by L. A. Banks
However, now that their collective date with destiny was so close, and they now had the added complication of humans within the angel roost to protect, they had to stay on the move. Heat was provided by whichever angel body was in the room, pure energy wafting off him. Once he left, the bitter cold set in.
Celeste boxed her arms as she headed to the makeshift bathroom. Sure, it had been well cleaned and used the old plumbing system from when the factory warehouse had been opened years ago, but one had to conserve the water that was provided by a series of huge, leveraged drums, which also needed to be regularly replaced.
Plus, the abandoned building had no formal electricity either. It wasn’t as if she could just walk into a room and flip on a light or blow-dry her hair after a shower. If alone, she and the other humans in the building had to get as much done as one could during the daylight hours and use the ambient light coming in through the endless banks of windows.
But that didn’t stop them from having illumination or cooking altogether, as long as one of the brothers with a little celestial juice was in the room. It was still inconvenient as hell, but not as inconvenient as being discovered by nervous humans or being ambushed by demon forces.
Therefore, she could live with the preferred option of survival, even if that meant taking over dilapidated industrial structures that were far enough away from dense human populations to avoid heavy collateral damage if a firefight broke out. And ever since the battle on the Delaware, the brothers had decided that they liked having a water source at their back door.
Every day one of them would go to the river and anoint it with a prayer, and instantly it became a blue-white death trap of holy water should demon forces try an incursion by sea. Their airspace was fiercely guarded by brothers taking shifts on the roof. No doubt they loved the old factories and warehouses that dotted the East Coast waterways because those structures gave them room to stretch their wings like giant birds of prey, and with a little angelic cloaking they could keep themselves occupied with all manner of sports while on the expansive roofs.
By land, they had the perimeter lit up with hallowedground prayer barriers. The unused floors beneath the couple upper floors they took over at the tops of the buildings for bedrooms and the common areas were well fortified, too. Massive elevators were perfect for their fleet of Harleys and crotch-rocket motorcycles. Table-tennis boards, foosball stands, and basketball hoops took up a large section of the common area, and they loved the Wii—literally playing all their games acrobatically on the fly. Wii video games and the realistic interactive games on the Xbox 360 blew their minds and brought them endless delight as they fought demons, bet on who was a better sharpshooter, better guitar player, talked trash, drank beer, and played cards.
That common room stayed lit night and day, as did the multiple refrigerators it contained, which nobody seemed to forget to lend their juice to—not because it kept the food edible for their human charges, but more likely because it kept the beers cold. But after twenty-six thousand years of battle on earth as Sentinels and Guardians, who could begrudge the guys a little fun?
However, the one thing they could not do was kill a human just because he or she discovered the whereabouts of their battalion’s roost. If humans showed up, such as cops or building inspectors, the brothers had to deal with that intrusion fairly, humanely, even if the hassles that those people caused were enormous.
If a demon wanted in or wanted them out, the easiest thing to do would be to mind-stun some poor human law enforcement officer to investigate squatters and have them legally ousted. The angels’ cloaking themselves to minimize that possibility was one thing, but changing a person’s mind or simply expunging it for their own convenience violated the edict of allowing humans free will.
Yeah, they were going to have to move again soon. She could feel it in her bones. That was probably what had Bath Kol raising hell in the common area first thing in the morning. She could hear him and Isda at the center of a heated debate. It sounded as if the other brothers were taking neutral positions and simply watching.
Celeste splashed cold water on her face, wishing for a moment that Azrael were there to heat it up, then banished the thought. They all had more important things to do than to worry about water temps and creature comforts.
Quickly finishing her morning routine, she spit out her toothpaste and swished a gulp of clean water around in her mouth, spit again, then dashed down the football-field-length hall toward the common area.
