Seven Archangels: Annihilation

Jane Lebak

Chapter 7

         Michael and Raguel flashed into the conference room with tense wings and clenched hands.

         "I never realized you hate this too," Raguel said.

         "Why do you think I always asked Gabriel to handle them?" Michael sighed. "I thought he enjoyed them."

         "He probably did, knowing him." Raguel laughed. "He'd take any chance to offer a lecture."

         Michael caught Israfel's eyes across the conference room, the betrayed glare, and he realized they'd begun using the past tense.

         The room itself had stadium-style seating for fifty, a ring of windows on all sides revealing a partly cloudy day and the valleys falling away around them. It had no doors because souls didn't need them.

         Everyone fell silent as Michael went to the table at the front. He scanned the crowd and recognized the heads of all nine choirs, but of the Seven only himself, Raguel and Saraquael. Five humans attended including Peter, the equivalents of "heads of the choir," and he missed Mary if she was there.

         With a deep breath, he called the meeting to order, and then in as brief a summation as he could, delivered the official news of what had happened.

         Silence overspread the others. Even Saraquael and Raguel, who had been present, stayed unmoving and rapt, as if in the retelling they might find a way out, some way this hadn't happened.

         Before he'd finished by urging them to keep the details away from the enemy, Mary had appeared in the back and slipped into a seat.

         Michael quieted, not having the heart to ask for questions.

         "But he's going to recover?" said the head of the choir of Angels.

         Michael swallowed. "I can't say for certain."

         A collective flinch from the angels. Michael closed his eyes. They all projected at the same time—he might die? He might really die? God would allow that? But couldn't they save him?

         Michael looked for Mary's eyes, and he arched his brows. She shook her head: no.

         No improvement.

         Michael summoned a chair and guided himself to a seat. He put his head in his hands. God, center me. I need to lead them. They need it right now.

         Raguel stood. "I want to know how we're going to respond to this."

         Michael looked up, weary. "What would you have us do?"

         "A full siege of Hell," Raguel said. "Immediately."

         Michael sat back. "We do need to respond, but I'm not sure that's the best way."

         Raguel folded his arms. He was the tallest and broadest of the Seven, arguably the strongest even though the Principalities were in the lowest triad of choirs. Michael put a little ice into his glance, but Raguel remained unmoving.

         Fine. Michael returned to his feet. "None of us denies the basic facts: two hours ago, one of our own was abducted and subjected to murder. The sheer magnitude of that action defies every spiritual and ethical norm. Annihilation violates the most basic of God's decrees, that God alone is the Creator and the destroyer."

         Michael scanned the room. "I'm sure Satan will try again. He's got to be proud of himself for breaking the most sacred law, and who can doubt he has designs on every other one of us?"

         No one responded, so Michael finished with, "We cannot permit this to happen a second time."

         Ophaniel, head of the choir of Cherubim, said, "How can we stop him?"

         Raguel said, "We invade."

         A Throne said, "We could issue a stern warning that we'll take action if they try again."

         "And what would it say?" said a Virtue. "Kindly don't annihilate anyone else?"

         The Throne said, "Gabriel isn't dead."

         The Virtue folded his arms. "Their intention was clear."

         Michael said, "Murder and attempted murder are morally the same."

         The Virtue said, "And what if they don't try again?"

         Speaking for the first time, Saraquael said, "That's a dilemma I look forward to confronting."

         Michael flashed him a grateful look, and Saraquael leaned back, a light in his eyes.

         Raguel set his jaw. "Should we allow them to think Gabriel's death goes unanswered?"

         Saraquael tilted his head. "This isn't an executive council meeting. Everyone is forgetting that. We convened to give you accurate information to distribute to your choirs." He took a deep breath. "We aren't a decision-making body."

         Raguel said, "But we need to decide—"

         "For pity's sake," Michael said, "how can we? I understand you want to strike at them—don't you think I want it every bit as much? But now isn't the time to decide. There's nothing to accomplish with an immediate strike. It can wait an hour, Raguel."

         Michael looked back at the others. "Information only. I'll open the floor if anyone has anything to add."

         Ophaniel stood again. "If I may, I have something."

         Michael hoped he wouldn't regret turning the floor over to a Cherub as he gestured toward the front. Ophaniel joined him.

