“Well, that certainly puts us in our places,” Agrat said. She moved to stand behind Angelique. “Though my spouse is better than yours, Uri. So there.”
Raziel started laughing. “I feel like this will never be resolved. Let’s go to work, and then we can meet back here for lunch and pool our information. And no more talk of who’s better than whom.”
“Yes, sir,” Shateiel saluted.
“Keep an eye out,” Raziel said, turning serious. “You’ll be the only one with any weapons, so if you get any whiff of demon, yell for us.”
Shateiel nodded. His expression had also become serious. “You may count on me, Lord Raziel.”
“Good. We’ll see you back here in a few hours, then.”
“YOU KNOW,” Uriel began as he and Raziel walked around the neat and orderly vicus, “this is really a rather pleasant little town.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Raziel smiled a greeting to a woman accompanied by her slaves who wore a tunic and stola made of fine silk. “It’s very pretty.”
“I still have to wonder where Joseph is.” Uriel looked around. “I can’t see any sign of Christianity here, so where would he be?”
“Maybe he has services in his own home,” Raziel said. “A lot of the early Christians did that before it became the state religion of the Empire.”
“Who’s the god they worship here, then?” Uriel asked.
“I’m seeing a few,” Raziel said. “Jupiter from the Roman pantheon, and from the Celt pantheon, Matres Ollototae, the triple mother goddess.”
“Maiden, mother, and crone, right?” Uriel asked.
“Yes,” Raziel said. “I also wouldn’t be at all surprised if there’s a shrine to Mithras in the fort.”
“Hm. That’s quite a combination.” Uriel stopped walking and looked out over the square. “How long until midday?”
Raziel looked up at the sun. “About an hour. Why?”
“Not enough time to have a bath, then,” Uriel said.
“No, but we can certainly find out what the times for visiting merchants to use the facilities are.” Raziel walked toward the building that housed the bathhouse.
“You mean there are set times?” Uriel sounded outraged as he joined Raziel.
Raziel looked at him quizzically. “Yes, of course. Didn’t you experience that when you were in Rome or Germania?”
“No. I just went to the bathhouse when I wanted to.”
“Oh. Well, there are set times. Most of the nobles don’t like to bathe when their slaves or the commoners do. Which seems a little redundant, as they certainly like to have their slaves bathe them.”
“Rich people are ridiculous,” Uriel declared. “Present company excepted, of course.”
“Thanks,” Raziel said drily. Then he laughed. “Keep your mouth shut while I haggle.”
“Fine,” Uriel said with a dramatic sigh. “Shall I look menacing instead?”
“Actually”—Raziel was looking beyond the sign that was outside of the bathhouse—“it looks like there’s a group of Christians heading this way. Why don’t you go and make friends?”
Uriel blinked and looked at the little cluster of two men and three women, dressed in simple wool, walking quickly with their heads down. “All right. They look scared, though.”
“Then be gentle.” Raziel clapped Uriel’s shoulder. “I have total faith in you.”
“Great. No pressure, then.” Uriel squared his shoulders.
“None at all,” Raziel said cheerfully. Before Uriel could say anything else, he marched into the bathhouse.
The bathhouse attendants bowed low to him and one of them wearing a simple red toga smiled obsequiously and began to give Raziel the sales pitch. Raziel listened, waiting until the attendant reached the prices for private bathing for the wealthy, and then he got down to the business of haggling. When he was done, he’d secured an hour for himself and Uriel to enjoy the bath the following day at 4:00 p.m., and he left the building wondering if Uriel had any success with the Christians.
Uriel was standing a few feet away, his back to the bathhouse, looking toward the part of the vicus that was given over to the marketplace. Raziel walked over to join his lover.
“Well?”
Uriel turned. “Well what?”
“What happened while I was booking us bathing time?”
“They ran away from me. I tried to tell them that I shared the same beliefs, but they scattered like pigeons with a tiger in the midst. The women ran down behind those tabernae, and the men ran out of the vicus altogether,” Uriel said.
