“Oh yes, like a leech.” Penemuel took another drink. His hands were shaking. Recounting this was like reliving a nightmare. “In any event, Azazel is completely loyal to Semjaza. He’s had him quaffed and clothed so that Semjaza resembles quite the well-to-do Parisian gentleman now. I have no doubt that should he choose to, ah, indulge himself, he’ll find many willing partners in Paris.”
Raziel’s expression became one of distaste. “That arrogant fuck,” he muttered. “Go on.”
“Quite so. Anyway, his goals are fairly predictable. He wants Ishtahar and his sons, he wants Eden. He wants to rule Eden and the land that would have fallen under Eden’s purview back in the bad old days. That would be modern day Iraq, Iran, Syria, and Saudi Arabia. Possibly a little of northern Turkey, too, but I’d have to look at the maps to be sure.”
“Do.” Raziel nodded. “I’d like a detailed delineation of what he’d think his realm would be on a modern day map.”
“I’ll see to it when I return to London.”
“Thank you.” Raziel stretched out his legs, and the cat walked over to join the dog, lay beside Raziel, and began to knead his thigh. “Not so hard,” Raziel murmured to the animal. Turning his attention back to Penemuel, Raziel asked, “That wasn’t all he wanted, though, was it?”
“Of course not.” Penemuel drained his glass. The gin was having a pleasantly numb effect on him. “He wants revenge. He’s got quite a list. Most of your choir are on it. Gabriel’s at the top of the list for imprisoning him, followed by Michael for imprisoning the rest of us in Hell. Uriel’s there for the Flood that killed everything, including most of the Nephilim, and you’re on it for making Eden inaccessible to him. And last, but certainly not least, Remiel is on it for daring to, ah, corrupt Ishtahar.”
Raziel rolled his eyes. “Semjaza’s a damn fool. All right, that’s more or less what I expected. But there are only two Nephilim left alive—his sons, Hiwa and Ahijah.”
“Ah, if I may,” Kokabiel said diffidently, “that’s not entirely true.”
Raziel’s eyebrows shot up almost to his hairline. “I beg your pardon?”
“When the Flood hit,” Kokabiel said, “some of the vampire clans up in the north of the planet took in groups of Nephilim. They wanted to exchange gifts—turn a few Nephilim into vampires so that they’d have that lineage in their bloodline.”
“Did it work?” Raziel sounded astonished.
“No.” Kokabiel shook his head. “The vampires died. Something about the angel part of the Nephilim blood being poison to a vampire because of the holiness in it.”
“Thank God,” Raziel breathed. “That would have been a disaster.”
“Probably.” Kokabiel shrugged. “But there were survivors from those days. Natural attrition thinned out the Nephilim who were protected by the blood- drinkers. I believe only a dozen Nephilim survive now.”
Raziel groaned. “Uriel’s going to have the most epic of shit fits.”
Kokabiel grinned. “I don’t envy you telling him.”
“Maybe I’ll tell him while I’m fucking him. Then he’ll be distracted.” Raziel sighed. “TMI, I know. So, we’ve got a dozen extra Nephilim wandering around. Whose kids are they?”
Kokabiel and Baraqiel looked at each other in bafflement. “I don’t know,” Baraqiel said.
“Penemuel, do you know?” Raziel asked.
Penemuel shook his head as well. “No, I’m afraid I don’t. But,” he went on, thoughtfully, “that doesn’t mean I can’t track them down. If I can have their names, I can hunt up their family trees and trace their genealogies back.”
“All right, do it.” Raziel nodded. He gently removed the dog from his lap and the cat’s paws from his thigh and stood up. “Thank you,” he said. He looked at each of the Grigori seriously. “I made you a promise, Penemuel, and I keep my word. As of this moment, the three of you, Kokabiel, Baraqiel, and Penemuel of the choir of the Grigori, are under the protection and safety of the choir of the Archangels. This is the Word of God and sealed by His servant, I, Raziel, Archangel of Secrets and Mysteries.”
Outside, there came a crash of thunder and Penemuel jumped. He looked toward the window then back at Raziel, who nodded, an expression of satisfaction on his face.
“And done,” Raziel said. “All three of you are under our protection, now. You’re safe.”
