Seven Archangels: Annihilation

Jane Lebak

Chapter 22

Ophaniel's shaded face was the first thing Gabriel saw when he awakened, followed by the shadow of Sidriel immediately behind him.

Raphael, he sent, I'm awake.

Raphael would arrive in a minute.

Gabriel projected a question.

Ophaniel pressed into his hand a heavy object that just fit into his palm with his fingers curled.

Gabriel puzzled. Then his eyes flew open, and he bolted upright.

Sidriel laughed out loud, and Ophaniel beamed.

Gabriel whispered, "Saraquael?"

Both Cherubim nodded with enthusiasm.

Gabriel made the room light so he could see the thing in his hand. It was round, metallic, and far heavier than its size would lead one to believe. He rolled it in his fingers and found it perfectly smooth.

Saraquael appeared. "What do you think?"

Not looking up from the sphere, Gabriel radiated curiosity.

"We did as you said." Ophaniel wore a bright enthusiasm as he exchanged a look with Sidriel. "I had him bi-locate, then started a process of transferring everything from one to the other, but leaving samples of everything behind."

"I couldn't do it myself," Saraquael said. "They needed to guide the process."

Gabriel examined the ball. "It's— It feels just like you."

"It is him." Sidriel cocked his head. "If he wanted to, he could call it back to himself. But if instead he needed our help, we could pump energy back into it and try to recreate him."

"Instant Dominion." Saraquael grinned. "Just add water—or something."

Gabriel rolled it between his palms. "There's no way to test the process."

Saraquael shook his head. "I'm all for a good experiment, but I'd rather not try getting destroyed and re-created."

Raphael appeared. "You know, this isn't a convention center."

Gabriel raised the sphere. "This was what I was trying to do. Ophaniel and Sidriel finished it up."

Raphael took it from Gabriel's hand. "Nice work. But did you guys have to wake him up to show him?"

Sidriel squinted. "Wouldn't he want to know?"

Ophaniel said to Gabriel, "Sidriel had to help with condensing everything, otherwise the second Saraquael just got filmier."

Sidriel knit his brows. "I suspect that if we mold it as it collapses, we can make the token shaped like an ordinary object to further safeguard it. A bell, a fountain pen, a necklace—"

"You'd break your neck," Raphael said, weighing it in his hand.

"But the point would be to hide it in plain sight," Ophaniel said. "Otherwise they'd destroy the token and then hunt down the angel."

Gabriel looked over Saraquael. "Are you at a diminished power?"

"Not that I can tell."

Raphael opened his hands. "Why wait? We should get tokens made for likely targets, starting with Michael."

Gabriel looked at Ophaniel. "Raphael first. And Israfel."

Ophaniel met his eyes with understanding.

Sidriel said to Saraquael, "Whom do they want to strike next?"

"If they've got plans, they've been quiet. But it'll be the Cherubim or the Seraphim that get hit," Saraquael added. "Satan will strike the top of the hierarchy first. He knows we'll retaliate, so he'll make it worth his while."

Gabriel said, "I think he'll hit one of the Seven. Satan would sacrifice his own existence for a shot at Michael's."

"Michael has too much of God's power in him," Raphael said. "Satan might as well try unlacing God Almighty."

Ophaniel folded his arms. "They think Gabriel's dead, and they must think you're paralyzed with grief. Plus they think Remiel is half mad."

"That leaves three targets," Gabriel said. "Raguel, Saraquael and Uriel."

Raphael cleared his throat. "Before you get further into this discussion, Gabriel—"

Gabriel hesitated, then looked from Raphael to Ophaniel. "What?"

Ophaniel raised his eyebrows. "Israfel."

Gabriel took a short breath. Then he summoned Israfel.

When she appeared, Raphael said, "Strategy session. Who's the next target?" and recapped the conversation. While he did this, Mary showed up with banana bread and a thermos full of hot chocolate, but no one took any except for Gabriel.

Israfel said, "It won't be Uriel."

