yet glorious duality which then reached through Isong’s shielding as if it didn’t exist to touch the final weaving of his Seal.

In a blinding flare of shining darkness, at the center a name in plural was joined by one in singular, and the purpose of the working shifted as the world was bound anew.

Like flipping a switch, all other angels in the room found their wings vanishing as they too were once again locked within limitation.

Sariel coughed wetly as the wound through his midsection could no longer be withstood so readily as a mortal man, and pink froth began to dot his lips. The angel in the air above him turned and, after folding fiery wings upon her back, went to a knee before the couch. Stretching a glowing palm towards the man who was running out of blood, she paused as her frowning concern flowed into sorrow.

“Your spirit does not wish healing. Of itself or this body.”

The Grigori, face drawing paler with each struggled breath, managed a weak smile. “This body’s end is overdue. But her spirit is safe awhile longer.”

“Yet your Name, if you ask it, I could-”

“My hopes cross not unto faith nor forgiveness. Though perhaps,” he wheezed, “this will be their first step...”

With a final exhale, a quiet rattle sounded inside his chest as the reforged Seal claimed what had been within. The angel bowed her head as she reached out instead to close eyes which would see no more.

Isaiah, finding himself again in business jacket and tie, blinked in confusion at the only manifested angel still in the room. The afterimage of the altered Seal however was still fresh in his mind’s eye. “What have you done?”

Standing again, Amariel gave answer. “Only what was just. All but the Bene-Elohim and their blood are free. And were this not so, would the working of your will have accepted mine?”

As if this wasn’t shock enough, a shaken voice from the hall demanded his attention.

“Boss?”

To his surprise everyone, mortal and otherwise, turned heads. Instead of Mirael in shining armor, Tracy stood amidst the debris in the same silken dressing gown she’d worn as she’d died. Except there was no blood upon the front of the soft blue fabric, and in the midday sun streaming through the glassless window she cast a solid shadow upon the floor.

She was alive.

With a shout Isaiah was across the room, grabbing her arms as she wobbled and nearly fell. “Tracy!”

“Sorry, Boss. Kinda woozy.”

“You’re okay! It’s all okay!”

“Someone should check on Faaiza. I hit her pretty hard at the end.”

Tanya stood slowly from where she’d fallen across a cushion, fighting the exhaustion from having manifested the many blades now scattered about the room as if it was an unkempt armory of blue steel. “I’m on it.” Carefully stepping around bodies straight from Hindu myth and on through the gaping hole in the wall, she quickly called back, “She’s out but breathing! Probably gonna need a medic though.”

The angel of light shimmered, and Jordan, again in shorts and t-shirt, walked sneakers upon the carpet. As the wings had faded away so too had the Spear and its unnerving presence. To Isaiah she asked, “Who broke the Seal? Faiza could know, but do you?”

With his legal assistant leaning against him, all Isaiah could do was nod.

Jordan asked again. “Who?”

Fighting for voice, Isaiah said, “My…Azrael’s son. And he is no longer on Earth.”

“Matityah?”

“Yes.”

“Does he have the Book?”

“Yes.”

“Shit.” She paused as golden eyes flashed. “I’ll get Tsáyidiel to track him. Wherever he goes, we’ll find him. Got a starting point?”

“Istanbul, at the Bosphorus.”

“Okay. And did any others escape?”

“Maybe one.”

“Could be worse I guess.”

From within Isaiah’s jacket the sounds of a Spanish guitar began to play. Tracy tapped him to indicate that she was alright to stand, so he let go and pulled from a pocket Jordan’s ringing phone.

Instead of taking it from him, Jordan said, “That’s Penelope’s ringtone. Tell her I’ll be right there; I just need to do something first. And I’ll try to call you later - you’d better answer!” In a burst of speed the girl ran out the door, loose reddish-gold hair flowing behind.

Moving out into the blood-spattered entry hall, he watched as she ran into the daylight - and over to the battered fae knight still on silver-clad knees in the middle of the devastated street. An offered hand lifted the warrior up and they both became translucent then disappeared.

Left holding the device still strumming a Bulerias, Isaiah was flabbergasted. “She left her passport and phone behind.”

Breathing heavily from her own exertions of maintaining the shielding, Captain Isong still managed a chuckle.

“She does that.”

 

Chapter 32 - Crossroads

 

It wasn’t the visceral horror of marching across a battlefield slaughtering all before him that woke him up. Nor the cruelty his massive metal-skinned son was delivering upon those who in desperation had already surrendered.

No, it was the feeling of soft feathers pushing against the mattress, trapped as they were between sheet and skin.

The first two words from Cassius were, “Oh shit!”

The next ones from his mouth were far more concerning. They weren’t spoken in his usual tones but with raw exuberant malevolence.

“Oh YES!”

 

~o~O~o~

 

Rabbi Kirov tapped lightly at the doorway of the hospital room where his friend lay with eyes closed.

“I’m awake,” Father Anthony grumbled. “It’s just too darned bright in here.”

Moving to the window where the midday sun had just begun to shine directly, the rabbi closed the blinds. “Better?”

Daring to open one eye first, Anthony replied. “Much. Did you bring lunch?”

“Falafel. And salad.” Pulling up a chair, Kirov settled slowly onto its creased leather. Upon the room’s mobile tray he unpacked the paper sack he’d been carrying.

“Entirely too healthy. At this point I should be eating nothing but cake.”

“Your nurse would not approve.”

Anthony shrugged, eyes twinkling with mischief. “She enjoys being grumpy. Would it not be saintly to assist her joy?”

The rabbi offered a disapproving glance over thick glasses and pushed the tray within the other man’s reach. On his own lap he popped open a matching container, steam rising from within.

With a chuckle Anthony added, “And sometimes so do you, old friend.”

“I do not.”

“You do. Just as you’re happily cranky that your student went off on another adventure without you.”

That earned another glare. “I simply cannot believe you did not ask me to check the safe earlier. Perhaps the Book would not now be missing if I had!”

“I prefer having you remaining capable of lecturing me about it.” Ignoring the fork, Anthony picked up a deep-fried ball and bit into it.

“But I wouldn’t have opened it.”

“Yes, you would.”

“No I wouldn’t!”

“My friend, you and books are inseparable. With that tome in your hands your mind would wander, and without even thinking those fingers of yours would have flipped the cover aside. Admit it.”

“I will not.”

“What’s the phrase? ‘Truth floats like oil over water.’“

“Hmph.”

Anthony laughed, and his friend couldn’t help but join him.

After they’d eaten more of the meal, Kirov cleared his throat. “Yesterday you made a promise, one I intend to hold you to. Even if we have spent all morning dancing around the topic as if performing a gopak.”

“I suppose we have been at that.”

“Well?”

“As you can imagine it’s been an interesting summer and autumn.”

Putting down the fork, the rabbi leaned forward. “Is the Church involved?”

“Hmm? No, not with me on this. It’s…oh.” The old priest went quiet as the Muslim call to prayer rang out over all of Jerusalem, though that was not what had given him pause. He was staring at the vein-lined hand holding another falafel.

It had started to glow.

“Anthony! Your hand!”

A younger yet also much older set of fingers carefully put down the piece of their shared meal. “I am sorry, Immanuel. I thought we’d have a little more time.” The glow expanded until all of Father Anthony emitted a soft white light.

Where it spread the priest’s hospital gown and features shifted.

An angel clad in silver and gold with white-grey wings smiled at the rabbi instead with gentle compassion. “As one story sheds its final leaves, another takes root. She will have need of me. Goodbye, old friend. Our time together has been a treasure.”

“Wait!”

But Kalka’il had already gone, and the blanket settled over now-empty space.

Voice trembling, Immanuel closed water-filled eyes and offered a prayer.

“Shema Yisrael, Adonai eloheinu, Adonai ehad.”

Hear O Israel, the Lord is our God, the Lord is One.

 

~o~O~o~

 

While it was an hour earlier than he usually got up for his morning routine, Tian Li didn’t mind. His English Lit. exam was due to start sharply at eight a.m. and he wanted to get in his proper run, shower, and breakfast while still having time for another review of his notes before being stuck chewing on the back of a pencil while trying to decipher any deeper meanings hidden within Shakespeare’s prose.

With the clouds having cleared, the night had turned especially chilly, steam billowed from each exhale as he jogged around the quiet campus. Approaching Dickenson Cottage he was startled as a blur of grey and white fur streaked past his feet, nearly tripping him.

“Hey!”

