An hour after their return, Sophiel joined them. Her face was pale and her eyes sad, but she managed a smile for them. Her report was similar to what Brieus and Tzadkiel had seen for themselves, and the three of them sat down at the dining table and began to write the final report for all the Archangels.
When they were finished, Tzadkiel read back over the report and nodded to himself. It wasn’t great—the destruction and loss of life was terrible—but humanity was already moving toward healing itself.
“There’s more hope in this world than I first thought,” Tzadkiel said.
Sophiel smiled at him, looking a little happier than she had when she returned from her own survey of the world. “There’s always hope, boss. Always.”
“True, that,” Brieus agreed.
Tzadkiel smiled fondly at the pair of them. “And we’ll do everything we can to help humanity rebuild and recover.”
Sophiel and Brieus nodded in determined agreement.
3
RAPHAEL leaned against a tree, watching his lover with an expression of fond indulgence.
Israfel was dancing. His eyes were closed and his wings unfurled. Music swirled around him, notations pouring from his hands, sliding along the tendons covered by feathers at the top of his wings. The sound of the music that accompanied those notations was exquisite, a symphony of delicate harmonies and counterharmonies that filled the air with a breathtaking coloratura of joy and hope.
Raphael could not wipe the smile off his face. Israfel composing was one of the things that gave Raphael the most pleasure, because that was when Israfel was truly himself—the Angel of Music. Israfel at work, letting his gift pour through him, delighting in the songs, hymns, and symphonies he created, was one of the most beautiful things Raphael had ever seen.
Not that Israfel himself wasn’t physically beautiful—he was. Tall, thin, muscled, with mussed dark-blond hair and gray-blue eyes, given to wearing too-tight T-shirts and leopard-print pants with scuffed Doc Marten boots, tattooed, nipple- and tongue-pierced, Israfel was not just the poster boy for rock stars, he was Raphael’s Adonis.
Israfel turned, his wings fanned wide as his symphony reached its crescendo, and as it ended on an eight-chord harmony, Raphael broke into applause.
“Beautiful, Israfel. As always.” Raphael pushed himself off the tree and walked to his lover.
Israfel smiled at him, that wide, ingenuous smile of his that always made him seem younger than a creature older than time itself. “Raph!” He bounced to Raphael and flung his arms around the Archangel’s neck in a tight hug. “I missed you,” he murmured against Raphael’s neck.
Raphael wrapped his arms around Israfel and held him tight. He breathed deep the scent of him, the lingering hint of cigarette smoke and beer, a splash of expensive cologne and, very faintly, of sweat.
He grunted then as Israfel jumped up and wrapped his legs around Raphael’s hips. “Easy there, Iss,” Raphael said as he staggered a moment before getting his balance again.
“Sorry.” Israfel didn’t sound terribly sorry. “I just missed you. You were gone awhile. So, I decided to compose something for you, and then I got all caught up in it, because I couldn’t decide if I wanted to write you something that was hymnal or something symphonic, and then I wondered if I could combine the hymnal with the symphonic and then add a splash of Romanian folk song to it, and then I lost track of time.”
Raphael bit back the urge to “aww” and instead planted a kiss on Israfel’s cheek. “It’s lovely.”
“You think?”
“I know.” Raphael gently disentangled himself from Israfel and set him down on his own two feet. “Watching you compose is like watching music in motion.”
Israfel smiled a bashful little smile and ducked his head. “You say the nicest things, Raph.”
“And I frequently mean them.” Raphael chuckled. “But come, you haven’t been waiting for me long, have you?”
“No, not really. I think.” Israfel’s expression became bemused. “I’m not real sure. I lose track of time when I’m in the music.”
Raphael touched Israfel’s pale cheek, noting how dark his own skin seemed against Israfel’s face. “Then that’s probably for the best.”
“I baked too.” Israfel grinned.
“You did?” Raphael was astonished. “You never fail to surprise me, my heart.”
“I like to cook.” Israfel shrugged. “And you work so hard and the war was bad. I know, I know, I’m not a warrior and I’m not all grufty toughty like Mike or Gabe or Sammy or Uri, but I’ve got eyes. And a TV.”