         "The Cherubim have discovered that the lower demons don't believe this is the first time Satan has performed an annihilation."

         The whole room hummed.

         "They claim that Satan destroyed three Principalities who openly rebelled. Shandriel, Mendrel, and Astrifer."

         "I've never heard of them," said the chief of Principalities, and Raguel agreed.

         "He invented the story. It keeps the lower orders in line. This seems to be the first actual attempt."

         Another Cherub added, "Rahab."

         Michael glanced at Ophaniel, who looked pale. "Yes," Michael said. "There's Rahab. But I'm not sure Rahab counts."

        

 

         When Michael dismissed the group, Saraquael and Raguel stayed behind, and he also called over Mary.

         She said nothing, just gripped his hand for a long moment. Saraquael turned away and paced to the window. Raguel closed his eyes.

         "No change whatsoever?" Michael said.

         "None Uriel can detect." Mary folded her hands. "Uriel thinks we didn't get all of him back."

         The three archangels vibrated with momentary shock.

         Saraquael spun to face her. "What does Raphael think?"

         Mary said, "I left before Uriel told him."

         "We need to go look for the rest, then," Michael said. "Shouldn't we? How long can the various parts stay around if they're just—loose?"

         Mary opened her hands. "That's why I wanted to ask you. Is there any way to go and check?"

         "I was in the place where they did it," Michael said. "I could try going back—"

         "Absolutely not," Raguel said. "For all you know, they're waiting for you."

         Michael said, "Why is my life more valuable than Gabriel's?"

         "Because," Saraquael said, "Remiel is down there, and she's still undiscovered."

         "Can you get word to her?" Michael said.

         "I can try."

         Raguel said, "If we invade, we can definitely access the area."

         Michael fixed a look on him.

         Raguel stared at his feet. "We need to make a decision."

         Michael shook his head, and the summons went out.

         Not as many returned for this meeting: the heads of each of the nine choirs and one other representative, plus Peter and Abraham representing humanity. Mary remained. Saraquael rearranged the room with one gesture, placing a wide table the length of the room and doing away with the stadium seating. There were about half as many present as before.

         Michael drew a breath to begin when Uriel appeared.

         Everyone turned, but Uriel was looking away—at Raphael behind him.

         But didn't that mean Gabriel—?

         That's when he saw that no, the brown fabric bundle on Raphael's chest was Gabriel, tied snug.

         There were startled exclamations, and then Ophaniel was right up to Raphael, machine-gunning questions which the Seraph attempted through his exhaustion to answer. After a minute, Michael forced Ophaniel back.

         Uriel met Michael's eyes with worry.

         Mary stepped up next to Raphael. She checked over the sling, pronounced it tight, but then adjusted it minutely. "He looks better to me."

         "You think so?" Raphael's voice was thin.

         "He seems to respond to the sunlight."

         Michael glanced at the rest of the assembly, all of whom were brittle with shock. He could tell a couple were thinking, "This is better?"

         Michael turned to Raphael. "Is it wise to move him?"

         Uriel looked relieved that he'd asked. Raphael turned his gaze to Gabriel. "I thought—maybe if we were with others—"

         Israfel flashed to Raphael's side. "Would you like me to go back with you? They don't really need me here, and I'll help arrange the windows so there's more sunlight in the bungalow."

         "I need you here," Michael said.

         Israfel put her hands on Gabriel. "Let Raphael represent the Seraphim—I'll take Gabriel for a while."

         Michael said, "Raphael's his primary. They have to stay together."

         Israfel got up close to Michael and whispered, "Gabriel's my primary too." Her eyes narrowed. "Don't forget that again."

         Michael flinched.

         Flashing behind Raphael, Israfel wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

         Michael glanced at Uriel, whose ordinary pallor had picked up a porcelain sheen, and whose black hair looked more tousled than usual. Michael wanted Israfel's input, but at the same time, he could see defeat crowding out the usual spark in Raphael's eyes. Raphael needed someone to lean on: Uriel had spent everything and more already.

         Even as Mary touched Raphael's arm, saying, "I think the sunlight really is helping," Michael flagged the three Angels keeping tabs on Raphael.

         Head bowed, Raphael whispered that Gabriel probably did need the quiet, and he vanished from the circle of Israfel's arms. Michael sent the Angels after him.