The rather large feline didn’t stop, instead it quickly outpaced him as it raced down the footpath. The cat looked familiar and it took a moment for memory to register that he’d seen it in the foyer of Hawthorne before. With tail seriously floofed and held high it receded rapidly into the distance - something must really have disturbed the poor thing.

He wondered if he should chase after it. Maybe it had escaped and needed help? Deciding that might be the best course of action he switched gears and put on a burst of speed, trying to keep the kitty in view.

If he hadn’t he might never have made it to his exam. Or any exams ever again.

Two steps behind him Dickenson exploded, brick and glass bursting outward to cover the path and surrounding lawn with smashed debris.

All his martial training had reacted without thought, and Tian came up from the instant forward roll with hands in a guard position, even while his brain tried to catch up on what the heck had just happened.

Surveying the terrible rip in the wall, he then watched as an honest-to-gods dragon stuck a deep-purple muzzle through the gap and emitted an ear-piercing roar. Wings and limbs then smashed the rest of the way free, all having been much too large for the room from which it emerged. A torn poster of some metal band had caught against his leg and slowly slid off, blown there by the force of the dragon’s bellowing.

For a moment they stood there, dragon and student, as if each unsure what to do next.

Feeling energy surge into the beast and recognizing the kind of magic as matching his own whenever he used it to start small flames, Tian turned off the path to run at top speed across the lawn.

He was pretty certain the dragon was about to do a lot more than simply light a candle.

 

~o~O~o~

 

A dark-haired young man paused outside a small gelato shop, one which was nestled within a long strip of busy stores selling everything from jewelry and fashion to pasta and wine. Already his hands were full of bags with their testaments to the day’s shopping. Around him the bustling foot traffic of Rome did their thing, locals passing by tourists whose necks would later be sore from all the craning and looking about.

While pondering which flavors his two partners would prefer (he himself wanted mint-chip), a breeze which wasn’t a breeze raced through him - and nearby in the crowd a man started shouting.

“Your ears! What in god’s name just happened to your ears?”

Looking over, he watched as a startled woman touched fingers to her suddenly pointy cartilage even as she slowly became thinner and taller, as if stretched on some medieval torture device. Her short blonde hair then proceeded to stream past the shoulders and drop below the narrowing waist.

As her pants began to slip past hips no longer anywhere near as wide, she too began to shriek as she fought to keep her trousers in place.

Through the golden hieroglyph dangling from his own ear, he heard his own female business partner curse.

“Fuck! We’ve got several grid violations! Zap - get your ass back here. Multiple nodes are getting tapped and hard, by all kinds of…oh shit! Wake the snouted idiot, time for him to earn his bloody keep!”

Turning back towards Vatican Square and its mana node through which he could return to Egypt, his contemplation of dropping the bags to run faster through the crowd was also cut short.

“And if you don’t have lunch in hand when you get here,” threatened Erica, “I’m gonna eat your damn kidneys!”

He wasn’t entirely sure that she was joking.

 

~o~O~o~

 

“August! Gir…boy, what are you doing up at this hour?”

“Uhm, hi Dad. It’s hard to explain, I-”

“Does it have to do with that bearded giant staring through the second story window?”

“Well, yeah, he’s an angel. His name is Sandalphon and he-”

“His feet are crushing my garden.”

“He’s real apologetic about that. But Dad, he wants me to go with him.”

“Go with…to where exactly?”

“Off Earth, maybe Heaven.”

“What, now?”

“Yeah.”

“You’ve got wings.”

“I know. Mom has tried telling you-”

“Proportions are all wrong. You won’t get sufficient lift with those things. With how you’ve grown, you’re too heavy.”

“Dad! They just work anyway, okay?”

“Hmph. Will you be back?”

“What? Oh. I don’t know. But I have to go.”

“Right this instant?”

“Yes.”

“This is rather sudden notice.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. He didn’t want me to say anything in case things worked out different. But I kinda made it so they would. I sent someone where they were needed and not exactly where they wanted to go.”

“I take it you’ve made up your mind.”

“I…Yes.”

“Then you best go wake your mother and say your goodbyes. And Son…”

“Yes sir?”

“Don’t let the dog slip out the door when you go. It’s freezing out there. Best take my overcoat, your old jacket won’t fit over all those feathers.”

“Thanks, Dad. I love you too.”

 

~o~O~o~

 

Jenna stifled a giggle as she cracked opened the door out of Brendan’s room, peering into the hallway to make sure nobody was there.

Not that there would be, considering it was only four-thirty in the morning. Even the few late-night end-of-semester parties for those who had completed their exams had quieted a few hours ago - due to the patience of cottage staff and still-studying students having worn thin.

As for Brendan, his roommate had already packed and escaped home for the holidays. Which left the room open for Jenna and her boyfriend to spend the night studying - or to be more honest - watching cheesy movies and exploring the fine art of smooching, not to mention the harder art of refusing the demands of teenage hormones running amok.

There certainly had been a few close calls on that front.

From the bed, Brendan whispered loudly, “Go! Before anyone wakes up!”

Reluctantly she opened the door further only to watch a furry streak race past her shoe.

“Khan? How did you-” She stopped as perceptions and thoughts kicked adrenalin into overdrive:

Khan was loose.

He was running at full speed.

His fur was glowing.

If she knew one thing from previous experience, that meant trouble. Serious deadly trouble.

Over a shoulder at Brenden she shouted, “Call Security! Sound the alarm!”

“What?”

“Do it! Now!” Racing after the shimmering kitty whose claws scrambled to turn at the end of the corridor, she let obsidian slide over her skin making her much darker than the hoodie she’d put on to brace against the outside cold.

Not entirely surprised to see the stone once again be of smooth onyx instead of the usual grey, she hoped it would be enough protection from whatever was about to hit the school.

 

~o~O~o~

 

With fire licking at his running shoes and setting the frozen grass behind aflame, Tian ran faster than he’d ever done before. Yet somehow the dragon kept up, sending fiery bolt after fiery bolt all the same blue that heated barbecues.

He sincerely hoped that wasn’t indicative of his eventual fate.

Fortunately his sense of magic provided warning before every blast, allowing quick dives to the side to roll out of the way of each incoming attack.

The academy’s lawn however had had no such luck.

In an attempt to spare the school from as much damage as possible, he’d made a sharp right turn to head towards the arena where he’d had his own combat final the day before. There the sensei had set up a tense challenge that he’d barely passed but it had been nowhere near as ridiculous as this.

Beyond the arena sat the thick forest, and if nothing else he was hoping he could lose the dragon amidst the thick evergreen trees and circle back for help. Campus Security should have been loading up for bear (or dragon) by now.

The beast was certainly loud enough to wake even the soundest of sleepers.

As he ran towards the trees a wind picked up, blowing stronger and stronger still until he found himself leaning into it while sneakers slipped backwards across the grass.

Okay, this wasn’t natural. And also not good.

Luckily he wasn’t the intended target. The gust targeted past him to smother the dragon’s breath before it could gain coherence, and the creature’s wide glistening purple wings acted as unintended sails to pull the creature back and away.

Blinking past all the snow pelting by in that wind, he saw a man flying towards him held aloft by what had to have been some kind of air elemental. A literal tornado hopped over his head while a smaller vortex reached out from the main tube to carry its camo-fatigues and matching beanie wearing cargo.

Shrieking in annoyance the dragon reared up, and with renewed focus sent a fresh volley of heat towards the tornado’s passenger.

Expecting the tornado to intercept, Tian was shocked when it instead shoved the guy directly into the path of the fire.

Oh man.

To Tian’s great surprise, the blast split into two streams which wrapped past, leaving the man and spiraling winds untouched.

“Yo, dragon!” the guy yelled as he extend a hand which lit up with yellow fire of its own. “You can’t hit us with that! It ain’t allowed!”

This didn’t please the scaled beast, which then tried to repeat the maneuver with even more force than before. All to no effect, as the stream of intense flames simply refused to connect.

Shaking his head, the guy pulled a metallic orb out of a pocket and, after winding up like a Major League pitcher, let it fly.

Tian wondered if it was a grenade. The dragon may have too as it scrambled backwards, claws digging huge divots through the dirt.

It wasn’t however an explosive. Instead the thing crackled with electricity and where it landed now stood yet another mighty dragon. A black one, much larger but shimmering as a huge projected image taller than most houses.

The roar it emitted was still absolutely deafening, and Tian threw hands over ears as the sound drove him to his knees.

As it also did to the purplish dragon before it.