As Mary closed the hamper, she said, "Who do they think replaced Gabriel?"

Everyone paused.

"I have no idea," Saraquael said. "But you're right. They'll assume we have a new Seventh by now."

Israfel said, "Ophaniel or Sidriel would do."

"You could serve," Mary said.

Both Raphael and Israfel laughed. "Two Seraphim on the Seven?" she said. "It would have to be a Cherub bonded to Raphael."

"Not necessarily." Saraquael's eyes widened. "They think Raphael is unfit for duty. If Satan were the one making the decision, he'd boot Raphael out of the Seven in a heartbeat and replace him and Gabriel with Israfel and Ophaniel. He's going to assume God did the same."

Gabriel shook his head. "He didn't replace Rahab and Ataf on the Maskim."

Saraquael said, "Think social dynamics. He can't control a team of seven as effectively as he can a team of five. God isn't worried about that." Then he handed the token to Mary, who nearly dropped it. "It's me. For safekeeping."

Raphael looked at Gabriel. You need more rest.

Not after you just called Israfel.

Raphael reluctantly agreed to let him stay awake a little longer.

Because the room had gotten crowded, they moved outside, a transition that left Gabriel confused and frightened.

"You're still dealing with that?" Israfel said, and Gabriel nodded weakly.

They spread out in the sunlight, talking, playing music, and enjoying the togetherness. Gabriel lay on his stomach and fanned his wings to the light, luxuriously warm, but after an awkward thought, he forced himself awake again.

Gingerly, he moved behind Israfel and brushed her hair.

She peered over her shoulder, but he looked only at the blue-black strands in his fingers.

Ophaniel and Sidriel started a discussion about tracking random angels in random places, and this Gabriel followed without joining. Something, at least, was coming back to him now, the way he'd braided Israfel's hair when they were sitting in groups, weaving in odd things because it annoyed her. Feathers, flowers, grass bits, ribbons.

As he plaited her hair, he remembered how everyone always told him he braided it "wrong": he'd always divided a braid into four parts rather than three, a pattern which yielded a rounded braid rather than a flat one. Right outermost part under two, over one; left outermost part under two, over one. While he braided, he "spoke" to the soil until some poppies sprang up in answer, growing and blossoming. Gabriel picked one to braid the stem into her hair.

The other two Cherubim had devised a check system more complicated than the FedEx delivery algorithm, but he trusted that in a few moments the scheme would collapse under its own weight and they'd resume with a modified simple system.

Israfel said as he started a second braid, "Don't you have anything better to do?"

"No."

He felt power go out of her. Then she turned, thrusting a black box into his lap.

The other angels, minus the Cherubim, looked up at attention.

Mary sat forward. "The trumpet?"

"I never showed it to you, did I?" Braid abandoned, Gabriel opened the case so the instrument gleamed in the sunlight. "I'm supposed to sound this for the final resurrection."

Mary extended a hand, then drew back. "Can I hold it?"

Gabriel handed over the instrument. She sighted along its edges, moved the valves, and admired the craftsmanship. Behind them, the Cherubim were still debating.

The awe in her voice blended into the breeze. "God outdid Himself."

Raphael leaned back on his palms. "It's the most perfect instrument in all creation, and the sound it makes is heart-stopping. It makes a D and you just want to keep on hearing a D."

Looking puzzled, Mary handed it back, and Gabriel kept it on his lap. "You've played it?"

"You mean without raising the dead?" He laughed. "It won't be the trumpet itself that brings about the resurrection." He rested his fingers on the third valve tube. "Any trumpet would do, and any player. It's just an instrument."

Raphael swept one wing out so he brushed the top of Gabriel's hair. "Tell me another one. You love that thing."

Gabriel traced a fingertip along the bell. "I like the sound quality."

Israfel made a face at him. "Go ahead and play."

Gabriel raised the instrument, lowered it, then stood. "You have to straighten your windpipe to get a strong note."

Raphael murmured under his breath, "Not that he's fanatical about the trumpet."

