by J F Cain
Naturally, this questioning had given rise to dramatic internal conflict in him, since all of his convictions came from the Source. But after a lot of thought, he had decided to rethink his personal views, and to guide other Celestials on the same path. He believed he was doing what his Creator wanted, but of course he couldn’t be sure. Gabriel was a powerful spirit that did not shy from danger. He was, however, aware that he had to act wisely. If he succeeded, he would pass this test which, he believed, It had given him. He would evolve and serve Its purposes better.
Were these controversial thoughts the Source’s influence, or were they the result of his state of mind following his temporary death? Maybe one day he would find out, or maybe he wouldn’t. He only hoped that his reasoning wasn’t wrong and that he would never go through that experience again. That he would never again have to abandon someone that needed his help.
His thoughts led him to Abaddon. He had given him his word that he would never abandon him and he planned on keeping it.
I hope the Source doesn’t disagree, he thought, and with his ethereal vision penetrating the dimensions, he searched the physical world for the incarnated commander of the Defenders.
He saw him getting out of his car and leaping up the steps of the mansion’s covered entrance.
Mrs. Cole opened the door before he could use his keys.
“Good evening, sir,” she greeted him with a smile.
“Good evening,” he returned cheerlessly. “Where is my wife?”
“I’m here.” Aranes’ voice could be heard coming from the left wing’s hallway.
As soon as Abaddon laid eyes on her, his mood lifted. He walked to the round table adorning the entrance hall and waited with love in his eyes and a smile on his lips.
“How are you?” Aranes asked him when she reached his side.
“I’m fine, but I’d like to take a shower.” He took her hand and they headed towards the stairs. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for the big event?”
Aranes would have preferred to go in the clothes she was wearing—a baggy sweater, capri pants and ballet flats. But humans placed a high value on appearance and she was forced to play the role of the wife of a well-dressed and charming billionaire.
“I won’t take long. I’ll be ready by the time you’re out of the shower,” she said lightly.
The Dark Angel glanced at the entrance hall. The housekeeper had left quickly and discreetly. Nevertheless, he still had to be careful not to say or do anything that would betray their real nature.
“I still forget you’re not a real woman,” he whispered in her ear.
“Your remark is rather wide of the mark since I’m pregnant,” Aranes replied teasingly.
“That I’ll never forget,” Abaddon said, and before she could place her foot on the first step, he lifted her in his arms as if she were a feather. “Which is why I don’t want you to tire yourself.”
Aranes wrapped her arms around his neck and settled comfortably in his arms, knowing that she was no burden at all.
“You’re spoiling me.”
“I have no problem with that. So, how was your day?”
“Quiet. How was yours?”
“Busy,” Abaddon replied with a smile as he looked at her.
Aranes returned his smile.
“I’m glad you’re in a good mood.”
Abaddon gave her a kiss on her forehead.
“I’m always in a good mood when you’re in my arms.”
“I thought it was because of the charity’s opening. You’ve worked really hard to get it ready in such short time, plus you’ve had the company to run.” She brought her mouth close to his ear. “You wouldn’t have managed if you had been an ordinary person,” she said softly.
“With you by my side I can do anything,” he declared, acknowledging her contribution.
He couldn’t hide the trace of anxiety threading through his voice, and Aranes, who was able to discern even the slightest nuances in his tone, caught it.
“I will always be with you,” she replied, wanted to ease his fear—something she kept on repeating in the months they had been living together.
The Dark Angel said nothing. He trusted her in everything; it was just when she assured him about that that he could never be convinced. Maybe it was because he believed it was the Source that decided whether the two of them would be together and for how long. He crossed the hallway silently, opened the bedroom door without touching it and strode directly to the walk-in closet. There, he deposited her gently on her feet and began to undress.
“Did you have anything to eat after lunch?” he asked as he took off his jacket.
Aranes looked down and began taking off her shoes, wanting to avoid his questioning gaze.
“No, I’m not hungry.”
“You have to have something,” he insisted, his tone brooking no discussion. “We’ll be back late and I don’t want you touching anything at the opening’s buffet. You don’t know what could happen. Someone may decide to tamper with it.”
“Abaddon, please, stop treating me like a child,” Aranes protested calmly.
“I’ll tell them to make you something quick and you’ll eat it while I shower,” he said doggedly.
Now in his underwear, he walked into the bedroom, ordered a nutritious salad using the intercom on the bedside table and then went to the bathroom. Alone in the closet, Aranes sighed, giving up. She entered the bedroom, sat on the couch and waited for her dinner. She was thinking about their discussion the previous night and wondering if he had guessed what was really bothering her, when there was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” she shouted to be heard at the other end of the large bedroom.
Mrs. Cole entered the room and rested a silver tray on the low table in front of her. The plate on the tray was covered with a silver lid and beside it the silverware was enfolded in a white cloth napkin.
“Do you need anything else, ma’am?” she asked, her gaze filled with warmth.
“No, thank you,” Aranes replied, smiling at the good-hearted woman.