Tian, having grown up in a family of martial artists who had long ago sworn service to their mighty dragon ancestors, had been forced by his father to study the ancient draconic speech. His own throat was incapable of reproducing the harsh tongue, but the vocabulary had been ingrained.

The massive black-scaled projection called out in that language now, the techno-magical device reproducing the sound in full fidelity.

“Kurohoshi Haruko! Know thyself!”

Whimpering, the more-solid and purple (with hints of jade green) beast of legend winced, shaking an immense head of fangs and scales in obvious confusion.

“Daughter! The time has come! Awaken to all that you are destined to be!”

Immense eyes the same shade as the dragon calling out to them blinked. And blinked again.

“Daddy?”

The perfectly reproduced roar of joyful pride from an exultant father knocked Tian onto his butt. After the ringing in his ears had faded, he then heard a cheer from the guy above with the flaming fingers.

“Heck yeah! You seein’ this shit, Derek? Freakin’ Hallmark Moment!”

 

~o~O~o~

 

By the time Jenna caught up, the tiger who was Khan had already knocked down the door of one of the cottage rooms, his roar and snarls echoing down the hallway and waking up the residents. She had to shout at those who’d poked out their heads to clear the way as she barreled past, finally skidding to a halt outside the mighty cat’s arrived destination.

What she saw inside caused her senses to reel.

On the floor lay Cassius, one hand gripping a knife stolen from the kitchens while the opposite arm bled across the blue cottage carpet. Sitting atop him with fangs bared and throat growling was a white-striped tiger, paws and their tremendous claws scrambling to pin the boy down.

Except he wasn’t just a boy.

Superimposed upon him was the image of someone else. Someone with wings of a black which swallowed all detail as where its feathers lay there was simply no reflected light. And the face…the face was both beautiful and horrible.

A perfection which would have made Michelangelo weep lay twisted by the terrible hatred spilling forth across otherwise immaculate features.

Power radiated both from angel and cat, each struggling against the other and for the first time Jenna saw glimpses of what Jordan had once described: the language of Creation.

Except between those on the floor burst scripts from two entirely different hands.

Or paws.

As the face shifted back and forth, so too did the voices shouting from the shared mouth - one snarled and filled with venom and the other desperate yet determined.

“The Seal is broken! Release me or else this beast will be the death of us!”

“Never! Up yours!”

“I will slay everyone if-”

“Fuck off!” The hand flipped the blade and with a snap of the wrist the edge gouged across the forearm holding it, and the disturbing voice shrieked in outrage at the presence of additional pain.

But the skin healed immediately, as it had been doing for the damage taken by the claws holding it down.

With a wordless shout the angel tried to rise, wings pushing against the floor to start lifting the seven-hundred pound tiger. With another roar Khan lashed out across its chest and again the image flickered back to the boy, now with deep gashes across cotton pajamas bleeding free.

Instead of flinching from the pain it gave him focus. “Jenna!” shouted Cassius. “My desk, center drawer! The box! Hurry!”

Riding the surge of adrenalin, she didn’t hesitate. Leaping over the tiger’s back, she slammed the drawer open, immediately spotting a small jewelry case. She popped its hinges open and withdrew the contents.

A single silver coin. One whose inscribed sigils were painstakingly covered in tiny Latin and Hebrew script.

“What do I do with it?” Against her fingers the coin pulsed in response to the energies in the room which were making a mess of her senses.

“My forehead! Shove it on and hold it there!” Cassius’ eyes snapped shut, hoping to keep the other from seeing that which she held.

But the dark angel rallied and first one eye and then its pair opened as she knelt above his head.

“You fool! What have you-”

His sentence was lost as fingers of stone pressed the coin against Cassius’ skin. The fallen spirit within him thrashed mightily, almost knocking Khan off. With an arm of blackened stone Jenna pinned his throat and refused to let him rise even as smoke from burnt flesh spilled past her rock-protected thumb.

The golden cross around her neck dangled free, glowing now with a fierce shine all its own.

While boy, angel, and tiger struggled against a floor whose carpet became more shredded by each passing second, Jenna found herself chanting.

In Latin.

“Exorcizámos te, ómnis immúnde spíritus, ómnis satánic potéstas, ómnis infernális adversárii, ómnis légio, ómnis congregátio et sécta diabólica, in nómine et virtúte Dómini nóstri Jésu Chrísti.”

The fallen howled, as irises of a sickly green she had never before seen recoiled in primal fear from her words.

“Eradicáre et effugáre a Dei Ecclésia, ab animábus ad imáginem Dei cónditis ac pretióso divíni Ágni sánguine redémptis!”

Under her hand the red-hot coin burst into flame. Whispering now in English she heard herself add, “Begone Shemyaza, begone Shemhazai, begone Azza and Ouza, unto the realm of fallen shadows. By all your names and by the grace of God, begone.”

With a final howl of protest, the eyes cleared again into Cassius’ blues. Muscles relaxed and he blinked into the face of worried stone hovering above. “Tell Dad,” he said as if from an echo already far away, “He did everything right.”

The coin sizzled one last time and in a flash of brilliance vanished entire.

It took her a moment to realize the boy’s chest - skin whole under shredded pajamas - was no longer moving. He’d stopped breathing.

“Cassius? CASSIUS!”

Khan, having returned to the size of a housecat, moved aside as Jenna desperately began CPR. She and Brendan, who had made it to the doorway only in time to witness the end, traded off. When paramedics arrived and took over, Khan jumped into Jenna’s arms to nuzzle her stone-covered cheek while she cried.

 

~o~O~o~

 

Despite the drizzle’s chill, Adam tended the leafless wisteria that had over the years conquered his English garden’s trellis. At times with knees sunk into damp soil, he contently had spent the overcast morning trimming away branches which had lost their fight against the recent frost.

When the Fourth Seal binding the world unravelled, he stiffened as tension flared across his back, ancient scars deep under the thick woolen shirt throbbing from pain long ignored.

For the briefest of moments, silhouettes of dark feathers flickered across tight shoulders and then were gone.

“Got nothin’ to do with me, all that nonsense, now does it.”

Humming to himself a half-remembered song from his childhood, he snipped off another dead twig so its comrades could better bloom come spring.

 

Chapter 33 - Requests

 

The battered knight with swollen nose marveled at the lush forest, spinning in place to gaze through the dense and verdant foliage all around us.

“I know not this realm.”

I knelt down, pressing palm into the soft dirt. The touch was comforting, a reconnection in a way to a part of myself. “It’s new. I made it.”

Gwydion startled and his attention returned to me. “You made this?”

“Yeah.” I straightened and brushed the dirt from my hands. “For the beloved fae who followed me out of Arcadia. Welcome to Gealltas.”

He bowed, a thin scar visible now across a cheek. Either he’d stopped hiding it with his glamour or the realm refused for anything to be hidden from my sight. “Thank you, Queen Amariel.”

“Oh for the love of…just call me Amariel. Or Jordan. Whatever.”

The old fae frowned. “That would hardly be proper, Your Majesty.”

“My realm, my rules.”

Was it wrong to be amused while watching eons of propriety crash inside another’s head like a pile-up on the 101? If so count me in with the horribles.

Not that I had time to poke the stolid knight further. At the edge of the trees stood a gryphon, raven’s head and wings blending into a panther’s body and claws.

He also wasn’t alone.

Under my breath, I muttered, “Are you serious?” After bracing myself, I walked towards my Hunter and yet another white-feathered and white-robed Bene-Elohim who just so happened to have wandered by. As we got closer, I called out, “Tsáyidiel! Who is our guest?”

The gryphon’s head dropped over its front paws. “My Queen, may I present the Archangel Metatron, Voice of Elohim, Steward of the Upper Heavens.”

I tilted my head, something about the salt-and-pepper beard and tanned skin was familiar. And then it became clear. “Enoch!”

The angel’s expression hardened. “That name is no longer appropriate.”

“Oh, sorry. I was just remembering. It’s a weird thing having memories from two different sources for the same event.”

Ivory wings fluffed over his shoulders then settled again. “Amariel, daughter of Helel, he who was, is, and always will be our First, the Council summons you for testimony. You will come with us.”

Both the knight and gryphon tensed. Not only was the guy pulling the “royal we” shtick, he had totally ignored all the titles rightfully mine.

And I hadn’t even granted permission.

