Jane Austen & the Archangel

by Pamela Aares

  Light began to ripple at the edges of the room. Soon the shimmer became a blaze and the room disappeared entirely in a blinding flash of brilliant light. Gabriel appeared near him holding the sword, the sword designed to cut through even the substance and the power of angels—the sword Michael had used once before to defeat Lucifer in the Great Angelic Battle. With a howl, Michael twisted free from Lucifer’s grip and closed his hand around the gleaming weapon. Gabriel mouthed words as he dissolved back into the tumult of pulsing dark and light, but Michael couldn’t hear him.

  Lucifer’s hands circled Michael’s throat as they were both sucked closer to the vortex of darkness. Lucifer screamed to his demons, calling them to rally and aid him in battle. Michael knew that bellow, had heard it before. He had only seconds to strike before the full force of Hell fell upon him. With all the strength he could command, he thrust the sword and ran it through Lucifer. Lucifer gasped, and a sulfuric stream of foul breath hissed out of him. Michael threw out his hand to deflect the acid, barely in time to protect his eyes. He flexed his arm to withdraw the sword and monstrous agony cut through him, agony such as he’d never imagined and never known. Embodiment was proving to be more of a challenge than he’d thought. Fighting the urge to double over, he ripped the sword from Lucifer’s side. There was no blood, though that didn’t surprise him. A flicker of challenge flashed in Lucifer’s eyes as he vanished into the raging forces surrounding them.

  Swirling shadows engulfed Michael as wave after wave of pain racked his body. He fought against it, tried to stay conscious. In his delirium, he saw a writing tablet float before him. He struggled to make out the words etched on it, becoming distraught when he couldn’t read them, and then reached toward the tablet. As he did, the sword was ripped from his hand and vaporized into a swirl of radiant power. A blast of pain ripped through his head and he spun into unrelenting darkness.

  Chapter Twelve

  Michael sensed but couldn’t see the tiny bursts of light suffusing him, only a few at first and then countless points of pinging light threading through him like lightning strikes spiking across a desert. He felt life stir in his limbs, quite painful life, as each sensation magnified and spread and then magnified some more.

  After an eternity of pain, he became aware of a tapping, faint at first and then becoming more insistent.

  He opened one eye, then the other. The grogginess had left him, but in its place he felt a gnawing ache. Everywhere. He rolled his head toward the sound of the tapping.

  Gabriel sat at his bedside, drilling his finger against a silver tray. He looked as exhausted as Michael felt.

  “You look a mess,” Gabriel jibed. “Not much use to anybody in that state.” He offered Michael a cup from the tray.

  “Good morning to you too,” Michael volleyed weakly as he sat up in the bed. He cast a suspicious look at the cup.

  “Morning? Michael, you were gone for a month. I lost two weeks coming in after you. Nearly lost you this time.”

  Michael groaned as he propped himself against the pillows. “I remember very little. Except the rules for embodiment. It’s like they were carved in stone and handed to me. Carved—he motioned to his head—here.”

  “That’s probably best. You never were one for the nuances of the mysteries. Otherwise you’d have my job.”

  Michael started to laugh, but pain stabbed along his ribs with the effort. He took the cup from Gabriel, giving it a dubious look. “Isn’t there a secret password that tells me it’s safe to drink this?”

  Gabriel smirked. “If only there were.”

  Michael sipped. The dark liquid slid down his parched throat, but he tasted its bitter essence as he’d never tasted anything before. “Ugh,” he protested. “Trying to poison me after all that?”

  “Being embodied has its drawbacks. Luckily for you, it’s a very temporary state.”

  “If all goes well with Jane I might prefer it to last a bit longer.”

  “Michael—

  “I know, I know. And I appreciate that you stuck your neck out to make it happen.” He raised a brow. “You did have to stick you neck out, didn’t you? Wouldn’t want to be scraping around with all this approbation if it isn’t necessary.”

  Gabriel harrumphed.

