“You said you liked it.”
“I do. I were just wondering, is all.” Gabriel smiled.
“If it pleases you, then I will keep it.” Michael stifled a yawn. “What time is it?”
“Just gone six in the morning.”
“Early, then.” Michael relaxed again on Gabriel’s chest.
“Did you want breakfast?” Gabriel asked.
“Not yet. I am not hungry, and I do not eat much, regardless.” Michael pressed another kiss to Gabriel’s chest. He was, Gabriel had noticed, always affectionate when he woke up. “Are you sure you were not too bored?”
“I took a look at the world with my power,” Gabriel said, “and got Shateiel to take some relief in the form of grain and fresh water to Cambodia, ’cause there were a flood and mudslide there.”
“Oh.” Michael’s voice was sad. “Should we go and help them?”
Gabriel shook his head. “No. They’ve got it in hand. The food and water were what they most needed, and now they’ve got that. Agrat and Shateiel are there, helping comfort those who’ve lost loved ones in the flood.”
Michael sighed. “As you say.”
“Did you want to go and take a look? Just to satisfy yourself that it’s under control?”
Michael hesitated a moment before replying. “If it is no trouble?”
“Not even a little.” Gabriel patted Michael’s ass. “Hop off me and go shower. I’ll join you in a moment.”
Michael let out a startled yelp at the light slap to his backside, but he slid off Gabriel and went into the bathroom as instructed. Gabriel sat up and slowly, carefully locked his thoughts and plans about the final battle between Lucifer and Michael up in a box at the back of his mind. He did not want anyone in the host coming across that. If he could talk to God about it, Gabriel would broach the subject, and, he thought, that would be on the agenda for the next free moment alone he had. Right now, however, was time to get clean, get dressed, and go to Cambodia with the love of his life.
Gabriel stood up and went into the bathroom, stepped into the shower behind Michael, reaching around him for the soap.
“We should ask Raphael to join us,” Michael said as Gabriel started washing himself. “There may be injured who cannot be treated by the local physicians.”
“Huh. Yeah, good thinking, aye.” Gabriel smiled at Michael. “Want me to ask him to join us, or do you want to do it?”
“Would you mind?” Michael took the soap from Gabriel’s hand.
“Not at all.” Gabriel sent his thoughts out to Raphael, explaining the situation and asking if he’d join them in Cambodia. Raphael’s voice sounded concerned when he answered, saying that of course he’d meet them there, and Israfel would most likely be with him. Gabriel wasn’t sure how to take that. On the one hand, he could understand how the power of music could be used to uplift downtrodden spirits and how music could bridge all language barriers and cultural divides. On the other, he wasn’t sure that Michael would take kindly to Israfel being there at all. He had the feeling that Michael would find Israfel’s presence irritating.
He didn’t say that, however, instead telling Raphael that they’d meet up in Cambodia in an hour. He rinsed off beneath the hot water and moved out of the way so that Michael could do the same. Then, stepping out of the shower and grabbing towels, Gabriel said, “Raph’ll meet us there.”
“Good.” Michael took a towel and began to dry himself.
“He’s bringing Israfel.” Gabriel decided to just say it. There was no point in dissembling.
Michael paused, frowning. “Why?”
“Because music can heal where food and water can’t? You know that as well as I. What were the first thing you remember ’bout Heaven? Music.”
Michael frowned harder, finished drying himself off, and put the towel back on the rack. “I suppose. Just make sure he does not become a distraction.”
Gabriel shrugged. “I don’t think he will, Mishka. I really don’t.”
“We shall see, I suppose.” Michael gave Gabriel a quick kiss on the cheek and went back into the bedroom to get dressed.
Dry, Gabriel stuffed the towel haphazardly onto the rack and went back into the bedroom to dress as well. He settled on jeans and T-shirt—after all, he thought, they were bound to get dirty, working in an area ravaged by flood and mudslides.
Michael had dressed in similar clothes, and Gabriel walked to his side, ruffled his hair, then held out his hand. Michael pulled a face, fixed his hair, and took Gabriel’s hand.
