Michelle had been a new Omniaphim holding the rank of first lieutenant when she applied for the job to be Josephine’s bodyguard. One unexpected day, King Joshua had passed through the Sea of Glass on the Norlatiadek Constellation and entered into the lower strata of Creation. He came to Edentia for the primary reason to meet with Michelle. He gave her a cup of tea, and then spoke casually for several hours, asking her about her parents, friends, hobbies, and ambitions. Then he grew serious.
“Understand that this is personal. Josephine, our beloved Princess Persephone of Ninveth is the daughter of my brother, King Ayasia. He has entrusted her precious Personality to me. What I want to know is this. Can I entrust her Personality to you?”
Irrespective of how polite he was, having the full attention of a Michael Son directed at her imparted seriousness to the meeting that had been impossible to forget.
“Michelle. If you accept this job, do not fail in it. If Josephine is severely harmed or killed, it will be my eldest sister, Ayasia’s wife, Queen Ariea who will personally investigate all the how’s and why’s. Trust me on this. I know my sister quite well. You do not want Queen Ariea looking through you and finding fault.”
Michelle accepted the job. She knew that protecting Josephine went far beyond protecting her physical body; it also meant protecting her mind from deception and her heart from break. Even though Michelle politely warned Josephine about Collin in advance and gave her some carefully selected background information on him, the affair happened and Collin hurt her heart. In Michelle’s mind, she had failed in her duty. Failing in her duty after making a personal pledge to King Joshua was unacceptable.
“I want to hit you so bad I can taste it,” she growled in the low voice of a predator. Josephine had forbidden Michelle from hurting Collin after she found out Collin had broken Josephine’s heart. Otherwise, she would have dispatched him long ago.
If Collin had been dueling her with a sword in an open field, he might have had a chance to stop her — Collin was quite good with a sword. But here, in this tight space, with no weapon, any attempt to protect himself would first, be completely futile, and second only piss her off.
Laura’s body was glowing and pulsing yellow just like Michelle’s. Their wings had penetrated slightly from their shoulders. Not the broad, full-length wings for flight. These wings were the short, narrow, sharp-tipped, razor-edge wings Angels used in tight fighting quarters — like four extra hands each wielding an impossibly sharp blade.
Laura took one step back, giving Michelle enough space to fight, but her fists were also clenched, her muscles pulsating. It would have been a long shot to stop one of them. But two guardians working together in tight quarters? They would rip him to pieces.
Collin closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out hard. He was not afraid. In Eden’s gladiatorial games, he had faced death and had many times tasted death. He felt honored to meet this death at the hands of two splendid warriors.
“I’ll make a deal with both of you. If you just let me clean and sew up your wounds, then you can do with me as you please. And…”
He opened his eyes and looked at them. They suddenly seemed less aggressive.
“And…?” Laura asked.
“And… And I don’t know what else… But I do know if wounds that deep get infected, you’ll be out of commission for a very long time.”
Michelle and Laura waited for him to speak. He looked up with a thoughtful expression. “I just realized this is the first time Josephine has ever asked me to do anything for her. In all the time I’ve known her, this is the first time she’s ever asked one single thing of me. So, if you’ll allow me to do this one thing, even if just for her…”
Michelle looked back over her shoulder to Laura. Laura twisted her mouth back and forth, and then walked up beside her. They might be angry. They might be justified in that anger. They might even have been justified in hacking him to pieces; however, they were still mature Angels and retained the judgment and ethics of Angels. No doubt, if he had responded to them with confrontation, or arrogance, or deception, or worst of all, even the slightest breath of condescension, he would be the one bleeding.
“Fair enough,” they said in one voice. “We’ll delay the execution. For now.”
Elysium
Now that Pegasus was asleep, Salecia walked briskly down the hallway, trying to intuit her master’s whereabouts. If Kuko had won her argument over General Heinrich and Pope Hukarknar had given her the go-ahead, then Salecia was quite confident the ‘innocent’ acupressure massage she had just given Pegasus would accomplish the next phase of Kuko’s tricky agenda.