  Michael drank the rest of the foul liquid. “I suppose it does no good to ask what’s in that?”

  “Proprietary recipe.” Gabriel managed a grin. “Further job security.”

  “I realize it sounds like a cliché, but he was more charming than ever. In the beginning. And the pull was nearly irresistible this time. Not like the first—that seems easy, looking back.”

  “He had a few new tricks up his sleeve. Should have; he’s had long enough to work on them.”

  “Gabriel, he promised to keep Jane from harm—from pain. Nearly had me believing him.”

  “That’s why he’s the devil. He finds your greatest weakness and exploits it with apparent kindness. Even he has a light side—it’s what makes him most dangerous. He’s a tricky beast because he’s both what is good and what is vile.” He poured more liquid into the cup and held it out to Michael. “But you know you can’t keep her from pain—there’s no such deal. Lucifer knows that. He was playing you.”

  “In the midst of it all, I felt ... ” Michael searched for the feeling. “I felt sorry for him.”

  “You wouldn’t be an angel if you didn’t feel compassion. Goes with the territory. The critical point is that you didn’t fall for his ruse. And you knocked him back. But even so, evil rolls on as part of life.” He frowned at Michael. “Discernment is a power that all existence requires—you could use a better dose of it.”

  “I’m sorry I put you through it,” Michael said, somewhat chastened.

  “You know as well as I do that something with these stakes and this much power goes beyond either of us.” Gabriel tossed off a dismissive wave. “It does give me some peace to know we have a glimmer of divine sanction behind our current drama.” A roguish smile crept across his face. “Takes the pressure off.”

  He reached a hand to Michael’s shoulder. “And given the fact that you were allowed to embody, I’d say you no longer have to torture yourself second-guessing your involvement with Jane. But you’ll still have to be careful. I fear this was a mere scuffle compared to what’s ahead. In fact, it may have been meant to prepare you, or more likely, to prepare all of us.”

  Michael touched his fingers to his face, ran them along the line of his jaw and then down the expanse of his chest. “I’d forgotten what it felt like ... ’

  “Highly overrated if you ask me. I’d trade powers with you any day, but it’s not up to us.”

  Michael snorted his disbelief.

  “All right,” Gabriel conceded. “I grant you that being embodied allows one to be a direct player rather than a mere manipulator—to actually be part of the beauty and thrill of life. And, for some odd reason, a body is required to express certain forms of love.” He stopped, looking into the distance, before adding, “I sometimes think love is our only true defense against evil. In fact, I’m sure it is.”

  Michael rubbed his shoulder. The muscles surrounding it were beginning to swell.

  “Should’ve known you’d wait till he’d nearly throttled me.”

  “Had to wait until you called,” Gabriel said. “You’re a stubborn one. But too much time has passed,” he added, impatience breaking through his measured tone. “As I said, nearly a month. I need you to go to the War Office headquarters. Tonight. The mission is on.”

  “A month!” Michael hadn’t taken it in when Gabriel had told him that earlier. He leapt from the bed, then staggered as pain tore through his legs.

  “That’ll pass; give it an hour or so,” Gabriel said as he steadied him.

  “I’ve been gone so long—she’s had no word.” Michael rubbed his legs. The pain began to subside, leaving a dull ache.

  Gabriel took his arm and led him slowly around the room.

  “I need not tell yo
u that the War Office mission must be attended to before you can see Jane. You gave your word.”

  “Then I had best be off.”

  “I see that my elixir is doing its job.” Gabriel laughed as he watched Michael straighten himself. “You’ll get used to the sensations, both pleasant and not.”

  “Perhaps I would rather have taken care of the mission before having a body.”

  “The price to pay for impatience ... ” Gabriel narrowed his eyes, all humor gone. “But there’s a reason for the way this played out; I have my suspicions but Lucifer’s attacks don’t fit any clear pattern. Trying to take you out before the War Office mission, that I can understand. But using your love for Jane to trip you up—that’s playing lowball. He knows you’re smarter than that.”