Grinning, Gabriel winked at his lover, who laughed. Then he moved them to Cambodia.
5
“I CAME as soon as Gabriel spoke to me.” Raphael nodded a greeting as Michael and Gabriel appeared. “Some of the humans have contracted dysentery from drinking tainted water, but Shateiel and Agrat have been distributing clean water, and I have given those who are suffering some tablets to help ease the illness. Israfel has taken a potion I created up to the source of the flooding, which will help clear the contaminants from the water, in case anyone drinks from it accidentally.”
Michael nodded in approval and Gabriel looked around. They were on the outskirts of a small shantytown made of mud-coated driftwood and rough-hewn trees and held together with coarse rope and rusty nails. It was eerily similar to the towns that had sprung up in Oregon during the war.
“Don’t be sad, Gabriel.” Raphael touched his shoulder.
Gabriel smiled ruefully. “You read my mind, huh?”
“No, I could see it in your eyes.” Raphael smiled back. “You can school your expression to neutral, Gabe, but you can’t hide your eyes. They’re very expressive.”
Gabriel huffed. “They’re blue.”
“And expressive,” Michael agreed. “You have beautiful eyes, da bao.”
“I see I’m outvoted here.” Gabriel shook his head in amusement. “Okay, well, enough chatter about my eyes. What else needs to be done here?”
“Agrat has helped the people clear out a building for the sick and the injured,” Raphael reported, “and she is helping the women and children. There is one woman who, I fear, is about to go into premature labor.”
Michael blinked. “Do you require our help?”
Gabriel’s face had taken on a faint greenish cast. “I’ll, um… go help Shateiel. I ain’t a midwife.”
Raphael laughed. “The mighty warrior of God is squeamish about childbirth?”
“Damn right I am.” Gabriel shuddered. “I’ll be over that way.” He walked off.
Raphael turned to Michael and gestured toward one of the makeshift buildings. “She’s over there.”
“What do you need me to do?” Michael asked.
Raphael smiled in gratitude. “Thank you, Michael. If you will sit with her and help her to breathe and push when she needs to, that will help me concentrate on making sure the infant is born safely.”
“Of course.” Michael fell into step beside Raphael as they walked toward the building. “You have been well since the meeting?”
“Well as can be, all things considered.” Raphael sighed. “The world has changed a very great deal. I don’t like all of the changes.”
“Nor do I.” Michael sighed. “I dislike not being able to do more to help.”
“Same here.” Raphael pushed open an irregularly shaped piece of wood that appeared to have once been the hull of a small riverboat and now functioned as a door. “After you.”
“Thank you.” Michael inclined his head and entered the room, Raphael on his heels.
The pregnant woman was lying on a pallet made of straw. Two other women sat with her, holding her hands and murmuring comforting words to her. Raphael bowed to the women and introduced Michael, who bowed as well. The women lowered their eyes in deference as Michael moved to sit at the pregnant woman’s head. He cradled it in his lap and with one hand, gently smoothed her sweat-damp hair back from her forehead.
Raphael took a breath, used his power to pull in a sheet and the vario
us necessities required, and settled himself on the pallet. “All right, then,” he said. “Are we ready?”
The women and Michael nodded as the pregnant woman pulled a face and moaned in pain.
“She’s contracting,” Raphael said, all business. “Michael, help her breathe even, regular breaths, if you please.”
“As you say.”
NINE hours later, dirty and tired, Raphael and Michael stood smiling at the new mother suckling her newborn baby. It was a boy, healthy and whole, and although the mother was exhausted, she was smiling.
“I have named him Raphael Michael,” she said. “Thank you.”
Raphael inclined his head, touched by the gesture. “Thank you. We did little, though—you did most of the work, dear.”
She shook her head. “Nevertheless. Thank you both.”
Raphael bid her good-bye and led Michael out of the room. He closed the door behind them and pulled in several bottles of clean water with his power. Then he moved toward the river to get clean.