Chapter 20
A Doctor’s Creed
My only fear was that Michelle and Laura would kill me before I had a chance to help them.
—Collin Striker
Oceania
"There are some medical supplies at Frank’s,” Laura said.
Collin was already moving in that direction. He knew exactly where Frank kept them. He needed to get their wounds cleaned up and fast.
Suddenly there was a hesitant tap at the door. “I thought you might need these,” said Fran as she stuck a box in his hands.
Collin took the box. Where’d she come from? How’d she know I needed these supplies? Had someone told her?
Fran did not look at him, nor wait for any thanks or praise. She just turned and briskly descended the stairs. Collin decided to use the small table at Josephine’s bedside to lay out the supplies. He placed the box on the sink countertop, quickly removed the table lamp to the chest-of-drawers on the other side of the room, and then came back for the delicate crystal Angel and jewelry box.
When he picked up the jewelry box, underneath was a familiar, pocket-sized, well worn, soft-covered black book. He froze in place for a moment not wanting to touch it, staring at the title: Thoughts on Ethics: A Message for The Sisters of Mercy, by Lady Sipheria of Nebadon.
Near the end of his affair with Josephine, he had found this same book underneath one of her pillows as he had pulled down the covers, eagerly waiting for Josephine to finish her shower. Of course, he had seen the book before. It was the primary guide for The Sisters of Mercy. Frankly, he had never paid it much attention. It was also true he thought Josephine was probably assigned to The Sisters, so having the book made sense.
Now, as he walked across the room holding the book slightly away from his body, he remembered what was written on the inside cover: ‘For My Dearest Josephine, with Unending love from Your Sipheria.’ Authors sign books all the time, but My Dearest, Unending Love, Your Sipheria. This seemed different from the standard signing. This was a personal message. This was intimate.
As he carefully laid the little black book on the chest of drawers, he recalled how he had sat in bed, listening to the shower, idly flipping through the pages. A few moments later, he had been drawn to several passages. He remembered how amused he was to think about the elegant, philosophical, and even prudish Lady Sipheria writing about sex.
But those passages were not amusing at all. They had left him feeling impotent with a strong desire to run away just as fast as he could.
When Collin turned back toward the bathroom, Michelle and Laura pretended not to notice his reaction to the book. He lifted the table and placed it just to the side of the bathroom door, pushing the memories out of his mind while he spread out the supplies. Realizing he still had his uniform on, he turned around, took off his green shirt, and laid it across the back of a chair.
He did not notice the brief glance Michelle and Laura exchanged. They had seen the sudden change in his expression when he first saw the book, and how he had slowly walked across the room, and gingerly laid it down. They wondered what special meaning it had for him
They said nothing, taking note of his professionalism — how he went through a triage of all their wounds, asking them to rotate while holding their arms out so he could see clearly. Michelle had multiple wounds, some small, a few more serious, and
one deep, gruesome cut on her forearm. Apparently, as a last resort, she had used her arm to block a knife. Most of Laura’s cuts were minor but a few would need stitches.
“After you finish, would you bring us something to eat. I’m famished,” Laura asked with a touch of sarcasm.
“Sure, of course,” he responded, without glancing up from his work. “But we need to get all this taken care of first. Eating pulls the blood from the periphery and into the core. Right now, it’s better to keep as much blood flowing to your wounds as possible.”
Laura and Michelle gave each other another quick glance. As much as they hated it, they found themselves growing to respect Dr. Yummy.
“Laura, this is a very strange pattern of cuts you have. What happened? Did you sit on some sort of fragmentation grenade or something?” The unusual pattern of cuts were between her legs, starting at the lowest curve of her buttocks, across the peritoneum and inner thighs, and then slicing across her genitalia. They were all still weeping blood and plasma.
“No, they hit me from behind. All I saw was a glimpse of a half-circular sphere at the end of a pole.”
