“Pardon, we could what an Archdemon?” Michael asked.
Gabriel bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing. “He means we can talk to one of the Archdemons, one of the ones who made the alliance with us before the war.”
“I see.” Michael frowned. “I would prefer to refrain from doing that until we absolutely have to. I do not wish to be beholden to Archdemons for anything, and we already are beholden to them thanks to the war.”
“Let’s just see how we go when we get back to Tzad’s and pool our intel,” Gabriel said as Raziel opened his mouth to reply.
“Fine,” Raziel said with a shrug. He walked a little faster as the desert began to angle upward on a gentle incline, and as they topped the rise, they looked down on a small oasis.
There was a pool of water surrounded by eucalyptus trees, salt bushes, a few wattle bushes, and some yellowed grass. An old man wearing a plaid shirt, blue jeans, and a weathered Akubra hat sat by a small fire, a Blue Heeler dog sitting beside him. The dog’s tongue lolled out of its mouth, and it gave voice to a sharp bark as the scent of the Archangels reached its nose.
“Come on down to the fire,” Wilara said. “Sit down and take a load off.”
Raziel started down toward the man and the dog, Gabriel following and Michael only a step behind.
They sat across the fire from Wilara, watching as he fed his dog. The dog wagged its tail and gave a series of small yips, then trotted around the fire to sniff at Michael. Michael scratched the animal behind the ears, and the dog dropped down onto the sand and grass beside him, laying its head in Michael’s lap.
“He likes you,” Wilara said.
“I have always gotten on well with dogs,” Michael said with a gentle smile as he continued to pet the animal. “What is his name?”
“Balayi. In the language of my people, the Wajarri tribe, it means ‘lookout’.”
“It is a fine name,” Michael said.
“Thanks. So, I’m your last call, eh?” Wilara grinned at them.
“Yes.” Raziel nodded. “We sort of went around the world. In bunny hops, as Gabriel here put it.”
Wilara laughed. “Bunny hopping Archangels. That’s a good one. Well, I don’t know how much use my information will be. Going back to the spells Lyudmila told you about, there are only three that could successfully hide one of yours. And they do need demon blood, because the demon blood sort of cancels out the Grace of an angel, hides it, if you know what I mean. I hope you’re up to speed on your dead languages, Raz.”
“Uh-oh.” Raziel grinned. “I’m sensing this is going to be something I don’t like.”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Can’t really say.” Wilara put another stick on his fire, and the flames licked at it with a hungry eagerness. “The spells are in Aramaic, which I bet you know pretty well.” At Raziel’s nod, Wilara nodded as well and went on. “Then you’ve got Jassic, which is the language of that dead Hungarian tribe of the same name. Died out mid-nineteenth century. And lastly, there’s Ge’ez.”
“Which is only used in Ethiopian liturgies.” Raziel ran his hands through his hair. “Yeah, I’m going to have to brush up on Jassic and Ge’ez. It’s been a long time since I’ve had to speak them.”
“Maybe this’ll help.” Wilara held out an envelope. “Had my daughter copy the spells out from an old book my grandpa gave to me. When I first heard you talking in Geneva, I went through my library to see what I might have. Turns out my grandpa collected a lot of old magic books on his various walkabouts.”
Raziel quirked an eyebrow but said nothing, taking the envelope and opening it. He drew out the sheets of paper and gave them a quick once-over. “This is extremely helpful,” he said, putting the papers back in the envelope. “Thank you, Wilara.”
“Welcome.” Wilara pulled a pouch of tobacco from his shirt pocket, along with cigarette papers and a lighter. “I’m going to look up at my old friends, the stars, for a bit before heading back to camp.”
The dog got up and whined, trotting back to Wilara’s side. Raziel gestured discreetly to Michael and Gabriel, and the three of them got to their feet.
“Thank you again,” Raziel said. “You’ve been of enormous help.”
“Happy to do it.” Wilara raised one hand in farewell. “Good luck.”
“Thanks,” Gabriel said. “I’ve a feeling we’ll need it.”
Wilara laughed, a rich and merry sound. “Probably will at that. But a bit of extra luck never hurts, does it?”
