Shattered Walls (Seven Archangels Book 3)

by Jane Lebak

  Of course, sent the Angel as if that were never a question, adding a sense that their presence offended Hastle, but Hastle couldn’t stop their contributions.

  The pair flashed away.

  The Angel’s voice appeared in his mind: Start by asking questions he’ll be willing to answer. That’s why I asked about his name.

  Michael sat by the far wall. “So now you’re Hastle. Did you come up with that yourself?”

  The demon said, “Do you care?”

  “I’m probably going to slip at some point and use your original name.”

  The demon huffed.

  If you wanted a demon to talk, of course, there always was one way to do it. Michael hated his, but he said, “And I take it you’re still fine with your decision to leave God’s service.”

  Hastle laughed out loud. “I thought you were smart!”

  Michael shrugged. “You’re here, and we’ve got plenty of time. No one’s ever crossed over from your side to ours, but if you wanted to try, I’d get a prayer team together and start begging God for mercy right now.”

  Hastle stared at him a moment, then gathered himself. “There is no mercy.”

  “There’s plenty of mercy. You just don’t want it.” Michael sat back. “Besides, you’ve got that plum job working for Asmodeus.”

  Hastle folded his arms. “Asmodeus is a monster. Every so often I remember Raphael hog-tying him out in Egypt after the Sarah incident, and I want to bring him a crown of laurels.”

  Michael leaned against the wall. “I thought Raphael did great with him.”

  Hastle snickered. “I wasn’t the only one of us hoping Raphael nailed him, either, but it was dicey there for a while. Raphael’s nowhere near as strong as he is.”

  Momentary silence. The Angel prompted Michael, who said, “So how did you end up working for him?”

  Hastle grinned. “Oh, you want to know so many things.”

  Michael’s eyes narrowed. “Only a few very pointed things.”

  “But you’re going to soften me up first. It’s a good technique.” Hastle’s eyes brightened. “Down in Hell they just beat you until eventually you give in and say everything, even things that maybe never happened but you know they want to hear, but I figured that wouldn’t be the case up here. Instead you gave me a nice comfortable room, tastefully decorated in an Indus Valley style. Harrapin, is it?”

  Michael said, “Zadkiel’s the one who decorated this room. You could tell me about what happened to her.”

  Hastle didn’t appear phased. “Poor thing.”

  The Principality sent, Close the distance between you.

  Michael would have preferred to lengthen it—maybe a thousand miles would have sufficed. Instead he got to his feet and started walking around the room, touching the designs on the walls. “She liked the Harrapin. They had interesting pottery and a clever social structure.” He picked up a vase, then moved back toward Hastle, stopping again at about half the distance of before. “Why are you working for Asmodeus if you dislike him that much?”

  “I have my own reasons. They’re not his. Maybe he knows that, but I carry out his orders.” Hastle smirked. “You taught me well. All that garbage about integrity and fulfilling our duties, it sunk in enough that I know the basics. I made them think I’m reliable, and here I am.”

  Michael didn’t need an Angel to prompt this question. “What were they relying on you to do?”

  “Everything.” Hastle rolled his eyes. “The great Asmodeus wouldn’t want to soil his hands, and the magnanimous Belior was too invested in his latest science experiment. Interestingly, they were never too busy to give orders.” Hastle grinned. “And I’m efficient. I got things done when they wanted.”

  Michael traced his fingers over the vase in his hand. “And not one second faster?”

  “Oh, sometimes.” Hastle’s eyes glinted. “That’s the interesting thing about Seraphim: if you beat their expectations, it doesn’t pay to let them know because they’ll just increase your workload for the next time. Instead you buy yourself some wiggle room so you can do your own thing in those spare minutes here and there.”

  Michael nodded. “And what did you do?”

  “My own game.” Hastle leaned forward. “Yes, I know what that weapon did, and and I know what it’s made of. I was one of the ones collecting the materials you haven’t yet identified, and I know why you can’t find Remiel or Zadkiel.”

