“I need some time,” Raphael said in a soft voice. “I’m going to keep away from the rest of the Brotherhood for a while, I think. I don’t know that I can stop myself from punching Michael in the head if I see him right now. He had no right. No right.”
“He thinks he does, though,” Israfel mused, “because he’s Chief Archangel. He’s looking out for you, and because he’s been doing it forever, he’s forgotten how to stop. He knows—intellectually—that you’re all grown up and living out of home and able to tie your own shoelaces, but emotionally? He hasn’t reconciled it at all. You and the rest of the Host? We’ll always be babies, kids, to him. He can’t move past that. Oh sure, for Gabe he can, because Gabe’s nearly as old as he is and Gabe has him wrapped around his little finger. But the rest of us? Not so much.”
Raphael regarded Israfel with growing respect. Sometimes he forgot just how insightful Israfel could be. He touched Israfel’s cheek with gentle fingers. “You are remarkable, Israfel.”
Israfel shrugged. “I’m a remarkable musician, yeah.”
Raphael smiled. “More than that.”
Israfel stepped back, taking Raphael’s hand in his and twining their fingers. Black, white, black, white, their digits aligned perfectly. Raphael looked up from their joined hands to Israfel’s bright-blue eyes.
“I think maybe you should go now and have a few days by yourself,” Israfel said. “Go to Crete. I’ll head back to London, clean the flat, call Tabbry, and come down in a few days. That way, you’ve got a few days to cool off and all, and you won’t be so tense when I show up.”
Raphael nodded. “Yeah, okay. You’re right. I’ll do that. Thanks, Iss.”
Israfel smiled. “Go. I’ll tell Agrat. She can fill in the others.”
Raphael gave him a quick kiss, ruffled his hair, and vanished.
He was grateful to Israfel for realizing what he needed. As Raphael emerged in Crete, rolling his shoulders as he furled back his wings, he realized that he was very lucky to have Israfel’s love. His thoughts were so focused on Israfel and on the irritant that was Michael’s opinion, that he didn’t see the danger lurking in the shadows until it was too late.
The dart sank into Raphael’s upper arm, and he gaped as he looked down at it, feeling suddenly light-headed. The last thing he saw was a smirking face as he crumpled to the ground.
“Well now,” said a voice as Raphael passed out, “this is a damn good start.”
AGRAT shook her head. “Oh Iss,” she said gently. “Are you all right?”
Israfel shrugged one shoulder, looking away from her. “I’ll be fine. What Michael thinks of me doesn’t matter. It’s Raph who matters. Can you let them know he’s gone to be alone for a bit and not to hassle him?”
“Of course.” Agrat hugged him. “If you need anything, you call me, all right? Even if you just want to hang out at our place or if you want to talk—anything at all.”
Israfel smiled at her. “Thanks, Aggie.”
“You’re always welcome, Iss.” Agrat smiled and stepped back, watching as he vanished.
Shateiel moved to stand beside her, his expression grim. “Did I hear that aright?”
“Yes.” Agrat kept to telepathy. She did not want anyone listening in on their conversation. “Michael’s upset him more than he lets on. Israfel’s very hurt by what Michael said. I can’t even imagine how angry and upset Raphael is.”
“Perhaps the General should see him.”
“No, not for a while yet, anyway. Let the dust settle a bit before Gabriel or one of the Brotherhood go talk to Raphael.” Agrat shook her head and continued out loud, “He is a fool, sometimes.”
Shateiel looked confused. “Gabriel?”
“No, Michael. Sorry. I should have been clearer.” She gave Shateiel a small smile. “I will speak with him myself. In a few days. I suspect that once he tells Gabriel what happened, they too will fight.”
Shateiel hummed unhappily at that. “I dislike seeing our kind at odds with each other.”
“So do I.” Agrat squared her shoulders. “There they are now. I’ll go tell them.”
“I will accompany you.” Shateiel slid an arm around her waist, and Agrat leaned into him. Together, they walked over the muddy ground toward Michael and Gabriel.
“Michael, Gabriel,” Agrat said. “Raphael had to leave.”
“Is he okay?” Gabriel looked concerned.