Baraqiel took a deep breath. “Thank you, Raziel,” he said softly. “You don’t know what that means to us.”
“I can well imagine.” Raziel smiled. “We’ll do whatever we can to help,”
Kokabiel added. “That’s a promise.”
Raziel inclined his head respectfully.
“I’ll contact you as soon as I have the map and information about these Nephilim,” Penemuel promised, and Raziel nodded.
“Excellent. Thank you, gentlemen. I’ll see myself out.” He grinned, a roguish sort of expression, and vanished.
The three Grigori looked at each other, wide-eyed.
“Well,” Kokabiel said, “he certainly knows how to make his presence felt.”
Penemuel shook his head. “I need another drink.”
“Amen to that,” Baraqiel said, getting up. “I’ll get another bottle of gin from the kitchen. And maybe some food.”
“That would be good. Thanks, Bara.” Kokabiel smiled fondly, then turned to Penemuel. “You’ll stay for dinner, won’t you, Pen?”
“I’d be delighted,” Penemuel said sincerely.
It was late in the evening when Penemuel returned to his London home. Chloe and her mother were waiting for him, Chloe asleep on the sofa and covered with a light blanket. Penemuel was deeply touched by their concern.
Susan rose, gesturing for Penemuel to join her in the kitchen, and he followed without complaint.
“Is Chloe all right?” Penemuel asked.
“Yes, she’s fine, just tired.” Susan smiled. “How did your meeting go?”
Penemuel sighed. “The first one, with Semjaza, was... unpleasant, but not unexpected, all things considered. It was mercifully short, however. The second one, with Raziel, was much better.”
Susan nodded. “I’m glad to hear that. We were worried.”
Penemuel smiled. “I appreciate that. It’s not something I’m used to, though.”
“I would imagine not.” Susan patted his arm. “I’m glad it went well.”
“So am I.” Penemuel let out a slow breath. “It’s a great relief to know where I stand with the rest of my own kind after so long.”
Chapter Seven
RAZIEL picked leaves out of his hair and huffed in annoyance. “Well, I think we can safely say Ahijah’s not in Cuba.”
Tzadkiel laughed. “Did you think finding him was going to be easy?”
“I live in hope.” Raziel pushed his hair back and rolled his eyes. “We’ve gone over every inch of this country and every damn trail he’s laid down ends in a dead end.”
“He learnt how to hide himself from us very well,” Brieus agreed, stomping his feet to clear the mud off his shoes.
“He’s somewhere around here, though,” Raziel’s eyes narrowed as he spoke. “I can feel it. South America is his preferred place to be.”
“South America is a large place,” Sophiel said. She was busily rebraiding her long black hair. “Also, the closer we get to the equator, the hotter and more humid it’s going to get. We should carry water supplies.”
“Sophiel’s right.” Brieus rested his hands on his hips. “I know Cuba, Raziel. What we’re going through with the jungles and the bugs and the heat is nothing compared to how it’ll be when we cross that equatorial line.”
Raziel grunted. “You’re probably right. But where are we going to get clean water from out here?” He gestured to the jungle that was all around them. “We can hardly ’port to Casa de Fidel Castro and ask him for water, can we?”
Brieus laughed. “I doubt it. No, if we ’port into Nicaragua, we should be able to cover two things at once—getting water for us an
d following up those trails.”
“Where did Ahijah learn how to hide himself from us so well?” Sophiel asked. She leaned back against a tree, wiping the palms of her hands on her pants.
Raziel sighed. “Probably from his father. I remember Semjaza used to get bloody pissy at Michael for taking an interest in his two boys. Hiwa would go to his lessons with Azazel, but Ahijah would always sneak off to listen to Michael tell him stories.”
“I can’t imagine that Michael would have taught him how to hide,” Sophiel said, her expression skeptical.
“Not intentionally, no, but he did tell the two boys a lot of stories. Ahijah was always quick to pick things up. He probably figured out ways to use his Nephilim senses to his own advantage from the stories that Michael told him about the War in Heaven and the First War on Earth. Then, too, he was always hiding in the library in Eden—Semjaza didn’t like his children spending time with any of our kind that he hadn’t chosen for them.”
“Semjaza sounds like an arrogant asshole,” Brieus noted.