Raphael bit the inside of his cheek to try to stop the guffaw at that last comment, but he wasn’t entirely successful. “Yes, you’re fond of the TV.”
“Hey, I need to keep up with the current music trends, and music channels are essential.”
“And those dreadful soap operas that you watch?” Raphael was grinning now.
“Comedies.” Israfel nodded very seriously. “Yeah.”
Raphael laughed and laughed and pulled Israfel back into his arms, then kissed him soundly. “I love you very much, Israfel.” His mental voice was fond.
“I love you too, Raph. I’m really lucky. The luckiest angel in Heaven. Well, not in Heaven, ’cause we’re not in Heaven right now, but from Heaven.”
“I see.” Raphael chuckled into the kiss.
“Good.” Israfel ended the kiss and rested his forehead against Raphael’s. “Are you home for a while now? I mean, you don’t have to rush off to some battlefield to overdo it trying to save the dying that can’t be saved?”
“Iss…,” Raphael sighed, his good mood fading.
“Raph, come on. You know as well as I do that you overdo it. I heard Michael yell at you for it. And Michael doesn’t yell that often, except at troops in a war zone or at Tabbris, but everyone yells at Tabbris.”
“I don’t yell at Tabbris,” Raphael protested.
“Okay, everyone except you yells at Tabbris. He’s my best friend. I’m supposed to stick up for him.” Israfel chewed his lower lip, looking at Raphael with wide eyes. “Even if he is a big pain in the bum most of the time.”
“Tabbris is… well, Tabbris is Tabbris.” Raphael shook his head as he thought about the Angel of Free Will. “He infuriates Michael at the best of times, and this war was not the best of times.”
“Which brings me back to my point, that you overdo it. So, you don’t have to rush off anywhere? You can stay home for a bit?”
“I suppose I can stay for a few days without having to go to work,” Raphael conceded.
“Good.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re mine.” Israfel sounded determined. “And I missed you. And I want to spend some time with you. Just us, no one else, no call to war, no cries for help, no demons, no other angels, just you, me, maybe some Scotch, some good food, and some music.”
Raphael smiled. “I believe I can manage that.”
“Good. I’d hate to have to tie you down.” Israfel tilted his head a little as the words left his mouth. “Though, wow, you’d look so hot all tied down….”
“Israfel,” Raphael scolded gently, ruffling Israfel’s hair. “Would that truly please you? To tie me down?”
Israfel’s brow creased as he thought that over. “No,” he said finally. “No, it wouldn’t, ’cause you’re too awesome to tie down, even for sexy fun times. No, you’re like… like perfect.”
“I am glad I am like perfect,” Raphael said, deadpan. “I would hate to be perfect and fall short in my aspirations.”
“Raph!”
Raphael laughed, unable to stop himself. “Oh, Iss. You truly are the delight of my life.”
“I don’t see how. I mean, I know I’m pretty.” Israfel shrugged. “Look at me. I am smokin’ hot. Even hotter than Gabriel or Michael, though those two are, like, Archangels of Beefcake. But I’m pretty and I make awesome music and I can cook. But I’m not that smart, Raph. You should be with someone who under
stands what you do. You should be with someone with a brain as giant as your own.”
“Israfel. Look at me.” Raphael touched two fingers to Israfel’s chin, and when his lover’s eyes flashed upward, he leaned in and met that soulful gaze. “You are not stupid. You are not lacking in a brain. You are young, yes, and sometimes impetuous, but that is something to be celebrated, not punished. I do not desire anyone else. I am very happy with you.”
“You promise?”
“I promise,” Raphael said with a firm nod.
Israfel kissed him. “See? I’m really lucky.”
“If you are, then I am too.” Raphael ended the kiss and ran his hands slowly up and down Israfel’s back. “Shall we go home?”
Israfel nodded. “Yeah. Then we can eat and fuck.”
“Together?” Raphael quirked an eyebrow, unable to stop teasing.
“If you want, although the chocolate sauce from the pudding would be hot and I wouldn’t want to burn you,” Israfel said.