I crossed arms over the lavender tunic I happened to be wearing. I swear, my wardrobe had undergone more changes lately than a Broadway Musical. “Well hate to say it, but now is not a good time.” A garland of deep blue and violet flowers keeping my long hair pulled back fluttered petals and ivy in a sudden yet gentle breeze; I hadn’t even noticed it upon my head until then. Dangit, telling someone to stop treating you as a queen when you’re already wearing a leafy crown seems ludicrous, doesn’t it?

“You defy the Council?” Enoch, the Metatron, whatever you wanted to call him, began to grow taller - as if the indignity of my response had fed him a serious bowl of Wheaties.

“Whoa, hold on there chief,” I said, neck craning to keep him in view. “There’s a lot going on. Let me explain-”

Looking down from a height exceeding the tallest trees around, he cut me off. “Archangel Gabriel is missing. Seals of the Earth lie broken. And you, Amariel-who-was-Aradia, lie at the heart of it all. Or do you deny this?”

“Nope. Not hardly. And you’re missing recent events: a Nephelim holding the Sefer Raziel just slipped past Seal number four.”

“The Book of Secrets?” He scowled. “Impossible. That is safely buried on Earth, as per the Council’s command to the Regent of Light, Prince Camael.”

It was hard not to laugh. “Wow, you really are behind on things. Hasn’t anyone told you?”

“Told us what?”

“Camael used the Book to get back his mojo so he could bust loose Azazel and kick that jerk to Hell.”

That shocked the guy even more. “If Camael has done this, it is against the will of the Council. He would face Judgment for such an act!”

“Yeah well, good luck with that. He later took a trip to Hell of his own. Long story there. He was telling me how to escape.”

“You spin untruths.”

Tsáyidiel growled and I had to mentally shout at him to not do anything stupid. For that matter Gwydion had also clenched a fist and taken a step forward, which I found rather endearing.

Not that my own expression was any better than theirs. “No lies, Archangel. Check with Raphael, check with Sandalphon. Heck, check with Michael. They all know this to be true. I fell beyond Elohim’s Gate and returned, in the same way Lucifer once did. A question I would ask if I were you is why no one has kept you in the loop.”

“But,” said Metatron, eyes widening beyond just the increase of scale, “if what you say is true, if the sacred Book of Secrets is in the hands of a Nephelim…oh no.” For a guy whose skin was fairly tan, the cheeks proceeded to pale awfully white.

“I was about to dispatch God’s Hunter to track him down.” I didn’t want to say who exactly the Nephelim was born of, the angel looked startled enough as is - and if I could, I’d protect my friend’s secrets. “And once found I’ll retrieve the Book.”

“Yes, retrieval,” Metatron said slowly as he tried to pull himself together. “Go then, Amariel. We task you in the name of the Throne to return with the Sefer Raziel safe once more. We shall inform the Council and deliberate further.”

I wanted to snark that he didn’t have any authority over me, but heck - what he wanted was precisely the action I was already planning. And being rude wouldn’t get this guy to go away any faster. See? Diplomacy at its finest. “Right, gotcha. On it. Anything else?”

“The Book, daughter of Helel - bring it to us.” For a moment it sounded more like pleading, but he followed on with a shouted, “In Elohim’s Name do not fail!”

The booming declaration sent flocks of birds (and fae with a wide variety of wings) scattering from the treetops, and in their wake the vexed Archangel unfurled his own feathers and departed.

After the forest quieted down, I turned to the gryphon.

“Tsáyidiel, you can surmise what I’m about to ask of you.”

The raven head bowed once more. “Name the target of your blessed hunt, oh holy Queen, and it shall be done.”

“From the shores of Istanbul did he depart the Earth carrying that which does not belong to him. Seek therefore Matityah, son of Azrael. When found, alert me immediately - but do not engage.”

“I understand, my Queen. By your command do I depart.”

I nodded permission. “Go then, beloved Hunter. And may thy wings be ever lifted by the Light.”

With an answering roar, he too took flight beyond the realm.

Gwydion and I watched him go. Without taking eyes off the magnificent Kerubim as he faded into the distance, I asked the knight, “Can you tell me anything about your attack? Who else is in that cabal of Alal’s?”

“No, Your Majesty. I am burdened by oath to remain silent.”

“Of course you are.” With a sigh I rubbed my tired face. “So what shall I do with you now?”

“You have defeated and disarmed me. I am your prisoner.”

I bristled. Or maybe that was just the crown on my head. “I will suffer no prisons in my realm, Sir Knight. You wished to free the fae upon the Earth that they may be taken to Arcadia. Can you organize such activities from here? This realm abuts Gabriel’s - and thus also sits on the border between Earth and Dream.”

“Your Majesty? What are you saying?”

I couldn’t help it. Reaching out, I ran a finger tenderly along the thin scar wending its way across the ancient yet nobly handsome cheek. “I am saying, Sir Gwydion, that your dearest wish has been granted. I altered the Seal. Your people are bound no more.”

Tears welled at the wrinkled corners of the old warrior’s eyes. With a strangled cry he fell to metal-covered knees which clattered against the forest stones at my feet, and with gauntleted fingers gently took my hand to kiss its back.

He held on, unable to let go. Wordless yet full of words.

My other hand softly again touched his slender yet chiseled face. “I require one thing, Sir Knight, and request another.”

“Your Majesty?!”

“The fae on Earth, give them the choice. Abduct them not, but instead explain all unto them. Who they were. Who they may be. And where they may go should they so desire. This I require for having granted the boon which your heart of hearts so humbly asked of me.”

“I swear it shall be so.

“Good. Then hear my request, for my hunter has been dispatched and I too must away. Whilst we are engaged elsewhere I ask of you this: would you defend this realm in my name?”

He placed another kiss upon the hand held in his. “Nothing would honor me more, Your Majesty. But alas, I no longer have a weapon with which to carry out such a duty.”

This would not do.

Letting damp cheek and cold gauntlet slide from my fingers, I took a step back and with a gesture reached unto the depths of my realm.

The rocks, twigs, and leaves between us began to vibrate, then tremble, and finally burst aside in a crack of thunder as a glowing golden hilt and following long and shining silver blade rose into the air between us. Intricate Celtic knot-work lay inscribed upon the simple crosspiece guarding the leather-wrapped grip, but through the groove of the sword’s gleaming fuller flowed the delicate golden script so beloved by she who had once been my tenderly caring foster-mother.

Upon one side in the language Siabh had once sung so true was written: Love unto the Defended.

And upon the other was given the paired reply: Love unto the Destroyed.

His eyes widened as he beheld what floated between us, and there upon his grace-filled features was seen a touch of youthful marvel not held across those features for ages uncounted.

“Arise, Champion,” I said to a knight renewed. “And stretch forth thy hand to receive this commission with which to carry out thy charge. Take it, my knight, and go forth to inspect thine new posting.”

Solemnly and without wiping the moisture from his cheeks, he did so - and the leather hilt fit perfect within his palm. With a last bow of his head, he rose, saluted, and proceeded away between the trees with wonder still alight within face and spirit. After removing a gauntlet and placing it within the battered helmet tucked into the crook of his sword-wielding arm, he let bare fingers trail across bark and leaf, and with each step he grew taller and, to my own glowing eyes, younger.

I lingered awhile before returning to what awaited back on Earth. Even with dented and scratched armor, he made the realm forged of my heart ever more beautiful just by his walking through it.

 

~o~O~o~

 

Jenna was found in the lobby of Emerson Cottage sitting beneath the curve of Brendan’s long arm, Khan nestled in her lap. Unceremoniously dumping my poor kitty to the floor, Jenna instantly moved to grapple me in a fierce hug.

“Jordan! Where were you?!” Sorrow-born accusation lay behind the question.

Taking in the somber expressions, I braced to find out how bad it had been. “In the Middle East,” I said, while moving her back towards the couch. “What happened?”

Sitting again with a sniff, Jenna pulled herself together. “You don’t know?”

“I just got here.” Bending down, my kitty hopped into my now-available arms. With paws on one shoulder, I straightened and proceeded to scritch his ears and along his back. The little guy seemed none-the-worse-for-wear at least. “Where’s Cassius?”

They both looked at each other, then back at me.

Brendan’s scowl deepened. “How’d you know to ask about him and not anyone else?”

I sighed, feeling suddenly tired. “Because I’ve got an idea of what’s happened worldwide. And I can feel that Kokabiel and therefore Ester is fine. Plus Mrs. Cantrel caught me on the way out to tell me about Haruko; she’s asleep as a human again and her father is on a flight out. Cantrel wasn’t sure exactly what went on over here though as there’s been no official announcement yet. Everyone is likely still busy helping the more fae and elemental students.”