         One of the Powers broke down in sobs.

         Uriel pulled out a chair and leaned back, head craned back all the way, arms limp, legs extended.

         Michael dropped onto a chair beside the Throne, and he put his face in his hands.

         Satan had to have known it would come to this. He might not have predicted what would happen to whom, but he'd have calculated the collateral damage in advance, selecting a target based on status but also on the web of the others. Gabriel, admired despite his quirks and his mental meanderings and Remiel's good-natured coronation of him as the King of Geeks. If Michael had died, they'd have rallied but considered him a hero, as if he'd asked for it. But Gabriel, the Prince of Heaven, hadn't made himself anyone's enemy and was only doing the things God created him to do. Satan must have had a flow-chart of whom his friends were and how powerful, then unleashed his strike with the directness of a sniper's rifle.

         I hate him, Michael prayed. I hate what he's done and the fact that he wanted all this.

         Ophaniel turned toward Uriel to ask a question, but one movement from Raguel ensured continued silence.

         Michael forced himself to sit up. "So," he said, very subdued, "you see what's happened and what they did."

         Even Raguel didn't start in with his demands for an invasion. That would come in time. Now was the moment to just let the horror hit home. Michael joined hands with the other angels and saints, and together they prayed. For healing. For direction, for strength, for understanding, for resolve. For Gabriel's life.

         Afterward, Michael said, "We're meeting to decide how to respond. I'd like to hear all your ideas, no matter how off-base you might think them." He met Raguel's eyes. "You suggested a full invasion before. Tell us more."

         Raguel stood. "Satan broke the most basic of spiritual laws, and clearly he worked hard to achieve that mastery. He's sure to continue—either with our own angels or with his."

         Murmurs of assent.

         "None of us will be safe. He'll always hold that threat against us." He folded his arms. "We can't afford to have our movements restricted to only certain areas or curfews or a buddy system. We have to attack now."

         A Throne said, "How will an attack now prevent future annihilations?"

         Raguel said, "A show of force will make them afraid to try again."

         "All right," Michael said, "let's have more ideas."

         The Throne said, "We could issue a warning."

         "If the fires of Hell don't deter him," Israfel said, "he'll laugh at a stern warning."

         "He ought to be warned."

         "He's not ignorant," Mary said. "He must have suspected this was the worst thing he could do. I'm surprised he waited this long to attempt it."

         "Corruption is more severe than destruction," said Ophaniel.

         Sidriel, the Cherub beside him, added, "You might as well mention the fact that even our Cherubim never figured out how God made us. This isn't a new application of old information."

         Ophaniel shrugged. "That too."

         "If I may," Michael said, "let's have more ideas."

         "What if we abduct Satan?" Mary said.

         Saraquael shook his head. "Beelzebub would say good riddance. He's wanted the throne of Hell for years. Asmodeus too. Mephistopheles would help us capture Satan if we asked, and no one except the lower order demons would really miss him."

         "Maybe Belior," Sidriel said. "He seems genuinely loyal."

         "It wouldn't give us assurance anyhow," Ophaniel added. "Camael indicated he didn't work alone. Mephistopheles must know how to do it as well."

         Michael said, "We've got three ideas now. Let's keep moving."

         The chief of the choir of Dominions raised one finger and smiled demurely. "We might let natural law take its course," she said.

         "Do nothing?" Raguel said.

         Israfel said, "We're the tools of natural law."

         "Not always," said the Dominion, named Zadkiel. She along with Saraquael were Michael's standard-bearers. "This is a crime against the Spirit. It's not for us to decide the case."

         "How can we let this go unanswered?" Raguel was again on his feet, his wings flared. "Gabriel may die because of him!"

         In a low voice, Saraquael said, "She's aware of that."

         Raguel hesitated, then sat back down.

         Uriel said, "I want to hear more."

         Zadkiel met Uriel's eyes with a quickness like Saraquael's. "When Satan refused to worship God, he committed a crime against angels by taking a third of us down in rebellion, so an angel took action and threw him into Hell."

         "With a lot of help," Michael interjected.

         "When Satan seduced mankind, that was a crime against humanity, and Jesus, the Word as human, redressed the wrong. Annihilation is a crime against God himself as the life sustainer." Zadkiel looked at her slender fingers. "We aren't on a plane to fix that wrong, nor to avenge for him, nor to make reparation for Gabriel's pain or the pain of everyone who will be affected by his loss. I say, let God take care of the matter."