Raziel swore. “Dammit. All right, let’s keep walking.”
“Sorry, Raz,” Uriel said.
“It’s not your fault,” Raziel said. “They’re probably so terrified they’ll be crucified or sent to fight in the arena somewhere that running away is the only thing they know.”
“Yeah, probably.” Uriel shook his head. “I fucking hate carbon apes.”
“Not all of them.”
“Okay. I fucking hate most carbon apes. Better?”
“Oh yes, hugely,” Raziel drawled. “Come on, Uri. Let’s keep walking. See if we can hear anyone talking about Joseph.”
“Considering how those five ran as if they were on fire, I’d bet good money that we won’t hear a damn thing, and we’ll have to do it the other way,” Uriel said. “Unless Angelique and the others have some luck.”
“We’ll be able to compare notes at lunch,” Raziel said.
“Okay.” Uriel rested his hand on the pommel of his gladius. “Let’s go, then.”
They wandered around for another hour, and as Uriel had predicted, they didn’t hear any mention of Christians or Joseph of Arimathea. The people of the vicus here in Vinovia seemed to be wholly interested in gossiping about their neighbors, complaining about the prices of bread and milk, and grumbling about the law. Raziel was frustrated when they returned to the inn and the common room where the innkeeper’s wife and daughters were serving up their lunch.
Angelique and the others had not yet returned, and Raziel sat down, nodding his thanks as one of the young women poured a goblet of wine for him. Hearing voices on the stairs beyond the room, Raziel sent his thought out, warning Agrat and Shateiel that they were not alone.
Angelique swept into the common room with all the regal bearing of an empress, Lily, Danny, Agrat, and Shateiel trailing her at a respectful distance. Raziel stood and moved to kiss her cheek as she marched up to the seat beside his.
“Thank you, Papa,” she said, sitting down. “Thank you,” she added to the women serving food and drink. “You can go now,” she added.
The innkeeper’s wife bobbed a curtsey and with her daughters, left the common room.
“Abrupt much?” Lily asked.
Angelique shrugged. “I’ve been playing spoiled rich girl all morning, and it’s getting irritating. I want to be myself for a bit. What’s for lunch?”
Raziel, amused, gestured to the dishes laid out for them. “Some ham, a green herb salad, hard cheese, moretum, bread, olives, cucumbers, and a boletum pasta. And desert is honey cakes and fresh raspberries.”
“That sounds delicious.” Angelique looked around. “But what’s moretum and boletum?”
“Moretum’s a cheese spread,” Uriel said.
“Made with herbs, cheese, salt, oil, and vinegar, pounded in a mortar and pestle, and spread on slices of bread,” Raziel said. “If you have that on the bread with a slice of ham, you’ll be eating one of Roman cuisine’s most delicious dishes.”
“And boletum is a mushroom,” Agrat said. “It’s quite tasty, actually. Like a Swiss brown mushroom.”
“Huh. And pasta, huh? I had no idea the Romans invented pasta,” Lily said.
“It’s like a lasagna-style pasta, not so much a spaghetti,” Uriel said.
“Though they do have that too,” Raziel said. He reached over and picked up the dish of olives. “So, now we’ve explained the food, did you find out anything today?”
/> “A little,” Danny said, reaching for the ham and serving himself, Lily, and Angelique. “There’s a tiny community of Christians here, and they’re not very well liked. Apparently they stick to themselves and don’t join in any of the celebrations or feasts, and they disapprove of drinking on Sundays.”
Uriel paused in the act of serving himself some of the boletum pasta. “Seriously? That’s really a thing?”
“Yeah, that was my reaction.” Angelique shook her head. “I’m a Catholic, and we never had problems getting drunk on Sundays.”
Agrat laughed. “Some of the most devout priests and pastors, the most humble and gentle of men, are incredible alcoholics.”
“I remember the Bishop of Antioch in the fourth century was unable to give a sermon without having drunk a full amphora of fine Venetian wine,” Shateiel said.