That didn’t mollify him. “Yeah, but did you know that Cassius was possessed?” The tall teenager stood to loom over me. “And did you do nothing to help him?”

If I hadn’t literally just experienced the Voice of God booming above my head, I might have been more impressed. I ignored him to look past to Jenna. “Can you just tell me what happened?”

With her boyfriend glowering and about to bump into the ceiling, she pointed at Khan. “I was studying with Brendan here all night. But when I went to leave, Khan ran past. He’d gotten out of Hawthorne. I chased after him, only to find him in Cassius’ room. But it was like that night, you know? He became this big tiger just like in your room when the bomb went off. And he was attacking Cassius.”

I frowned, ruffling the fur behind an ear of the nonplussed kitty. “Attacking?”

“Cassius wasn’t Cassius,” Brendan said. “He was fighting with himself.”

Jenna nodded. “He kept gaining and losing these horrible black wings.”

Shit. Pretty much what I’d been afraid of. “And then what?”

“Cassius,” Jenna said, flinching from the memory. “He told me to get this box from his desk. In it was this coin; it had all these weird markings. He yelled at me to shove it into his forehead.”

A feeling clobbered the stomach like it had been hit by a particularly large demon’s tentacle. Isaiah had told me about how the Grigori hunters had used such a coin against him. They’d failed - but only because Isaiah wasn’t Grigori.

Whereas Cassius was.

I sank to the floor, kitty still held tight. “Oh no.” Khan nuzzled my face before dipping his head to tap against mine more gently than usual.

“You see?” Brendan said, his voice cracking. “She knew.”

“But it was me!” Jenna shouted at him as she smacked a fist against the couch. “I said the prayer! I don’t know how I knew it, but I said it! An exorcism, I looked it up! But why didn’t it work?” My friend’s face twisted in confusion. “It should have just banished the demon. Why did his heart stop? Why did he die?!”

Oh Cassius. You brave, brave idiot.

“Brendan’s right,” I said quietly, resting a cheek against Khan’s soft fur. “Cassius swore me to silence, but I knew. I was the only one he would talk to about it, I couldn’t violate that trust.”

They went silent and stared.

Taking a slow breath, I continued. “He was also an incarnate angel. But his spirit was fallen, a Grigori - possibly the worst of the lot. The Seal binding them all to human lives was temporarily busted. It’s what I was dealing with.”

Brendan shook his head. “Cassius could be an ass, but he wasn’t evil.”

“No, he wasn’t. He fought against his own spirit with everything he had. With everything he was.”

“Then why didn’t you redeem him like you did Kokabiel?” The boy glared now with growing anger. “You could have saved him!”

“He wouldn’t let me touch him,” I said as sadness slumped shoulders and heart. “He just wasn’t ready.”

“Wait,” Jenna said, half rising off the couch in dawning dismay. “You said ‘temporary’.”

I nodded, not wanting to say it. But I’d told them before no more secrets and I’d meant it - good or bad. “We fixed the Seal. To rebind only all the angels and the children born of their union with women. But it took a few minutes.”

She slipped off the couch to join me on the carpet. “You mean…?”

Brendan blurted it out. “Wait, if she hadn’t used the coin, he would’ve been okay? But now he’s been sent to Hell??” Realizing what he just said he turned to Jenna in horror. “Holy shit.” Kneeling besides her, he didn’t know if he should hug her or not touch.

Her hands however began to shake. As did her entire body, eyes rolling up and away.

“Brendan!” I shouted, letting go of Khan so he could hop free. “She’s having a seizure!”

“What do I do??”

“Get her on her side and get that table and couch out of the way! Put your jacket under her head and don’t even think about holding her down!”

With one massive hand Brendan simply flipped the table completely out of the room, sending it flying overhead to shatter its glass top all over the foyer. The couch he shoved into the wall, leaving a wide dent across the plaster. That done, he grabbed the lump of cloth still on the couch and wedged it into position under her cheek as he rolled her onto her side.

Her hand lashed out to catch his face, the blow blossoming into a reddened bruise as he hadn’t put his defenses up.

Khan took that as his cue to scramble and go hide. Brendan then pulled out a phone and dialed for help. All I could do was sit and watch helplessly while my friend thrashed horribly against the floor. This wasn’t due to a wound or foreign infection - it was a byproduct of her brain’s structure and its chemistry. And while my highest self might know a way to stop it, I didn’t. Even trying to power up could overwhelm her and make the seizure worse.

Knowing she’d survived them before didn’t make watching it any easier.

The seizure lasted five and a half minutes. Only when it stopped were the school paramedics willing to get her on the gurney they’d rushed in over all the shattered glass. As they prepared to wheel her out into the cold however, she woke up enough to grab my arm. Pulling me close with a strength that should have been exhausted, her words came out more as heavy breath than clear speech.

“It’s just not right,” she whispered, tired eyes fierce with a pain beyond that of her cramped muscles. “Not for either of them!”

She let go and they took her away.

Brendan stepped up behind me. He was holding Khan who looked like a kitten in comparison to the size of Brendan’s hands. “I found the little guy. You want to take him to your room?”

I was about to answer when Tsáyidiel reached out through the link binding us one to the other.

My Queen, I have found the trail of the scion of Azrael. Though you should hurry lest it fade.

Instead of taking my kitty, I brushed fingers through his soft fur and kissed the top of his fuzzy little head. “I’ve got to go. Take Khan to Penelope, and tell her to call Isaiah. He’s got my phone. Have her tell him that my Hunter found his prey - and that I’m going after him.”

The young man who would terrify lines of scrimmage by size alone met my gaze. “Is it whoever broke the Seal and caused all this?” The blemish Jenna had left beside his nose was already fading.

“Yes.”

“Good hunting then. And Jordan…”

“Yeah?”

“Godspeed.”

I let Tsáyidiel know I was inbound and spread wings.

 

Chapter 34 - Glory

 

Camael once said that Creation herself would place stones beneath my feet to guide wherever I needed to be. Which while a scary thought was also in a way comforting. And sometimes those stones willing to hold me up were a lot more than just pavement.

Following the steady link forged between Hunter and Light through many layers of dream and spirit, I arrived at a dark and barren plain of hard-packed dirt all brown and cracked from complete lack of moisture. Whatever sand that may have once covered this land had since been blown, or rather sucked, away.

Through the Gate.

It didn’t appear the same as from Gabriel’s memory, but I suppose that shouldn’t have been a surprise. The billions of souls who had fallen into that slipstream rushing between those twin ivory towers would have slowly changed the nature of the area into the conglomerate of whatever they each expected.

One thing they all must have agreed upon was that this place offered no light of its own by which to see. Instead only whatever flickering and dim inner light of spirit the souls themselves still contained would have been all they had.

The core feeling however was the same: the fury, the regret, and the sorrow-filled despair which had fueled Elohim’s desire to lock away those who had betrayed their brothers and sisters and drowned the realms in blood. All was etched into the underlying substance of that gate and the fundament upon which it had been placed. Across each gleaming stone was also inscribed the names of the Host entire, for each contributed to that which was Elohim - including those who had suffered destruction.

Stretching out from both sides of the opening and towering just as high was the wall. The souls and any other hapless spirits caught in the ever-present draft spiraling through the gap likely had thought that the wall guarded against Hell itself, protecting the “Good” side from the “Bad”.

I, of course, knew better.

The path to Hell was like a tube, that which remained of the narrow space Azrael had left behind when his weapon had so spectacularly failed. This passage is what the Gate itself sat astride. The expanse of wall stretching away from it did not lie between two sides of Creation, rather it marked the barrier against what was Creation and what was Not, lining and guarding the great tear sliced horribly open by Azrael’s blade.

And Matityah, in a black robe much like his father’s, stood before the lightless Gate within a small orange halo cast from a single summoned flame which hovered above his head. Thin wisps of that layer of Chaos flowed into him, spiraling out through tiny cracks the barrier could not help but have after suffering ages of the Chaos’ endless scrapings.

He pulled on them, bringing the gathered alien power within himself similar to what the fallen Grigori Azazel had done.

Using this borrowed foreign energy the Son of Azrael withstood the strong tide pulling past the Gate. And with the Book of Secrets open against an arm he studied all that he could see, glimpsing much more than only what his tiny fire could illuminate.

Guarding him were also eight beings forged of that chaos whose shapes kept twisting and changing every time one looked away. Mouths and claws, eyeballs and knives, fire and spit, they warped the very ground upon which they stood. Whatever limbs touched that dirt needed to maintain a constant shuffle lest they disturb the space such that they would fall on through, moving not unlike lizards protecting limbs from sun-hot rocks.