“No.” She took a deep breath and plunged directly into it. “He and Michael had words, and he was greatly angered and hurt by them.”
Gabriel blinked, turning to face Michael, who looked guilty. “What all did you say?”
“I merely told him my feelings about his dalliance with Israfel,” Michael said, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.
“Dalliance?” Agrat was incredulous. “You do know that Raphael and Israfel have been involved since the early twentieth century? That’s a very long dalliance, Michael.”
“Perhaps. Still, it is an informal relationship, and it is not proper for an Archangel to be involved in such,” Michael said.
Gabriel stared at him. “What? You know that I weren’t exactly the poster child for abstinence, Michael. I were pretty well slutting it up for over five hundred years. That were more of a dalliance than what Raph and Israfel have.”
“Language. And yes, I am aware that you were engaged in… those activities. Camp followers are ever present during times of battle.” Michael shrugged his shoulders. “It is different.”
“No. It ain’t,” Gabriel snapped. “You’re saying that it’s okay for me to fuck around ’cause I’m a soldier and we got needs, but it ain’t okay for Raph and Iss to be in a committed relationship? Why? Because they don’t have rings? Or matching tattoos? Or ’cause they ain’t bonded? All the above? That’s fucking harsh, Michael.”
“Language, Gabriel. And perhaps it is, but it is how I feel.” Michael’s gaze remained firmly trained on the ground.
“You’re wrong.” Gabriel’s face was serious. “You’re so wrong, you’re on a whole ’nother continent.”
Michael shrugged.
“I can’t fucking believe my ears.” Gabriel shook his head. “So, what, you wouldn’t be with me if I weren’t willing to commit to you in a way you’re familiar with? Like, if I wanted us to get married in some human ritual or something, which I know you ain’t familiar with, you’d freak the fuck out and run away?”
“Language,” Michael said a little more firmly. “And I do not know, Gabriel. We are committed to each other, however, in ways that I understand. If that does not please you, then you are free to leave.”
Gabriel stared at him and then shook his head and vanished without a word.
“Was that really necessary, Michael?” Agrat asked.
Michael gave her a shallow bow. “I have work to attend to.” His voice was clipped, curt, and he disappeared before she could say anything else.
Agrat and Shateiel exchanged a long look.
“Are we and Raphael and Israfel the exception to the idea that no angel relationships are happy and healthy?” she asked.
Shateiel sighed and shook his head. “I do not know, wife. I do not like this situation, though.”
“Me either.” Agrat sighed. “We should let Haniel know.”
“I agree.” Shateiel gazed toward the flooded river, then back at the shantytown. “Will the people be all right now?”
“I think so, yes.” Agrat nodded.
“Then let us go to Mumbai.”
“Is that where Haniel is?”
“That is what the Cherubim inform me.” Shateiel tightened his arm around her and moved them both from Cambodia to Haniel’s small cottage on the outskirts of the Indian city of Mumbai.
The scent of cooking wafted to Agrat’s nose as they stepped through the gate and walked up to the front door. Her mouth watered as she smelled curry, and she licked her lips. Shateiel laughed soundlessly and kissed the top of her head.
“Not one word,”
she scolded. “He makes fantastic curry. Can’t you smell it?”
Haniel opened the door then and gestured for them to enter. “The Cherubim told me you were coming,” he said as he led them into his home and closed the door behind them. “They said Shateiel inquired, so I figured you two would be coming by. So, I decided to cook. Talk of bad news goes easier with good food.”
“You’re very wise, Haniel,” Agrat said, moving to kiss his cheek. “And yes, I’m afraid it is bad news.”
“I had a feeling it would be. I felt the ripple of heartache from Gabriel, Michael, Raphael, and Israfel.” Haniel led them into his kitchen and gestured for them to make themselves comfortable as he went to the stove. “What happened?”
Shateiel and Agrat looked at each other, and then Agrat sighed and filled Haniel in on the events of that afternoon. Haniel frowned as he cooked, listening to her without comment. When she’d finished, Haniel set a bowl of steaming rice, a plate of naan bread, and a large bowl of curry on the table.