Gabriel feigned surprise. "Doing things right is being fanatical?"

Raphael turned to Mary. "That's obsessive-compulsive with a hyphen, if you were wondering."

She laughed until Gabriel raised the trumpet and played one note.

Everyone silenced. He looked down at where she sat.

"Play it again," she breathed.

Tilting the trumpet higher this time, he used the full force of his lungs to play first a scale, then to work his way back to the starting note before picking notes at random.

The trumpet met him in his soul, and he closed his eyes as though engaged in a long kiss. The stillness of those around him made for an echo like a concert hall, and Gabriel let all the notes fall together into a melody and then braided his heart directly into the sound.

Remiel appeared, startled. A moment after, Gabriel felt Michael's arrival, his nonverbal approval. Gabriel cut off the song.

Mary sat forward. "Keep playing."

"I don't like having an audience." Gabriel's head buzzed as he sat, and he felt as if his axis were wobbly. "Not when I'm just fooling around with it. It's all the trumpet, anyhow."

Raphael extended his hand, and Gabriel passed him the instrument. Still sitting, the Seraph played a short tune.

"Now," he said, "was that the trumpet, or was that me?"

Gabriel laughed. "If I say it's the trumpet, you'll say I'm disregarding your years of practice. If I say it's you, you'll ask if the trumpet magic works only for me."

Raphael grinned.

"It's grace." Gabriel took back the trumpet. "For me, the instrument is the grace. For you, it's your talent." Handing it to Israfel, he said, "Show us what someone can do with both."

Israfel stood. After taking a few breaths to steady herself, she blew.

Gabriel knew the Islamic legends indicating Israfel would be the one to sound the trumpet for the final resurrection. Until that moment, he'd never given them a second thought. The note Israfel voiced had the power of resurrection in its depth, the tone of longing and the timbre of regret. Breathless he listened as she found a new note and held it, then continued into a song Gabriel suddenly recognized. She and the trumpet seemed at war, and the struggle itself produced the sound.

Israfel abruptly handed the trumpet back to Gabriel. He regarded her without ability to speak.

Raphael found his voice first. "Were you trying to raise the dead?"

As Gabriel snapped the clasps on the case, Israfel said, "Maybe I was."

  Still at the pinnacle of Mount Aconcagua, Mephistopheles raised his head.

Closing his eyes and stopping his heart the better to hear the sound, Mephistopheles shivered.

That trumpet.

He stood, cursing his own movement as he sent a half-dozen pebbles rattling down the slope, then attuned his hearing even further to the notes.

Music. From Gabriel.

It resounded only faintly, and he shifted into Hell where the sound felt just as faint: a thrum that set his whole soul on the edge of an unspeakable grief.

Shifting planes back to Creation, he stood rigidly and arched his neck as though he could feel a trumpet brushing his own lips. The feathers on his innermost wings trembled with the slow sound.

After the rebellion, when Gabriel had received that trumpet, Mephistopheles had realized the instrument was an extension of Gabriel's own soul material. This must be the trumpet's dirge for its owner.

The sound ended abruptly, and he awaited more.

If Gabriel had to blow that trumpet to begin the resurrection, maybe now it had been prevented.

Or else someone in Heaven was trying to resurrect Gabriel.

Or worse, someone in Heaven wanted him to hear the sound on Earth to make him feel guilty.

He bristled. Guilt meant sin, and sin he ought to love, so he smiled as though to display unbridled glee at violating every moral norm with his natural endowments. Which, of course, he had.

The trumpet played again, obviously not Gabriel this time not just because Gabriel was dead, but because of the difference in style. This song was planned. Although played with more skill, this music didn't resonate within.

Mephistopheles' heart stabbed him. Raphael.

The Cherub sat again, pulling his legs close to his chest and wrapping himself in his wings, head tucked into the cocoon he'd made of himself.

"I did it. I told Lucifer how. I conducted the experiments. I found the link between the Irin. I was the first to reach inside a soul and hold the strings that make it whole, and because of me those strings were snapped. I did it. I'm the reason."