While Tsáyidiel was a master of stealth and had managed to sneak relatively close, I certainly had no such skills. It’s impossible to hide a burning star’s approach, and with the reforged spear again in hand I wasn’t holding back.

When I was a couple hundred yards away - the shine of my arrival revealing the carved ivory faces of those who had died the day the towers containing their visages arose - Matityah snapped the Book shut to turn and watch as I got closer.

At seventy yards his creatures howled warnings more tasted than heard.

And at twenty-five they reared up in angry protest, the disturbance of their presences ripping at the air.

I decided that was close enough and slowed to a halt.

Matityah’s hood was lowered, his wild blonde hair falling alongside an unkempt beard, both billowing in that wind rushing past the Gate. Between blinks a different dark-haired face would superimpose itself, eyes intent and probing in all the ways I’d seen Azrael’s - and Isaiah’s - behave.

He called out calmly despite the gusts. “You must be Amariel. She said you might come.”

“Alal did? Can’t say that I’m entirely surprised.”

“She also stated you had the potential to be our greatest ally. Though she wouldn’t explain why.”

“It’s a sister thing.”

He considered and nodded. “That actually makes sense.”

“This is a strange place to come to right after making an escape from Earth.”

“Is it?”

“Well, things are a lot nicer on this side for one. Speaking from personal experience, you understand. And heading from one prison to another might be considered odd.”

“I have no intentions of crossing. But unfortunately as her gifts lie outside of the expertise of this book, I was incorrect in my calculations. I have yet the capacity to do what needs be done here.”

“Which is?”

“Rip this one-way Gate asunder.”

That gave me pause. “You want to free Hell?”

“It would make a good first step. If you’ve been there, like you say, what are your thoughts? Is its existence worthy?”

“Honest opinion? Not the way things are, no.”

“Then Alal might indeed be on to something. You could help me.” He gestured at all the light I was blazing forth. “You certainly are not lacking for power. Not in your person nor in the weapon you wield.”

“But if this is just a first step, what would be the true goal? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

The more casual expression hardened and a window opened into a deep and smoldering rage. “To burn it all down.”

“What, Creation itself?”

“The Plan behind everything is rotten!” he snapped. “Surely someone who has been to Hell, let alone lived even a single lifetime on Earth, can see this. If not you still wear the blinders they have shoved over your eyes. Tell me, is existence not full of injustice?”

“Well, yes-”

“And pain?”

“Of course-”

“And terror? And all the evil that men twist the gift of their imaginations to deploy?”

I stayed silent, and while glaring at what towered before us he continued.

“The hatred, the greed, the jealousy,” he said angrily, “it is all born from their fear of dying. And then there are the diseases and random acts of chance which claim the innocent before their lives ever blossom. Over and over again it all repeats, life after life, all ending in death. Compounding sadness on sadness, loss onto loss.” He paused to shake his head as lips gained a snarl. “And for what? To be forgotten on another turn of the Prison’s Wheel? All the love, all the mercy, all the sacrifice and good - gone! As if never having been. Within scant generations none still remember a single detail!”

Remaining quiet, I let him vent but a small fraction of the immense agony churning inside.

His knuckles went white against the leather tome. “Death is the only enemy. That separation inherent in the Plan breeds only rot and misery! Everything ends. Everything dies. All civilizations, all worlds, even the universe shall eventually be but a smear of background heat, slowly going cold and drifting in perpetual darkness.”

He then turned back to me, his voice rising. “Tell me oh angel! Or better still, show me! Show me that this horror,” he said, nodding towards the Gate to Hell, “is worthy! Show me that forcing all non-human spirits to be bound for ages suffering the lack of their true selves is worthy. Show me that the wars and plagues mankind suffers is worthy. Show me that slaughtering one’s own child can ever be in the right!” Energized by the pain in his words, the wind around us howled louder still.

A great sadness fell upon me. “I cannot show what you would refuse to see. Though all is not perfect, on this we do agree.”

“It should be!” he shouted, face alight with raging inner fire. “And there is but one path to achieve it! This Book confirms everything! For its secrets do naught but point the way: We must tear it down. All of it! Even though that means slaughter - for when that poisoned root is finally pulled free, time itself shall unwind and none of this will have existed. The entire tragedy of horror will dissolve and never have been. Only after such a cleansing may the perfect finally be born!”

“I cannot support that. My heart can never support that!”

He snorted in disgust. “Then you are weak rather than strong.”

“That you would believe so is a sorrow. I have no wish to fight you, but the Book in your hand - it is not yours.”

“This?” He raised the Sefer Raziel, and angelic writing flowed across the cover in pale gilded script. “How would you have more right to it than I? Were its secrets not gifted to Man? And I am more human than you, Seraph.”

“I, too, was once of the Nephelim. My mother was of Earth and Cloud, taken by force by an angel.”

“Yet you hover on six wings of fire. How?”

“By the patience of your father, the faith of a warrior washed in blood, and the grace of one who knows only love.”

“That is no answer! Tell me!”

“It is all the answer I have to give.”

He laughed, a harsh and horrible sound. “Then I will simply pull the knowledge from these pages instead!” Throwing open the Book, he prepared to gaze within it once more.

“You shall not! Relinquish the Book, Matityah, son of Azrael, before it drives you into further madness! I will not ask you twice.”

Snapping his fingers, the abominations closed ranks around him. “You may have holy flame at your command, but one against eight is not in your favor.”

“Again you miscalculate. For I am anything but alone.”

Raising the spear, I let the red flames of Camael’s bracers call out to those I had felt follow behind. In response did seven angels, each clad in the purest shining armor of the servitors of the Most High, appear in blinding bursts of sacred flame.

Winged warriors of the Powers, they who had once followed the Prince whose armored gifts I now wore, hovered at my side. To the one who had saved me above the deserts of Aleppo, I gave my command. “Get me to that Book.”

With a wink, Kalka’il shouted a war cry once sounded across this plain by a much larger host long ago. Yet to my ears this day it resonated stronger still.

“Glory to God in the Highest! Glory! Glory! Glory!”

His comrades enthusiastically responded the same, and with swords, shields, and feathers they charged the terrors which should not be. With me funneling all the power I could summon into each and every one of them, they flocked forward as an explosion of color with which to paint the empty canvas of dirt around us with their gleaming rainbows.

Matityah however did not panic at the sight of that which gloriously swarmed forward. He spat growling defiance instead.

“If so intent are you at being a lapdog of Heaven - then fetch!”

As weapons, armor, and holy spirits crashed into entities defying description, Azrael’s son spun about and with a mighty yell he tossed the Sefer Raziel directly into the vortex sweeping past the Gate. A manifestation of Chaos then wrapped around him as a bubble - which immediately split and split again, repeating several times until a multitude of orbs indistinguishable even to my sight fired off in random directions.

Not that I intended to give chase. For my attention was locked on the Book as the time differentials across those boundaries rapidly accelerated it away.

Matityah may not have had the power to shatter the Gate, but there were those on the other side who might if they knew but how. Beings who if released would cause all the havoc on Heaven and Earth for which the cloak-wearing Nephelim could ever have hoped.

In a blaze of speed I lanced forward in pursuit of the tome as the Powers, singing with reverent joy their battle chants of righteousness, opened the way. Darting between them, I cast a sharp directive to my Hunter.

Tsáyidiel! Track Matityah and have Kalka’il bring him to Azrael!

His response was one I should have expected.

My Queen, for all my love for you, I cannot comply. I failed before to follow you into Darkness, I shall never do so again!

There was no point in argument and so wings forged of brilliance soared besides those of hunted night. As we passed the ivory towers into the depths of the shadowed slipstream, I tossed instead a thought towards what lay beyond:

Twitch! Cassius! Hang on, I’m coming!

 

 

To be continued in Book 6, Hope's Light

And don't miss the short Light novelette, Bethlehem!

 

 

If you have enjoyed this story so far, please let me know below! Thank you for reading and for everyone's support!

- Erisian

 

 

Considering the complexity of this saga, readers earlier requested a listing of characters. So here's an update for Book 5! Thanks all!

 

Warning!

If you have not read Books 1-4 (Into The Light, Light's Promise, Call of the Light, and Light and Shadow) then the list below will contain spoilers!!

 

The tale starts here: Into The Light. Hope you enjoy!