“Wait,” he said, holding up a finger, and Shateiel and Agrat waited obediently as he bustled around, gathering cups, cutlery and bowls, and a large jug of mango juice. He sat, poured drinks for them, and then gestured that they should serve themselves.
When the three had food before them, Haniel dipped a piece of naan into the sauce of his curry and ate it, his expression thoughtful.
“There is little I can do regarding Michael’s opinions,” he said, “because it’s Michael and he’s set in his ways. I can ease things between him and Gabriel a bit, though, which will at least get them together so they can talk, kiss, and make up. Israfel is hurt by Michael’s opinions, which, again, I can’t do anything about. I don’t know what Michael sees when he looks at Israfel and Raphael together, but it isn’t what the rest of the world sees. Those two adore each other.”
“Perhaps he thinks that as an Archangel, Raphael should seek a mate closer to his own rank and station?” Shateiel asked.
Haniel considered that, eating a mouthful of curry. “No,” he said finally, “Michael doesn’t see rank when he looks at us. I think it’s more that Israfel enjoys life and lives it to the full, that his friends include Tabbris, who could annoy even His Holiness the Dalai Lama. I think Michael looks at Israfel and sees Tabbris-lite.”
Agrat paused, her fork halfway to her lips. “That might be it, actually.”
Haniel nodded. “Then I’ll have a chat with him about that and show him that it’s not the case. Michael needs to see things with his own eyes, sometimes, to change his opinion. Once that’s been accomplished, then I can get him and Gabriel back into the bedroom and talking. Everything else should fall into place after that. Michael, once he understands something and realizes he’s wrong, is very quick to apologize and make amends. He doesn’t do these things out of maliciousness or anything—he simply doesn’t understand.”
Agrat nodded her agreement. “I think he wishes the world were still like it was in the fifties.”
“Maybe so. But he knows it changes, even if he doesn’t like it.” Haniel smiled. “All will be well.”
Agrat and Shateiel smiled in return.
“Thanks, Haniel,” Agrat said. “And this curry is fantastic!”
“It is truly delicious.”
Haniel laughed in delight. “Eat, eat. I am glad you like it. As I said, bad news goes easier with good food, and good food leads to solving a problem.”
“You’re very wise, Haniel,” Agrat said as she dug into her meal. “And a very good cook.”
“Not as good as Israfel, but good enough.” Haniel waved his fork at the two angels. “Israfel is a master chef.”
“Music and cooking, huh? Is that how he won Raphael’s heart?” Agrat asked.
“And being himself. Israfel is, after all, a sweet-natured angel. He likes people and he likes helping people. If his music can help someone, so much the better. He doesn’t have a bad bone in his body, as the saying goes.” Haniel chuckled. “He might be incomprehensible to some of us—Uriel comes to mind, and Metatron too—but his heart’s always in the right place.”
“I have always found him to be a kind soul. I have not spent a lot of time with him,” Shateiel said, “but the times I have, he has always tried to help others and be of assistance. There is nothing to criticize about Israfel. I am unsurprised that he caught Raphael’s eye, only surprised that no one else in the Host realized the status of their relationship sooner than you did, Haniel. Or Tabbris. I would imagine that Tabbris knew within the same day.”
“Probably.” Haniel shook his head ruefully. “Israfel and Tabbris are thick as thieves. And that’s nothing to scold Israfel for, either.”
“I hope you can help fix the problems, then,” Agrat said.
“Have faith.” Haniel smiled. “I do.”
“I shall be guided by you.” Agrat inclined her head in respect.
6
RAPHAEL groaned as he opened his eyes and sat up, rubbing gingerly at his shoulders. His muscles felt stiff and his wings ached all along the spans, a sign that he’d been in one position for too long. He got to his feet, stumbling a little as the world lurched at an alarming angle, and he swallowed, pulled a face, and spat onto the ground.
Looking around, Raphael saw that he was in a cage within a darkened room. There seemed to be a few feet of space between the bars of the cage and the far walls of the room. To his dismay, there appeared to be no door in the cage, just a slot at one end, which was, he presumed, for food to be pushed through. The cage was made of bars that extended from the ceiling into the floor, and Raphael gripped them and shook them, trying to figure out how strong they were.