The closer Celeste got to it, the louder the debate raged. As she entered the large, open area, Melissa was sitting across the room at the double-long picnic-style table with her head in her hands and her profusion of dark-blond curls hiding her almond-hued face. Tension riddled the Remnant sister’s tight posture. Arguing and dissension jacked with Melissa’s nervous system. Badly. Celeste frowned. Everybody knew that. Like all of them, Melissa had been through a lot, shuttled from her native Aborigine mother’s outback hideaway to her Danish father’s people in Demark. In between, the dark side had claimed much of Melissa’s innocence and peace; the same way Magdalena’s life had been no day at the beach, running from Ecuador to Colombia and subsequently falling into the wrong hands before Gavreel found her. But the way each woman processed stress was different. Melissa would allow it to implode within her and come off analytical and as though it didn’t bother her, whereas Magdalena would blow a fuse. If the brothers didn’t stop this crap, they were gonna make Celeste want to start smoking again.
When Maggie looked up, her intense, dark eyes said it all—help. The Remnant sister’s exterior beauty and gorgeous face appeared serene and calm on the surface, but Maggie’s eyes always conveyed her inner chaos. Even Queen Mother Aziza, a sensitive who had been with Bath Kol for years, seemed to have no effect on quelling the dispute. She sat ramrod straight, her back facing the table, her regal head held high and topped with purple-fabric-swathed dreadlocks. The middle-aged woman drew long, steadying breaths for calm, and her delicate, dark-walnut-hued back expanded and contracted slowly as though trying to filter the negative energy zinging around the common room. Then Aziza turned slowly, giving Celeste a meaningful glance as the male voices escalated.
Gavreel stood near the table close to his mate, Maggie, tension riddling his athletic, six-foot-two frame while blue-white energy caused his long, dark hair to slightly lift off his broad shoulders. Wearing a steely barrio-grit, the more angrily he glared at Bath Kol and Isda, the more distraught his Remnant became. But Paschar, who usually had the disposition of a yogi, with tranquil East Indian features and a melodic voice, constantly sent his gaze between his mate, Melissa, and the arguing angels, seeming ready to jump into the fray at any moment.
Nodding at Aziza, Celeste fully entered the wide-open space just in time to see Azrael jump between Bath Kol and Isda, who’d lunged at each other, wings spread for battle.
“Okay, guys. What’s going on?” Celeste looked from Bath Kol to Isda with a frown. “All this first thing in the morning? Really?”
“There appears to be a dispute about whether we simply move this encampment and hunker down in the country, or travel abroad to locate an item that we may need in an upcoming battle.” Azrael released a long, weary sigh. “No one wants to have to uproot our temporary homestead or to travel to potential international danger zones, but Bath Kol had a vision that very well may warrant the sudden change.”
“I’m not going to Egypt! Dat’s final, mon! Not like dis!” Isda shouted, spittle flying as his dreadlocks crackled with blue-white fury energy. “Have you been watching the news? You see how de whole Middle East just collapsed like a row of dominoes, mon? Egypt was just in a mad state of unrest, and if you haven’t checked, it’s not exac’ly tourist-friendly right now!”
The more upset Isda became, the thicker his Caribbean accent grew as he argued his point. “So I suggest you get a cup of coffee and sober up! Face it, BK, your visions have been fucked up for centuries, so now because you’ve suppos
edly been clear for a few months, you draggin’ us on a suicide expedition with Remnants in tow? You must have bumped your damned head last night!”
“Me? Me! I’ve bumped my head?” Bath Kol shouted back, his face red and veins standing up in his neck. Pressing his stone-cut chest against Azrael’s outstretched hand, Bath Kol looked more like an irate Hells Angels biker about to kick off a bar brawl than an angel warrior of Light.
“There’s nothing wrong with my visions these days, and I know what I saw in my meditations this morning, son!” Bath Kol looked at Azrael for moral support, then back to Isda, dragging his fingers though his spiked blond hair in frustration. “Just stay in your fucking lane! I have province over prophecy—you have province over nourishment—waaay different. So, if I want something to eat, I’ll ask you what’s on the house menu, but—”
“Tell me dat shit when you don’t have a fifth of Jack Daniel’s in your system, aw’ight!”