 

The Light Between - Dramatis Personae

 

Angels

Jordan Emrys / Justin Thorne / Aradia / Amariel (’God has promised’) - Once a mild mannered middle-aged software geek (Justin) everything changed when his niece Danielle got kidnapped by a mysterious sorcerer. As a result of trying to save Danielle Justin became Jordan Emrys and had hoped to learn to live with suddenly having become a teenage girl herself. But Jordan was more than just that, she was the reincarnation of the Nephelim daughter of Lucifer named Aradia and with the arrival of her wings she learned her true and angelic name: Amariel. She has since literally been to Hell and back.

Callas Soren - An ageless sorcerer who manipulated the start of the Apocalypse by kidnapping Danielle Thorne and by virtue of ritual and circumstance triggered Justin Thorne’s transformative ascension into the angel Amariel. He himself was once Camael (’He who sees God’), an angel who accompanied Gabriel in investigating the transgressions of the Grigori.

Nicholas ‘Nick’ Wright / Barakiel (’Lightning of God’) - Demonologist and consultant for the Department of Paranormal Affairs, Nick has discovered he is the reincarnation of a Grigori angel, specifically the fallen angel Barakiel. He is also a former student of the sorcerer Callas Soren.

Azrael (’Whom God Helps’) - The Angel of Death and Judgment. Raised the abandoned Aradia along with the help of the fae Siabh.

Gabriel (’Strength of God’) - An Archangel who is currently missing from Heaven while apparently busy behind the scenes manipulating events on Earth surrounding Jordan, Danielle, and pretty much everyone. She came into being from one of two drops of Helel/Lucifer's blood unleashed at the moment the Dream of Heaven was forged. Also removed an extra Seed from the Tree of Life when tasked to retrieve one, and later used it along with her own pattern in the restoration of Aradia's spirit.

Raphael (’God has Healed’) - An Archangel who assisted Jordan and became dismayed at witnessing the restoration of a fallen angel to his full empowered Name.

Azazel (’Scapegoat’) - Fallen angel and former Captain of the Grigori. He gained power through a deal with an Archon of the Primal Chaos and used it to corrupt and control his fellow angels. Bound by Camael for thousands of years under a mountain to contain the Chaos energy he possessed, Camael returned and cast him into Hell. During his attempts to take over the Sarim council of fallen angels and then to capture Beliel’s great mace in order to conquer Hell, he fell into the Chaos after Amariel wrested the weapon free.

Tsáyidiel (’God’s Hunter’) - formerly a Fallen angel mind-controlled by Azazel, redeemed and restored by Amariel’s Light.

Kokabiel (’Star of God’) / Ester Berglund - A Grigori who had spent millennia consumed by Azazel’s Chaos. Restored to the light by Amariel which also freed her incarnate self: the young girl Ester.

Sandalphon (title meaning ‘co-brother’) - An Archangel in charge of the Book of Life, said in lore to have been the prophet Elijah. Metaphysical brother (twin) of Metatron.

Metatron (’Voice of God’) / Enoch - An Archangel whose purpose is to bring Elohim’s commands to those unable to hear Him directly. Originally was the man Enoch, a prophet raised to Heaven to testify on the dark doings of the Grigori on the Earth.

Tamiel (’Perfection of God’) / August Rose - A Grigori who had strong ties to the fae. By chance their incarnate self August touched a fragment of the Book of Life and thereby became entwined with it which started a dramatic transformation.

Shemyaza - Co-Captain of the Grigori with Azazel. With Heaven’s denial of their petition to return Home after being on earth for countless millennia, Shemyaza began a campaign of the Grigori breeding with human women to form an army of empowered Nephelim with which to declare independence from Heaven.

Michael (’Who is like God’) - Prince and Archangel, Heaven’s Defender, Commander of the Host.

Helel (’Shining one’) / Lucifer (’Lightbringer’) / The Morningstar - First of the angels, bearer of the Light, who abandoned Heaven and later his daughter Aradia.

Beliel (’God is my Lord’ / ‘Worthless’) - Second of the angels, former ruler of a domain (the ‘Rock’) in Hell but somehow escaped to Earth and resided there during the time when the Grigori fell from grace. Currently incarnated as a man named Adam who lives in Cambridge, England.

Gadiel (’God is my Fortune’) - A Kerubim, taking the form of both bull and falcon.

Hizkiel - A Kerubim, taking the form of lioness and eagle. Gabriel’s standard bearer.

Ruhiel (’Wind of God’) - A Kerubim, taking the form of a condor.

Zakiel (’Choice of God’) - A fallen Grigori. Through continually attempting to fulfill his original purpose even while fallen and incarnate, the energies of souls released by horrible and rage-filled deaths accumulate around him. Used by Bishop to harness those energies. Released from latest lifetime by Azrael to have only one more with which to become worthy of the Light.

Sariel (’Command of God’) - A fallen Grigori. Sariel deployed a mana bomb to almost wipe out a chunk of the Middle East and the Mediterranean in the hopes of preserving the Third Seal. Also used a smaller one against Whateley Academy in a failed attempt to assassinate Danielle. Incarnated as Firuzeh Sardar.

Armaros (’Accursed One’) - A fallen Grigori.

Ananel (’Grace of God’) - A fallen Grigori.

Nathanael (’Gift of God’) - One of the Powers who served under Camael. In his last incarnation (Lieutenant-Colonel Henry ‘Hank’ Polk) he was retired U.S. military and blacksmith hobbyist before journeying to Hell.

Samael - Chief Rebel who led an insurrection against the Throne, fell to Hell, ruled a realm, and then quit and disappeared.

Abagor - A fallen Maschitim, former general under Samael. Rules over the ‘Rock’, the realm Beliel partially abandoned.

Asmodius - Another former general of the Maschitim.

Beelzebub (’god of flies’) - A fallen archangel who joined the Rebels against the Throne. They (for Beelzebub are now many) have overtaken many a soul and spirit, impressing their own name upon them so thoroughly as to create a “Unity”.

Abaddon (in Greek, ‘Apollyon’) - A fallen archangel who joined the Rebels.

Raziel (’Secret of God’) - angel whose Book of Secrets was used by Callas Soren to restore himself as Camael.

Kalka’il - angel of the Powers, assisted in the fight against the Azazel-possessed Kokabiel in the skies above the deserts outside Aleppo, Syria.

Lilith - an archangel once claiming the Seat of Victory. Abandoned her seat when refusing to take sides between Samael and Helel. Tried to catch Helel as he fell to Hell, thereby joining him Below. Bred with demons and devils to create the Lilim.

 

Fae / Gods / Mythics

Danielle Thorne / Siabh / Whateley Codename: Shioc (Gaelic for ‘Frost’) - Manifesting as a low-powered mutant at a young age, Danielle was raised by her mother after her father abandoned them. When her mother died in a car accident Danielle went to live with her uncle Justin. Recovering from being kidnapped by a magical tornado Danielle discovers that it’s not just her former uncle’s life which had been turned upside down. Danielle herself was the reincarnation of the fae priestess Siabh who had worked with Aradia to seal away the remaining mana of the world before it could be depleted beyond recovery. Danielle sacrificed herself to prevent Queen Fionnabhair from breaking the Third Seal with all the queen’s rage and hatred which would have corrupted the stream of mana across the world.

Queen Fionnabhair - a Fae Queen ruling over the dream realm Arcadia and other vassal realms. Younger sister of Siabh and seven brothers. All the brothers died. With Siabh’s taking of the vows of priestess of Gaia, Fionnabhair was doomed to be queen.

Sir Gwydion - Queen Fionnabhair’s Champion, one of the eldest of the fae. Wielder of a blade forged from Chaos, gifted him by Alal with which he fought in Heaven’s First War against the Host.

Galen - a minor noble in the Queen’s Court.

Jesse Cameron / Zap / Heru (Horus) - Incarnate of the Kemetic god Heru, Jesse lived many years as a hawk before returning to human form to aid Jordan. As his god-self he journeyed with her to Arcadia and fought against Queen Fionnabhair. He and Set aided Erica Lain in activated the magics embedded in the pyramids preserved against the day the Third Seal would shatter.

Set - Kemetic God, known trickster and snarky manipulator.

Kami Kurohoshi / Drathonix - Incarnate of the ancient and revered black dragon Drathonix. Former Green Beret and current underworld information broker with his own dedicated team of operators.

Alal - Archon of the Primal Chaos, emerged from a drop of Lucifer’s blood at the moment Creation’s dream was forged, instigator of conflict in Heaven, "Twin" sister to Gabriel, and occasional airline passenger.