         Uriel said, "If we follow your lead, we must remain completely passive."

         "Agreed. Sooner or later, God will ensure that the natural consequences of Satan's actions punish him far more appropriately than we could."

         "But Satan hates his own," Raguel said. "He'd be happy if they started annihilating one another, as long as they didn't annihilate him. And if they got him, he'd be free from punishment—which as I recall, was supposedly eternal."

         Zadkiel rubbed her chin. "I trust in our Father."

         "Trust isn't the issue," Michael said. "No one is questioning that God will work this out for his glory—it's just a question of how best that should happen. Your point is definitely worth consideration, and I'm glad you suggested it." He looked around. "Anyone else?"

         An Archangel said, "We could send spies into Hell to determine their next move."

         "Remiel is already established there," Ophaniel said.

         Saraquael said, "Remiel is not a long-term option."

         "But spies in general are," Michael said. "Other ideas? I want everything on the table at once."

         From beside Ophaniel, Sidriel said, "Maybe if we explained to Satan why what he's doing is wrong, he'd understand the need not to do it again."

         "He'd do it even more," Saraquael said, "possibly starting with whomever went to talk to him."

         "But every option depends on his eventual cooperation."

         "That's why God has to intervene directly," Zadkiel said. "We can't force Satan to be good."

         Raguel said, "We can chain him down and keep him from being bad."

         Michael snickered.

         Zadkiel said, "Forever?"

         "If that's what it takes."

         "Hold on," Michael said. "More ideas? We're just brainstorming now."

         Israfel said, "Can God protect us from the process in a special way? Can we be double-knotted or locked?"

         Mary said, "I already asked. He said there's no technique that would prevent it."

         Israfel said, "Will he consent to re-creating any angels destroyed by this process?"

         Mary shook her head. "I asked that too."

         Momentary quiet from everyone.

         An Archangel said, "Is Satan preparing to defend against a full-scale assault right now? We ought to consider his expectations as we decide."

         "I'll investigate that," Saraquael said. "I'll also try to recall Remiel."

         "Do that," Michael said.

         Everyone returned to quiet.

         "Are we out of ideas?" Michael scanned the room, then added, "Let's take a break, and when we return, we can work out a solution."

         The meeting dissolved, some angels moving outside, others gathering in different parts of the room in smaller groups. Zadkiel and Ophaniel joined two Thrones by the long windows that stretched floor to ceiling, framed by the green sky outside. Some Archangels and Angels had gathered in another corner and sat on the multi-colored carpet; one read poetry to the rest of the group. Saraquael departed on his assignments.

         Michael turned to Uriel. The Throne's wings sagged, and the purple eyes had darkened to black. Michael leaned closer, then backed off a bit, projecting that if the Throne had something to say, to feel free to say anything at all.

         Uriel simply sent back exhaustion. Tension.

         Michael tried to offer reassurance.

         He noticed Raguel talking animatedly with Zadkiel. Good—let them work it out.

         Ophaniel appeared beside Uriel, calling over a chair and feasting his eyes on the Throne. "So, how is it done?"

         Uriel focused on Ophaniel, who sat back sharply.

         "How could it be wrong to know?" Ophaniel said. "Knowledge is knowledge, and this is God's best-kept secret of all!"

         Uriel's eyes narrowed.

         "How much can you tell me?" Ophaniel said.

         Uriel sighed.

         Ophaniel leaned forward, eyes bright.

         Sidriel approached.

         "Uriel won't tell us," Ophaniel said.

         Shock and frustration rolled off the other Cherub. "They're allowed to know it, but we're not?"

         Uriel glanced at Michael, then back at the pair of Cherubim. "Some things we shouldn't know."

         "That's crazy," Sidriel said.

         Ophaniel paused. "Maybe it's true." When Sidriel regarded him with questions, Ophaniel added, "I wouldn't care to know how to perform a Satanic sacrifice."

         "You wouldn't do it, but the knowledge of how to do it, that wouldn't be wrong."

         Uriel snapped, and both Cherubim looked up.