  Couldn’t find? Now that was an interesting assumption. The questioning team lit up inside his head, and Michael pushed on that line of questioning. “We really want your help.” He put more urgency into his voice. “Tell us what happened to them. Your commanding officers might be nasty, but we take care of our own.”

  “No.” Hastle folded his arms. “You don’t.”

  Flat-voiced.

  Push him, sent the Angel. Find out why he wants you rather than us.

  Michael said, “If you’re not going to help me help my officers, then why do you want me at all? If the point was you talking to me, then talk to me.”

  Hastle smirked at him.

  The Principality sent, Leave. Now.

  Michael flashed from the room.

  Outside, he gave in and trembled, face in his hands. “I’m sorry,” said the Angel, “but we want you in control of the situation. You needed to consequence his refusal to talk. You can try him again later, but I want him to have enough time to process his mistake.”

  Michael’s feathers spread. “Speaking of mistakes, what was that about us not being able to find Remiel and Zadkiel?”

  “He gave us a clue as to what that weapon does,” said the Principality. “I’ve already reported it to Gabriel, and we’ll see if that helps us turn a corner.”

  NINE

  Zadkiel hadn’t heard Remiel this subdued in a long time. “Kecharitomene,” she said, “we need your help.”

  “Come inside,” said Jesus’s mother Mary, “and please, don’t feel you need to use a title. It was confusing enough when Gabriel said it to me the first time, and I still haven’t quite figured it out.”

  When Remiel touched her elbow, Zadkiel started forward. “One step,” Remiel said, and Zadkiel stepped up, wobbled a little, then kept going.

  “Is she hurt?” Mary’s voice was wrapped in concern. “John is leading the covenant meal now, but I can get him.”

  “She’s blind,” Remiel said, as if Zadkiel couldn’t have answered perfectly well for herself.

  Zadkiel said, “We’re sorry for bothering you. You can leave us here and rejoin the covenant meal yourself.”

  “I’m fine here with you,” Mary said, leading them through the house. “At the breaking of the bread, I’m worshipping God, and when I take care of others, I’m also worshipping God. One way or the other, I’m with Him, and I want nothing more.” Mary’s hands were gentle on Zadkiel’s shoulders. “Here, let me take this, and you two can sit while I bring you food.”

  Remiel said, “You’ve no need to wait on us, Kecharitomene.”

  “You are my guests,” Mary said, “and I do mean it: no title.”

  Remiel sat on a low couch, and Zadkiel groped her way down beside her. A moment later, Mary returned with a basin of water. “Here, let’s get you cleaned up. Have you been to Ephesus before? I was quite impressed with the aqueducts. No more trips to the well.”

  Zadkiel heard Remiel splashing and did her best to get the dirt washed off her feet and legs as well. Mary brought them a towel, and then she escorted them to a table. She poured wine and laid out a plate of bread and some cheese. Remiel prayed over the food, then passed it to Zadkiel.

  Zadkiel sipped the wine, but it wasn’t as good as Jesus had made. She found she was hungry, though, and made quick work of the food. Mary gave her more, but she forced herself to slow down.

  Mary said, “I remember you. You’re the one from the wedding.”

  Zadkiel smiled. “I am.”

  “That’s why you’re blind. I’d forgotten all about that.”
Mary sounded confused. “Have you tried rescinding the agreement?”

  “Why would I do that?” Zadkiel shuddered. “I’ve had the benefit of the agreement for twenty years. Is a day’s inconvenience, or a week’s, enough to break me down?” She drew up the taste of wine in her mind, and she clenched her fist. “It’s a matter of integrity. This is the bargain.”

  “I’m sorry,” Mary said. “I didn’t know whether you hadn’t asked or you’d asked and been refused.”

  Zadkiel said firmly, “I haven’t asked.”

  “And you…” Mary hesitated. “I never spoke to you.”

  “With good reason.” Remiel sounded tentative. “I didn’t want to harm you. I still don’t. I have…I had a twin. He fell at the Winnowing, but we’re still identical.” She picked up speed. “You might not have been able to tell us apart, and if Camael came to you, if you thought he was me, you might have believed his lies, or he might have harmed you.”