Nothing happened, and he sighed, turned, and looked around once more. There were three cages, he saw, one beside his and another beyond that one. The walls were rough, and it was clear to Raphael that the room was actually a natural cave, formed during the evolution of the land—whichever land it was that he was in. The light was dim, coming from a few narrow windows set high in the rough wall.
The place smelled musty, as if it hadn’t been used for some time. An irregularly shaped opening in the far wall was, Raphael presumed, the door he had been brought through before being locked in the cage, and try though he might, he couldn’t see what lay beyond. It was as he was craning his neck and contorting himself in this exercise in futility that he realized he was wearing a collar.
Anger burned through him as he ran his hands around his throat, feeling the leather and steel collar that was fastened securely around his neck. He tried to remove it to no avail. Frustrated, he tried to throw a bolt of energy at the bars of the cage, only to find that he couldn’t reach his power.
Anger turned to alarm and then to fear. Raphael reached out with his mind, trying to touch the Host, to reach Israfel, to feel another angel and, failing, began to shake the bars and yell at the top of his lungs.
His voice echoed and he yelled louder, shaking the bars harder. Dust motes, glistening golden in the narrow beams of sunlight that streamed down through the narrow embrasures in the wall, drifted down from the ceiling to settle on his head and shoulders. Raphael was on the verge of a full-blown panic attack when he heard footsteps and a polite cough.
He spun, facing the doorway in the rock, and glared as he took in a robed and hooded figure. He could see nothing about the individual wearing the robe, for the shadows of the hood hid the person’s face.
“Raphael, calm yourself.” The voice was male, and Raphael scowled at the figure as he walked to the cage and bent down, sliding a tray through the slot in the bars. There was food and water on the tray, and Raphael’s throat suddenly burned with thirst. He remained still and wary, not wanting to give this person the satisfaction of seeing how desperate he was for water.
“Who are you?” Raphael asked. “What are you doing?”
“It doesn’t matter who I am,” was the smooth reply. “What matters is only that you’ll make myself and my business partners a very great deal of money. Th
e last batch of angels we sold were only low-ranking, run-of-the-mill feather dusters. Good for accessories but not much else. Oh, sure, teleporting has its perks, but not when you can only move yourself and one passenger at a time. But you, you, Raphael, an Archangel… the Archangel of Healing, no less….” The voice laughed in delight. “Yes, you will make us a fortune when we sell you.”
Raphael was speechless for a long moment. When he found his voice, he asked, “You’re a slaver, then?”
“No, not really. My business partners and I provide unique, expensive goods for certain select, wealthy clients. Since the end of the war, some of those clients have expressed an interest in having an angel at their beck and call. Catching one was hard until one of our partners developed a tranquilizer that could knock you out. Then it was easy. Wait for one of you to be somewhere alone, avoiding the others of your kind, tranq you, bring you here, put the word out that we had merchandise for sale.”
“So you are a slaver,” Raphael spat in the direction of the figure. “You will pay with your life for this. You and your business partners.”
“Maybe. Your Brotherhood has to find you first. And while you wear that collar, they can’t. You can’t reach them, they can’t reach you. Oh, they know you’re alive, but that’s about it. Ingenious, don’t you think?” The figure didn’t wait for an answer. “So, as soon as we have two more angels here to sell, we’ll put the word out and the bidding will commence. I hope we do half as well with our next catch. Any Archangel is a prize, but everyone will want to bid on the one who can heal any disease.”
Raphael shook his head. “Let me go,” he said. “You don’t know what you’re causing by doing this.”
“That’s what they all say.” Raphael’s captor laughed. “I’ll save you the trouble, Feathers. It doesn’t matter to us if the world catches all the plagues that have ever existed because you are, effectively, neutered. We don’t care. If the high bidder is altruistic, perhaps they’ll allow you to use your power to heal the planet, but again, that’s not our interest. Money, profit—that’s our interest. Eat your dinner, Raphael, and drink the water. You might as well get comfortable. You’ll be here for a while.” With that, the figure turned and left Raphael alone in his cage.
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