         "God will reveal only as much as I need to know to do the repair," Uriel said, and then before Ophaniel could ask to know that much, added, "and afterward I'll have to surrender it back."

         "No!" both Cherubim cried out simultaneously.

         "This is something that's never been done—"

         "It's our identity—"

         "It's who we are as angels—"

         "It's God's decision," Uriel said.

         When Sidriel huffed, Michael hid a smile.

         Ophaniel said, "You said you'd do the repair. Can I at least watch?"

         Uriel's eyes flashed.

         Sidriel said, "I hate to ask this, but—how are you expecting to be able to repair him? He looked pretty torn up."

         Michael said, "He should recover." When the Cherubim and the Throne turned to look at him, he added, "I asked Jesus."

         Sidriel brightened. "Oh! That's good."

         Ophaniel said, "What exactly did he say?"

         Michael thought for a moment. "That it depended on Raphael."

         Uriel expressed surprise.

         Michael looked at the three sets of curious eyes and could feel their disbelief. "What do you think I'm missing?"

         "Give me the whole conversation," Ophaniel said.

         "Just that I asked if Gabriel would survive, and Jesus said it depended on how tightly Raphael would hang on."

         He didn't feel from them the relief he'd expected.

         Ophaniel said, "And that doesn't frighten the daylights out of you?"

         Michael shook his head, hesitant.

         Sidriel said, "That's hardly a yes."

         "It's not, but—"

         Uriel flagged Mary over and repeated Michael's conversation with Jesus.

         Mary looked concerned. "It sounds a lot like 'Destroy this temple and I'll rebuild it in three days' when he knew his listeners were going to think he meant the building."

         Michael said, "But we know Raphael would hang in there for as long as it took. That's why I'm not frantic."

         Uriel said, "He's discouraged, but he wouldn't give up."

         Sidriel said, "Ophaniel and I have primary bonds with him. We can try to help keep his spirits up."

         Uriel said, "And check out Gabriel at the same time?"

         Sidriel sighed; Uriel grinned.

         Michael said, "Is there any way to help Raphael? If he's really the lynch pin, we need to keep him going also."

         Uriel said, "I'll keep an eye on him. I really don't want Gabriel exposed to too much residue. Raphael shouldn't have come here before, but he so much hungered for contact with the rest of you. It's hard on him to be alone with only me and Gabriel, and Gabriel isn't even responsive."

         Mary said, "I knew a mother who cared for a child like that. He never responded either, but she took care of him all the time, no matter how tired she was."

         Uriel said, "She had help from her family, and we need to provide Raphael the same kind of respite."

         Michael leaned on the desk and closed his eyes. The room sounded so loud: Raguel and Zadkiel all but having a fist fight in one corner, poetry from another, laughter from a third. How could they be laughing when Gabriel lay in pieces?

         He felt Uriel's touch on his arm, but he didn't raise his head.

         "Is it true Raphael didn't get everything?"

         Michael had projected that more than said it, his voice blending into the hum of the room.

         Uriel's heart stirred in his own: it was true.

         "Then we have to send someone back inside."

         Michael thought about whom he could send. Remiel, already established in Hell. Himself because he couldn't ask his own to do something he wouldn't. An overextended Raphael, who might be best able to find what they were looking for. Israfel, also one of Gabriel's primaries and possibly strong enough to defend herself if attacked by all five of Hell's commanders.

         Uriel said, "I think it's necessary."

         Another decision. Gabriel usually handled this kind of thing. Maybe that's why Satan had singled him out. One of the others should have stepped in as the decision-maker. Michael worked better like a weapon: aim it in the right direction and fire, but don't expect it to select its own target.

         "You'll do fine," Saraquael said, abruptly at his side. "You have a knack of responding instantly the right way."

         Michael turned his head. "I don't know what's right to do this time."

         Uriel had departed to speak to Mary, and the Cherubim were going head-to-head about whether knowledge itself, in its pure form, could possibly be wrong to have. For the moment, it left Michael and Saraquael in relative privacy.

         "You second-guess yourself." Saraquael sat back in his chair. "You know, ordinarily I love the fact that every angel understands and reflects God's infinity in a different fashion, but it's times like this I wish we all just reflected it one way. Working stone against stone is a nice way to get down to the nugget of truth at the center, but the friction is pretty intense while we're getting there."