Why should he regret it? What God had done deserved no lesser punishment than that. Mephistopheles had plucked one of the stars from his heart. He'd given their side a key to unlock their freedom. Why then the urge to go stand before God and say, I did that. I'm the one. I made them sad, and now I have to tell you—

No, don't even think the words.

Then came a note of such unfulfilled tension that Mephistopheles huddled over himself. A second note flew like a second arrow into his soul.

Who was that? No way was that Raphael. But then he remembered, didn't Gabriel have a second primary? With Israfel? That could well be her.

Two primary Seraphim, the trumpet, a sound audible in Hell…. This must be Gabriel's funeral.

He blinked.

Gabriel's funeral. They'd done it

They'd really, actually, genuinely done it! He'd done it—him—Mephistopheles! He'd reached into Gabriel and stabbed Raphael through the heart and Israfel in the gut. He'd wrenched Gabriel out of Heaven and into the void, and he'd done it himself, with no one's help in devising the theory, only a little extra support in coordinating the test—he'd done it!

And he laughed because he'd fulfilled his true nature, his fortune he'd designed for himself, his own destiny in every sense of the word.

Well, then, God, he thought, now I'm the smartest angel you created—and no debate!

He leaped to his feet and looked over the world as though an audience watched to record his movements in its spiritual minutes.

He was free—and freedom came with its own intoxication.

With laughter he scanned the valley stretched before him with its shanties and muddy villages. He leaped from the pinnacle, spreading his wings to break his fall, then arcing in the air to knife over the coffee fields. He extended all six wings to their fullest and punched a hole in the cloud cover.

"We did it!" he screamed to the unhearing Earth. "We annihilated an angel!"

He tucked into a ball and plummeted, waiting until a heartbeat before hitting the ground to flash far distant.

He landed in Beelzebub's chamber. "Seraph," he whispered in his ear, draping himself over Beelzebub's back and enwrapping him in his wings, "are you busy?"

Beelzebub turned toward him, surprise and fire bubbling inside for Mephistopheles to drink deeply. The heat flooded into his core before rushing outward like a release of long-built tension through his limbs and wings.

Cherub steel exuded from Mephistopheles' heart in rings for the Seraph to absorb. He joined his hands around Beelzebub's chest. "I suspect we have a funeral to crash."

Beelzebub's fire surged.

At that moment, Mephistopheles heard in his heart the summons, felt Beelzebub feeling it too, and they disentangled even as Lucifer drew them before him.

Asmodeus and Belior were already present. "You're presentable?" Lucifer said to Mephistopheles. "The both of you get armored. It seems a funeral is taking place, so it's time to retrieve Camael."

  Saraquael was explaining to Michael about the ball token when Raguel's warning rolled through them all: Satan at the gates.

Raphael was behind Gabriel in an instant, hand over his eyes. Immediately Gabriel slumped unconscious, wings spilled at his sides. The next moment they'd flashed back into Uriel's bungalow.

Saraquael followed with the trumpet. "I'm going to put up an in-and-out Guard specifically geared to Gabriel. It should be impossible for them to sense him, but keep him unconscious if you can."

Saraquael left with the impression that Raphael thought Gabriel needed the sleep anyhow.

At the gate, Saraquael found the entire Maskim: Satan flanked by his top four officers, the two Seraphim a step behind and to either side the two Cherubim. All five in black armor, caped, booted, and stern.

Remiel perched on the top railing of Heaven's gate, and Raguel had a position just before it. Archangels stood at the gatehouses, but they weren't doing more than watching. Saraquael took a place beside Raguel. After another moment, they were joined by Michael and Israfel, Ophaniel and Uriel.

Satan scanned the seven archangels in apparent confusion. "Is someone in charge here? I want the manager on duty."

Saraquael let out an irritated sigh, but Michael only stepped forward looking for all the world as if he had not just been insulted. "That would be me. What can we do for you today?"

From behind and above, Remiel project to Saraquael, Welcome to Heaven. May I take your order?