The housekeeper left the room and Aranes picked up the plate and started eating without appetite as she continued on the same train of thought, making suppositions about what Abaddon had guessed.
When he came out of the bathroom a while later, a towel wrapped around his hips, the first thing he did was approach her and check her plate.
“You ate it,” he observed, an expression of pleasant surprise on his face.
Still chewing, Aranes looked down at her empty plate. She had been distracted and so had eaten the whole salad.
“I hope you’re happy,” she said and rested the fork on the plate.
“Very.” He took the plate from her, put it on the tray, grabbed her hands, and pulled her up. “Now we can get dressed.”
They entered the closet once again, each one going to their side of the wardrobe that took up the whole space.
Aranes pulled out a light ash-gray silk evening dress, its silver belt, and a long black velvet cape with sleeves. She draped them on the long table in the middle of the space and, after taking off the clothes she was wearing, put on the dress. She then walked to the part of the wardrobe where her shoes were arrayed on angled shelves. She chose a pair of silver shoes, put them on and sat in the armchair waiting for her partner to get ready.
Abaddon buttoned his second platinum cuff link, shrugged on his black tuxedo jacket and approached her, inwardly admiring his elegant partner. Seated as she was, with the cascade of auburn hair hugging her shoulders and her palms crossed on her lap, she looked like a live work of art awaiting an artist to immortalize her exquisite beauty.
“Let’s go,” he said and reached out to help her get up from the armchair.
Aranes took a completely empty black clutch bag from a shelf and left the walk-in closet, followed by Abaddon. With a supernatural entity for a husband, even if she got lost, he would find her in split seconds and be at her side in an instant. She
didn’t need taxi money either, and because she never put on makeup, she never carried any cosmetics with her—besides, she had never bought any.
As they walked through the bedroom, Abaddon—ever the gentleman—walked ahead, opened the door for her, and once she was out in the hallway he stepped in beside her. Before they reached the landing, Abaddon gripped her arm gently, forcing her to stop. A long dress, cape, and high heels weren’t ideal for his precious partner to go down the stairs in.
“Aren’t you going to take me in your arms?” Aranes teased him good-naturedly.
“I don’t like repeating myself,” the Dark Angel replied, while making sure that none of the staff were near the entrance hall. “And when I’m not limited by the presence of humans, I can demonstrate my wide-ranging skills in transportation,” he added with a mysterious smile.
He had barely finished his sentence when his aura became visible on the earthly plane. The luminous gray energy made his body glow and the depths of his blue eyes shone with the light of his true nature. With a gentle rustle, his large wings appeared on his back and rippled softly, as if eager to spread open wide. Abaddon took Aranes by the waist and, holding her gently against him, he lifted her up in the air. He flew over the staircase’s railing and began to circle slowly around the high-ceilinged entrance hall, as if waltzing on a raised, invisible dance floor.
“This is a better mode of transportation. Don’t you agree?” he asked with a smile.
“Well, it’s definitely more familiar,” she replied, looking into his shining eyes.
“Have you missed it?”
“Ever since I became an Angel, the only thing I had missed was you,” Aranes admitted easily.
Abaddon tilted his head back and sighed. These artless confessions of love had a resounding effect on him, first emotionally and then physically.
“Sometimes you’re demonic,” he said looking forward again. “You like torturing me. Now, why did you say that? You know what I want to do to you when you talk like that.”
He was looking at her longingly, but didn’t dare kiss her. If he did, he would then take her back to their bedroom. And he’d do it flying so as not to waste time.
“Your insatiable drive doesn’t stop me from expressing my feelings,” Aranes said, smiling cheerfully. “Besides, I have to help you practice restraint.”
“You do that on a daily basis. Isn’t that enough? How many times do I have to suffer this way?” Abaddon asked huskily with a burning gaze that showed he wasn’t protesting without reason—his suffering was real.
“Until you stop reacting to the stimuli,” she replied sweetly.
“I must admit, you’re right. At times my reactions to stimuli aren’t what I would wish them to be.” Abaddon doubted they ever would be. He found it difficult, even impossible, to remain impassive at the sight of her, her touch, her gaze, which stirred up in him a storm of emotions and sensations, unless, maybe, they lobotomized him.
“I’m glad we agree,” Aranes said weakly, looking at the big polygonal chandelier around which they were spinning. For a moment it seemed like the lamps dimmed and her stomach became queasy. “My love, maybe you should stop spinning us around. I think I’m a bit nauseous.”
Abaddon froze.
“I’m sorry, baby!” he said anxiously, as if having just been shaken awake from a dream. He landed by the table oh so softly and cupped her face with his hands. “How do you feel?”
Aranes closed her eyes briefly and took a deep breath.
“I’m fine, but the next time you feel like dancing in the air, make sure my stomach is empty.”
The Dark Angel extinguished his aura and vanished his wings.
“I’ll remember it.” He took her in his arms tenderly. “What can I do now to help you?”
“You don’t need to do anything,” she replied. “It was just a momentary dizziness.”
Abaddon drew back and looked at her.