“Yo!” Azrael shouted, pushing both would-be combatants back. “Don’t either one of you forget that I have province over angel deaths.” He looked at Bath Kol and Isda hard as they sized each other up. “The language,” Azrael said, pointing at the kitchen table where the women had gathered. “Not to mention, you all know better. Going at each other like that and lowering the vibrational frequency in here with cursing and anger is a sure way to get this joint overrun. So I suggest everybody just calm down!”
Isda walked away a bit, flexing the muscles in his majestic dark-chocolate chest, biceps, and shoulders, finally retracting his wings. Bath Kol kicked a stray kitchen chair out of his way and walked off a few paces, then turned and folded his arms over his barrel chest.
After a moment, Azrael rubbed his palms down his face. “That’s better,” Azrael muttered. “Arguing amongst ourselves is getting us nowhere. And if we need a tiebreaker, Paschar also has province over visions—”
“But not prophecy!” Bath Kol shouted, slapping his chest. “There’s a difference!”
“You done?” Azrael waited until Bath Kol backed off, then sent his angry gaze around the room for a moment, challenging anyone to speak. Twenty-one angels looked at Azrael. The two combatants, Bath Kol and Isda, glared at each other across the room in a standoff. Gavreel and Paschar stood beside their Remnant mates with furrowed brows, clearly concerned. The remaining members of the Special Forces battalion that had chosen to stay on earth took up spectators’ positions around the room.
Aziza, the only human sensitive in the group, glanced at Celeste again. Somehow Aziza’s eyes beckoned Celeste to intervene again, but she wasn’t sure what the psychic healer wanted her to say. Under normal circumstances, Aziza herself was able to calm her mate, Bath Kol. He trusted her as a human seer, and the one who’d labored over him and his men for years with healing ministrations to draw out toxins from their beleaguered systems. Her voice was normally like a balm to his shattered nervous system as she helped him balance his stressed-out chakras and restabilize his etheric body so that he could function in this density without so much emotional pain. But today, he clearly wasn’t seeking her counsel, so Aziza apparently wanted Celeste to intervene through Azrael.
“Ask the locator then,” Isda finally said, lifting his chin and jerking it toward Celeste. “Months back, she knew where to tell Paschar to find Mel and told Gavreel right about Maggie—that she wasn’t in Colombia any longer but was on that flight coming into Miami. Celeste is more neutral than Paschar, who’s just gonna side with BK to keep the peace.”
“That is true about Celeste’s locating skill,” Aziza said in a calm tone as she studied Bath Kol for a moment and then looked at Celeste. Seeing the indignant tension in her lover’s body language, Aziza stood and went to him. “Not because your visions are flawed, BK, or because Paschar will side with you just for the sake of harmony. But because in these last critical weeks, it’s best that all clues get impartially corroborated.”
Bath Kol lifted his chin but didn’t push his lover away and instead slung a thick arm over Aziza’s shoulders. “Fine. Ask her.”
All eyes went to Celeste, and she glanced around the room, finally seeking silent counsel in Azrael’s troubled gaze. “Ask me what?”
“If—”
“Let Az ask her,” Isda yelled across the room, cutting Bath Kol off. “You know better!” Isda added, pointing at Bath Kol. “You ask a question in a certain way and you’ll get exactly the answer you want. You ask it neutral, and you got a betta chance at da truth. I don’t know about anybody else in here, but I, for one, want da truth.”
Isda folded his arms, and Azrael, before proceeding, waited until Bath Kol held up both hands in front of his chest. Eyeing both Bath Kol and Isda with a warning glare not to further interrupt, Azrael walked forward and took up both of Celeste’s hands.
“We need to know if you can get any impressions about a very important piece of antiquity … something metal with sacred writings on it.”
Celeste stared up into Azrael’s eyes, then closed hers. Warmth from his hands and his aura spilled over her hands and traveled up her arms to envelop her entire body. Soon she could hear only her own breaths, then her own heartbeat, as everything around her faded away into the background. The center of her forehead began to tingle and soon felt even warmer than her burning hands, as did the top of her head. Slow-moving visual impressions flooded the dark space inside her lids until she could feel her lashes beginning to flutter. Quick, shallow breaths replaced her long, slow breathing. Then she saw it—a huge book … or … big metal pages.