Behave, he sent back.

"I want my lieutenant," Satan said.

Remiel's voice again: And would you like a drink with that?

No ice, Saraquael replied.

Michael said, "Lieutenant?"

"Give us Camael," Satan said.

Remiel said, "What makes you think we didn't annihilate him?"

"Because you're there and not here." Satan squared his shoulders. "Don't be a wench. Return my lieutenant."

Michael said, "You destroyed one of our own. We're entitled to keep one of yours."

The Seraphim on Satan's either side had flames around their eyes, but the Cherubim remained unmoving.

"I still don't believe you really did it," Remiel said. "You have no proof."

Satan said, "What proof do you want?"

"Anything," Remiel said. "Whatever is left over."

"There wasn't anything left over." Satan stared off to the side, seeming bored. "When we found leftovers, we destroyed those too. Trust me that I have no interest in keeping any part of him." He returned his attention to Michael. "Now, my lieutenant."

Remiel said, "What if we decide to keep him? What will you do?"

Saraquael saw Mephistopheles and Asmodeus exchange a glance. Both had seen Remiel go mad earlier.

"Well?" Remiel's voice had risen in pitch. "What will you do? Even annihilation is preferable to Hell. We'd be doing him a favor."

Michael looked around at Remiel, who fell silent.

Satan said, "My lieutenant. I don't care what you have to do to get him. Just do it."

Michael smiled dryly.

Mephistopheles, in flat tones: "What do you want?"

"What we want," Michael said, hands clenched behind him, "is the assurance that you won't perform any more annihilations. Your word is worth, ultimately, nothing, so we retained Camael as a kind of insurance."

Satan said without emphasis, "Oh, Mickey, what a pity—can't you understand?"

Atop the gate, Remiel choked behind her hands, but Michael kept his face impassive.

Mephistopheles said, "What's Camael to us?"

"You want him returned." Michael arched his eyebrows. "He must be worth something."

"It's a matter of dignity," Satan said. "We can't leave one of our own with you. Now bring my lieutenant."

Saraquael felt Remiel speaking in his mind again. Can you feel Mephistopheles and Beelzebub going at it?

He glanced at the pair, both motionless. In what sense?

Their bond. It's like it's alive. You can't feel it?

Not at all.

He felt her turn the same question to Israfel only to have her say a bond can't be felt by outsiders.

He had no doubt Remiel was right—but watching them, he felt nothing and saw nothing. A moment after that, Satan turned his head and glared at the pair of them. Both radiated surprise, and Beelzebub's feathers flared.

Asmodeus hadn't noticed. "What do you feel like demanding instead? We've complied with the restrictions in your letter."

Michael said, "I want to see the room where he died. I want five minutes in there alone and unmolested with anyone I choose."

Satan's eyes widened.

"Ten," Israfel said in a cracked voice. "We want ten."

Michael met her eyes, and when Saraquael faced Israfel, he saw tears.

Ophaniel stepped nearer, and Israfel shielded her face with her wings.

Satan squinted at Michael. "When do you want it?"

"Immediately."

Satan turned to Beelzebub. "Escort him. Then return."

Saraquael noticed how Mephistopheles brushed Beelzebub's wingtips with his own as the demon stepped forward and brought Michael, Israfel and Ophaniel into Hell.

Satan turned to Saraquael. "Now, my lieutenant."

Uriel vanished, taking Saraquael along.

Mid-flash, Saraquael sent, We can't return him yet. He'll tell them too many things.

Uriel sent reassurance as they appeared in Camael's chamber.

Remiel's eyes stared at them with patient mockery. Shivering, Saraquael approached Camael, securing him with his will.

Uriel's aura changed. God's presence suffused the room.

Even as Saraquael thrilled to God's touch, Camael's face transformed with hatred, and the demon tried to back through the wall in response to Uriel's approach. In a dream-like voice, Uriel said, "Thus says the Lord," and the Throne extended a hand toward Camael's forehead. Camael thrashed and spit, but Uriel's touch remained steady, the words continuing like a dream and a sequel. "You will not remember your own story. I am the Lord of truth and the Lord of your sister. As you sought to control her, so now let her memories control your own."