“Are you better now?”
“Yes, we can go.”
“Are you sure?” he asked again, searching her face uneasily.
Aranes stepped out of his arms and headed for the door.
“If you want, you can continue with your questions in the car. We’re late,” she said over her shoulder.
Abaddon watched the commanding black-clad figure cross the entrance hall with a measured gait, her steps echoing on the polished marble floor.
“The Superior of the Angels is back,” he said grandiloquently, as if announcing her to an invisible audience. He checked the rooms around the hall and flashed to the door.
Aranes saw him standing in front of her all of a sudden and stopped in surprise.
“I’m still not used to your powers,” she said softly.
“I noticed,” Abaddon replied as he opened the door for her.
And, unfortunately, I don’t know what they will be, Aranes added to herself. If she knew, she could devise different plans to deal with attacks from the Demons and Cursed. But she believed his special abilities would be revealed in battle, when he would be anxious about her safety and would reach the limits of what he could bear. Despair is a powerful emotion that gives rise to unbelievable powers, she ended her thoughts, feeling a knot in her stomach.
Abaddon walked beside his silent partner to the car, opened the door for her and helped her take her seat. As he rounded the car, he scanned the lit garden and surrounding area for any hostile presences. There were none. Feeling relieved, he got behind the wheel and started the car.
“So, have you decided which car we’re going to get?” he asked, steering the Aston Martin around the curve formed by the circular garden in front of their two-story residence.
“Not yet. I’ve been busy with other things,” Aranes replied lightly, not wanting to place any importance on the matter.
Abaddon scowled, but said nothing.
For the last two months they had been discussing which family car they would be buying that would also fit their baby. Aranes insisted there was no rush and, because he was so busy, she had said she would look into it. But she had yet to decide and she hadn’t even finished the nursery, which wasn’t a good sign at all.
“Don’t worry, you won’t be fetching us from the hospital in the two-seater,” she added hurriedly, seeing his expression.
If we’re all together, I’ll carry you on my back to the ends of the earth—even without supernatural powers, the Dark Angel thought, afraid of losing what he yearned to have at his side more than anything. “Alright, you take care of it,” he said, disappointed. He didn’t care about the delay. She could have any car she wanted and get the nursery ready in a single day. The reason behind the delay was what worried him.
As they approached the mansion’s gate, he commanded it to open and its two iron leaves slid open silently on their tracks. The Aston Martin left the private property and began to make its way down the hill, its headlights illuminating the dark road.
Aranes, always alert, was looking out for any suspicious movement. In the side-view mirror she caught a momentary reflection of the moon on a dark metal moving object far behind them. She glanced sideways at her partner, who was driving deep in thought. There was no way he hadn’t seen it.
“There’s a car following us,” she said, her tone hinting that she expected an explanation.
“I know,” Abaddon replied.
His calmness clarified things for Aranes.
“The Guardians …” she concluded, still looking in the mirror. They were now on a short straight stretch and the car following them slowed down before coming out of the turn, but from between the tree trunks she caught sight of the black jeep tailing them with its headlights off. Thankfully, theurgists don’t have normal human vision or they would have gotten themselves killed, driving in the dark, she thought with relief. “Since when have they been around?”
“The last three days.”
“And why didn’t anyone inform me?”
“Because there was no reason to upse
t you,” Abaddon explained. “You’re pregnant and no one wants to pass on their anxiety to you.”
Aranes turned and looked at him.
“Did you ask Eiael to send them?”
“No, it was her decision.” Abaddon reached out and clasped her hand, which was resting on her leg. “We shouldn’t fool ourselves,” he said, his voice sober and despondent. “We’re all expecting the attacks to begin soon. Everyone who cares about you wants to protect you in any way they can. People, or those of us who think like people,” he clarified to include himself, “are worried about your safety. None of us has your fortitude or character to face such a critical situation as clearheadedly as you can. Even Eiael and Fares, who possess the Knowledge and have complete faith in the Source, cannot react the same as you.”
A shadow of sorrow appeared in Aranes’ gaze.
“Those two especially should react in much the same way, but the special circumstances excuse them. No Guardian throughout the organization’s history has ever had to face such a tough situation.” She understood the difficulty the theurgists were having understanding the Source’s intentions; she herself had found it difficult. But they should trust It more.
“The Guardians aren’t afraid for themselves. They’re afraid for the future of the planet. It’s a grave situation,” Abaddon said, as if hearing her thoughts.
“If they trusted in the Source completely, they would fear nothing,” Aranes calmly retorted.
“Perhaps. But what do you think or believe when everything you’ve known is overturned? The Source’s last actions have surprised everyone, and I think I’m the only one who was somewhat pleasantly surprised.”
“Yes,” Aranes agreed, looking ahead at the road. “You seem to have been favored by It, but remember that It doesn’t make distinctions; it merely helps the Celestials who wish to evolve further. And that help could be expressed in many ways that you might find particularly unpleasant and undesirable,” she concluded, her tone gentle yet concealing a warning.