  Mary said, “Oh! That’s why you’re using the title. Because you think a demon wouldn’t do that.”

  Remiel said, “A human’s title? Never. Your title? Twice never. So it’s a litmus test.” A rustling: had Remiel put her face in her hands? “But he’ll know by now. He’ll know they’re looking for me, and he may be looking for me too. You could be in danger, so you need a way to know I’m me.”

  Zadkiel detected a soft sound as Mary reached across the table for Remiel’s hand. “I’m not worried. You’re in my house, and you need me. If I doubt it’s you, I’ll ask the Father for help, but based on what Uriel told me, your twin—well, any demon—would never willingly take on a human form. Didn’t they rebel because they hated the idea of ensouled matter in the first place?”

  Remiel sounded bitter. “He’d do it if ordered to. I can’t imagine Satan putting on a body, but he’d command one of his underlings to do it in a half second if he thought it gained his side an advantage.”

  Zadkiel added, “And if God allowed him. Aren’t we being a little too obvious in this conversation? We came here trying to escape detection, and instead we’re talking about angels and demons.”

  “We won’t be overheard inside this house.” Mary sounded certain. “Outside we need to be careful, including the courtyard, but John sealed the house. Demons have no permission to enter here.”

  Remiel sounded shocked. “You can do that?”

  Zadkiel smiled. “You’ve invented the Prayer Guard.”

  Mary chuckled. “I don’t know that we invented it. My Son gave us authority over demons, and John decided binding them out was a good use of that authority.”

  “In that case,” Zadkiel said, her voice sharpening, “does it really appear that Remiel is my slave? Because nothing could be further from the truth.”

  “It does.” Mary sounded a little surprised. “I thought that was your disguise.”

  Zadkiel folded her arms. “If anything, I should be her slave.”

  “I don’t outrank you.” Remiel sounded disbelieving. “You’re Michael’s standard bearer and the chief of the order of Dominions.”

  “And you’re one of the seven Archangels of the Presence.”

  “Because of what my brother did, not because of what I did.” Zadkiel imagined she could hear Remiel rolling her eyes. “He rebelled, and I got rewarded. I’m not saying God isn’t fair, but you have your position because of what you did, whereas I have mine because of what I didn’t do.”

  Zadkiel said, “I didn’t do enough, not enough to keep with my station. That much should be clear.”

  Remiel said, “What are you talking about?”

  Mary laughed. “John tells me the disciples used to argue about which of them was the most important, and here you two are, arguing about who’s the least. It’s a refreshing change.” Her chair scraped as she stood. “Now, sweetie, turn to me.”

  Zadkiel shifted toward her, and then Mary’s hands rested on her head. As Mary began to pray, it felt right to close her eyes even though that changed nothing. Mary’s prayer began in Greek and then shifted to Aramaic, and then it shifted back to Greek as Mary praised God, recited a segment of one of the psalms, and then asked God as the healer to settle His power on Zadkiel.

  Zadkiel joined the prayer in her heart, relaxing into the embrace of the Holy Spirit as she felt His warmth shooting through her. Her eyes burned, and in her heart she went back to Cana, to the wedding. Wine filled her to overflowing, as if she were the stone jug of water to whom Christ had said, “Wine.”

  All the uncertainty lingering from their transport had left her, and Zadkiel had the vague thought that Mary should pray over Remiel as well and lift whatever burdened her. The human body felt more solid now, more grounded than it had been only moments ago. Wine’s flavor filled her mind and her soul, and she held tight to it.

  A warmth built in her spine and traveled up to her throat, a simultaneous peace and electricity she associated with God’s presence. The rightness of the moment filled her, and she knew she was being protected by Him. He loved her.

  She opened her eyes, and still couldn’t see.

  She leaned forward, face in her hands.

  Mary hugged her.

  “Pray over Remiel,” Zadkiel whispered. “It helped. I know God answered you, even if it wasn’t the way you wanted.”