Celeste opened her eyes with a gasp. “Like tablets?”
Azrael’s hands squeezed hers gently. “Yes.”
“Some are … green, like how copper turns on the roofs of buildings?”
“Yes,” Azrael murmured, now bending to allow his forehead to touch hers.
Tingling warmth covered the places they touched and she relaxed into the sensation, almost beginning to feel as though she were floating. It made her close her eyes again, and when she did, more impressions flitted through her mind.
“Some are gold,” she said in a soft voice. “But some are crystal … and there’s a clear crystal mummy case with … gold bones?”
She opened her eyes and looked up at Azrael, thoroughly confused. “I don’t get it.”
“The metal library,” Maggie said in a hesitant tone, glancing around the group. “When I was in Ecuador with my grandfather, he said the Shuar tribe’s shaman protected a metal library from outsiders. He only told me because he said I had a special secret destiny … It had the things Celeste spoke of. But white men came with an astronaut—an exploratory team that was pulled together by a famous guy from NASA, and all they found was a very old stone ring. They could never find the actual library or the entrance to it. Defeated, they left, but they came back again to Cueva de los Tayos still looking for the way in, never knowing that the true opening was under the Pastaza River, not aboveground. No one told them, though. It was sacred tribal knowledge.”
“Yeah, the warrior brothers knew about the tablets and the protectors of the vault, but the dark side never got this close before, even with humans jacking around looking for it.” Gavreel shook his head and rubbed his palm over the nape of his neck. “Seems like the closer we get to 2012, the closer the other side gets to their objectives, too.”
Azrael nodded. “Their efforts to find the vault have obviously been renewed since we kicked their asses in Philadelphia. That’s gotta be why they’re on a mission searching for it now—before that last battle, they thought they could take us without needing the tablets, which are bound into one sacred book.”
“Right, and what Maggie is talking about is the human Stan Hall’s expedition,” Gavreel said with a confirming nod toward Azrael. “That opening is at seventy-seven degrees, forty-seven minutes, and thirty-four seconds west, and one degree, fifty-six minutes, and zero seconds south.”
“So if you know the location, mon, then why we all—”
“
That joint was cleared out years ago, dude,” Bath Kol said, shaking his head.
“It’s true what BK says about that. They had to move the library out of South America. It was too hot, and non-authorized human exploration was getting too close.” Gavreel looked around the group, gaining nods from all the other angels except Isda.
“So how you know, mon? You don’t have visions like BK and ain’t been over there yet.”
Gavreel frowned and stood a little taller, clearly taking exception to the challenge. “I came into this manifestation with that continent and the representative ethnic groups from it in my DNA pattern, just like the rest of you came in bearing a pattern that ensured you were matched to the familial human tribe of your Remnant to better blend in with it. We also received the resident knowledge of the geographic region our Remnant was from.” Gavreel paused, giving Isda a hard look. “So I can safely say that Maggie’s grandfather was teaching her facts, not legends, brothers. The entrance to the massive underground network that was carved out by some of our brothers during the first war spans the continent and was indeed hidden underwater to keep the tablets from falling into the wrong hands … but, like BK said, that library was moved.”
“Grandfather said even though it was underwater, it did not mean you would get wet,” Melissa added softly. “An earthquake made a natural opening behind the river.”
“That was the dark side, trying to break into the vault the Incas once guarded—until they got wiped out, then so many of the Shuar,” Gavreel said, shaking his head. “But, yeah. The new opening along with more insistent human expeditions made the move inevitable.”
“No one is disputing your knowledge,” Azrael affirmed, glancing at Isda with a frown before returning his gaze to Gavreel and then the others. “We’ve had many protectors of the vault from the ancient Atlanteans, the Kemetians, Sumerian tribes, the Incas, the Mayans, Tibetans, the Aborigines, the Native Americans, and many of the Norse tribes, to name a few. Given that, why are my brothers arguing about the fact that the library has moved?” Azrael looked around the group again. “The facts are simple; the library has circled the globe—and has been hidden everywhere from Atlantis to Iceland.”