         "We're in agreement about the important things," Michael said softly. "There's no question about those. But yeah. This one's going to be rough."

         Saraquael said, "Remember after the Crucifixion, you had to stop a meeting and make everyone repeat to everyone else in the room, 'You are not the enemy'? Keep that in your toolbox in case we need it again." He put a hand on Michael's shoulder. "I've got the information you wanted." Then he hesitated.

         "You want to pre-brief me?"

         "You might want to know this first."

         "Is it something that requires immediate action?"

         Saraquael shook his head.

         "Then hold off." He looked at Saraquael. "How does Gabriel do this?"

         "You never studied him?" Saraquael chuckled. "He walks in, presents a logical and thorough description of what he intends to do, explains why he's discounted all the alternatives, asks if anyone has any objections, and then suddenly—surprise—we're in agreement."

         "In other words," Michael said, "he's always right." When Saraquael laughed, Michael said, "Do you want to take over?"

         "And get it from all sides? To be honest, I'd much rather be your lieutenant."

         "Then there's nothing else for it." Michael got to his feet. "Gabriel has to get better."

         He called everyone back to order.

         Saraquael stood. "Camael has admitted that he as well as Mephistopheles and Beelzebub were to take part in the annihilation, so he understands the rudiments."

         Ophaniel said, "We'd do well to assume the other two also know the whole procedure."

         Sidriel said, "Mephistopheles has to be the one that developed it."

         Michael waved the Cherubim down.

         Saraquael continued, "Hell has sentries posted everywhere, but they aren't in formation to defend against a full attack."

         Michael nodded.

         "Everyone in Hell believes Gabriel was successfully annihilated."

         Saraquael shifted his weight. "This last is a potentially damaging situation. Camael's involvement is not coincidental. He was chosen to participate because he supposedly used Remiel to direct Gabriel to Earth for spurious reasons."

         "But there's no bond between them," Ophaniel said. "There's no bond between the other pair of twins."

         "The Qaddisin aren't separated," said Sidriel.

         "But we determined—"

         "You were wrong," Saraquael said with a shut-them-down firmness. "He sent her suggestions, and she acted according to them. And before you point out what Gabriel already would have, that positive correlation doesn't necessarily indicate causality—" (both Cherubim chuckled) "—that doesn't mean the two happenings are necessarily connected. She might have decided she wanted to play a game at any time, and for no reason other than she wanted to play a game. Her nature leads her toward spontaneous action. I felt it necessary to mention this only because Camael believes it, and Camael was one of the abductors."

         Everyone remained silent for a moment, and then Ophaniel said, "Does the feedback go both ways?"

         "Do you mean, could Remiel send him a command?"

         "That too, but more importantly, can he scan her thoughts?"

         Saraquael's mouth tightened. "I didn't ask. It didn't seem as if he could."

         "It's not her fault," Israfel said. "Even if this connection exists, we couldn't punish her."

         Michael raised a hand. "Obviously she was used, if it happened at all. The difficulty is, what if Camael can learn our plans through her?"

         Raguel said, "Camael is chained and Guarded."

         "And later?" Michael said.

         "We deal with it later. There's enough immediate worry to handle now."

         Michael tilted his head. "Fair enough."

         Saraquael took a seat, and Michael met his eyes as the Dominion projected, Back to you.

         Thanks.

         "Does anyone have any more ideas about possible responses?"

         Raguel stood. "Zadkiel was right about what we should do. This isn't our crime to pay back. We have to let God do it."

         Michael fought the urge to stare open-mouthed, something a number of the other angels were unable to do.

         Israfel stood so quickly she knocked over her chair. "We can't just ignore what they did!"

         Raguel folded his arms. "We're not ignoring it. We saved him, we discussed it and prayed over it, and we're taking some sort of action, even if that action is leaving it to God."

         Michael noticed Uriel looking satisfied, and then he noticed Ophaniel nodding too.

         Israfel, on the other hand, had flames in her hair. "We're the tools of God's justice! If he's going to strike, it must be through us!"

         Mary said, "God can act however he chooses, and that might not involve any intermediaries whatsoever."

         The air shimmered around Israfel. "I refuse to go along with that. I still say we have to invade and let the lower orders know with full certitude that if Satan does it again, they will suffer, and then let them put pressure on him to keep his filthy hands to himself!"