Saraquael tightened his will around Camael as Uriel worked, and he felt the demon screaming, felt him trying to cry except that Saraquael held him even down to the tears. Get out of my head! You have no right!

Uriel's hands came back. The job finished, Camael now remembered destroying Gabriel, remembered the days in Hell afterward, remembered being captured by a vindictive Raphael (although not when it happened) and remembered time alone in a cell.

Saraquael released Camael enough to stand free. "Come on." He shook from the memories still lingering behind his own eyes. "You're being freed."

They flashed Camael back to the gates. He spit at Remiel, who waved her hand so it missed.

Satan studied Camael, and Saraquael wondered at first if he was making sure the Virtue was unhurt. In the next moment, though, he sensed him sending challenges into Camael's head to determine if this was Remiel in a state of bi-location.

Behind him, Remiel remained totally still.

Satan looked back at Saraquael. "Do you consider the terms met?"

"Michael has another five minutes."

"He will have them in perfect safety." Beelzebub had returned, and he stood with his arms folded, but one wing trailed a little to brush Mephistopheles. "Don't you trust us?"

Remiel said, "What were Gabriel's last words?"

Beelzebub snickered.

"He renounced God." Satan shrugged. "He promised me his allegiance if only I spared his life, but I didn't." He put his hands in his pockets. "Try not to hold that against him. He was in a lot of pain."

Saraquael felt himself burning, wanting to obliterate that smug smile, the easy lies from that perfectly controlled mouth. He realized his sword glowed at his side only when Asmodeus chuckled.

Smiling with only the left half of his mouth, Satan flashed his entourage back to Hell.

Uriel said, "All of you, come with me."

They reappeared in the conference hall. Raguel was first to speak. "Michael is still down there."

Uriel nodded. Raguel vanished.

When Saraquael's sword burned his leg, he tried to calm himself. "What a— It's not enough that he thinks he destroyed Gabriel. Why does he have to destroy his reputation too?"

Uriel waved him down. "We know the truth."

Remiel huffed. "Serving Satan to spare his own life never crossed his mind. The final thing he was doing was praying."

Michael returned, his eyes agleam. "Uriel, I want you to go in there and try pulling the chain anchor from the wall. Israfel can't drain Gabriel's power from it, so we have to extract it, but it's embedded directly into the Guards on Satan's office."

Uriel vanished, leaving behind a trace of enjoying a challenge.

Michael looked at Saraquael. "Whatever Mephistopheles and the others had going on before, they patched it up quite nicely, don't you think?"

"He wasn't like that when I left," Remiel said, sitting on the conference table. "More like baffled and half-dead."

"Satan didn't appear noticeably weaker, either." Michael tilted his head. "Raphael, are you able to come?"

"I have to let him out," Saraquael said with a laugh, and as soon as he released the Guard on Uriel's bungalow, Raphael appeared.

"Gabriel stayed unconscious. What did Satan want?"

"Camael's been returned," Michael said. "We got access to the room, but we can't pull the power Gabriel dumped into the chain anchors."

Raphael looked uncomfortable. "He might not need it."

Uriel returned. "That anchor is in there solidly. I've never touched a Guard like that before."

"Incredible, isn't it?" He turned to Raphael. "Do you want to give it a try?"

"If you say it can't be done, I'll go with that." Raphael tried to shrug. "I'd rather not see the room."

"It's just a room." Michael touched his arm, but Raphael yanked back.

"Then there's no need for me to see it, is there?"

The Archangel flinched. "Remiel?"

"I know that I was in there twice," she said rhythmically, "and so I know enough of hate / to say that to my thinking twice / was quite enough, / and will suffice."

Saraquael grinned. "Nice reference."

"Thanks for catching it."

"You?" Michael said.