  Michael shrugged. “You don’t have any secret weapons I can use to hurry this mission along, do you?” That he was wishing to rush the action he’d once so eagerly anticipated was not lost on him. But his heart was elsewhere now.

  “You are our secret weapon—our Commander in Chief, if I remember your title correctly.” Gabriel’s ironic smile in no way made Michael feel comfortable. “But remember—the rules, Michael, the rules. If you’re careful, you’ll be able to bring Jane great joy, lasting joy—glad tidings and all that.” He grinned. “I do like that part of our job.”

  “Those high moments tend to be assigned to you.” Michael smirked as he made his way to the door.

  “It’s my charming manner,” Gabriel retorted with a wry smile. “But remember,” he added, suddenly serious, “the rules have changed with your embodiment. I wish I could tell you specifics, but I can’t. The fact is, I don’t know. You’ll have to follow guidance.” He skewed up an eyebrow and squinted at Michael. “You do remember how to do that, don’t you?”

  “If I didn’t know you so well, I’d be thinking you were angling to come along.” Michael chuckled as he turned to the door.

  Gabriel laid a hand on his arm to stop him. “If you succeed ... ” He locked Michael in a fiery gaze. “Well, it’s a great gift you can give her.” He raised his hand in blessing. “Godspeed.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Michael held the files up to the moonlight that flooded the back room of the War Office. Gabriel was right. There was enough information here to shut down the scheme and avert disaster, but they’d have to act swiftly. He shuddered to think of the lives that would’ve been sacrificed if they hadn’t intervened. Evidently there was no end to the evil that could find fertile ground in human hearts. He read through the papers, capturing every detail. How the scoundrels had managed to get this far along under the noses of the Crown’s best men, he’d yet to discover. There was one last drawer. With a tug, he slipped it open.

  A flash of movement was all the warning he had before slicing pain spasmed through his body. He’d been focused on the documents and hadn’t heard the intruder’s approach.

  Spinning around, at first he saw no one. Then, looking down, he saw the grimacing face. With a swift move, he dropped the papers and wrapped his hands around the creature’s throat, stopping all breath. The imp, a bit smaller than Iago, dropped to the floor and dissolved into a burst of acrid smoke. Still scanning the room, Michael ran his fingers down his side and found where the attackers stiletto had punctured him. He pulled the weapon out, groaning as pain blistered through him. He’d forgotten how warm blood was when it exited a body. He stared at the pile of ashes littering the floor, the only evidence remaining of Lucifer’s assassin. A gleam caught his eye and he brushed aside the ashes to find a small medallion.

  He blew off the ash dust coating its surface. Carved into it was a likeness of Michael in full angelic glory, the sort of medal that people wore to garner the protection of angels.

  Lucifer, it seemed, had never lost his sick sense of humor.

  He sensed rather than felt the presence of demons. Before he could place the source of the metallic odor, a blue-black ball of energy shot toward him from the dark corner of the room and slammed him against the wall. His ribs crushed against his lungs, knocking the breath out of him. He lost his grip and the stiletto skittered across the floor. The taller demon nodded and the other pulled a rope from his belt and lunged toward Michael, aiming for his throat. Michael gripped the demon’s forearm and heard the distinct snap of bone as he wrestled him to the floor. Michael pressed his thumb into the soft spot where the demon’s head met his neck. The demon slumped and dissolved into a foul-smelling dust. Poor planning, that, to create them with a known and easily accessed vulnerability. Michael said a brief prayer to the heavens that he’d remembered it. But the spot was a bit lower than usual—he’d have to inform the other members of his team.