Raphael laughed once more. “You’re adorable,” he said and moved them to the small apartment in London where he and Israfel spent most of their free time together.
Israfel bounced into the kitchen and bustled around, humming to himself as he started cooking. Raphael sat down on one of the stools that lined the breakfast bar and watched as Israfel started cracking eggs into a bowl.
“What are you making?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” Israfel set the eggshells aside and began to whisk. “It’ll come to me as I go.”
“You should have a cooking show,” Raphael said. He was only half teasing. Israfel seemed to be able to prepare food that was always exquisite, and he never followed a recipe, using taste, smell, and some innate sense of what flavors would combine well to concoct delicacies. Raphael had never really paid attention to food before Israfel—but when every meal dished up was of banquet proportions and suited to a five-star restaurant, it didn’t take long to notice.
Israfel was now pouring milk into his bowl of beaten eggs. “Can I ask you something?”
“Of course. You can ask me anything.”
“Are you going to tell the rest of your brotherhood about me—us?”
Raphael blinked. “Do you want me to?”
Israfel shrugged, not meeting Raphael’s eyes and pretending to be focused on his mixing bowl. “Not if you don’t want to. I mean, it’s okay, I get that you might not want people to know you’re dating me. It’s totally cool, right? You’re an Archangel and I’m, like, a regular angel, a redshirt. I’m nothing special, and you’re, well, you’re you. Raphael. The healer. God’s medicine man. Archangel. That. I mean, why would you want people to know about us? It’s—”
“Israfel.” Raphael cut him off, reaching over the breakfast bar to take Israfel’s hand in his own. “Look at me.”
Hesitantly, Israfel raised his head, his blue-gray eyes hooded. “Yeah?”
“I haven’t told them because I haven’t seen them.” Raphael held Israfel’s gaze with his own. “Nothing more, nothing less. I’m not ashamed of you. I’m not so private that I must keep all my relationships supersecret—my name isn’t Michael, after all. But I’m not so brash that I have to trumpet everything from the mountaintops, either—I’m not Gabriel. Some of them know, or suspect, and that’s fine. The next gathering we have that isn’t work related, I would be honored if you’d come with me.”
Israfel’s eyes grew wide, and he bit his lower lip uncertainly. “Are you sure?”
“I’m absolutely positive.”
“Well… okay.” Israfel smiled. “I just don’t want you to get into trouble.”
“Why would I get into trouble?” Now Raphael was confused.
“Tabbry said that Mike got stroppy when angels dated.” Israfel shrugged. “He said that Mike banned him from sexual relations with those women.”
“And those women would be…?” Sometimes, Raphael thought, Israfel’s rambling method of telling a story drove him wild.
“Oh, you know. Those girls. I don’t know. I wasn’t paying attention. Just that Mike was yelling and Tabbry was yelling back and then there was a punch and Tabbry had a broken jaw. I don’t think Mike likes him very much.”
“Yes, well, Tabbris takes a bit of getting used to.” Raphael could only imagine how that conversation had gone—Tabbris didn’t like being told what to do, and as the baby of Heaven, created long after most of the other angels had existed for millennia, he had been spoiled rotten. Tabbris was also caustic and talented at needling people about their most intimate insecurities. He was lucky, Raphael thought, that Michael hadn’t done worse than break his jaw.
“He’s my best mate.” Israfel hummed. “After you, of course.”
“Thank you, Iss.” Raphael smiled and gently squeezed his lover’s hand, then let go. “Anyway, if Michael—or anyone—wants to make an issue out of our relationship, they can take it up with God.”
Israfel’s eyes grew as huge as saucers. “God? Really?”
“Really. It’s none of their affair,” Raphael asserted.
“Wow. Okay!” Israfel returned his attention to his cooking. A few moments later, he said, “Tabbry was asking me about the Fall.”
Raphael blinked in surprise. “Why?”
“Well, he wasn’t around when it happened. He wanted to know what I remembered about it. Did you know he’s afraid of turkeys?”
“Who’s afraid of turkeys? And what do turkeys have to do with Lucifer’s Fall?” Raphael was now thoroughly confused.