Saraquael shook his head. "Not unless you think they need me down there, or for the sake of verisimilitude."

"Not necessary." Michael frowned. "No civil war. Asmodeus even looked friendly with Mephistopheles."

"He was only confirming something he saw," Saraquael said.

Remiel tucked up her knees and raised her wings. "Okay, so why was I able to feel Mephistopheles' and Beelzebub's bond?"

"That floors me," Saraquael said.

"Satan felt it too, though." Remiel wrapped her arms around her calves and tightened up. "He glared at them, and they exchanged a 'What on earth?' sense, and when he kept looking at them, they stopped communicating at all."

Uriel hummed as Raphael said, "It sounds like more of the spatter-theory."

Michael explained about Gabriel's spiritual substance being soaked into Remiel and how they suspected it had hit Satan and Mephistopheles as well.

Remiel turned to Raphael. "When did you figure that out?"

Michael said. "At first Raphael thought you'd gotten spattered when you attacked Gabriel, but Uriel said it felt older than that, and Gabriel wasn't missing anything additional at that point."

Remiel's eyes had gone wide. "When I what?"

Saraquael went cold, Michael bloodless.

Springing off the table, Remiel grabbed Michael by the shoulders. "I attacked Gabriel?"

Arms folded, Raphael leaned against one of the windows. "You sliced him up pretty good, but we'd have had to do some more repairs anyhow. Hey—" he added, seeing Remiel's eyes beginning to sparkle, "—didn't he say he forgave you for everything?"

"But—"

"Specifically that if you remembered anything else, it was included?"

Saraquael moved behind Remiel and rested his hands on her back. "A two for one deal on forgiveness from Gabriel?"

Remiel shrugged him off. "How insane would I have to be to attack him?" She looked at the others. "And he didn't flatten me?"

Uriel came closer and hugged her, and she bit her lip.

Raphael shrugged. "I wanted to flatten you, if that makes you feel better."

Remiel looked up, tremulous. "I'd have approved if I'd been there." She took his hand, and staring at the floor, she said, "Thank you for patching him up. I still think I should apologize."

"Hey," Raphael said, looking toward Michael, "that reminds me. If you do something that inadvertently hurts someone, even though you thought it was the right thing at the time, do you have to apologize?"

"I would," Michael said, "but I'm not sure it's mandatory."

Saraquael said, "It probably depends on if you're sorry. It can't hurt."

"I have a bet riding on this," Raphael said, "and you two may just have won it for me."

Uriel laughed.

Michael said, "Back to spatter theory, though—Remiel, you and Satan were able to feel Mephistopheles even though you shouldn't be able to detect a bond, and no one else was." She nodded. "And you were able to pass through a Guard set up so you couldn't, but not set up to exclude Gabriel." She nodded again. "We've still got time. I need you to go into the chamber in Hell and see if you can reach into the Guard to remove the chain anchor."

Remiel frowned. "Why?"

"Because if Satan is spattered with Gabriel's substance," Michael said, "then he's subconsciously reconfigured his own Guard to allow Gabriel's substance through as well."

Remiel swallowed. "You don't think— Mephistopheles too?" She wove her fingers. "He caught me, in Hell, and I escaped. Maybe the same way. The Guard recognized parts of me as parts of him."

Saraquael caught Michael's wide-eyed look, but he shook his head.

"Can you handle it?" Uriel said. "I'll go with you." And they went together.

Saraquael said, "That's the first I've heard of Mephistopheles attacking her."

Raphael looked out the window. "As soon as Ophaniel returns, we ought to get the Cherubim busy making tokens of the high-profile targets."

"But at least you don't need to worry about me." Michael stood straight, giving an innocent smile. "I'm only the manager on duty."

Remiel returned. "I've gotten further than the others, but I couldn't release the energy to get it to come back. And time is up now."

Uriel, Ophaniel and Raguel returned.

Raphael pivoted, frightened. "Where's Israfel?"