“No, it don’t.” Gabriel grinned.
“Take care.” Wilara rolled his cigarette.
“Goodbye,” Michael said, inclining his head, and the three Archangels left the Aboriginal Elder and teleported directly to Tzadkiel’s.
“A MOMENT, if you please, Raziel,” Michael said as they stood by the front door of Tzadkiel’s palatial apartment. “You seemed skeptical at what the honored Elder said about where his relative got his books.”
“Oh, that.” Raziel laughed. “That’s because I am. But I’m not going to push it. Where he got them doesn’t really matter in the end. I imagine that if time were not of the essence, he would have told us a thoroughly entertaining yet totally false story about how he came to possess those books.”
“I see.” Michael pursed his lips. “So you are saying he stole them? Or, pardon, that his grandfather stole them?”
“I’m saying that I don’t know how his grandfather got them and that it doesn’t really matter in the long run. The books are safe, which is what is important.” Raziel gave Michael a serious look. “Knowledge is my province, Michael. I’m not worried about Wilara’s book acquisition, so you shouldn’t worry either.”
“Hm. As you say.” Michael didn’t look convinced, but he let the matter drop.
Gabriel fell into step with him, twining his fingers with Michael’s as they followed Raziel up the stairs. Michael shot him a small fond smile, and Gabriel gently squeezed his lover’s hand in return.
Shielding his thoughts so that only Michael would hear him, Gabriel asked, “Are you okay?”
“I am fine, Gabriel. You do not need to fret.”
“I weren’t fretting, I were asking. There’s a difference.”
“As you say. However, I am still fine.”
“Okay, then.”
Michael leaned into him as they waited on the landing while Raziel knocked on Tzadkiel’s front door, calling out their identities through the wood.
“I love you, da bao,” Michael said in a soft voice.
“I love you too, solnyshko.” Gabriel ruffled Michael’s hair with his free hand.
Michael reached up to fix his hair, and Gabriel grinned broadly. He was about to say something when the door swung open and Brieus was there, gesturing for them to enter.
“Good to see you. Come on in. Dare I hope you three have some information we can use?”
“We did quite well, actually,” Raziel said, leading the way into Tzadkiel’s apartment. “How about you?”
Brieus held out his hand and wiggled it in a so-so gesture.
“Ah,” Raziel said. “Well, let us get this meeting started.”
Brieus closed the door and the three Archangels followed him through the apartment to the large and spacious living room with its floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the picturesque historical district of Savannah, Georgia. The city lights were starting to come on as the sun began to set, and the combination of the bright-colored sunset and the pinpricks of golden light was beautiful. Gabriel took a moment to gaze out the window at the vista.
Behind him, Gabriel heard Raziel’s shout of joy as he saw his lover, and he turned his head to see Raziel race across the room and leap into Uriel’s arms, Raziel’s arms going around Uriel’s neck and his legs around Uriel’s hips. Uriel grunted, his arms tightening around Raziel as he stumbled a moment, his wings flaring as he got his balance.
“They truly love each other,” Michael murmured from Gabriel’s side.
Gabriel turn
ed to look at Michael and nodded. “Aye, they do. Like we truly love each other.”
Michael smiled at him. “You are very sweet.”
“So’re you, Mishka.”
11
RAPHAEL started, leaping to his feet at the commotion he could hear coming from the adjoining chamber. He gritted his teeth, hoping against hope that he wasn’t going to be joined by another inmate.
His hopes were dashed when two figures in hooded robes half dragged, half carried a familiar form into the room and shoved the angel into the cell next to Raphael’s. As the angel landed heavily on the dusty ground, Raphael clenched his hands into fists.
“You will pay for this,” he ground out, so angry he was shaking.
“Yeah, yeah.” One of the robed figures, a man to judge by the timbre of the voice, laughed. “A lot of people are willing to pay for you, though. The bidding war going on is amazing. You’re going to make us very, very rich, Archangel. Not to mention what the brothel owners and traffickers are going to bid for the lovely Agrat. You’ve caused them a lot of trouble, sweetheart. Time for payback, you know?”