“Tabbris. He’s afraid of turkeys. It’s, like, his phobia. Turkey phobia. Is there such a thing? Well, there is now, I guess. He can’t even eat turkey. He freaks the fuck out.”
“Israfel,” Raphael said patiently, “what did he want to know about the Fall?”
“I’m getting there, Raph.” Israfel shot him a reproachful look.
“I’m sorry. Please, continue.”
“Thank you. So, Tabbry’s scared of turkeys. Anyway, he’s got this crazy idea that Lucifer’s wings are like those of a turkey, so he’s way freaked out that if he has to go to Hell for any reason, that Lucifer will torture him with turkey feathers and his own wings. Which is why he was asking about the Fall.”
“Tabbris… is a strange and unusual angel.” It was all Raphael could think of to say.
“Well, yeah, free will!” Israfel grinned. “I told him that back then, we didn’t have wings, not really, because we didn’t have to wander around Earth too often. Except for you guys, the Archangels. The monster war with the demons was sort of simmering away and Lucifer was doing his ooh-rah, come with me and rebel and we’ll be, like, the first rebellious teenagers in history and wear black and write emo poetry in red lipstick on broken mirrors.”
Raphael stared at Israfel for a long moment, and then he burst out laughing.
“What? What did I say?”
Raphael laughed harder. It took him several moments to compose himself. “Emo poetry in red lipstick on broken mirrors?”
“Well, I don’t know what they all did in Hell after the Fall. They could have had a roller disco for all I know!”
Raphael laughed again. The mental image of Hell as a roller disco was too much for him, and it took him a while to stop.
Israfel huffed and returned to his mixing, and when Raphael let out an amused sigh, shaking his head, Israfel looked up at him, biting his lower lip.
“Forgive me, Israfel,” Raphael said. “It’s just that I have never heard Lucifer or the other Fallen described in such a colorful way.”
“Oh. Okay then!” Israfel accepted this easily enough.
“But why does Tabbris think he’s going to end up in Hell in the first place?” Raphael asked.
“Oh, that. Because Mike said something about punishing him if he messes with his pets or Gabriel, and Tabbris said that Mike wasn’t the boss of him and Mike said if he had to, he’d get orders from God to put Tabbris in a time-out in Hell.”
“Oh dear.” Raphael
could imagine how angry Michael must have been to even suggest it. “Tabbris should perhaps stay out of Michael’s way for a while.”
“Yeah, I said that. Tabbry kind of swore a lot, then he went off to New York to get drunk and party.”
Raphael shook his head. “He is… unique.”
“I bet God’s glad He only made one Tabbris,” Israfel agreed.
Raphael’s lips twitched. “That is certainly one way to put it, yes.” He was about to say more when the sound of Tzadkiel’s voice came to him.
“Archangels, I am ready to make my concluding report on the Seventy Years’ War. Please come to my apartment at your earliest convenience.”
Raphael sighed. “I have to go to work.”
Israfel’s face fell. “Why?”
“Tzadkiel called us, the Archangels. He’s making his final report. I need to go, Iss.” Raphael stood up and walked around the breakfast bar into the kitchen. He hugged Israfel and kissed him, then stepped back.
“Will you be gone long?” Israfel asked.
“I hope not. I’ll come straight back here when the meeting is finished, all right?” Raphael touched Israfel’s pale cheek with gentle fingers.
Israfel turned his head and kissed Raphael’s palm. “Yeah, you better.”
Raphael smiled at him, reached up to ruffle that dark-blond hair, then vanished, moving directly to Tzadkiel’s palatial apartment in Savannah.
TZADKIEL’S home was, as always, spotless. Raphael couldn’t fault Tzadkiel’s cleanliness, although the adage “cleanliness is next to Godliness” leapt into his thoughts. He hid a smile behind a cough, nodding a greeting to the rest of the Brotherhood.
Gabriel was standing close to Michael, and Raphael realized he had been expecting to see the two of them together. It would have been stranger to see them apart now the conflict was over, for the fighting had kept everyone apart from their loved ones. Raphael didn’t blame Michael and Gabriel for wanting to spend as much time together as possible now that the war was done.
No Surrender, No Retreat Page 4