The river was swollen over its banks, the water surging downhill at a ferocious speed. Plants and trees floated along, detritus and debris from further upstream, where the force of the flooding had uprooted them, tearing them down and carrying them toward the sea.
“What caused this flood?” Michael asked, taking one of the bottles of clean water and washing off his hands and arms.
“Nature.” Raphael shrugged. “Nothing unusual. It’s coming into monsoon season in this part of the world, so there’s going to be a lot of water before too long.”
“Lovely.” Michael pulled a face, mopping at his forehead, which was streaming sweat. “I dislike the humidity.”
“Most do.” Raphael finished cleaning himself and stripped off his T-shirt. He balled it up and sent it back to his laboratory with a thought, tugging in a clean T-shirt at the same time. “There’s a reason I prefer Crete or London. The climates are much more pleasant.”
“And the food?”
“That too.” Raphael laughed.
From behind them came the sound of music.
Raphael’s expression grew soft as he turned and saw Israfel seated on a log, strumming a guitar and singing. Israfel’s voice was the most beautiful in all of Heaven.
“In Heaven a spirit doth dwell
Whose heart-strings are a lute;
None sing so wildly well
As the angel Israfel,
And the giddy stars (so legends tell),
Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell
Of his voice, all mute.”
“Pardon?” Michael looked at Raphael as Raphael finished reciting.
“I was just recalling the words of Edgar Allen Poe. That is how he described Israfel in poetry.”
“I see.” Michael looked at the cluster of children who had gathered around Israfel, gazing up at him with delighted expressions on their faces. The adults were more reserved, but it was obvious they were watching and listening to the song of the Angel of Music.
Raphael watched Israfel, his expression fond. Israfel smiled at the children, who all clapped as he finished his song. He spoke to them with a gentle voice, strumming the strings of his guitar, and they chatted eagerly to him, answering his questions happily and asking questions of their own.
“Raphael,” Michael said, “may I ask a question?”
“Hm?” Raphael forced himself to turn away from watching his lover. “Sure.”
“Thank you.” Michael was frowning, and Raphael had a sudden premonition that this was going to be a very unpleasant conversation. Michael’s frowns never boded well.
“Raphael, do you not think that this… dalliance with Israfel is inappropriate?”
Raphael gaped at Michael, blindsided by the question. It took him several moments to find his voice and answer. “No,” he said forcefully. “No, as a matter of fact, I don’t.”
“Israfel is young,” Michael said.
“Michael, most of existence is young compared to us.” Raphael was suddenly annoyed. “Just because his form looks like he’s in his late twenties and mine looks closer to forty, it doesn’t mean that we’re actually twenty and forty, you know. Twenty billion billion, maybe. How long have we existed? Longer than time itself!”
“Raphael, you mistake me.” Michael cleared his throat. “Israfel is young in spirit, in personality. He is frequently with Tabbris, who is young in age, having been created just before humans in order to give them free will and guide them with the use of that incredible gift. Israfel is given to drink, to drugs, to frequent fornication. He is often in establishments that are low and uncouth, not fitting for one of the Heavenly Host. He and Tabbris create havoc wherever they go when they are under the influence of alcohol or chemicals. Tabbris is not the best influence, you must agree.”
“Tabbris is the personification of free will,” Raphael said through gritted teeth. “And as such, he experiments. How the hell is he going to know what free will is if he doesn’t exercise it? It’s his damn mandate, his reason for existing, Michael.”
“Language.” Michael pursed his lips. “I am aware. I know of his excesses, Raphael. I have had to tidy up after him far too often.”
That was a surprise, and Raphael frowned.
“However,” Michael went on, “that is Tabbris, and it is not Tabbris whom you are romantically involved with. It is Israfel. Israfel personifies all music, not just the music of the Host. He is the best and the worst and all that is in between. He has never grown up—oh, he is good in times of crisis like this, for as you say, music is a balm to the soul, a great healer and a great unifier. Music can motivate individuals as well as it can inspire them. But Israfel has indulged too often in reckless pursuits and the drugs of the humans when he attends some of these musical outings. You are the healer, Raphael, the Healer of God. You must know that much of what he puts into his system is unhealthy.”