“He was. He probably hasn’t changed much.” Raziel suddenly laughed. “Considering he went straight to the ruined city of Ur and tried to get into Eden via the catacombs and underground passages without believing I’d make sure no one could use those routes, he hasn’t lost any of his vanity, either.”
“How do you mean?” Sophiel tilted her head to the left as she looked at him.
Raziel lit a cigarette, waving a hand to ward off the persistent gnats that swarmed around them, accompanied by mosquitoes, eager to taste their blood.
“When we were in Eden,” he began, “our job—the Archangels’—was to make sure that the city was a refuge for all and that no demons could get into it. I built it during the First War on Earth, as a sanctuary for the wounded on our side. That was before humanity were created, though. Uriel helped me with the construction, but the majority of the city was designed and made by me. In any event, we angelkind weren’t to interfere with the humans there, once they were made, and we were to leave their guardianship to the Grigori. In the beginning, everything was as it should be. Semjaza began to push his boundaries, though, because, I think, he wanted to be an Archangel. We are rather a lot stronger and more powerful than he is. Or maybe he just wanted our power without the titles. Anyway, Ishtahar was born, and he decided that in order to be a proper king, he needed a queen. She was his High Priestess and she was beautiful.” Raziel paused a moment, his eyes distant as he remembered those early days of humanity. “No,” he corrected himself, “she wasn’t beautiful. She was absolutely breathtaking. I know I make her sound like some sort of impossibly perfect fairy-tale heroine, but humanity was in its infancy then, and she was the most beautiful human any of us had ever seen. She’s still beautiful to this day—like a great many other humans are. Anyway, I digress.
“It wasn’t just her looks, it was her personality. She was clever, kind, always smiling. She always had a kind word and a smile for everyone around her. She was a gentle girl, and she was totally unprepared for the lust of an angel. Hell, even Uriel adored her from the moment he met her, and Uriel doesn’t adore any human. Except Ishtahar. She had a way about her then, when she was young and innocent, a light in her soul that we could all see. Remiel was smitten with her, but he knew she was destined to be Semjaza’s High Priestess, so he kept a lid on his emotions.
“And then Semjaza took her as his High Priestess, wrote the name of God on her skin, down into her cells, her DNA. He took her to his bed, and it was not... well, let us just say that the term ‘original sin’ doesn’t really come from the marriage of Adam and Eve. And it has nothing to do with serpents or apples. Semjaza wanted offspring; he was bound and determined to have Ishtahar bear them. She had two children, stillborn, both girls. Semjaza was enraged—I’m not sure what it was that angered him more, that they were girls or that they were stillborn. Then she got pregnant again and had Hiwa. It was a very, very hard labor. Raphael beat Semjaza’s head against the wall of the Fountain of Uriel afterward, but it didn’t stop him from getting her pregnant again, and she had Ahijah.
“In the old tongue of angelkind, Hiwa meant hope. Ahijah meant joy. Ishtahar loves her sons very much. She doesn’t blame them at all for how they were conceived. I’m not so sure that if I were in her place that I could be so forgiving.”
Sophiel frowned hard, her brows knitted together. “I know I would not be.”
“Quite so.” Raziel took a long drag on his cigarette and exhaled. “So after all that happened, and Gabe went and had some words with Semjaza and locked him up in Aquila, Uriel got Michael and I to take Ish and the babies somewhere safe while he unleashed Noah’s Flood. Remiel was busily flagellating himself with guilt, so he punished himself with a penance that lasted a thousand years. God Himself had to step in and tell him to stop it, because it wasn’t Remiel’s fault at all. Ishtahar had been made barren during the birthing of Ahijah, and she prayed to ask God to make sure that she stayed barren. God did, and of course you know the rest of the story.”
“Ishtahar was given immortality as a punishment because she felt she deserved it,” Tzadkiel said. “God never thought she did. I certainly didn’t think she did. But by giving her immortality, God blessed her by letting her live to be a mother to her children and to take up what became her lifelong vocation, caring for the underprivileged children in the world and men and women who have suffered sexual abuse. She and Agrat worked at halfway houses and orphanages all around the world together. They still work together on these and other projects—clean water, food, tools and equipment to build homes in impoverished countries.”