“So they hit you exactly between your legs on purpose?”
“Yeah.”
“I see,” Collin said, obviously disturbed.
“Do you think I’ll have any perm…”
“Make sure you write that up in your report and make sure a copy gets to Sipheria,” he said, cutting her off. He knew there was a high likelihood of permanent damage. Fortunately, there were no signs of deep infection. Once he cleansed her wounds, her life would no longer be threatened. At least the damage would be minimal. Unfortunately, the resulting scar tissue would interfere with sex for a very long time, maybe forever.
“Sipheria is keeping a log of all sexual atrocity.” He looked up at her with a supportive, subtly reassuring expression. “Make sure she hears about this, okay?”
Laura said nothing. “The first thing I need to do is clean out your wounds,” Collin said, speaking partly to them but mostly to himself.
“Should we just take a shower and use soap and water?” Laura asked.
“No,” Collin said quietly. “The water here tastes fine. But like any fresh, unfiltered water, it’s loaded with bacteria and quite commonly, parasites. It could make things a lot worse. What I really need is…”
At that moment, there was another set of gentle taps at the door. Fran entered with two carboys, one in each hand. The tops of the jars were sealed with tape. From the stripes in the tape, it appeared they had been sterilized. Under one arm was a clean, blue surgeon’s frock and under the other was a box. She sat one jar in the tub and one out of the way. She handed Collin the frock, which he slipped into, covering his chest, down to his knees. She laid the box on the table, opened it, and handed Collin a mask to cover his nose and mouth.
“Doctor, what antiseptic do you prefer?” she asked softly.
Collin remembered the substances on the table and picked up a concentrated bottle of thimerosal. It was an ancient formula, but still the best broad-spectrum antibiotic available. He also saw a bottle of analgesic. “These,” he replied to Fran.
She reached to remove the tape from the top of the jar, and then stopped. “Yes, I’m sorry I forgot, but I have these.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small bottle. Her name was on the bottle. Collin recognized Dr. Avarzian’s powerful formula, a complex relaxant, which was also a good general painkiller. Obviously, this was her personal prescription. He removed the cap. The top was still sealed. She had never taken a single one. He handed one tablet to each Angel and a glass of water, and then handed the bottle back to Fran.
“It’s okay,” she replied quietly. “They can keep the rest.” Fran stood out of the way with her head down.
Collin did his best at guessing how much antiseptic and analgesic to add to the jar. After he poured the medicines in, Fran knelt and attached a filter mechanism. She turned on the tap, then briskly walked out of the room as the jar filled with highly purified water.
About the time the jar was full, Fran returned with another box. She opened it, revealing a sealed, sterile container with a coil of tubing, a hand pump, and a small nozzle for precisely directing flow. By now, all three observers were surprised by Fran’s knowledge and efficiency — exactly anticipating every need.
Fran turned off the water, removed the filter, and attached it to the second jar. She picked up the first jar as if it weighed nothing, and gave it a swirl to mix the reagents. She set it on a piece of cloth so as not to stain Josephine’s floor, and ran the tube into it. The mixture was a light orange, just a couple shades darker than the Angel’s skin. She handed the pump to Collin, and set the second jar in the tub, pulling up the filter with one hand while adding the same dosages she had observed Collin using on the first. She reattached the filter and turned on the water.
“Just stand in the tub so you don’t stain the floor,” Fran said barely above a whisper.
“Both of you,” Collin added. “That way one of you can rest while I work on the other.” He tested the hand pump and directed the narrow stream down toward their feet. “Are both of you familiar with thimerosal?” They both nodded. “So you know this is gonna burn.” They both nodded again.
Collin started cleaning the smallest cuts, so they could adapt as the intensity of pain increased. It would be cruel to just pump the reagents into a deep cut before they had time to brace themselves. For the next several minutes, he carefully moved from one Angel to the other, from one wound to the next.