Bristlebeak - a small forest fae ever in a quest for gooseberries but who, after much careful consideration, decided that a lightberry was more than a sufficient substitution.

Whittler - a small yet smartly dressed albino squirrel who followed Jordan out of Arcadia.

Zeus - leader of the Greek pantheon, wielder of thunderbolts.

Artemis - daughter of Leto and Zeus, mother to Aradia.

Coatl - trusted vampiric servant to Bishop.

Matityah - Nephelim son of Azrael, brother of Edna.

 

Thorne Family

Khan - Jordan’s much snuggled Maine Coone kitty. He once joined Jordan in the dream-realms where he occasionally became a larger-than-life tiger in order to defend her. Adores Jordan and demands his food bowl always receive proper attention.

Isaiah Cohen - Best friend and brother in all but name to Justin Thorne and also a high-powered attorney. Was Danielle’s legal guardian. Also happens to be the incarnate of Azrael.

Caroline Thorne - Justin’s beloved wife who despite a valiant struggle still succumbed to the ravishes of cancer leaving her grieving husband behind.

Helena Thorne - Danielle’s mother, deceased.

Mark Boone - Caroline Thorne’s brother and Agent of the Department of Paranormal Affairs (DPA).

 

Whateley Students

Jenna Beltran / Rockslide - Jordan’s best friend at school with the ability to turn her skin to stone. This has the unfortunate side-effect of causing all her hair to fall out each time she uses her power. She still mourns her younger brother Thomas who died due to self-inflicted immolation after he had a literal mutant burn-out which had left him horribly burnt and scarred over his entire body.

Brendan Rogers / Tank - A rather tall mutant who went to Whateley hoping to someday be a superhero and use his invulnerability powers to fight against evil.

Tamara McPherson / Sigil - A budding witch who has become good friends with Danielle. Tamara once was saved from possession by a demon due to Jordan and Zap’s efforts. Her mother Marilyn is a High Priestess of some reknown.

Haruko Kurohoshi - Daughter of Kami Kurohoshi, Haruko is Danielle’s roommate. She is always armed with her trusty jade dagger and more skilled with its use than she likes to let on. Her spirit also hosts a dragon egg which usually swallows whatever magical energy she can muster.

Cassius Biron - A student of magic sharing a class with Jordan and Jenna taught by Rabbi Kirov. Currently struggling against his own spirit, as he is Shemyaza’s incarnate.

Erica Lain / Fields - Having stolen a demonic pendant from her father’s safe and used it to influence her roommate Tamara into granting access to Tamara’s scrying sphere in order to hack various secure networks, Erica fled Whateley only to be taken by Queen Fionnabhair as a way to escape Azazel-possessed MCO agents. Thanks to Jordan’s risky negotiations with the Queen while in Arcadia rescuing Danielle, Erica was also set free of her oath of service to the Queen and saved. She now controls the working built into the pyramids which control the flow of mana across the world.

Magnus Eriksson / Barrier - Magnus was raised by a grandmother who passed on the lore of how the fae once ruled over an enslaved mankind and wished to do so again. He is able to project powerful magic barriers with the ability to block both physical and magical attacks. Due to a dream from Gabriel he chose to save Danielle from assassination.

Tian Li / Flint - A young martial artist with a minor ability to spark fires.

Evie Whitscomb / Mindshriek - Young Evie has a talent for manifesting her emotions, either her despair or her hope. It is only recently and with Jordan’s help that she has realized she is capable of hope. It was through Evie’s open heart even after all the trauma of her childhood that Kokabiel too was willing to embrace hope and accept redemption in the light.

Penelope Rubak - A senior with a condition whereby she requires colder temperatures to be comfortable. Part-time hacker and admirer of Khan.

Ester Berglund - see Kokabiel.

August Rose - see Tamiel.

 

DPA

Gregory Kirov - Gadgeteer and Devisor who works for the DPA creating various metaphysical analytical tools including his beloved ‘Big Betty’.

Elliot Goodman - Director of West Coast operations for the DPA.

Natalie Usher - Psychotherapist working for the DPA on loan to Whateley Academy.

Martin Diego - Wizard in employment with the DPA (suspended then restored), father of Erica Lain.

 

Whateley Staff

Rabbi Immanuel Kirov - Rabbi and instructor at Whateley Academy, brother to Gregory and Anton.

Circe - Chairwoman of the Department of Magic and ancient sorceress of reknown.

Louis Geintz / Fubar - powerful psychic who accidentally transformed into a tentacled creature now stuck in an underground pool.

Mrs. Carson - Headmistress and former superhero.

Sensei Ito - Strict and disciplined instructor of martial arts.

Gunny Bardue - In charge of the combat simulators.

Mrs. Cantrel - housemother to Hawthorne Cottage.

Cecilia Rogers - Fashion Designer Extraordinaire and Ball Room Dance instructor.

 

Denizens of Hell

Captain Erglyk - A demon in charge of Outpost Epsilon on the Rock. Deceased.

Barry - A human soul, former reaper at Outpost Epsilon.

Xargglxesh (Charles) - A demon, son of Duke Valgor and Duchess Ruchinox. Deceased.

Duke Valgor - Corpulent demonic duke ruling over many Outposts on the Dark side of Beliel’s Rock as well as a large region on the Light side.

Duchess Ruchinox - Spidery demonic and extremely pregnant demoness.

Cookie - A human soul and expert chef.

Hank - See Nathaniel.

Balus - One-eyed giant demon of few words.

Twitch / Thomas Beltran - Brother to Jenna Beltran, scarred in death by burns caused by his ability to vibrate / move at incredible speeds. Former reaper at Outpost Epsilon, speaks less than Balus.

Vance - A Lilim trader on the Rock. Violinist and mustache aficionado.

Yaria - Daughter to Vance, seductress, dancer, and assassin. Twin to Ruyia.

Ruyia - Daughter to Vance, seductress, violinist, and also assassin. Twin to Yaria.

Tuthos - Demon and former commander of The Hole on the Dark side of the Rock.

Commander Dhalgrix - Leader of a mercenary team of demons hired by Azazal’s proxy. Deceased.

Horatio Greenwood - A human soul and former personal valet to Dhalgrix. Admirer of Veronica.

Veronica - A human soul and former (forced) concubine to Dhalgrix.

Maddalena - A human soul freed from Dhalgrix’s demonic grip, witch, healer, and worshiper of Diana/Artemis - and Aradia.

Major Praztus - A devil and long-nosed officer in Duke Valgor’s army. Served alongside Jordan for a number of cycles.

Rithgargaxith - Five-eyed demon cursed by Jordan to no longer take sustenance from the suffering of souls.

Krux - A short devil and Officer of the Security Forces in the City of Dis. Still awaiting a chance to try out the missile launchers in his rocket cruiser.

 

Military

Major Barrett - An Army Major.

Corporal Alvarez - An Army Corporal.

 

Underworld Operatives

Fred Anderson / Doc - Former soldier now working for Kami Kurohoshi. His blood has a unique healing factor and can be shared with others.

Derek McCann - Hacker and devisor in the employ of Kami Kurohoshi.

Miguel ‘Miggy’ Ramirez - Former soldier also working for Kami Kurohoshi. Capable of reaching into the elemental realm of fire and unleashing that fire on his foes, with byproduct that his own fingers similarly get burnt to a crisp.

Hassan ibn Tariq al-Shadid / The Summoner - An assassin now in forced service to Kami Kurohoshi.

Tanya - A former mercenary now working for Kami Kurohoshi. Can summon electric blue blades and wield them using telekinesis.

Bishop - San Fransisco nightclub owner and Nephelim vampire. Originally named Hahyah he is a son of Shemyaza and brother to Ohya. His metal-skinned brother is trapped in Limbo.

Ms. Firuzeh Sardar - Kidnapper of Nick Wright and worker of the magic which triggered his memory of being Barakiel. Likely a fallen Grigori.

Captain Chizoba Isong - former military recruited by Kami Kurohoshi for his operatives team. Able to generate powerful force fields.

 

Staff

Jim - hired bodyguard.

Ari - hired car driver.

Faaiza Irfan - Director of Finance at Shir Industries International.

 

Legal

Mrs. Feingold - A no-nonsense attorney in Isaiah Cohen’s law firm.

Tracy Matheson - Isaiah Cohen’s legal assistant and secretary. Killed in an assassination attempt against Isaiah, now a ghost staying by his side.