  The shorter demon inched toward him, wary, then crouched and watched without moving. Michael smelled the foulness of his breath. In Hell they had no need of breath, but in this realm it was an inconvenient necessity. The assassin slipped a razor sharp scythe from his belt but still didn’t advance, just crouched there, green eyes scanning wildly. Then with a whizzing, almost imperceptible motion, he spun the scythe and stirred the ashy remains of his comrade into a tornado of storming debris. Blinded, Michael went still and called up his powers. He could only hope enough remained, now that he’d been embodied. He heard a faint scraping noise to his right and braced. His sight began to clear, and he felt the air stir ever so slightly. With an unearthly roar, the assassin materialized out of the column of swirling dust. Michael instinctively ducked and with a move he’d practiced more often than he cared to remember, he grabbed the demon by the neck and his fingers found their mark. The demon lashed out to break his hold, but too late. Within seconds he fell lifeless at Michael’s feet and vaporized. Michael thought he heard Lucifer curse, but he could’ve imagined the guttural sound.

  He scanned the ashes scattered on the floorboards—all that remained of his attackers. With his boot, he brushed them under the edge of the file cabinet. If Lucifer wanted to thwart him, he’d have to use better help.

  Michael had the information they needed. It was just clean up and details now. Well, that and getting Alithea to do her part. And he’d have to warn her, warn them all. Gabriel was right— Lucifer’s personal interest in their mission raised the stakes.

  He retrieved the stiletto and slipped it into his pocket, then drew the last of the documents from the drawer. Alithea could read those for herself.

  Listening keenly for any accomplices the assassins might have had, he heard none and made his way to the courtyard door. Keeping to the shadows, he stepped out into the street. Only then did he think to plunge his fingers into his wound. Swallowing a wave of nausea, he called up what power he could to stop the bleeding. He steadied his hand and pulled his fingers from his side as the wound closed up in their wake. One look at his blood-soaked shirt told him he’d lost plenty. Gabriel was right again—dealing with a body definitely had its drawbacks.

  Chapter Fourteen

  After Serena and Darcy’s wedding, Serena had pleaded with Jane to travel with her to Dalton Hall, her new home. But Jane needed to get back to her writing and her time away from Chawton had proven to be of no help for that endeavor; it was unlikely that a visit to Dalton would be any better. And though she’d never before seen a couple so happily wed, Serena and Darcy’s happiness was a daily reminder of the hollow feeling that lurked in her heart. It was time to go home and to put her own life in order.

  But after two weeks back in her cottage in Chawton, Jane continued to fight her conflicting feelings. She’d had heard no word from Mr. Grace, the letter carrier, or from Michael, the Duke of Sanclere, since he disappeared from the ball. That she still expected to hear something disturbed her as much as her determined attempts to cease hoping.

  Even the happy letters from Serena did little to cheer her. In the guttering light of her candle, she read the note that had arrived just that afternoon—a letter delivered by a new carrier who in no way resembled Mr. Grace. Serena’s ecstatic praise of Darcy and their
plans for a life together made Jane consider again what little she knew of the mysterious man who’d shaken her world. In contrast to the honorable and constant Darcy, his path was probably littered with wounded hearts, hers just one among many. The best course, she argued once again to herself, was to decisively cast him out of her thoughts.

  As the days wore on, she wandered the house, listless. Sometimes she sat at her desk, fingering the stack of blank pages. One afternoon she managed several satisfactory paragraphs, but upon rereading them, she judged them nothing but drivel. With an angry huff, she wadded the paper and threw it across the room. It landed behind the kindling bin, near the chair where Mr. Grace had sat that first afternoon. She stared at the space for some time, then threw down her pen and stormed up to her room.

  Cassandra entered right behind her, but Jane waved her off.

  Cassandra had taken to following Jane around, pestering her for the cause of her melancholy, but Jane kept her thoughts to herself. In an absurdly superstitious way, she feared that by speaking the words that expressed her feelings or by relating the events, she might dissolve her slowly fragmenting but wholly precious memories. In her darkest moments, she battled voices that rushed out at her, unbidden. Unwelcome. Voices that demanded she admit that Serena had been right.

  Perhaps more than she feared her own folly or his deception, perhaps she truly was afraid of love.

  And if she were, where did that leave her vulnerable heart?

  ***