Angelique laughed. “That’s fantastic.”
“This group call themselves absentionists,” Lily said. “I’ve never heard of that before.”
Raziel paused, holding an olive. “I thought they were a myth.”
“What are they?” Danny asked.
“A tiny sect from the first century, which we’re currently in, who had devotees in Britannia and Hispania.” Raziel ate the olive. “Imagine that. They’re real.”
“Real, and apparently they meet in the home of a man named Joseph who’s very old and knew Jesus,” Angelique said. “One merchant told me that no one’s ever actually seen this Joseph, but then his wife told him to stop exaggerating and that everyone’s seen him, just not talked to him. He doesn’t get out much.”
“This is much better than what we found out today,” Raziel said. “Where does Joseph live?”
“The Christians all hang out near the western edge of the vicus,” Angelique said. “It’s the nastier part of town, we were told. I think that’s where the really poor and the very sick are.”
“That would make sense,” Raziel mused. “Joseph would want to be near to those people to minister to them.”
“He was a good man like that,” Agrat agreed.
“Indeed. I remember how much he helped the lepers before Christ was in his part of Jerusalem to heal them,” Shateiel said.
“This is always bizarrely surreal when you all talk about things like that,” Angelique said. “To us, Jesus and the stuff that happened in the Bible is just stuff that we know from church. But for you guys, it really happened; it’s memories of things you have just like we do of our basic training or school or something like that.”
“Does it bother you?” Raziel asked.
“No. I just find it interesting. Weird, but interesting. Makes the Bible stories a little more real.” Angelique smeared some of the moretum onto a slice of bread and then topped it with a piece of ham. She took a bite and her eyes grew wide as she chewed and swallowed.
“Oh my god, this is incredible,” she gasped. “We need the recipe for this!”
“And Roman cuisine is revived by Venatores,” Agrat said.
“All right. After lunch, you all stay here and get dressed up in your best glad rags—or rather, get Angelique dressed up in her best glad rags. Uriel and I will go out again, and then tonight we’ll go and dine downstairs with the notable citizens of this vicus.” Raziel took a sip of his wine. “Perhaps we can learn more then.”
“Can we have a nap before we get me all dressed up?” Angelique asked.
Raziel shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”
“Good. I’m really damn tired.” She took a drink of water.
“So am I,” Lily admitted.
“You three rest,” Agrat said. “Shateiel and I will keep watch.”
“Awesome.” Angelique looked more than a little relieved, Raziel thought. “How long are we staying, Papa?”
“I wish you wouldn’t do that.” But there was no heat in his protest, and Raziel smiled. “Another two days, I think. We’ll stay for the festival, and then we’ll leave the following morning. I can’t see this taking us much longer than that.”
“Good,” Angelique said. “I miss home.”
“Amen to that,” Danny muttered.
“And pack,” Angelique added.
“Amen to that,” Lily said.
Chapter Twelve
“DUDE, AGAIN?” Declan leaned against a crumbling statue of a weeping angel and looked at Liam with an expression that could only be described as belligerent.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” Liam said. He was as frustrated as his brother. He ran a hand through his hair, a habit born of frustration that he hadn’t been able to break since childhood.
They had visited so many cemeteries that Liam had lost count. And the ghosts and spirits at every single one had taken one look at him and fled. Here in Canada, in the silent and beautiful cemetery of Notre Dame des Neiges, Liam found he was feeling a little less discombobulated.
Since the outpouring of rage by both angelkind and demonkind directed at Naamah and her actions only a few weeks ago, Liam had been fighting to keep a cool, calm face for everyone around him. Inside, he was terrified, not just by what had happened but by what could happen in the future. When he had spoken out, imploring the angry ancient beings to calm down, to dial down their power, it had been an unthinking plea, blurted out before considering that one of them could easily kill him as one might swat a fly.