Before anyone could respond, Israfel exploded into the conference room, flames in her hair. She hovered a head higher than everyone and shouted, "Why can't I get in there? To Gabriel?" Then she pointed at Ophaniel. "Don't you dare! I have every right."

Ophaniel raised his hands.

"He's sleeping." Raphael moved toward her. "He's so far under right now that you could perform surgery."

"I'm tired of this!" Israfel shouted. "You're not his gatekeepers! Let me in!"

She flashed away, and Saraquael winced.

"She's battering the Guard?" Michael said.

He nodded. "It's holding. Ophaniel, can't you—"

"She took that hard," the Cherub said. "Obviously."

"That wasn't what I was going to—"

"I'm not pulling that kind of fire." Ophaniel squared his shoulders. "Especially after she told me not to."

Israfel blasted back into the room, armored, holding a sword in flames. "Let down that Guard!"

Uriel rose into the air. "He needs to rest."

"This isn't right!" Israfel got right in front of Uriel's face. "Gabriel was my primary too! I want to see him."

Uriel stood with spread hands.

"No, it can't wait!" Israfel made the whole room a kiln, and Saraquael backed to the wall, Remiel beside him. "It's always been 'Israfel can wait' and 'There's time for that later,' but there nearly wasn't. I want to see him. Now!"

Raphael passed through the Seraph flames, then got between her and Uriel. Saraquael could barely hear his voice over the roar, but he could feel the calmness he exuded. "I can tell you as soon as he awakens. But for now, he's still compromised."

"And I don't matter as much as you." Israfel tossed her head. "Again."

Ophaniel said, "It's not about Raphael. It's about Gabriel."

Israfel erupted in still more flame, then flashed away.

Saraquael steeled himself, waited, then felt nothing. Odd. "She didn't try the Guard again."

Ophaniel said, "I'll go after her in a bit. She needs to slow to a low boil first."

As the room cooled, Michael said, "We shouldn't have her going off like that." He turned to Raphael. "You really can't let him wake up long enough to patch things up with her?"

Raphael sighed. "I could. But he won't go back to sleep afterward. I let in Israfel and then Remiel will want to go in too." He looked at her. "You were about to ask, right?"

She folded her arms. "Why do you have to be right?"

"Gabriel's rubbed off on me." He shrugged. "But all of those things he really can take care of later. I'm a Seraph so I can say this—Seraphim aren't exactly patient."

Ophaniel said, "I'd never have guessed."

Raphael shot him a look, and then both cracked up laughing.

Ophaniel said, "What got to her was realizing Gabriel wasn't fully to blame. She'd been working through that anyhow. It was a mutual drifting apart, and she's determined not to make the same mistake. Hence: let me in now."

Raphael said, "I assume you mean she wants to re-bond. Gabriel's not going to take that well."

Ophaniel said, "I want to be on another planet when he tells her to wait and make sure."

Saraquael shook his head. "We can head her off and warn him. At any rate, we need to make a token of her, so that gives her more time to get control."

Michael said, "How difficult is the process? You need to teach a team to do it so we can get started."

Ophaniel shrugged. "Not difficult at all, but I'm wondering if Satan will try again now that he knows Gabriel survived."

Silence from everyone. Heart pounding, Saraquael turned to Ophaniel.

Michael said, "I'll bite. Why do you think he knows Gabriel survived?"

Saraquael murmured, "The last thing he did was lie to us about Gabriel's last words."

"But by now he's debriefing Camael." Ophaniel flicked some dust off his sleeve. "Camael will have said he wasn't there for the annihilation."

Uriel said, "God removed the knowledge from him."

Ophaniel flinched. "War really does require extreme measures."

Saraquael fought a laugh. Only from a Cherub...

Uriel said, "God allowed it. I transplanted Camael's memories with some of Remiel's so he'll think he was there when it happened."

Ophaniel sighed. "I suppose that's for the best, no matter how repulsive. Everything would have been undone the instant he said Gabriel stopped Remiel from annihilating him."

Shock from Uriel, who then said, "He saw Gabriel?"

 

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 >.