When he started treating the deeper cuts, Fran handed him a pair of magnifying glasses so he could inspect each wound to ensure all contaminants were flushed out. Collin turned to thank her, but she was now blank, as if lost in her own world, staring at the level of reagent remaining in the jar. When the first jar was used, Fran switched the lines to the next and prepared the first jar again. Collin doubted he would need that much, but since Fran was showing such unexpected intuition, he said nothing.
The larger cuts began to bleed again. Before he could say anything, Fran spoke. “Doctor, if you like I can continue to clean while you begin to suture.” He handed the pump to her. When he turned around to obtain the supplies, they were laid out on the table.
Collin began to suture the small wounds. He noticed Fran watching. He turned to ask her what she needed, but she spoke first. “Doctor Striker, would you like to attend to the more complex wounds while I finish the smaller?” Collin handed her the sewing needle, filaments, forceps, and scissors.
Collin finally got around to Michelle’s deep gash across her right forearm. “I’m sorry but this is gonna hurt. A lot. There’s nothing I can do about it.” He looked at Michelle’s face. Michelle could sense his compassion was real. There was something about his concern, a touch of sadness in his eyes, which flushed away the last of her anger.
“Does this hurt?” He tested the progress of the anesthetic with a prick of the needle.
“Some,” she replied quietly.
“Well then, ready?”
She nodded, and he began the flow, first around the edges, then deeper. As soon as he began to enter the wound, inevitably some of the reagent flowed into the deeper realms of the cut. Michelle sucked in, winced, and gave a little cry. Laura squeezed her left hand. Fran stopped sewing, ran some cool water through a washcloth, and gave it to Laura to apply to Michelle’s forehead.
With the wound clean, Collin could see it was quite ragged, probably from a serrated edge. A smell arose from the wound. It smelled like shit, Nephilim shit.
He stopped for a moment and looked at her face.
“Yeah, I know,” she said quietly.
“Who did this?” he asked. This was the warfare of a sadist.
“Zohar,” Michelle replied, with no pride attached to the fact she had fought and survived the primordial self-worshipping ego itself — one of the most evil, most powerful, most perfectly arrogant creatures in all Creation. And if there was any o
ne thing Zohar hated and lusted to kill, maim, and torture, it was Angels.
“I guess that explains it, doesn’t it?” he replied, clearly agitated. Zohar and his followers liked to coat a blade’s edge with feces to amplify the pain and the chance of death by infection.
As he carefully spread the wound open, he shook his head, dismayed at seeing something embedded in her bone. “Fran, do you happen to have…”
As he turned around, Fran put a pair of forceps in his hand. “Thanks,” Collin replied. Behind her mask, Collin saw the sides of her face pull briefly in a smile. She continued to sew with amazing proficiency and intuition. The stitches were perfectly aligned, much better than his. Flesh was butted against flesh with no ridges or gaps.
“Nice work, Fran,” Collin said, glancing at the only thing her mask did not cover, her eyes, which showed a hint of embarrassment. For a second, her brown eyes changed color and he saw her differently. It was just a flash of recognition, but in that recognition, she did not have brown skin, brown eyes, and mousy brown hair. Her face was radiant white, hair of auburn, and eyes a bright green.
He was strangely attracted to her.
Fran sensed Collin’s recognition. He caught a glimpse of sadness in her eyes before she quickly looked down and resumed her work.
Collin refocused on what was embedded in the bone. He turned to Fran again. Without being asked, she removed his glasses and replaced them with a pair of magnifiers. She removed the forceps from his hand and replaced them with a rubberized pair. He carefully gripped a small fragment, gingerly rocking it back and forth, finally dislodging it.
“I’ve never seen anything like it before,” he said. “It looks like a piece of red Celestial glass. No. Actually, it’s clear glass with a piece of red inside.”
“Here,” he heard Laura say quietly while holding the small container Fran had given her. He dropped the fragment in and again opened Michelle’s wound to look for more.
Lilith: Eden's Planetary Princess (The Michael Archives Book 1) Page 13