Sending Angelique and the others back in time had added to his sense of disorientation. Everything was changing and changing fast—frequently not for the better. The worried expressions on the faces of demon and angel alike frightened him more than anything else. When he’d been told to go and speak with the spirits and the ghosts, he’d been relieved—one, to be doing something and actively contributing, and two, getting away from the volatile tempers of supernatural creatures with more power than he could conceive.
They’d been transported by Camael and two angels who introduced themselves as Vel and Asaf. At Declan’s suggestion, once they returned to the US, the angels had taken them to Michael’s building in Oregon, and Declan had dismissed them, saying that driving around would be easier for everyone. The angels hadn’t argued, and Liam wasn’t the only one who was relieved to be on terra firma once more, sitting in the front passenger seat of their truck as Declan drove, his hands steady on the wheel, while Baxter and Riley napped in the backseat.
They had visited four cemeteries now, though, and Liam was beginning to wonder what the hell was going on. The dead usually flocked to him, eager to talk to him, to be heard and acknowledged. The first time they had run away, he had no idea what to do. Now, here in the beautiful and ancient Notre Dame des Neiges, Liam was beginning to lose his patience.
“This place is creepy,” Baxter said. “Though I guess it’s better than the creepy island of the creepy dolls who want to eat your souls in the night and make you their zombie slaves.”
Liam laughed. He couldn’t help it. “Which creepy island is this?”
“It’s called La Isla de la Munecas, and it’s in Mexico.” Baxter shuddered dramatically. Riley groaned.
“Did you have to remind me about that place?”
“An island of creepy dolls?” Declan scoffed. “Don’t believe it.”
“Dude.” Baxter looked at him seriously. “Believe it. The whole place has all these rotting dolls hanging from trees, bushes, everywhere. It’s damn weird. The guy who did it apparently lived alone and died alone and was haunted by the ghost of a little girl who drowned in a canal, so he hung up dolls for her. And the dolls are all soulless monsters who will eat your brains.”
“He’s right, mostly,” Riley said. “Up until the part about eating your brains.”
“Oh come on, you saw how creepy the place was.” Baxter wrapped his arms around himself. “It totally freaked out Danny, and he never gets freaked out. Lily refused to set a paw on the island. When Michael came to get us out when we’d finished the mission, we had all these cuts and bruises that none of us could explain, and we had gaps of missing time
in our memories. It sucked.”
“Okay, that’s weird.” Declan looked around the cemetery. “Weirdest graveyard we went to was in Colma.”
“Graveyards,” Liam corrected. “All sixteen of them.”
Baxter gaped at him. “Wasn’t that weird? For you? With your seeing-dead-people thing, I mean.”
“Really weird. There were more dead people than living. Something like nearly two million ghosts and spirits to just over a thousand living humans. I had to leave it pretty fast; I had the most incredible migraines because it was just too much. Psychic overload, Raphael said.”
“We avoid that part of California,” Declan said.
“I can understand why,” Baxter said. “Wow.”
Liam looked around the cemetery again, taking in the murder of crows that clustered on one of the magnificent mausoleums. “I might have to raise one of the dead and ask why the others are running away,” he mused.
“Isn’t that sort of dangerous?” Riley asked.
Liam shrugged. “I’ll be careful.”
Riley frowned. “You shouldn’t put yourself in danger,” he said.
Liam shrugged again. “Well, I’m open to suggestions, Biggles.”
Baxter’s eyebrows shot up. “Biggles?”
“Yeah. He totally looks like Biggles, don’t you think?”
“Book or TV?” Baxter asked.
Liam laughed. “Book. Definitely.”
“Who’s Biggles?” Riley asked.
Declan let out a loud, theatrical sigh. “He’s an English pilot who was the hero of a series of books set during wartime in the twentieth century. Liam used to love them when he was a kid. Dad had all the books, and I think Liam wore the spines off every one of them.”
“Say zounds,” Baxter said, turning to Riley.
“Zounds? What the… I’m not saying zounds, Baxter!” Riley buried his face in his hands as soon as the words left his mouth.
“Yep, he is totally a Biggles,” Baxter said.
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