“You’re talking about things that happened centuries ago.” Raphael couldn’t believe they were having this conversation. “Sure, before we got together, he was a bit of a wild child.” And there was no way he was telling Michael that had been part of the attraction. “Now, he’s not so much into the drug and drink part of the rock ‘n’ roll lifestyle. He’s not whoring around. He goes to his gigs, hangs out with Tabbris—who is his best mate, after all—and comes home to me.”
Michael sighed. “Are you so sure, Raphael?”
Raphael’s heart went cold. “What are you saying?”
“I have had disturbing reports from my people,” Michael said, “and he has been seen in some of those establishments in London, partaking of alcohol, drugs, and going to bathrooms to do… things.”
“Things?” Raphael snorted. “And what are these ‘things’? Spell it out for me.”
Michael frowned. “I do not wish to upset you—”
“Too fucking late.” Raphael held up a hand as Michael opened his mouth. “Save it. You don’t approve, whatever. I don’t really care what you think. I know for sure that Israfel doesn’t do any of that shit, so your people are mistaken. They’ve probably seen someone who looks like Israfel and you’ve totally misconstrued their reports because you’re a damn prude with a corncob up your ass. Get over yourself, Michael. You might be Chief Archangel, but that doesn’t give you the right to interfere in our lives.” He didn’t wait for an answer, storming off toward the river.
Raphael wasn’t surprised that Israfel joined him several minutes later. He was clenching and unclenching his fists as he stared at the swift-flowing water with unseeing eyes, trying to calm his temper.
“Raph?” Israfel stepped up and laid a hand on Raphael’s shoulder. “What happened?”
Raphael turned to face him, prepared to yell, but the expression on Israfel’s face stopped him. Israfel looked worried. Raphael sighed.
“Michael doesn’t approve of our relationship,” he said. “He thinks you’re cheating on me at gigs and taking drugs.”
Israfel’s expression changed t
o shock. “He what?”
Raphael shook his head.
“That fucking bastard,” Israfel swore. “He doesn’t have a fucking clue. I haven’t had sex with anyone other than you since the early twentieth century. And drugs… fuck, the last binge I had was in the seventies!”
“I know.” Raphael couldn’t help feeling relieved by Israfel’s reaction. He had been worried that Michael might have been right, and he felt guilty for doubting Israfel’s commitment to him at all. “I’m sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?” Israfel scowled. “You didn’t believe him, did you?”
“No.” Raphael shook his head. “He did make me a bit paranoid, but ultimately, no. I don’t believe him.”
Israfel waved that off. “Paranoid, I get. I get paranoid too. I know I’m not the sharpest tool in Heaven’s shed, but I’m not a total idiot. Paranoia’s understandable and fuck, it’s healthy, because then you talk to your partner. And behold, our talking.” He shook his head again. “That fucking uptight, sanctimonious do-gooder wanker. I should curse him to have nothing but elevator music in his head for the next twenty years.”
Raphael barked a laugh at that. “I don’t think he’d find that a punishment. He’d probably enjoy it.”
“Yeah, probably.” Israfel rolled his eyes. “Seriously, he needs to leave the 1940s and join us here in the twenty-first century. It’s not all bad.”
Raphael hugged him tight. “Thank you, Iss.”
“What for?” Israfel sounded puzzled as he hugged Raphael in return.
“Just… for everything.” Raphael kissed him.
Israfel kissed him back, and they stood together for a while, kissing and holding each other on the banks of the river. Eventually, Israfel pulled back, resting his forehead against Raphael’s and touching Raphael’s cheek.
“What will you do?” Israfel asked.
Raphael sighed, turning his head to kiss Israfel’s palm. Israfel’s skin was so pale, he thought, pale like the moon, such a contrast to his own skin. They were midnight and moonlight and, Raphael thought, perfect together.
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