Agrat stood up. Raphael’s heart ached as he saw the cuts on her face. Her expression was one of fury, and she was shaking. Like Raphael, she had a collar around her neck.
“You know nothing,” she spat. Shaking her hair back from her face, she lifted her chin in defiance. “Your time is running out.”
“She talks as much as the first batch did.” The second robed figure was also male, and he sounded bored.
“It’s a good thing they don’t need to eat isn’t it—even if they do like food—we don’t have to listen to them or be with them very often.” The first figure laughed, leaning against the cell’s bars. Before Raphael could protest, the figure lashed out and caught Agrat’s arm, pulling her closer to the bars. “Look at her. She’s a hot one. I’d fuck her in a red-hot minute. Matter of fact, if it wouldn’t lower the price, I’d do her now.”
Agrat’s voice was low. “Let me go.”
“Or you’ll what, sweetheart?” The man laughed. “You can’t use your power, the collar sees to that.” He reached through the bars with his other hand and fondled her roughly.
Agrat’s head came up and her hands went out. Before the man could protest, she had a hand around his throat and her knee jerked hard into his groin, causing him to make a pained, strangled gurgle.
“I don’t need my power,” she growled, bringing her free hand down in a move Raphael recognized from too many years working triage on the edge of battlefields. The man screamed as the crack of a bone reverberated through the chamber.
The second figure, yelling for help, grabbed his companion and pulled him out of Agrat’s grasp. Agrat, her dark eyes gleaming with a red tinge, unfurled her wings, and curled them inward a little. Raphael knew what she was about to do, and he took a step back reflexively.
Agrat spun on her toes, flicking her left wing out, the ends of her wing and the tips of her feathers razor-sharp. Angel feathers were not soft and fuzzy; they were strong and powerful, designed for prolonged flight and for hunting. The end of Agrat’s wing flashed through the gap in the bars, and the sharp tips of her feathers punched into the first man’s stomach.
His howl of agony was, Raphael thought, really rather lovely. Agrat moved, lighting fast, and her next wing slash took the second man in the thigh. Blood spurted forth. As more men raced into the room, Agrat pulled her wings back—not furled, but just enough to use them as a weapon.
“Shay taught me that,” she tossed over her shoulder at Raphael.
Raphael laughed. “Shateiel was very wise.”
“Enough!” The voice was authoritarian and came from the irregular opening that served as a doorway. “Get those two to the medic,” the man ordered. His hood was pushed back, revealing his face—a perfectly ordinary human male face, white, blue-gray eyes, topped with silver hair. Just over fifty years old, Raphael judged.
“You stupid angel,” he snarled at Agrat, moving into the room as the injured were carried out, groaning and weeping. He pulled a device that looked like a cell phone from his pocket. “Now I’ll just have to punish you.” He pushed a button and Agrat screamed.
Raphael forced himself not to look away, not to close his eyes as Agrat dropped to the floor, clutching her neck, her entire body shaking. Her wings trembled and shivered, a feather fluttering loose, and Raphael bit his lower lip so hard that it started to bleed.
“Now you’ll behave,” the man said, pocketing the device. Agrat lay on the ground, panting and shaking, and the man shook his head in disgust. “Angels,” he muttered. “Because I am not totally without feeling, I’ll allow you both some comfort.” He pulled the device out of his pocket again and punched a few more buttons. To Raphael’s astonishment, the bars separating him and Agrat began to slide up into the ceiling. The sound of iron grating against rock was a harsh racket.
“Healer,” the man ordered, looking at Raphael, “make sure she behaves. It’ll go worse for her if she doesn’t. Our buyers like a bit of a spirit, but they don’t like murderous impulses.” Without waiting for an answer, the man marched out of the room, leaving Raphael alone with Agrat.
Raphael wasted no time moving to Agrat’s side, helping her sit up. “Are you all right?”
“I’ve been better,” she said with a wan smile. “Where are we, Raph?”
“I have no idea.” He shook his head. “I assume they knocked you unconscious and brought you here?”
“Yeah.” She ran a hand through her hair, wincing. “And ow.”