         Zadkiel said, "But it won't be a full passivity on our part." She reached a hand toward Israfel, who shed sparks as she recoiled from contact. "We should mitigate our non-involvement, and the best way to do it might be the stern warning we discussed before."

         Even as he responded to Zadkiel, Michael couldn't take his eyes off Israfel and her fellow Seraph, both ablaze. "What would you put in the warning?"

         Zadkiel also had her gaze on Israfel as she answered; in fact, everyone in the room was having a hard time looking away from her. "That Satan is in serious violation of spiritual law, and that if he repeats himself, we'll beat the living daylights out of him."

         Michael said, "Rough paraphrase?"

         Zadkiel snickered.

         Israfel flared with a whoosh that pulled all the air in the room toward her, causing the angels nearest her to flash a distance away, excepting the other Seraph and the two Cherubim. "We don't need to wait for him to repeat himself before we beat the living daylights out of him. This needs to be answered with force."

         Uriel said, "You want to match power for power."

         "We have the power," Israfel said. "We need to bring it to bear."

         Uriel said, "If you don't mind, what would it accomplish?"

         The flames decreased a little, and Michael looked to Ophaniel to see if he was the one drawing it down, or whether Israfel was calming herself. She said, "It would show them we won't take murder lightly, as if it were graffiti."

         Uriel linked eyes with Israfel, speaking and projecting simultaneously. "What should we do when we invade? We can't annihilate Satan or we'd be in violation of the same law."

         "We can chain down the ringleaders in the nether levels for a hundred years, or a thousand," Israfel said. "We did that after the Resurrection."

         With spread hands, Uriel said, "But did it have any long-term effects? When Satan does get free, assuming we don't get leave to keep him chained until the Final Judgment, won't he act even worse, with a century of humiliation and time on his hands to plan? We need a plan of our own that ensures he'll never try it again." Uriel took a deep breath. "That sort of security is providable only by God."

         Israfel folded her arms, but the fire had retreated to only flamelets around her eyes and wings. "We can get God into position to provide that security. We can push Satan up against the wall and keep him there."

         Uriel said, "God works in his own time. You know that."

         Ophaniel said, "As for your treatment of annihilation in comparison to graffiti, by which I presume you mean the slightest sin, the fact is that even the slightest sin merits damnation. Annihilation and carving one's name in a tree differ only in degree."

         Israfel glanced at the other Seraph, and both exchanged a look that Michael could read easily: "Cherubim."

         Sidriel said, "We leave justice in the small matters to God. We could logically justify leaving this to him as well."

         Israfel said to Ophaniel, "Backstabber," but her eyes had become resigned.

         Michael tried to unkey himself as Israfel sat and said nothing further, but she and Ophaniel had their eyes locked, and they were probably talking through their bond.

         Peter, at the far end of the table with Mary, said, "What does Gabriel want?"

         Uriel said, "He isn't in a position to want anything right now, unfortunately."

         Michael said, "But it's a good point."

         Saraquael said, "You can bet that whatever he wanted, he'd have a good rationale for it."

         Michael smiled wearily. "Probably so. But right now, we're all we've got. So let's take a preliminary vote and see where that gets us."

 

Copyright 2008, Jane Lebak

Cover

Copyright 2008, E. J. Mickels

E.J.Mickels II—aka 'Hisart'— a multi talented artist, has a BFAA in Drawing with Minors in Illustration and Graphic Design from the University of Akron. A veteran of the USAF, he has traveled through Europe and most of the USA.

E.J. ventured out as an Illustrator and has appeared in The Sword Review as well as Ray Gun Revival and in Dragons, Knights and Angels. He also wrote and keeps his own web-site-< www.Hisart.us >—which contains a small fraction of the art he has produced. He works in any medium and is just as comfortable setting at a PC with pen and tablet as he is with a chainsaw, airbrush or welder. He has done custom motorcycle and helmet work, as well as in the distant pas,t worked as a tattooist. He is also a writer, he participated in NaNoWriMo 2005, and maintains his own blog 'Sword and Pen' at < www.hisart777.blogspot.com >.

E.J. is currently the ArtWrangler at Double-Edged Publishing's Fear and Trembling magazine: < www.fearandtremblingmag.com >.