  “Of course He answers.” Mary kissed Zadkiel’s forehead. “I wasn’t asking for your sight to be restored, and I would never ask for an agreement God made with anyone to be broken. I asked for His blessing, and He knows what blessings He wants to give.”

  Blinking to stem her tears, Zadkiel listened as Mary prayed over Remiel. No, Mary wasn’t asking for anything specific. She was calling on God to remember His healing touch, and then she was touching Remiel, but it wasn’t targeted. In a way, it was as if Mary were entirely indifferent as to how God acted once she invited Him into the situation, because she trusted that He’d act for their benefit. Zadkiel groped for Remiel’s hand and felt her relaxing progressively as Mary continued. The prayer over Remiel was shorter, and when it ended, Remiel said nothing. Zadkiel squeezed her hand, but Remiel didn’t squeeze back. If anything, she sounded shaken. “Thank you. If you don’t mind, I’m actually hungry now,” and Mary gave her time to finish the meal Zadkiel hadn’t until this moment realized she’d left untouched.

  Afterward, Mary led them to a room in the back. “You’ll be sleeping here. There are several others from our community who share this room, and I know they’ll welcome you when they can.” She sounded cheerful. “When we first arrived, one of our newly baptized members offered us his possessions, and one of those was this house, so a group of us moved in here. I say it’s John’s house,” she added, “but it’s really for the whole community to use together. Therefore think of it as your home for as long as you remain.”

  Mary escorted them through every part of the house that they needed to know, then gave them a chance to get settled for the night. Zadkiel trailed her hand along the wall, tracing the smoothness of the tiles as they alternated with empty spaces between. The ceramic pieces must have formed pictures, but of course her fingertips couldn’t tell the difference between red tiles and white or green, so she focused on the texture. The room had very little by way of furniture, plus the windows were shuttered against the heat, so it carried a faint echo. She wondered if human ears could use the echoes to navigate, like a bat or a whale, and whether she’d be in this body long enough to learn.

  Mary said, “The covenant meal will be ending soon, and I know you’re exhausted. You should get some sleep now, and we’ll talk again in the morning.”

  “If we’re still here,” Zadkiel said. “They may find a solution overnight.”

  Mary said, “I love having you here, but I do hope you’re right.”

  Remiel said, “Join us for evening prayer,” and Mary did. She must have learned the prayers from Uriel, because she was able to do all the call-and-response and then recite the evening blessing.

  Remiel helped Zadkiel get
settled in her bed. “Rest well, my lady.”

  “If owners are allowed to beat their slaves,” Zadkiel mumbled, “I’m going to thrash you once we get back into Heaven.”

  “Only if you can catch me.” Remiel chuckled. “I have it on good authority that slaves sometimes run away.”

  She settled herself at Zadkiel’s side, and in the dark her breathing deepened, and she was asleep.

  Sleep eluded Zadkiel, however. She prayed for a while, then meditated in a hazy kind of slip-in-and-out of consciousness. She’d be contemplating God and then find herself thinking about something Saraquael had said a few days ago, then she’d startle back to awareness and focus again on God only to realize she’d been thinking about the taste of asparagus. Every so often she’d startle awake at other noises in the room and realize other community members had gone to their beds. Remiel never stirred.

  Finally the dark felt right, so Zadkiel relaxed into it. She puzzled on and off about why when Mary had prayed over her, why her eyes had burned when there hadn’t been any healing.

  And then Remiel gasped awake. “No!”

  “Remiel?” Zadkiel hissed, but there was no response, only rapid breathing. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

  She groped for her, but when her hand made contact, Remiel jerked away “Don’t touch me.” She sounded frightened, and she was speaking in angelic language, not Greek.

  “Are there demons?” Zadkiel sat up. The Angels guarding them weren’t on high alert, although she detected concern. “What’s gong on?”

  “Leave me alone. Stop.” There was a rustling as Remiel moved away. “Just stop.”

  There were assorted sounds as Remiel got to her feet and left. And once again, Zadkiel found herself alone. Blind and alone.