“Here, let me take a look.” All business, Raphael carefully leaned over and peered at her scalp through the wealth of her long black hair. There was a nasty cut that might get infected, and he hoped that there would be water brought before too long, if only to clean the injury.
Agrat shrugged. “I’ve had worse, you know.”
“I’m sure, but our powers are blocked. I don’t know if that includes our natural ability to heal.” Raphael frowned. “I have to assume that we can’t heal as usual, so I need to clean this out so it doesn’t get infected.”
Agrat scowled. “Shateiel is going to freak.”
Raphael barked a laugh at that. “I imagine he will. Where is he, anyway?”
“Purgatory.” Agrat sighed. “That’s why we haven’t heard the roars of fury. Also….” She looked up at Raphael, and fear was in her eyes. “I can’t feel our bond, Raph. I can’t feel him at all. Okay, so it’s weak while he’s in Purgatory, but it’s still there. Right now? There’s nothing. Not the Host, not God, not Shateiel.” She bit her lip.
Raphael took a deep breath. “I was told that part of what the collar does is block us from our own kind. But this….” He wrapped his arms around her and tried not to cling to her as she clung to him. “How long can you cope without the touch of the bond, do you think?”
“I don’t know,” Agrat whispered, her fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt. “I really don’t know.”
“Okay, well, we’ll take it as it comes.” Raphael rubbed her back.
“Aren’t you bonded to Iss?”
“No.” Raphael smiled. “It never came up. It never seemed to be something that was necessary for us. And I can’t escape the fact that as a physician, I know that sharing blood is unsanitary, and that is part of the bonding ritual. Even though angelkind don’t get sick.”
Agrat smiled in turn. “He adores you, you know. He loves you so much, it awes me.”
Raphael blushed. “I am not worthy of his love, I sometimes think.”
“Oh bother that.” Agrat lightly poked his shoulder. “We’re all worthy of being loved like that. It’s just whether or not we find someone who does love us like that who we can love in return.”
“When did you get so wise, Agrat bat Mahlat?” Raphael teased.
“Natural genius,” she said and he laughed. “Seriously, though, I can see it, like Haniel does. But more with the lust, obviously.”
“O
bviously.” Raphael sat down and got comfortable.
Agrat pulled out of his arms and sat facing him. “They were hunting high and low for you,” Agrat said seriously. “They were going to speak with a group of human witches, wizards, and monsters.”
Raphael’s eyebrows shot up. “Truly?”
“Well, yeah, you didn’t think the Brotherhood would just let you disappear, do you? Plus Iss showed up at Tzad’s place and begged them to help him.”
Raphael felt his mouth open in surprise.
Agrat grinned at his expression. “Even more shocking, Tabbris was scouring Greece and Macedonia for you while Iss went to the Brotherhood. Last I heard before I got grabbed in Lithuania was that Tabbris was about to start searching through Turkey.”
Raphael opened and closed his mouth several times. “I… I had no idea.”
“You are loved, Archangel of Healing.” Agrat laid a hand on his knee. “You are loved and wanted and missed.” She smiled. “Never forget that. No matter what.”
Humbled, Raphael looked down. After several moments, he raised his head and smiled at her. “And you are as wise as you are gracious and beautiful, Lady Agrat.”
Agrat’s smile grew impish. “You old sweet-talker.”
Raphael laughed. “I am very glad to see you,” he admitted. “Although I wish the circumstances were better.”
“There’s that,” she agreed.
They fell silent then as another of the robed and hooded figures came into the room and shoved two metal trays through the slots at the bottom of the cells. One tray held food, the other two large bottles of water, which lay on their sides, and a small med kit. Raphael reached for the trays and picked up the med kit.
“Thank God for small mercies,” he said fervently. “Right, then, my dear, if you’ll duck your head for me, then I can clean your injuries.”
Agrat did as she was told. Raphael began to clean out the cut and then carefully dressed it.
“There,” he said, setting aside the med kit. “You’re all patched up.”
“Thanks.” Agrat sat back up and reached for one of the bottles of water. After taking a long drink, she let out a gusty sigh. “I hope I get to watch when Shateiel carves out their tripes.”
No Surrender, No Retreat Page 16