“I like Ish.” Sophiel smiled. “Not just because of what you have told us, but because she is a very sweet woman.”
“She really is.” Raziel laughed. “The first time she kissed Uriel’s cheek, he turned red as a tomato, spluttered for ten minutes then stomped off to sulk. He’d never been touched by a human before then, and she just bounced up to him, said, ‘Dear Uriel,’ and kissed his cheek.”
Tzadkiel laughed. “Uriel’s cold black heart softened just a tiny bit that day.”
“He broke Semjaza’s nose a few days after that, because Semjaza had shoved Ish down a flight of stairs because she disagreed with his ideas of child raising.” Raziel scowled. “I really hate that Semjaza is free. And—oh what the bloody hell is it now? Another summoning? Fucking hell. How bloody annoying.” He rolled his eyes. “Go to Nicaragua. I’ll meet you there.” With that, Raziel vanished.
ONCE Raziel had gone, Tzadkiel squared his shoulders. “Let’s do as he says. I’m getting tired of being a banquet for mosquitoes here in the jungle.”
Brieus laughed. “None of you prepared for this hunt at all.”
“You could have warned us, Bri,” Sophiel said, poking his shoulder with her left index finger.
“I believe I did. I said to bring water and insect repellent. Not my fault none of you listened to me.” Brieus grinned. “So, start in the capital and work our way out?”
Tzadkiel nodded. “Yes. Managua it is.”
“Right you are, boss.” Brieus nodded. “Follow me.” He disappeared with a rustle of feathers.
Sophiel grinned at Tzadkiel and together they followed Brieus to Nicaragua.
Brieus was waiting for them beside a store that sold goods for tourists. He was smoking a cigar and chatting calmly in Spanish with a wizened old man holding a rickety bicycle. As Sophiel and Tzadkiel walked up to him, Brieus patted the old man on the shoulder in a comradely fashion, and the old man grinned a toothy grin at him, waved, and walked away, pushing his bicycle beside him.
“What was that about?” Tzadkiel asked.
“Paolo’s an old friend of mine,” Brieus said. “He told me that there aren’t any demon nests in the country this week. The people in the villages are rejoicing. He wanted to thank me for keeping Rabdos out of the country for another week.”
“Oh.” Tzadkiel nodded. “Good.”
“I also thought t
hat we could make use of the goods in this store. They have clean water and insect repellent. We should get as much as we can carry of the former and enough for four of us of the latter.”
“Why aren’t we using our powers to get rid of the insects?” Sophiel asked.
“Because if Ahijah is as clued in on our powers as Raziel seems to think he is, he might be able to hear us. Angels moving around is one thing—that’s fairly normal in terms of supernatural sounds. Let’s keep ourselves as circumspect as possible.”
“Excellent thinking,” Tzadkiel approved.
“Hm, all right,” Sophiel said. “I’ll believe you. Can I buy sunglasses here too?”
“You can.” Brieus nodded. “Shall we go shopping?”
Half an hour later, with rucksacks slung over their shoulders containing water bottles and insect repellent, the three angels left the store. Tzadkiel looked up and down the street, reaching out with his power carefully, masking it as much as possible. He didn’t want to alert Ahijah to the fact he was being hunted—if what Brieus suggested was correct, the less obvious they were, the better.
“Half a dozen trails,” Tzadkiel reported. “However, they’re all old.”
“How old?” Sophiel asked.
“Years.” Tzadkiel shook his head. “I don’t think he’s been here since the last century.”
“That was a quick trip, then. Where next?” Sophiel looked from Tzadkiel to Brieus.
“Costa Rica, Panama, then Colombia?” Brieus suggested.
“Sounds good.” Tzadkiel nodded.
“Let’s wait for Raziel to get back, and then we’ll move on.”
“There’s a café over there,” Sophiel pointed. “Why don’t we wait there?”
“All right.” Tzadkiel led the way across the street and into the café that was obviously designed with tourists in mind. The prices were exorbitant and the decor was gaudy and decorated around sombrero and donkey motifs. Tzadkiel ordered coffee and paid for it, blanching a little at the price.
As they sat at a table near the window, Sophiel rested her chin in her hand. “How long do you think we’ll have to wait for Raziel?”
No Shadows Fall Page 10
